 
### A Leap of Fate

Episode seven

### Destined for War

Smashwords Edition

By G. L. Fontenot

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### What is Fate?

Is fate nothing more than our Creator playing an elaborate game of chess against chaos? If so, what piece do you think you would be...a knight, a bishop, the queen...or a pawn? And just when would he call the game to an end and simply reset the board?

G. L. Fontenot

### Prologue

The Milky Way Galaxy is vast; so much so that it is beyond the understanding of the average person, even for those inquisitive, intellectual souls who take the time and really try to fathom it. To know that light can circle the entire earth almost eight times in a single second, yet take 100,000 years to cross the Milky Way, is something too staggering to truly grasp.

It is a conglomeration of stars beautifully configured into a spiral-shaped disk with far reaching outer bands that resemble the clouds in a hurricane...but it is a hurricane of light. That phenomenally expansive tempest is comprised of hundreds of billions of stars, each having its own collection of planets, moons, asteroids, and innumerous kinds of unseen debris.

One of those burning spheres of gas is called Sol, Earth's sun, and is located about halfway from the center of the Milky Way to its outer fringes. It is a simple, common star of average size...nothing overly special in the grand scheme of the cosmos. However, it is absolutely vital to us as it provides many of the most important fundamental elements of life as we know it; heat to keep our water liquid, light to permit photosynthesis to ensue and allow plants to grow, and a stable orbit to enable our world to have moderate climates.

But what other oases of life are out there in the vast expanse of the Milky Way, far from our tiny, relatively insignificant comfort zone? Are there any?

In the conceptual reality written between the pages of this book, I imagine that there are, so let me guide you.

Of the incredible multitude of brilliant stars we earthlings can see with our powerful telescopes are thousands that belong to a single group of beings...and by 'belong to', I actually mean are 'claimed and ruled by'. Luckily those solar systems lie more than twenty-five thousand light years away, adjusting counterclockwise to the spiral of the galaxy.

That realm is known by all in its confines as the empire of the Kreete Triad. They are the most advanced, most vile, most notorious species ever to explore the broad reaches of space...or are they?

### Chapter One

### In the Beginning

On a remote planet along the outer reaches of Kreete-occupied space lied a planet of grand scale and incredible riches. It was larger than most by a huge margin and therefore had mineral wealth of unparalleled magnitude.

Its gravity was also of unequaled scale...at least to typical humanoids...making it seem impossible to be habitable...yet nonetheless, it was. In fact, it was the home of a sentient species in its infant stages of modernization. They drove and flew and built cities, but they hadn't even begun to explore the heavens. That planet was called Benoi.

The surface of the giant planet of Draake Tarbold's birth wasn't much different than that of Earth, if Earth were the size of Neptune and its temperature variance spread from a roasting 175 degrees F to a bone rattling minus 250.

Land at the equator of that massive world was little more than a desolate band of inhospitable desert which spread as high as twenty-eight degrees north on one of the ten continents, to as low as thirty-five degrees south on another. That radiation-drenched zone was completely sterile...utterly dead.

The oceans however, even with the baking heat, were teeming with life in great abundance. Of course most of those water dwellers lived at depths where the sun's influence was radically reduced...a luxury unknown to the land creatures.

Luckily for the air breathing mammals, there were ample landmasses situated between those fringe latitudes and the beginning of the ice caps which generally started at about seventy degrees in the north and sixty in the south.

Such a harsh contrast in environments left only two narrow avenues of terra-firma available for sixty-five percent of all living land creatures and plants. It also allowed for two completely separate races of Benoi humanoids to develop at profoundly different speeds, along with similarly divergent animals and verdure in each hemisphere.

The southern group was forced to survive much harsher environs than the northerners, and therefore they were hardier and more fierce...but smaller and faster.

The northern branch of their genealogical tree enjoyed much more temperate seasons, so they grouped together, grew more crops, built more cities, and were physically larger, stronger, and more advanced.

In that northern hemisphere, the natives reached the industrial age hundreds of years before the southerners, but the equatorial swath of heat and desolation was their ultimate border, so even with their advancements, each group knew absolutely nothing about the other. In fact, it wasn't until the invention of the airplane that they ever had a chance to interact because even ships on the oceans could not survive the intense sunlight and temperature of the deadly band. And furthermore, the oppressive heating of the oceans at the midpoint of the globe created tremendous, violent currents running away from that median latitude at such rates that they did more than simply dissuade navigation across the region...they prevented it altogether.

When aviation finally arrived however, and its technology reached a level that proved sound enough, that long-in-coming introduction was made in a miraculous, and yet terrible way.

In the northern territories, planes and the understanding of aeronautics advanced for several decades in peaceful (more or less) experimentation. As with any humanoid species though, curiosity led to adventure, and that led to improvement. Pilots eventually decided to test themselves and their machines' endurance by flying out into that barren zone...the harshest environment they knew of.

Some of those brave souls were convinced by the scientists of their society that another area might very well exist far to the south of the desolation. And furthermore, since no humanoids had ever crossed into that region, it was likely to be a veritable Eden of unclaimed, yet fertile land...one able to help expand their own living space and crop production to a drastic degree.

It was firmly believed that there couldn't be sentient creatures in that area because the Creator had made them...the northern folk...in his image and the world was theirs to explore and tame.

One such inventor/adventurer...a fellow by the name of Durant Morson...devised a highly aerodynamic aircraft and mated it with the most fuel efficient engine available at the time. He then installed fuel cells in every spare cubic inch of space, and set out.

The plane flew higher than most, using electrically driven turbines to pressurize the cabin so he could still breathe in the thin air of the upper atmosphere. That was a crucial addition too, in order to reach the cooler temperatures that only altitude could deliver in that sweltering region.

Concurrently, in order to see where he was going, Durant had to utilize heavy-duty glass tinting (like what welders use) in his cockpit to protect him from the intensity of the sun's rays. Otherwise, he'd have been both cooked and blind. He wisely devised it to be removable in the off-chance he was forced to fly after dark, and off he went.

He flew and flew, thousands of hoz against the push of the heat-driven air moving south, until he reached the preplanned 'do not exceed' safety point for returning. He'd set that up with an indicator that measured his remaining fuel, with a slight hedge on the plus side to make sure he cleared the desert on the way back. Falling short and ending up in that desolate inferno wasn't something he wanted to chance.

When he was approaching that point though, he began trying to convince himself to push on...that he was bound to be close to the promised southern oasis. It was an insane notion since he really had no way of knowing how much further the wasteland might extend, but it was his steadfast determination of pure stubbornness that eventually goaded him onward.

As the turnaround limit closed in, Durant realized an obvious fact. He'd been bucking a forty hoz-per-billot headwind almost the entire trip, so he calculated the return trip would take nearly twenty percent less fuel due to those same prevailing breezes. It was an epiphany that made him literally cheer so he pressed on, finally clearing the dead zone only a billot later.

He knew he should head back immediately to ensure he did indeed make it, but he simply had to look for a few moments...to bask in his triumph and satiate his curiosity. He gave himself five borts, setting a timer going to be certain not to get carried away...and it was a good thing too because the land beneath him was everything those theorists had hoped for, which he found absolutely mesmerizing.

Close in to the desert were rolling hills of open grassland teaming with wild animals grazing along in massive herds. And off in the distance...perhaps fifteen hoz to the north...was a vast forest that ran to the horizon. The land itself was gently undulating and appeared spectacular and inviting, wild and primeval.

Time steadily passed as he stared wide-eyed out the window and before Durant could believe it, the chime sounded, bringing his focus back to his mission.

At the end of that short exploration of the wide open new frontier, he banked the plane slowly around, readying himself for the long flight back. He was already gathering his thoughts about what he would say when he informed the world of his monumental achievement, but that instantly took a backseat to an even newer discovery.

Something caught his eye off in the distance that kept him headed east, along the boundary of the desert. It seemed totally out of place in that untamed land, but he could not quite make it out, so he moved to investigate.

Some clouds obscured Durant's line of sight for a bit, as another ten borts slipped away, and then his stomach began to tighten. He felt he was pushing his luck too far. His successful escapade was rapidly turning into a fool's errand. Once more, he shoved the stick to the side to head back north, but suddenly the clouds parted and what had attracted his attention was instantly clear to him, and close.

In that moment he thought his eyes would jump completely out of his head because right there in front of him was a structure...a manmade structure!

He lowered his altitude to get a better look, dropping to barely a thousand peors, and immediately recognized that below him was an entire culture of foreign people...of which his brethren had always thought impossible.

Durant checked his gauges once again and saw that he was truly running on the edge of never returning, so he swung his craft around once again and headed south, watching all the people beneath him gape at the sight of his mechanical marvel. They were primitive by his people's standards, much as the Incas would be compared with earthlings of the twentieth century, and he briefly wondered what might be going on in their heads.

As he put a few hoz between himself and those gawking onlookers, Durant checked his video recording to make sure all his efforts hadn't been for nothing. Just as they should be, his reels of photographic tape were running smoothly. He was so excited he could hardly sit still, cursing the delay of the long flight back before he would be welcomed as a conquering hero. His name would become etched in history, no doubt about that, and he might even be heralded as the greatest explorer ever known. His mind began racing with the boundless possibilities his unprecedented discovery might bring.

Unfortunately, Durant made it barely another hoz before he felt a prickling sensation on his neck...almost like a physical warning of impending danger. He looked to his right as far as he could, leaning forward to see behind him, but the windows were small to keep exposure to the sun to a minimum, so he didn't see much. Then he did a similar move to the left, and his blood instantly thickened in his veins, as if it'd just been flash-frozen.

There was something heading toward his plane...and it was coming fast!

Before he could even make a move to avoid the interloper, he saw what it was...and then he gasped! What he saw was a flying creature as large as his craft, with a long neck and a huge head sporting foot-long fangs. An earthling would have thought it to be a terrifying breed of pterodactyl, but he'd never even seen fossils of such creatures in his lands. It was like a horror movie playing out right in front of his eyes...but then it got worse.

When his mind had begun to hope the hideous creature might just be investigating his plane out of simple curiosity, Durant saw something new...and even more petrifying. There was a person astride the great beast!

Furthermore, that figure was carrying a huge bow...and it was fully drawn.

Durant wrenched the control stick hard to the right, but it was too late. The arrow was the size of an Earth man's spear and it sliced through the airplane's fuselage, cut through its pilot, and jammed solidly into the far side's electronics panel in a blink.

The aircraft stayed in its last maneuver, rolling right and falling fast, until it inevitably slammed into the ground, rocking the entire area with a huge explosion.

That was how the southern natives were introduced to the northern ones.

In the north, the loss of such a renowned adventurer sparked every kind of conjecture of course, and led to more and more attempts to cross the Great Barrier.

The southern people also became fixated, and sent messages across their lands, explaining what had occurred. They were so incensed that some foreigners might be planning an invasion that they set up watch towers and stationed their aerial warriors all along the perimeter of the 'Barrens' as they called the desert lands. And for the following fifty years; every flight that extended south of the impassable zone was attacked and destroyed.

It wasn't until the advanced race expanded their domain into space with satellites that the true nature of the south became known. At that point, an intense exploration of that southern hemisphere was undertaken...albeit from a lofty distance. Over time they developed better and better optics for their satellites, which allowed them finer and clearer details about the activities far below. And that just drove them onward to a face-to-face encounter. They simply had to know what life in the south consisted of.

It began as pure science and inquisitiveness, but as with any race intelligent enough to understand the concept of hierarchy; it quickly became something much more malevolent. Visits became agreements, and agreements became treaties, but when discoveries of valuable minerals came into play, those treaties were eventually broken.

While the northerners' tech advanced, so did their aircraft and weapons, and that eventually led to an inevitable outcome. They saw no reason to leave such vast caches of untapped resources to people who made no use of them, and so deception, thievery, and even mass murder ensued.

The resulting animosity and distrust brought about a hundred years of war between the two races. It was technology and education against natural cunning and ferocity. Both sides lost many...the north saw thousands of their elite soldiers leave their homes and never return, but the southerners watched tens of thousands of their people die in raids from high above, dropping bombs upon their helpless cities. They lost much more than just their warriors too. They lost entire families...entire communities. It was a time of great pain, anger, and fear.

Surprisingly, what finally brought them together was when a new enemy appeared to shake up the balance of power...the Kreete!

Almost immediately, the northerners ceased all campaigns to the south, turning their focus on an evil that was even more advanced to them as they were to their primitive brethren. At that time, it was their turn to watch as their cities were decimated from even higher up: space, and from aircraft so advance that they could do little to even slow them down.

Once the air forces of the Benoi were eliminated, the ground war began, and then things really got ugly. The fighting was horrible, vicious, and brutal in the extreme.

The Benoits' advanced weapons...tanks, rockets, ships, and guns were easily obliterated by the Kreete, until there was nothing left but hand to hand, up close and bloody warfare. The northern natives quickly realized they had to return to the methods of conflict their southern kin were already supremely accustomed to, and so they devised a plan of enlisting those hardy, fierce men.

With stolen equipment won from the Kreete themselves, they were able to cross the great divide and meet with the southern clans once again, but this time with an entirely different objective. They found the Kreete there too, but those Benoits were doing much better at holding their own against the invaders! What they were running low on however, was food and supplies.

With a tremendous bit of political skill and pragmatic necessity, the northern leaders engaged an alliance with the south, and from there the fight became much worse for the Kreete. The conflict raged for cycles (Kreete years) upon cycles, until the science of the Kreete overlords, and their relentless nature, finally surpassed the abilities of the surviving Benoits. Thus began the new lives of those who'd survived the hundreds of battles...as slaves to the Triad.

All total, it took a solid ten Benoi years of conflict before the 'Masters of the Universe' could finally claim victory. To the Kreete, it was one of the fiercest and costliest campaigns they'd ever undertaken, but they had not yielded. They had overcome and now reigned supreme!

Afterward, Benoi was little more than a work camp for the natives. Their cities had been reduced to rubble and they were either living in prison sites or hiding out in the wilderness in small clusters.

Alongside those camps, the Kreete brought in many mechanical marvels which they operated nonstop, stripping exotic metals from the planet's crust, but they could keep only a limited amount of soldiers actually planet-side. It was simply too difficult for them to live there.

The pull of that world forced anyone not native to it to wear elaborate mechanized suits to support their bodies against the crushing pressure of its atmosphere and its uncompromising attractive nature. And even then, only the most powerful members of their species could hope to survive a single torjourne (Kreete week of seven days) before their bodies were taxed to the breaking point.

It was a tenuous relationship between the Lords and their subjects, and at any moment, it seemed ready to collapse.

Twenty-three cycles, three hundred and seventy-four days from the first sighting of the Kreete Armada, a new invader entered the atmosphere. It was fairly small on a planetary scale, just over half a hoz across, which was most likely the reason the global sensor array didn't pick it up earlier on, and it was moving at over fifty-thousand hoz per billot. The object entered the thick troposphere over the sun-drenched dead zone at the equator...above a desolate area of one of the larger landmasses...and it burned through the air in a grand, fiery display. At ten-thousand hoz above the surface, the object succumbed to the friction and heat that such a plunge created and exploded with devastating results.

In an eruption that would have rated the equivalent of a twenty megaton nuclear blast on Earth, it expelled a powerful burst of electromagnetic radiation that blew out a third of the planet's orbiting satellites, effectively blinding the Kreete Lords in a huge swath of the sky, as well as on the ground.

The portion of the object that remained intact, struck Benoi with enough force to turn a small mountain into a molten pool, and send enough soil and debris into the atmosphere to eventually be seen completely around the planet.

The Lords of course monitored the event as closely as they could, and dispatched new satellites within dactrais to close up the gap in their surveillance array. But what they didn't notice was an even smaller object chasing its precursor into that area while they were distracted and their sensors were blinded.

The second device was barely the size of an Earth car, but was infinitely more sophisticated. It used the effects of the thermal blast to mask its signature long enough for it to locate a subterranean chamber with enough width and girth to accommodate it, and deep enough to avoid any further suspicion.

From there, the new battle for the freedom of Benoi began...this time in secret.

The object was a Raulden deep space probe. It was capable of transoptic flight and had been in route for seven santaris, since halfway through the Games, when Cache Kuar had decided to try and free each of the contestants' homeworlds...the men on the 'Outcasts' team.

The components not required after touch-down followed their preprogrammed self-destruct commands and turned to dust barely a billot after accomplishing their tasks, leaving nothing to discover that could jeopardize the surreptitious mission.

Deep inside a labyrinth of natural caves though, the primary machine began its duty without pause. For the following six dactrais, the probe hunted for a particular juncture that would provide the best possible site for the next phase of development. When it did, it settled down and transmitted its readiness.

A billot afterward, the immense space between Benoi and Rauld was bridged, and an army of different machines began a new assault, but this one shed not a drop of blood. Just as on Caron, the mechanized army immediately commenced construction of a power generator.

Little did anyone know, that device also released millions of micro-machines that began to spread across the Barrens with the winds, until they had covered an area the size of North America, but twice as long. The tiny robots were actually miniaturized factories designed to convert the silica of the desolation zone into the largest solar array in the known galaxy.

Those little robots worked just beneath the surface, always at least somewhat covered with dust or sand to keep from being detected. It was a silent insurgency of utmost stealth, yet on a phenomenal scale.

### Chapter Two

### The Truth

Cache Kuar knelt at the feet of Arsisi with a sickening tightness surging through her entire body.

What had she just heard? It couldn't be true...could it?

Those around her also remained motionless, shock and confusion clearly on every face.

"What?" Cache managed to ask in a shaky, fragile voice.

"The Triad!" Arsisi reinforced her previous statement, her eyes quickly scanning from one person to the next in rapid succession. "The Triad is the Kreete, who make up the largest section of their domain, the Malicarts, who claim the fringe of the Negleesian region and everything beyond it in that direction, and the Theranians, who the Kreete have only recently discovered, no more than five cycles ago. They are by far the worst...according to my former masters. They rule more than two thousand star systems, and are the first alien race to formally push the Kreete back. The Lords are so afraid of them that they allowed them to take a seat on the Triad Council after only three cycles of battle.

"Apparently, they have an uncanny ability to be able to find and exploit the weaknesses of their enemies."

Cache, by then, was fuming with shame, indignity, and all out fury at having been played the fool so completely. She was vibrating as her mind spooled up and truly began understanding the implications of her folly.

"And Ordice?" she asked warily, as if afraid of what the answer might be. "How does that planet fit into all this?"

"Well," Arsisi replied, suddenly much more comfortable in her new role of instructor instead of student. "My position on the _Confarii_ was such that I was able to witness some of the most secret communications at the highest level. My masters relayed messages and conferences for the top dignitaries of the Triad. That's how I know the things I do...things that almost no other person knows.

"You see, the Kreete still maintain that they are the ultimate rulers within their domain, and only the Praetors of the giant armadas know the truth of what is really going on...who the real leaders are. And they don't allow that knowledge out in the open for fear of compromising their own power.

"Anyway, Ordice is a planet that lies well within the claimed boundaries of the Kreete. Thereby, it is an excellent outpost for any aggressor to gain a foothold into the Lords' realm. Two cycles ago, the Theranians infiltrated the planet's defenses, destroyed the entire Kreete suppression force, and slaughtered every living soul on the planet."

"But why would they kill all the natives?" Cache asked, a mask of horror at such an act written across her lovely face.

"Simple. They didn't want any resistance to their occupation."

The Rauldens looking on in the room were appalled and sickened at the tale, so much so that half of them had to leave. The others were forced to sit to make sure their legs didn't fail them. Such complete disregard of one being toward another was too much for them. They simply could not fathom it.

"They wanted the planet for military position alone, and didn't want to worry with the bother of an uprising. And now I know why they wanted Itsu...that is Ron...to claim the victory of the Triad Games for them...and why they murdered Draake Tarbold. They..."

"Wait a lita!" Cache suddenly interjected. "What are you saying? The Ordi...I mean Theranians...murdered Draake?"

Arsisi stared back at her with open astonishment, totally surprised that Cache didn't know. Then she realized that she was the sole owner of that knowledge.

"Yes. Do you remember Ron telling us about the snares out on the Steeplechase event?"

Cache nodded.

"Well that was not done by the Kreete. In fact, Goruthe was so surprised that he nearly choked on his food as he watched, and after the event, he hunted for dactrais to find anyone who might have pulled it off. No one claimed it...and they would have, believe me. Then, later, Ron said that a man...an assassin of the Hoondelli...had spared his life and instructed him about how to find the cache of supplies you had for him.

"The Kreete did not send that man. The legend of the 'Master Assassins' is one I am familiar with, but the ones the Lords use come from Datiaria, in the Ilsirian Sector. They are known as the Olimari.

"Also, you said that this person...Jazz...had told you she had a man on the planet, right?"

Again, Cache nodded.

"Then she hired him...not the Kreete. This Isleff fellow told Ron what the Theranians ordered him to say so that Ron would remain true to their plan...after eliminating the single remaining influence who might spoil their goals."

Cache was reeling from the information, but tried to follow it through.

"And why would they go through such an elaborate ruse, just to gain a planet they already held?"

"Because since they were the only remaining species on the planet Ordice, they could claim absolute protection from any and all retaliations the Kreete might wish to make for the next seven cycles! By then, they'll have such a stronghold established that the Kreete will have no way to eradicate them from it...and like I said, it is an excellent position, militarily speaking.

"And," Arsisi added quickly, "if they could somehow continue their ruse long enough to get your planet shield...or even worse...your transporter...they would spread through the Kreete's space like a virus!"

Cache and the other Rauldens sat motionless for several litas, too dazed to make a move. But then, something occurred to Cache.

"But if you knew all this from Ron's recollection of his experiences...back on the _Darlile_...then why haven't you spoken up about it?"

It was Arsisi's turn to be dumbstruck with that question.

"Because I didn't know who this person...Jazzimeridon...was. I never even heard who Ron claimed the victory for, because I was already headed for the cargo hold at the time. Now that I do however, it answers a great number of questions."

"Yes..." Cache mused absentmindedly, "Yes, I suppose that it does."

There was a long silence at that point as the information soaked in.

Finally, it was Arsisi who broke the silence.

"What now?" she asked timidly.

Cache returned her gaze to Arsisi, but it was sharpened once more.

"We will continue with your training as it was scheduled."

"So you will honor your commitment to the Theranians?" Arsisi balked.

Cache then released a sly smile that made Arsisi tremble. It was an icy snarl of pure determination. "Oh you just leave them to me," she growled.

### Chapter Three

### The Kreete System of Justice

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" roared the crowd, just before it shrieked with cheers, barks, and whistles.

Inside an enormous hippodrome, one that could hold over two-hundred-thousand patrons, two combatants dashed across the firmly packed surface of an arena.

The pitch was a hundred peors across, and in its walls were carved the likenesses of a thousand champions, each gilded with gold, platinum, and many sparkling, precious stones. It was the ultimate stage, on the ultimate planet, of the ultimate species in the known universe. It was the Korax Volarius Colliseum, on Kreete.

Korax was the ruling authority figure at the time when Rauldens first set sail into space. He was the conqueror of the planet Isharna Prime, a class 9.9 world in the Belusa Sector. He attacked the planet with only fifty ships and half a million newly minted warriors, when the genetic enhancements were still being developed. He should have simply utilized his advanced technology to get the job done, but he chose to have his troops prove their worth on the battlefield.

The natives were no pushovers either. They were strong and tough and smart. The fighting was savage and bloody, sword to sword and axe to axe. It took five long cycles to scour the entire planet clear of every native soul, but when it was done, Korax planted his family's sigil into the ground at the very spot where the coliseum was to be built one day, claiming the world as his own.

He renamed it Kreete, after the ancient, mythical land that so many civilized cultures feared. (It would be akin to 'Hell' to Earth beings) He didn't view it as such of course, the world being a virtual paradise compared to most, with abundant water, huge landmasses, and a stable, moderate climate. Considering where they'd just come from; Rauld at barely ten cycles PA; "Post Abandonment", Kreete was an absolute Eden. No, he named it after such a dismal and threatening place simply as a moniker to instill fear into their future enemies.

Once Kreete was free of any and all opposition, the vast armada of Raulden transports began to descend and deliver the new residents who would preside over the land. Nearly seven hundred Kreete cycles later, the planet was teeming with life...fourteen billion souls...and nearly ninety percent of them were watching the current event taking place either in person or on vid-screens.

The match was between one of the most famous Kreete warriors in the entire empire. He held the highest position of any fleet commander...a Praetor...a seventh level Reaper...and under his command, his soldiers had crushed six planets, bringing them fully into the fold of the Triad. He was a hero, and his next step would have been Planet Lord...if his career had held. It had not.

The name of that preeminent soldier was Grayle Neese the leader of the last team the Kreete Empirical Council had sent to the Triad games. He had lost...and failure was not an option!

Now, Grayle stood in the center of the massive arena with his only friend, his battle-proven sword that he'd carried with honor into more than a thousand conflicts. He was dripping blood from a hundred ghastly wounds, yet he still stood...and he still fought.

He fought now to try and preserve the legacy he'd attained for his descendants...trying to prove that his honor, although tarnished by defeat in the Games, was worthy of remembrance. And most importantly, he hoped his actions there, in Korax's arena, would spare the lives of his fifty-six descendants.

He didn't pine away his time by wallowing in self-pity or regret either. He had done his best at every stage of the competition. It had simply not been good enough. Against any other Kreete squad, or perhaps even the Ultras, he would have simply had to accept the degrading comments and insults that go along with the loss of a sporting event. But when the entire competition had been studied and scrutinized a million different ways, the final outcome all coalesced down to the phenomenal athletic prowess of a single individual; Itsu of Caron. Grayle's team had lost to a human man! They had been defeated by a species so far beneath the Kreete level of physical and technological station that it was just too humiliating to ignore.

As punishment of his failure, Grayle now faced the exact set of opponents Ron had faced in the Retribution Games on Caron, with slight adjustments to accommodate someone of his size and strength. The ruling council had delved into the Caronian archives that had made it off planet, and researched that convicted traitor's (name unknown except for 'Shartae') exploits and passed his sentence on to their subordinate...Grayle...their former champion.

"That mere 'human' survived these trials," the judge read aloud at his court martial, "so let us see now how our own 'elite' soldier fares."

Grayle was currently only a quarter the way through those deadly duels, but he was not holding up very well. A ten-foot-tall Morogan greel (bear) he'd faced on the previous day had mauled him badly before expiring, and now the last of three Irilane tigers stalked him menacingly.

The Praetor had performed incredibly well against all the humanoid antagonists, his fighting skills and physical abilities being well honed in such matters, but when it came to the creatures, he had seen his expertise truly tested. He didn't have the mind-set of the beast they'd created in Shartae, nor did he have the lifetime of experience watching, stalking, and hunting beasts like Kaskle had passed on to Ron. And when it came right down to it, Ron would admit that his alter ego's uncanny knack of foreseeing what an animal was about to do was unquestionably the only thing that had kept him alive during his own bouts.

Grayle tried to move to his right, to counter the tiger's threat, but his left leg had grown terribly stiff where the greel had sunk his canines completely through his thigh. If his body hadn't been such a fantastically engineered structure, he'd have died then and there, but the recovery speed of a Kreete soldier at the Reaper level was phenomenal. And that was all that kept him upright now.

The tiger was like any other wild animal at the top of its hereditary food chain, so it missed not even the slightest sign of weakness. Therefore, it sped its movement up a bit more, watching every twitch in Grayle's counter. When he showed a very minor stumble, barely a quarter lita of hesitant imbalance, the tiger sprang.

Grayle was well experienced in combat with men as well as animals, and so he knew exactly what the creature was doing, so when the tiger charged, his sword tip was there to meet it. The only problem was, the agility of such a beast is nearly incomprehensible, and so when it's six paws dug deeply into the floor and side-stepped Grayle's long-sword, the Praetor's left side was left wide open.

Grayle managed to alter the blade's path enough to sink it in the tiger's flanks, but not before his shoulder had disappeared into the maw of the cat.

The tiger appeared very similar to an African lion...aside from the extra set of limbs...but was twelve feet long. It outweighed it's Kreete opponent by twenty percent and bore a set of four sixteen-inch-long canines mounted in its jaws that completely pierced Grayle's torso.

Once the cat had him locked in its mouth, it shook him with everything it had while raking his body with its forepaws.

Grayle roared out his pain and anger, but fought on, jabbing and hacking at the tiger until the creature literally ripped his left arm free from his body. By then, the Reaper class warrior...the epitome of Kreete's elite biological engineering...had seen his last bout. Grayle's neck was nearly severed by the savagery of the tiger, and he fell to the dirt floor, his silver eyes catching the last shred of light he would ever see.

The crowd went wild!

"Pathetic!" growled Troyce Vallum, one of the three highest ranking Kreete Lords in the entire Triad. He had followed Korax to the thrown upon the ancient leader's death. He triggered the com on his huge, plush seat. "Kill his heirs!" he snapped before leaping from his chair to pace back and forth. At that command, every offspring of Grayle Neese across the entire empire was put to death.

"What are we going to do about this disaster?" growled Troyce, turning his back on the torturous spectacle.

He ruled roughly a third of the empire, the spacial boundaries a bit arbitrary in some of the less densely populated sectors, but his territory was being hard-pressed at the moment by foreign invaders...a species he'd been unable to totally thwart...the Theranians. He'd even brokered the inclusion of them into the Triad in order to by himself a little time to come up with some way of dealing with them, but that hadn't panned out just yet. Their ability to adapt to the Kreete's tactics and technology was incredible...and vastly unsettling.

The other members knew this as well, but they forgave him that setback for the time being. Each of them had either faced similar troubles or had read about them in the history of the Kreete's expansion. They were confident all would be set right in time. The Kreete were the dominant species...clear and simple!

"I thought we had an understanding with those little vermin?" he continued. "Now how are we going to get them out of our space?"

"That's your problem, Troyce!" Hrin Varse barked back. Understanding the issue and accepting the setback were two different things altogether. "If you hadn't let them infiltrate your realm, you wouldn't have the problem!"

"You pompous flarge!" Troyce hissed. "You've seen the reports! There manipulative abilities are stellar. And none of us could have seen what those insects were truly up to! It might have been any of your planets!"

Hrin reached for his long knife, his fingers grasping nothing but air. (They'd long ago decided to not allow any weapons among them when they met face to face, which was rare.)

"But it wasn't, was it? I've kept my space free of any attacks! My sectors are secure!"

"Only because the Malicarts don't choose to invade!" Troyce roared back. "If they did, they'd overrun your territory in a santari!"

"You slimy, trien-eating slug!" Hrin hissed. "I..."

"Calm down, you two!" the third emperor...Jakar Doome spat out, slapping his plate-sized hand down on a table hard enough to cause a sound most people would assume was an explosion. "This is not the time to squabble! We need a plan...one that will work for a change.

"The Empire is feeling the ripple effects of our failure. The entire purpose of the Games is to show the lower beings that challenging us is futile...suicide even! But now that this flarge has proven that we are not 'unbeatable', it seems that every human with half a brain has decided to contest us as well!"

"I would like to simply exterminate every last one of them," Troyce moaned, feeling his options severely limited, "but the truth is we need them! Sixty-three percent of all goods and commerce travel on human ships. If we shut that off, our entire system would collapse."

"Yes-yes-yes," Hrin agreed angrily, "we know how trade and economics work! We don't have enough ships to take over all those duties...that's why we enlist the humans we can control. The problem is that we've grown so large that we've lost oversight on too much. I'd wager that at least twenty percent of those ships would turn on us in a lita if they thought they could survive."

"More like eighty, I'd guess...especially now," Jakar added.

"So what are we going to do about it?" Troyce injected.

Jakar gave him the answer.

"We need to hunt this champion of theirs down and have him disemboweled on public video com! That's what!"

"Humph!" Troyce grunted in disgust. "That's a great plan," he added sarcastically. "You might as well condemn and execute a cloud of ether! The man's a ghost! I mean, did you see his escape from our own training ground...right here on Kreete? How the dragen sart did he pull that off?"

They all shook their heads at that, completely baffled. Their forensic team had scoured the entire compound, all the way out to the sea, and had found nothing. He'd simply vanished.

"What do we actually know about this man...this, Itsu, or Shartae, or Kaskle, or whoever he is?" Hrin queried. "It goes all the way back to the battle for Rauld, right?"

The others both nodded as information suddenly popped up on the screen where they'd been watching Grayle fight.

"We checked the DNA of this man against our entire data base and found proof that he was there, and on Caron during the insurrection as well," Jakar read, and then he let out a single deep chuckle...one of abject frustration. "The most humiliating part of this entire mess is that we had him! Why didn't they just terminate him? All this would have been avoided."

"Hindsight doesn't help us now," groaned Hrin.

"Our only conclusion is that he is in league with our old ancestors...the Rauldens," Troyce added. "That's the only way he could possibly be getting around."

"What about the Theranians?" Hrin queried. "After all, he did announce their new homeworld as protected."

"No," Troyce said, shaking his head. "We've analyzed it from several angles. Our experts feel certain that they manipulated him and his team the entire time. That's what they do best...get someone else to do their 'heavy lifting'. No, it's our ancestors all right...the Rauldens."

"And he flies that black ship...the Raulden fighter," added Jakar.

"Yes," Hrin said, "but we've made good progress on that front. The clash on Caron, where..."

"Where we failed completely?" Jakar inserted cynically.

"Where we fought that ship in close combat with our drone fighters. We've thoroughly studied the shield matrix the Rauldens use and the plasma energy their weapons fire as well, and we have developed some very promising countermeasures."

"Excellent," Jakar said, feeling a bit more optimistic. "And our fleets are employing these countermeasures?"

"All modifications of our heavy cruisers and destroyers are complete, and most of our lighter ships...as well as our carriers and their fighters. The next time that ship is seen, he'll have a grand surprise waiting."

"And just where will that be?"

"We have some ideas about how to lure him out of hiding that sound promising."

"Good!" Hrin said. "I want that black ship found and destroyed!"

### Chapter Four

### Homecoming

Ron stepped through the Starflex Portal threshold and into a quaint little cottage that he'd never seen before. He could instantly tell he was on a heavier world because of the extra load he felt, but which one it actually was, was still indeterminate.

There was a scent in the air that was familiar, yet so light as to seem almost a memory instead of an actual olfactory signal. It was the latent trace of Cache Kuar's pheromones.

Cache rarely wore perfume, but Ron's nose was trained to a heightened state by his alter ego's background, and his familiarity with that petite blonde was very comprehensive.

As he peered about, Ron's first thoughts were that the place was decidedly Raulden. The outside walls were built with large, peach-colored granite blocks that fit together so perfectly they needed no mortar, and every inch of them was literally covered in intricate artistry cut masterfully into the stonework. That exquisite decoration was interwoven throughout the house with a different theme assigned to each room, giving them their own identification of mood and purpose.

His inquisitive nature sparked more inspection, which led him to notice the walls inside the house...the ones that divided the rooms...were very thin (only about an inch thick) and appeared terribly frail. However, when he placed his hand on one, he found it as solid as any normal wall.

"Wow!" he thought, giving it a shake. "That's impressive."

"You want to show me around, Sheyah?" Ron asked his little girl who dangled comfortably across his chest in her carry-pack. (It latched securely to his sword harness and unclipped in a single deft move.)

"That is my room, Daddy!" she said eagerly, pointing at a space to the left.

She was almost two cycles old by then, (just over three years in earth time) but was easily the equivalent of most second grade children in her speech and mannerisms. However, her slow physical maturity placed her at the earliest stages of walking.

Ron set her down on the floor and watched proudly as she strolled around on her wobbly little legs.

From there, Sheyah took him on a quick tour of the small, two bedroom home. She showed him her room, her favorite toys, and even her learning station.

He stared wide-eyed at her as she waddled over to the smallest chair he'd ever seen and plopped down in it. Once there, she placed her hand on the flat panel before her and it burst into life, showing that she was in the middle of a mathematics lesson...multiplying and dividing fractions.

Ron's jaw dropped open, his mind spinning at how advanced his little girl was.

"Do you mind if I finish my work, Daddy?" little Sheyah asked in the cutest voice he could imagine. "It won't take long...I promise."

"What, sweetie? Uh...no...yes, of course....I mean no, I don't mind. You go ahead."

Sheyah giggled up at him sweetly, and then focused on her task.

It was a flash-card type of drill, to see how quickly she could interpret and solve the problems. When she initiated the assignment, the equations began to change at the rate she called out the answers. (Her fingers were still too immature to work the keypad on the workstation well enough to keep up.)

Ron followed along for a few litas as the fractions appeared and vanished, until they were blinking in and out of existence at the very limit of his own ability to solve them.

"Holy mackerel!" he told himself, kneeling next to his miniscule prodigy child. "That's your mother in you!" he realized, suddenly even more in awe of the Raulden species.

Too, at that instant, he knew he would never be able to help Sheyah with any of her homework. He just shook his head. His psyche began to feel an urge of helplessness, but his own logical nature quelled that right away.

"Their culture is thousands of years ahead of Earth. Of course they'd be amazing to us."

With that, Ron just waited patiently for his daughter to finish. It didn't take long either, barely twenty borts, until she'd completed the five hundred problem chore, at which time Sheyah's instructor on Rauld, Yaria Plante, filled the screen with her laughing and clapping figure.

"Wonderful, Sheyah!" she exclaimed, which drew a burst of giggling laughter from Ron's daughter as she basked in triumph. "Zero mistakes, and faster than all the other children! Your mother will be so proud!"

Ron leaned into the viewer's range. "I know her father sure is!" he told Yaria, grinning from ear to ear.

The instructor waved playfully at Ron, and then refocused on his daughter. "That is all for now, Sheyah. We shall see you again soon."

"Goodbye!" the little girl called back, and then the screen went dark.

"Okay, Daddy. I'm ready to go."

"Alright then," Ron said before he scooped her up once more and asked her, "Which way is it to Josy, Shey?"

The tiny tot pointed at the front door and said; "Northwest."

Ron beamed at her, incredibly surprised at her easy use of the term, and then they struck out for the Gitove mansion. "That's your dad in you," he added inside his head.

"Just a lita," called a voice from behind them as Ron reached out to signal the door to open.

It was Cache, who'd just made the trip back to her new home.

She placed her hand on the monitor beside the portal control, signaling Aanlis that she'd made it safely and that all was fine. Then she quickly strode over to Ron.

Cache was smiling, but there was something about it that drew Ron's attention. It wasn't the lighthearted, carefree grin that she'd had before he'd left Rauld just half a billot ago.

"Is everything alright?" he inquired, his stare fully engaged with her now.

Cache looked up at him as she gained his side, and hesitated just a hair.

"Yes, Ron," she answered...a bit nervously he thought.

"Did you get Arsisi calmed down?" He was still gauging her expression.

"Yes," she replied while taking Sheyah in her arms, "after a while. She is having a bit of difficulty adapting, I am afraid."

She then changed the subject so as not to infringe on Ron's present happiness. There would be time for that later. Too, she knew from experience that there was still much of Arsisi's story to confirm and investigate before taking it all as fact. Lucky for her, Aanlis and her team would do much of that while she, Sheyah, and Ron had their visit on Caron.

"Did you complete your studies?" Cache asked her daughter.

"Yes, Mother," she answered happily as Cache kissed her neck.

"She really impressed Yaria," Ron added as they stepped to the door.

"I know it," Cache replied, her voice full of pride. "She tells me that often...that Sheyah is very advanced for her age."

The door slid aside in a whiff of air and the little family strolled through it and out into the thick grass of the yard. In a blink, Ron's mind was back on what lay ahead, ready to leave Rauld and all his serious commitments behind for a good long while.

His Caronian eye-glands sprang into action immediately, easing the blazing white star's intrusion to his enjoyment. He watched Cache slip a wide-brimmed had on Sheyah when the tot flinched at the glare, and then they too looked about.

The sky was so deeply blue and clear that Ron would have sworn it wasn't real if he weren't so familiar with it. He inhaled deeply, resetting his mind to the smells and noises of that world, and it made him smile broadly.

The river to his back, the pravorts grazing to the east, birds flashing by overhead and in the trees nearby, all enveloped him in a blanket of comforting tactile inputs.

"Yes," he mentally consoled himself, "this is home!"

In the first ten paces, Ron began to come alive again, the scents and sounds of the primal land rushing in at him in a deluge.

Since leaving Kreete, he'd been either locked in the sterile confines of the _Darlile_ , or Gammone for a santari...far too long. His quick visit back to Earth had been pleasant in company, but harsh to his nose and ears. City life filled with automobile traffic, airplanes overhead, and radios blaring, no longer agreed with the incomparable woodsman.

On Caron, those distractions and annoyances were nowhere to be found, and the calming effects of nature were abundant and welcomed.

They walked casually across the wide pastureland of the Gitove farm after that, chatting about the wonderfully serene setting, while inside, Ron's nerves began to quiver. He'd missed Josy terribly over those long santaris, and hadn't really given the passage of time much thought until just then. But now he realized it had been more than two complete Caronian cycles since he'd laid eyes on that exquisite woman...and that fact worried him.

"Have her feelings for me changed in all that time?" he wondered.

Ron tried to shed his anxiousness as the huge, three-story home began to loom before them, but his innate senses wouldn't allow it. He listened to Cache playing with their daughter barely a foot away from him, but his eyes and ears failed to allow that joyful sound to break his inspection of his surroundings.

Something was not quite right. His smooth, tanned skin instantly burst with gooseflesh as he rapidly moved into his hyper-sensitive mode...tuning out every normal input around him. He'd seen no one on the entire quarter-hoz walk from the cottage, and suddenly he felt he needed to gauge just how fast he and his little family could make it back there. That place was absolutely safe...due to its Raulden security barrier...and at that moment, it was the only place he was certain of.

Ron fought against his growing anxiety though, trying not to unsettle his family, but moved out ahead of Cache just the same. Soon his brow began to bead with sweat. An earlier, much more harrowing return to the Gitove home flashed across his mind in the next moment, but he forced the bitterness of that experience away from his consciousness to keep his thoughts clear.

A few more borts brought them to within a hundred peors of the Gitove home, and Cache finally noticed her partner's tension. Her eyes quickly scanned the nearby grounds, flicking about quickly...nervously.

"Ron," she said. "What is it?"

Ron swung his gaze back around to her and found even Sheyah looking to him for answers.

He tried to soften his expression, but didn't fool them.

"Probably nothing," he said, grinning down at his little girl.

"You don't have to hide the truth, Daddy," she said back to him with incredible candidness. "I know you're worried about something."

He smiled at her with even more amazement, shaking his head as his eyes darted to the sides once more.

"It's just that I haven't seen or heard a single soul for the whole trip over from the cottage. It hasn't been this vacant since the Gitoves were hiding me from the Kreete hunting parties."

Just then however...and before Ron could suggest that Cache take Sheyah back...two individuals appeared on the eastern porch of the grand estate and stood there, staring at the approaching trio as if in utter disbelief. It was Josy and Mishea.

The trepidation he'd felt immediately vanished and Ron's heart began to pound in his chest so loudly that he was certain Cache could hear it. But if she could, she just ignored it, still looking forward and grinning broadly. Sheyah began clapping and waving at the pair.

Ron couldn't blink. His eyes were locked onto the fabulous figure of Josylinia Gitove. She stood there beside her mother like a statue. And even though she didn't move an inch, she was the epitome of grace and beauty.

Her long, flowing black hair was pulled up over her left ear and swept around until it draped down her right shoulder. In it were woven tiny yellow flowers that exuded innocence and sensuality, and gave the already heavenly woman an even greater ere of attractiveness. She was wearing a long formal gown, as was Mishea, which seemed odd to Ron, given the hot climate, but he wasn't about to complain. It was the exact color of the flowers in her hair and clung to her phenomenal figure snugly. The dress was strapless, with a deep plunge between Josy's magnificent breasts, yet demure in its soft, flowing lines. She appeared to be a woman waiting for her date to escort her to the prom...or to the opera.

As the group approached and climbed the few stairs to the level of the porch, Ron couldn't help but slow down, entranced by the unblinking stair of that angelic woman.

Josy's face seemed to match his own uncertainty about the reunion, and her face, neck, and chest were flushed with a rosy hue brought on by the welling emotions inside.

Cache continued on without hesitation, going straight to Mishea with her daughter reaching her little hands out eagerly. Mishea Gitove granted the child her wish and hugged her tightly to her breast and kissed her repeatedly on the neck. That made Sheyah giggle hard.

Cache flicked her eyes only once at Josylinia, knowing exactly how she was feeling in that moment, and then she turned Mishea around and walked with her into the house.

Josy had said nothing, and still did not. She merely stared at the god of a man who'd halted his approach five steps short of her. Her hands were trembling as she inspected him, as she combed his face for the answers she sought.

"Josy," he said softly, "I've..."

He never finished that sentence.

Before he could utter another word, Josylinia dashed forward and slammed into him hard, her hands locked in his hair and her mouth crushed to his. It was brash and direct, and swept aside all his previous concerns about how he would be received by his goddess lover. It was exactly what any man would've dreamed of.

The mere taste of her sent his heart slamming into high gear, and the way she'd attacked him throttled his inner fire to the max. Ron's arms wrapped around her instantly, and the feel of her incredible body molding itself against him was maddening...to the point that he no longer knew where he was.

The aroma of shavassy (passion flower in the Caronian language) swirled in the air as they grappled, and it brought back extremely vivid remembrances of innumerous bouts of sexual delight, all racing through Ron's mind in a flood of animalistic craving.

He lost himself in that ongoing moment of lustful desire demanded of him by the exquisite creature he clung to. Litas turned into borts as they stayed locked to one another...until finally...

Josy pulled back from Ron's return of affection suddenly, gasping and panting from the event...and from the need she was feeling throughout her entire vibrating form. Ron too was out of breath, but he was so enthralled that he'd have rather collapsed than broken that fervent spell.

"You came back!" she said to him in a hushed release of air, her glorious face just barely not touching his, and her spectacular eyes blazing at his with the fires of complete adoration and sheer, wanton lust.

Ron's expression quickly morphed from dazed by his own needs to a furrowed, intense return stare of inquisitiveness. He then drew her to him even tighter, his newly achieved strength from living all those long santaris on heavier worlds effortlessly overwhelming any retaliation she could have made...if she'd so desired that is, which of course, she did not.

"Did you ever think that I would not?" he queried heatedly, as if the mere suggestion urged him into battle-mode. "I yet draw air, don't I?"

At that statement, Josy released a smile that was like the sun bursting out after a thirty day rainstorm, and it drew a similar response from her chosen mate. Josy then laid her head on Ron's chest, her arms slipping around his wide neck.

"Oh, Ron," she breathed in a haggard, quivering release. "I have missed you so very much."

"No more than I've missed you, I assure you...but I have to tell you something."

Josy clung to him tightly, listening to his heart pounding away in that broad chest she nuzzled.

"I have to confess that I..."

Her right hand slid away from its perch and settled on his lips without guidance from her eyes, which stayed closed as she cherished his presence.

"I know, my love," she told him, which drew another furrowed look from him as he stayed quiet and just placed his cheek against the top of her head, still holding her firmly.

"Cache loves you with every cell in her body," Josy added, her position unchanged...wishing she could somehow get even closer to him. "And I know that you love her as well...very deeply and with ardent devotion."

She then released his lips and slipped her fingers back into his hair, caressing him gently.

Ron was amazed at how well she read him, his thoughts, his desires, and his conflicting emotions. There was nothing more to add to it, so he said...

"Yes, Josy...I'm sorry."

Josylinia then eased back from her close proximity and stared up at him. Her eyes danced from one of his to the other rapidly, as if frantically searching for something.

"Don't be, my love," she said softly, in almost a whisper. "I have known from almost the very moment I met you...or at least since you and I began to speak to one another...that your heart had been entwined with hers. And that is nothing to be sorry for, or ashamed of.

"Cache is a brilliant, beautiful woman of exceptional moral and ethical qualities. She is driven and resourceful...and fierce. I can find no fault in your loving her."

"But I don't wish to harm you in any way, Josy...or hurt your feelings. It has eaten away at me for so many santaris...since I found out that Sheyah was my daughter, in fact. I've been so conflicted."

"I know you have, Ron...and I understand...I truly do. You're torn between your duty to your daughter and her mother, whom you truly love...and your love for me...right?"

"Yeah," he sighed dejectedly. "Cache told me that you two have spoken about it on occasion...which, by the way, makes my head hurt to even think about. I can't begin to understand how that must have made you feel...the both of you, that is."

Josy laid her head back against Ron's chest, feeling the quivering sensation of uncertainty welling inside her again.

"Have you come to a decision?" she asked tentatively, trying not to hold her breath, or tense up, but failing.

"Yes," he said back to her while gently pushing her away until he could look directly into her entrancing, two-toned eyes. "You offered to make a home with me," he told her, "to give me children...to make a family that we could raise and enjoy together."

Josy's quivering intensified to the point that she couldn't speak, so she just replied with a fast nodding tremble.

"Then it's settled...but first..."

Again, Josy didn't allow him to finish. She shook free of his grip on her shoulders and leaped at him once more, covering his lips with hers for another long, passionate kiss. When she broke free, she slid her cheek against his smoothly shaved one and said.

"I will never give you reason to regret this, my love. To the Guardian above us, I swear it!"

"I cannot imagine that you would," he whispered back to her.

Josy's quaking and trembling doubled for the following few litas, but this time it was from elation and not from trepidation.

"Can you wait before you tell anyone, my darling?" Ron then asked, right into Josy's ear.

"Anything, Ron...love of my life. Anything for you...but may I ask why?"

Ron set her gently on her feet again so he might look at her, and it sent a hot surge of emotion through him to see the tears of utter joy sliding down her perfect cheeks.

He softly stroked them away with his large, callused hand before she grabbed his fingers and kissed them.

"On my world, a gentleman always presents his intentions to the young lady's father, and asks for his blessing before formally making a proposal to his intended. Could you grant me the time to make such a request of Karne?"

"Of course, my darling...of course."

Ron then smiled grandly at Josy and glanced about again for the first time in several borts. He suddenly realized that they'd been alone on the porch for a while, and that solitude once more perplexed him.

"Where is everyone?" he asked, pulling Josy to him in a strong hug.

"Oh," she chirped, quickly looking about as well. "I couldn't say, really. I find myself a bit distracted...for some reason."

Ron then refocused his attention on the breathtaking woman in his arms.

"You look absolutely amazing, Josy. Sorry it took me so long to tell you...but it's true. That dress is exquisite."

"Thank you, Ron. Cache told me you'd be arriving today, so I wore it especially for you...hoping you'd like it."

Ron kissed her hotly again, and then said;

"It's absolutely beautiful...but actually, all I can really think about it is how well it would look on the floor."

That forced another fantastic smile from his voluptuous lover, who easily returned his burning glare, but...

"I can't wait to show you, my love, but right now, we should go in and at least try to be social with Mother, or she'll be put out...okay?"

Ron grinned back at her and tried to clear his mind of the lewd thoughts that were swirling in his brain.

"Deal," he said. "Lead on."

Josy walked slowly into the huge house, her arms latched to Ron's and leaning against him heavily. Her waiting was finally at an end and she could begin to relax again knowing that the man of her dreams would forever be in her life.

The house was fully restored to its previous visual splendor, although Ron knew that the Kreete's advanced lighting was now gone, as well as many other conveniences they'd once enjoyed. It was well appointed with paintings and furniture that were new, which gave it a different feeling than it once had, but it was nonetheless very grand.

Ron glanced about as they made their way to the main gathering room, one so large it had four fireplaces. He clearly recalled many evenings he'd spent there with Josy during his recovery after the Retribution Games. They'd lounged on the huge, Kreete-sized couch and talked for billots in those days, when they'd first fallen in love.

But now it looked so odd to him. The lighting was very dim, and he wondered at that for a moment, but just figured that with only the two women and the house staff around, there was no need to keep the luminaires lit. He tested the air, but a strong draft was moving away from him and into that open space.

Josy kept Ron's attention by informing him that the harvest was two weeks away, how well everyone was doing, and that they had a new stable full of horses...right up until they entered the large room. Then...

"SURPRISE!" screamed at least fifty people as they jumped from behind some of the furnishings and out of the adjoining rooms.

Ron moved with blinding speed, leaping in front of Josy with his sword and his longest knife drawn and at the ready. There was even a snarl firmly on his lips before his brain recognized the cause of his consternation. At that point though, he eased up from his defensive crouch and his face returned to its calmer state...and then he grinned, stowing his blades in a flash.

Mishea then rushed forward with Cache...both smiling and laughing. Karne and Larson quickly joined them with huge, hideous grins plastered on their faces as well. Karne was holding Sheyah closely to him and she was laughing as if she'd lost her mind. Even Fraidze was there, which surprised Ron very much, still expecting him to be vacationing on Rauld.

They all moved up and hugged and patted Ron roughly, and then everyone else closed in on the couple as well.

Ron squeezed Mishea and kissed her neck.

"You got me!" he said into her ear as he felt her shuddering laughter.

"Welcome home, Ron," she replied sweetly, returning his affectionate peck. "We're so happy that you're alright."

Ron released her and snatched Cache up for a bear hug that made her gasp for air.

"You tricked me!" he growled at her playfully.

Cache grunted at the power of his embrace, but when he let up, she burst out in mirth once again. "Yep!" she chuckled.

Ron then felt himself leave the ground when Larson, Josy's brother, yanked him off the floor and showed him what a bear hug truly was.

"Welcome home, little brother!" the eight-foot-tall Kreete soldier roared at him, giving Ron a taste of what Cache had just felt.

"Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuh!" Ron exhaled hard, before Larson's grip relented and he could breathe again. "Thanks," he finally laughed out.

A moment later though, Ron was nearly knocked from his feet when Karne, the giant Reaper Class warrior, slapped him hard on the shoulder.

"You still live, little man!" his rumbling voice bellowed across the room...throughout the entire house, actually. "I was convinced some real warrior would certainly have slain you by now!"

Some of the humans in the gathering were shocked at that statement, instantly wondering if there was some bad-blood between the pair...possibly the anger of a father toward his daughter's suitor.

However, when Ron grinned up at the massive creature and said; "It wasn't for lack of trying, that's for sure!"...and Karne let out a booming belly laugh, they all realized it was harmless banter.

None there, other than Roelantish, could possibly have known how much respect that gargantuan warrior held for the relatively tiny figure of Ron Allison.

Ron was welcomed by every individual in the place after that, each person a permanent fixture at the farm. Some were the house staff, while others were liverymen, the actual farmers who planted the far-flung fields, the wood-collectors for the many fireplaces, the hunters of wild game, and so on. It took quite a large group to keep the twenty-thousand acre farm running smoothly, and Karne wanted every person to meet Ron in the flesh. He felt it important for each of them to know exactly who Ron was and that he had complete and unfettered access to any place, and anything he desired.

After the introductions were made, they all meandered out onto the sprawling front lawn where large tents were set up and a feast was laid out in grand fashion.

It was noontime by then, and so everyone gorged themselves on the fine meal and enjoyed music and dancing for several billots, as well as drink and loud conversation.

There were many toasts thrown about, many thanks too, and then Ron moved to the center of the tamped down grassy area where the dancing had taken place, hauling Josylinia with him. That wasn't difficult either because she would hardly turn loose of him, so thrilled that they were once more united.

But instead of calling for a new tune to be struck by the Thackere musicians, Ron stood tall and gazed about at all of the gathered throng, stopping when he faced Karne and Mishea reclining on one of the many benches set about.

Ron then inclined his head to the two Gitoves out of respect. Karne nodded back slightly, acknowledging the gesture. Mishea however, sat upright stiffly, her sapphire blue eyes suddenly brighter, gleaming.

"I want to thank you all for this fabulous party," Ron said to them, swinging his gaze across the group once again. "It truly is wonderful to be back, and to get to meet you."

The workers were more than a little overwhelmed of course, at having met the mighty 'Ronin' in person...actually touched him...and so they all bowed back at him in differing degrees.

"And now, I would very much like for you to witness something that has been long in coming, and sorely overdue."

With that, Ron turned to the goddess beside him and took her two hands in his, locking his gaze with hers. Josy just looked up at him with an expression of total adulation, and unreserved ease...completely unaware of what was about to happen. She trusted Ron unequivocally, and knew that she was utterly safe with whatever was to come.

Nevertheless, when she saw him slide downward until he knelt at her feet, she felt a chill race through her body. She had no familiarity of Earth customs, but knew something extremely important was about to happen. The people standing round suddenly surged closer, they too sensing the building tension, and their chatter quickly dropped to utter silence.

"Josylinia Gitove," Ron said loudly enough for all to hear. "In front of your family and all the friends who've gathered here today...and before the Guardian himself...I would ask you a question."

She felt her heart begin to race faster than a humming bird's.

"Would you, Josylinia, do me the incomparable honor of allowing me to become your husband?"

Josy just stared back at Ron, and not a soul around them breathed. Here was the most heralded, incredible, unassailable man in the known galaxy...the newest champion of the most deadly galactic contests known to man...kneeling at her feet as if she were a queen, begging for the right to be her king. It was almost too unbelievable to be true.

Slowly, Josylinia drifted downward...appearing as if she were literally floating to the ground, her ethereal movement was so graceful...until she too knelt, her eyes never leaving his.

"Could the answer possibly be more obvious, my love?" she returned as new tears filled and then escaped her exquisite eyes. "YES...YES...A THOUSAND TIMES...YES!" she screamed, and then she dove at him again, just as she'd done on the back porch.

The two lovers stayed locked in another passionate embrace for a full bort as everyone else erupted in wild applause, cheers, and whistles. And when they separated once more, they both caught the approach of the rest of their family, and so arose to greet them.

"Well done, Ron," Karne said, reaching to clasp his forearm and then slam into him, shoulder to shoulder.

"Thank you Karne, for your blessing."

Ron had pulled the mighty warrior aside about a billot previous and had been well received in his intentions.

Congratulations rushed in from everyone at that point, which took up another billot before it was done.

Ron tensed when Cache approached them. (Sheyah was in the house taking a nap with one of the house attendants who served as her Caronian nanny) She squeezed Josy tightly.

"Congratulations, Josy...really!" she said with as much emotion as the couple were experiencing. "I am so happy for you both!"

Ron couldn't help but feel sharp pangs of sorrow for her, knowing that this announcement must be cutting her deeply, but they had discussed it many times and she had been adamant.

When she hugged Ron's neck, he was certain he felt her lurch...as if from a powerful, choking sob...but her voice was steady in his ear.

"Congratulations, Ron! You deserve this."

The celebration went on for the entire rest of the day.

### Chapter Five

### Together at Last

Shortly after darkness fell upon the Gitove estate, Cache bid her farewells and took Sheyah back to their little cottage. Fraidze moved to join her since he was her guest (sleeping on a convertible foldout bed in the only available space...the living room).

Cache stopped him before he even exited the Gitove home though.

"You do not need to escort us, Fraidze. Stay and enjoy yourself. There are several available young Caronian ladies in the gathering, and I am certain you would not be insulting them if you showed interest."

Fraidze was not opposed to that suggestion, and let out a broad grin.

"Okay then, if you're sure."

Cache just winked and smiled back."

"I shall see you tomorrow."

She and Sheyah were both tired and ready for a good night's rest, but the festivities continued for several more billots as the townsfolk from Thackere seemed too enthralled in the grand event to separate themselves from it.

Finally though, when Urac...Caron's largest moon...was well past her zenith in the bright, starry sky, the last of the revelers climbed into their wagons and trundled off, and the huge house grew quiet.

Mishea sent the house servants to bed straightaway afterward.

"We will begin the cleanup in the morning," she explained. "There's no reason to miss an entire night's rest for that. Now, you all get to bed and sleep in as much as you can. We'll see you tomorrow."

She knew those country folks wouldn't snooze much past sunrise anyway, but she didn't want them jumping up because of the press of duty.

"Thank you for that wonderful welcome, Karne and Mishea," Ron told the Gitove couple. "I'm greatly honored, and extremely humbled by such a warm display."

The massive Kreete Reaper just gripped Ron on the shoulder and said; "When I first heard that you had been thrown into the Games, Ron, I must admit I thought you lost to us. But once again, you have proven yourself extraordinarily adept at surviving when all seemed hopeless. You have earned this celebration, my friend...and the next," he added, nodding to his gorgeous daughter.

Josy couldn't suppress a devastating grin at that...and neither could Ron.

"I'm so thrilled to have you back, Ron," Mishea added. "Josy simply hasn't been the same since you left...especially when you went missing for so long!"

Ron squeezed his heavenly maiden and she leaned into him, molding her figure to his.

The two couples parted at the second level and Josy led Ron by the hand to her new bedroom. It was the first Ron had seen of it because when he'd left for Rauld so long ago, it had been still under construction.

Now, as they entered the room, which was even larger than it had been because Josy had insisted it be made to accommodate Ron as well, it nearly took his breath away.

The four-peor-high ceiling was tiered with a triple level tray that some expert artisan had trimmed with multilayered crown molding that could only have been sculpted by a true master.

The furniture was even grander than the previous set, having three extra armoires along the expansive walls, presumably for Ron's wardrobe. (Although Ron instantly guessed that Josy likely had two of them already burdened with her own attire. She was a woman after all.)

The bed was easily as large as the original, but had a sturdier, more domesticated appearance to it, updating the previous, extremely feminine motif. As with the ceiling, it too was intricately carved, and matched the designs of the standing closets perfectly. The exquisite detail and flowing designs of the bedroom suit would have made a fine addition to any craftsman's repertoire, had it been on display.

Josy pulled Ron around that huge structure and into her adjacent bathroom. There, she began running water into a large tub, adjusting it to suit her personal taste. There was a thick carpet of furs lining the entire area, and a huge cabinet at one end filled with towels, soaps, and a dozen other products.

Ron also noted that there was a large tray of fruits and nuts setting just to the far edge of the tub...a midnight snack, no doubt...with a variety of drinks as well. He smiled at the excellent planning she'd made.

When the warm water was flowing heavily, and thick suds had begun to gather, Josy turned to her love.

Ron's heart rate was humming swiftly...the mere thought of Josy slipping into that tub sending adrenaline surging through his veins. He could clearly recall the incredible feel of her super-slickened skin while ensconced in such a setting.

She locked her glittering, cobalt-blue eyes onto his piercing gray ones and then, ever so smoothly, she reached behind her back...as if to scratch an itch. But with a single flick of her fingers, the seam of her beautiful gown parted and the entire garment slid to the floor like a silent yellow waterfall.

Ron's heart sprang forward into a sprint by the time that cloth had fully settled, and he stood before her quivering with licentious need. His eyes feasted on the audacious curves, the glorious dips and sweeping perfection of her body...and his breath grew shallow and quick.

"Would you permit me to bathe you, my darling?" she asked sweetly.

Ron instantly remembered how they'd initially met, and the first time she'd performed that same, exact task for him. He'd been badly crippled and racked with pain, but her sensuous attentions had brushed all that aside to give him pleasure he'd completely forgotten about during his long captivity.

Here though, he was one hundred percent whole, and the promise of that experience made him speechless. All he could manage was a nod, his eyes still scanning her incomparable figure.

Josy edged up close to Ron and slid her hands across his wide chest, searching out the magnetic seam of his shirt, and then peeled it off his broad shoulders, tossing it aside haphazardly.

Her own heart was racing by then, the anticipation of what was to come having built up over two entire cycles of anxious expectation. Her fingers stumbled at his trousers, but finally managed the task, releasing what she'd yearned for for so long.

Josy wanted to satisfy her own need immediately, but she held herself in check enough to get Ron into the large tub and settled back. From there, she climbed in with him and began scrubbing him with a soft sponge.

Ron just stared at her as she worked, his own desire showing prominently. Josy washed his face, neck, and shoulders slowly, extending the experience maddeningly, and moved downward.

Her touch was laced with electricity, and the pleasure was immeasurable.

Down his waist she moved, her own body now decorated sensuously with soapy suds that clung to the sweet mounds of her breasts and the smooth flare of her hips. It was driving Ron insane with hunger for her.

When she moved to his thighs, and then worked her way to his shaft, now prominently exposed from the water's surface, Ron jerked from the sensation. Her touch was so light, yet so incredibly stimulating! And watching her large, gently swaying breasts mere inches from him further charged the experience. The dark, ripened points of her areolas peeking through their sudsy decoration, beckoned to him until he simply couldn't resist any further. As the pressure within built steadily, Ron reached out and cupped those glorious mounds of flesh in his hands, and smiled a grand, broad, devilish smile. They were slippery from the soap, and the sliding of his fingers across their pursed surface was practically magical. Josy inhaled sharply, her eyelids falling shut from a surge of passion, and instinctually pressed herself to his touch...wanting...no; craving...his further ardent attention.

The feel of her silky smooth skin, lubricated as it was from the bath, made Ron's mouth water...but the sensation of what she was doing to him shoved that completely aside. Her fingertips continued guiding the sponge with incredibly precise, yet feathery strokes of mind-expanding pleasure that, coupled with the sight of her own quivering, fervent actions, pushed him right to the edge.

When Josy's attention suddenly changed a moment later, and she glared at him with zealous, flaming desire, it was like a trigger being pulled on his normally unassailable restraint. He clamped his jaws shut tight and inhaled deeply, throwing his head back to fight the inescapable reaction that was destined to follow, but Josy would not allow that. Instead of stopping her sensual task, she merely set the sponge aside and used her tongue.

"Uuuuuuugh!" Ron gasped, feeling the hot shroud of her lips sliding around him, coaxing along the response she demanded, and he did not disappoint her.

His panting gasps of erotic release continued for nearly a full bort, and then his breath was deep and ragged.

Josy kept up her playful attention until he'd settled back once more, but by then he was huffing in air as if he'd just sprinted an entire hoz. When he was calm again, she freed his manhood, giving it a parting kiss. Then she looked up into his eyes once more, the heat of her stare radiating across the short distance.

"Did you miss me, my love?" she whispered huskily.

Ron just returned her stare, his eyes smoldering back at her. No woman had ever seen through him so skillfully, so easily, so completely, as Josylinia Gitove. When she was in physical contact with him, it was as if she could literally read his mind.

"You have no idea!" he replied in a dry, haggard voice.

She then graced him with a breathtaking smile, downed a few gulps of her wine, and popped a large isleberry (Caronian strawberry with no seeds) into her mouth playfully. Afterward she returned to her duties and continued scrubbing Ron's legs.

"Now, it's my turn," Ron told her when she'd completed her sensual task.

"Oooooooooooh," she said back to him. "The master will tend his slave girl?"

"With the skills you have, Josy, it would be difficult to distinguish just who is the master...or mistress...and who is the slave in this relationship!"

Ron grinned slyly at her and pulled the sponge from her grasp.

He then showed her that she wasn't the only one with stellar abilities of seduction and pleasure.

Ron left no area untended or unexplored, and that cleansing sponge was followed immediately with a press of his lips, or a stroke of his tongue, or a nibble from his teeth. The erotic pressure built and built with every passing lita until Josy was panting heavier than Ron had been, and when his fingers brushed the raven patch of her nether area, she jumped sharply.

"UH!" she gasped, immediately biting her lip to quell the urge to attack him...to force him into her.

Ron needed no such prodding however.

The tub was easily the size of a four person Jacuzzi, and constructed to sit below floor level, so he merely scooped her out of it and laid her onto the thick mat of furs that lined the space like a carpet. He then dove at her as she had with him, his tongue sampling the delights of her overheated lust.

The result was nearly instantaneous.

"Aaaaaaaaaaah!" she gasped, her body arching uncontrollably while her hands locked in Ron's hair and pulled him harder to her.

Josy grunted and panted and squirmed for longer than she would've thought possible, until she could take no more...and then she shoved her lover from her in a move of ultimate desperation.

"Stop, Ron," she grunted, her entire body still quaking and shivering harshly. "No...more! I..." She couldn't think clearly...couldn't speak further.

Ron just grinned at her...very proud of himself...and let her recover. When she at last lifted her head once more, she grinned back. That's when Ron scooped her up again and returned her to the frothy water of the massive tub. He then completed his own duty, until each of her fabulous legs had been washed and caressed, and each of her dainty toes had been kissed.

They sat there a while longer, munching on the treats and sampling the drinks, until Ron figured he was permanently wrinkled, and so he pulled the stopper and stood up.

The newly constructed mansion was primitive compared with the previous version which had electrical conveniences, but Karne had at least managed a very sophisticated plumbing arrangement that allowed for a shower, even on the upper floors. Ron and Josy put that to use then and rinsed the soapy coating from their bodies.

They played and kissed and dried one another for a while longer before moving to the bed, and by then, they were both in the mood for more serious games again. They had a lot of lost time to make up for, and decided that was the perfect place to begin.

Dawn's glow was building in the east when they finally fell into slumber, and so it was nearly midday before they arose.

### Chapter Six

### Kreete Training Ground

While Ron was sleeping in with his new fiancé, Cache Kuar returned to the Gitove home, but it wasn't for a typical visit. She had a definitive task to perform, and it wasn't with the ladies of the family, even though she sought out Mishea first.

"Mishea," Cache said to the lovely woman, "Would you mind watching Sheyah for a while? I need to speak with your son."

"Not a bit, Cache," the Gitove matriarch replied, eagerly accepting her niece into her arms.

"The boys are out in the barn, getting ready for some work in the eastern pasture."

"Thank you. I will not be too long."

"Take your time, dear," Mishea told her while she nuzzled and squeezed little Sheyah.

Cache found Karne and Larson exactly where Mishea had said, attending to their gear and preparing for the day's chores.

The two warriors heard her approaching and immediately stopped their work. It wasn't often that Cache spoke with them without either Mishea or Josy beside her, so they felt certain it was important. Karne knew that she was not as comfortable with their relationship as Ron was, yet he, nor his wife or son, took offense. They were giants compared with her, standing there at more than three times her mass...not to mention the fact that their race had tried very hard to eradicate hers.

Cache smiled as warmly as she could as she drew close. In her mind...and really, in her heart too...she felt certain she had no cause to be afraid, but she had to admit that without Ron beside her, she feared those immense soldiers.

"Good morning, Karne...Larson."

The two warriors merely nodded back, feeling no compunction to ease her trepidation whatsoever. They were not trying to be rude or aloof. They were simply fighting men, trained to assess every other living creature as a viable threat, or a victim. Sensing fear from everyone who addressed them was just as common as breathing. In fact, it was more surprising when they were not feared, which typically made them more alert.

"Before you men begin your duties," Cache began, "I was wondering if you...Larson...might indulge me in some questions?"

Larson did not look to his father for permission as many humans might when standing beside their parent. He merely tilted his head and said; "As you wish."

Karne immediately returned to his previous task.

"I'll get started without you," he told Larson. "When you finish, look for me in the lower dell."

The younger soldier turned to his father and nodded.

Karne then led two huge work horses out of the barn to a wagon that was loaded with fencing materials.

Larson turned back to Cache.

"What is it that you would like to ask me?"

"Larson, as you might know, I am attempting to give aid to all the homeworlds of the members of Ron's team from the Games."

Larson nodded. They had all spoken about it on previous occasions, before Ron's return.

"Well, one of those was from a large moon...larger than my home planet actually...called Eathanius. Are you familiar with it?"

"Yes. And I assume you already knew that I was, or we would not be speaking now."

"That is correct. Your name came up in a search I did through the Kreete data stream. However, if you would have said no, I would not have pressed you. Everyone has experiences they are not comfortable with sharing."

Larson just stared at her.

She could see that she would have to initiate any actual conversation.

"Are you willing to share your experiences on that world?"

"Yes, of course."

"Excellent. Then if you would be so kind, would you please tell me what you know about Eathanius, and what you were doing there?"

Cache's head was craned almost straight up to look at him, so Larson motioned her over to a long bench that sat right outside the barn. The morning breeze was drifting by lazily, and the sky was as clear and azure as she'd ever seen it. They both took a seat.

"When I was just at the 'Scout' rank, trying to reach the seventh level so that I might advance to the next stage, I was sent to Eathanius with seven thousand other Scouts of equal standing. We were there for survival training.

"It is a world with strong gravity that tested our strength and endurance, but was also known for its supreme challenges. The most unique of those is its atmosphere."

"Really?" Cache queried, seeming quite surprised.

"Yes. On Eathanius, there is no color to the sky. It is not blue, or green, or red, or yellow...or any combination of those primary colors. It is simply bright...as if you were sealed inside a frosted white dome with two extremely luminous bulbs on the outside shining in. This is caused by an unusually thick layer of ozone in the upper atmosphere, combined with three other gases that normally cannot cohabitate. It is a peculiarity specific to that world. The mixture bonds them all into what appears to be a dense cloud that completely surrounds the planet.

"Of course with that type of filter on the incoming light, it leaves a person terribly unsettled because of a singularly disturbing feature...there are no shadows."

"Remarkable!" Cache sighed in disbelief. "I had not thought of that."

"Yes, most people would not...nor did I when we were cautioned about it. However, take it from me, even though you would not think it an important part of your general mindset, try living without it for a few dactrais. It eats away at your subconscious."

Cache nodded thoughtfully while she considered that.

"In any event, such a flood of light from every direction leads to another disconcerting detail. When standing on the surface of Eathanius, there is no means of location or direction whatsoever. Without a chrono, you cannot tell what time of the dactrai it is, which way is east, west, or so on. That bizarre trait leaves you extremely disoriented.

"And, I was told that if you were unfortunate enough to be picked up late, the night is so black that you think you've literally gone blind."

Cache's eyebrows rose at that, imagining that scenario. She'd been through a few nights on Caron that were shrouded in thick fog and knew what he meant. She even recalled the thought in those circumstances that her eyes were not actually open at all. It was a terribly disquieting feeling.

"Besides the queer sky, there are also some extremely vicious creatures that roam the moon, and the indigenous humans are highly dangerous as well.

"Those natives do not have power or advanced weapons, but what they lack in armament, they make up for in bravery, ferocity, and ingenuity.

"The moon revolves around its parent planet, Tropia...and Tropia is a massive gas giant, so it takes a very long time for the moon to complete a single orbit. Those two parameters produce a world where daylight lasts for three torjournes, and the black of night lasts for one."

"Daylight lasts for three torjournes?" Cache questioned. "How can that be? It has but one star."

Larson grimaced...the equivalent of a smile to a Kreete warrior.

"Even though Eathanius spins like any other habitable world...and as you said, has but one star...the sunlight reflecting off of Tropia is equally as bright, so...like on Rauld...there is no 'night'. At least until the moon drops back into the shadow of the gas giant."

Cache was quiet for a few moments as she considered different things. Then...

"What are the people like?"

Larson grinned again.

"The ones I met were very good trackers, excellent hunters, well-coordinated in their attacks, and tough."

That wasn't exactly what Cache had meant.

"Do they live in villages or cities? Are they farmers or nomads?"

"That depends heavily on the topography of the region, but mostly they live in communities built underground."

"Underground? Why is that?"

"You must understand; during the daytime billots, the sunlight is so intense that they cannot stay out in it the entire time. That's why their skin is so dark, too. To protect them from the radiation.

"In the plains areas, they hunt whatever crawls, jumps, or gallops across those grasslands. Antelope is the largest meat source animal, and they kill them by running them down and spearing them. Those particular people do not even have bows. And those vast open areas are also scattered with menacing felines of five different types.

"In the jungles, the natives use many different methods to kill or capture game. Bows, blow-tubes, and snares of a hundred types are their arsenal. The canopy of the forests give them some relief from the star's bombardment, but the heat and humidity in there is nearly unbearable, so they seek out the cooler realm beneath the surface."

"So which area were you sent?"

"Both. But not in the same training tour."

"How often do the Kreete send recruits to Eathanius?"

"Twice a cycle, they drop seven thousand soldiers planet-side...but they are intentionally situated far apart and so each is left to his own devices...to survive or not."

"What do you mean exactly? I thought it was a training ground."

"It is a survival mission. Every Kreete soldier is launched from a shuttle at an altitude of three thousand peors, a minimum of a hundred hoz apart. No soldier is allowed to seek help from another, nor are they permitted to give help. Out on the plains they are provided a single knife and a pelu (Kreete gallon) of water. No armor is permitted. No enhancers (binoculars). No powered devices of any kind can reach the ground. By our own decrees, those in charge of the training do not pollute the natives with advancements of any kind."

"Other than the knives," Cache clarified.

Larson considered that a moment, and then nodded.

"Yes. That is correct. When a recruit dies, his weapon is left behind as a reward of the kill. The Kreete commanders say it inspires the natives to fight harder."

"And how long is the survival test?"

"It begins when the moon breaks out of Tropia's shadow, and it ends when the night draws near again."

"Three torjournes!" Cache cried. "With just the one ration of water, no food, and a knife?"

"Yes," Larson replied flatly. He didn't understand her surprise.

"And just what is the percentage of survival?"

"Well, as you might imagine, that fluctuates, but on average, about forty-two percent."

Cache was shocked at that number. The Kreete were so large and fierce, she had difficulty understanding why so many would perish against humans.

"So, how did you fare? And to what regions were you sent?"

"My first tour put me in the rolling grassland plains of the northern hemisphere. I was lucky enough to make a kill on my third day. It was one of those antelopes I spoke of. I saw a herd of them grazing in a western direction, so I outpaced them and lay down in their path in the tall grass. I stayed still for twenty billots, until the group had moved all around me. It was nerve-racking business, and I felt like I was cooking alive out there, exposed as I was, but when one animal got within fifty peors, I dropped it with my knife."

"Fifty peors. That was an excellent toss."

Larson shrugged.

"The kill scattered the herd, but I was no longer interested in them. I ate it raw, right there where it fell...and it was a good thing I did."

"Why is that?"

"Because within a billot, a pack of mineris (Eathaniun tigers) popped up over a hilltop searching for the blood scent. I cut off a good-sized flank steak, wrapped it in my personal tarp and headed downwind as fast as I could.

"Right when I thought I'd lost them, I realized that the Eathaniuns were also tracking me. Over the next two and a half torjournes, I evaded them as best I could, fought when I was forced to, and nearly starved to death. I think the only way I made it was because they could not take the horrendous intensity of their star when it was directly overhead. They had thousands of burrows dug into the hillsides, just so they could escape it. Luckily, the genetic enhancements I'd been given left me well protected, so I used those periods to distance myself from pursuit."

"That sounds like a horrible experience."

At that point, Larson grinned an awful grin, nodding his head.

"When the retrieval squad came, I wanted to cheer so badly that I nearly did...but that would have shown weakness. Instead, I just loaded up and tried to look bored."

Cache was truly amazed that he admitted such frailties to her. The Kreete she'd interacted with always seemed so arrogant and proud. It was strange to hear that they were more like men than she'd imagined.

"How many men did you kill?"

"Five."

"And the next time?"

"That came about when I moved from Hunter-Class to Slayer. I was dropped in the deep forest, in mountainous territory. I was allowed a knife and a bow there, but the bow was not a normal Kreete weapon. It was constructed of the same materials as the native men had access to...so that it if it were lost it would eventually rot and fail...so as not to give any group an advantage against their enemies.

"Taking down game was much easier that time, plus there were many edible fruits in the trees. However, the forest people of Eathanius are remarkable. Ron reminds me of them a great deal. They were practically invisible, and if I hadn't been so experienced by then, I have little doubt that I would not be here now. My strength, speed, and claws saved me many times and kept me alive during that tour.

"Many of the animals of the woods use venom to survive, and that was nearly my undoing as well. Out of blind fortune, I stumbled across the only natural antidote for black asp poison while scaling a cliff to avoid an ambush. It saved my life two dactrais later.

"I killed only four men that time, but had a dozen wounds from them and their fellows. And I got this row of scars from a boniry (Eathaniun leopard)."

Larson leaned down and exposed his left shoulder where five evenly spaced welts went from there to his waist.

Cache looked at his display while her mind went into overdrive. He straightened up once more and gazed down at her, but said nothing. He was awaiting more questions.

"So, may I assume that trying to contact the people there would be hazardous?"

Larson let out a deep chuckle.

"Over the past century and a half, the Kreete have basically trained every person on that moon to expect death to come from anything that flies. They have built their entire society around that fact. It is possible that someone like you...small, beautiful, and feminine...might get their attention long enough to plead your case, but I would have to advise against that."

Cache nodded slightly, her thoughts racing along.

"If you are thinking of giving them the protection of your planet shield, I would suggest that you just do it. You could never get a true consensus among the thousands of tribes anyway, even if you could survive the initial contact with them. Also, I suggest you schedule it to initiate during the 'night' period. That way you won't have to worry about leaving Kreete ships in the atmosphere, or soldiers down on the surface.

"If the training missions stop, it won't take more than five or six generations before the Kreete will be merely a story the natives tell to their children. The natural pace of their evolution should quickly return to normal."

Cache had to agree that Larson's logic was sound.

"Well, I thank you, Larson...for your insights," she told the massive fellow. She then rose and faced him, watching his gargantuan stature rise until it towered far above her. "And I think I will take your advice."

"Glad I could help," he grumbled back down at her, and then he turned and headed off to where Karne had gone.

### Chapter Seven

### A Tenuous Relationship

Cache had gathered Sheyah up again and returned to her cottage before Ron and Josy even awakened. She was headed back to Rauld to check in and do a bit of planning, and she didn't want to distract Ron in any way, not that she could have.

The two lovers arose slowly and did little that day other than meander about the vast estate and grounds, telling one another the stories of what they'd each experienced during the long separation. No one interfered or intruded on them even once, and Josy hung on Ron's arm as if she'd become physically attached to him. She was so profoundly grateful for his return that several times she caught herself pressing her cheek to his tanned skin just to make sure she wasn't simply dreaming.

Even Mishea and Karne gave them a wide berth, except at meal times, when the giant Kreete warrior couldn't resist firing question after question at Ron. He wanted to know everything about the Games, and also about the villainous Reckors, who the Triad had never come in contact with.

By sundown, Ron felt as if he'd never talked so much during a single day in his entire life.

The following day began much earlier, and Ron quickly worked his way back into the routine he'd developed way back when he was recovering from the Treochy's attack. Josy stuck to him tightly still, unwilling to release him from her sight, and they chatted a great deal again.

Before finding that Caronian beauty, Ron wouldn't have imagined that he could be so compatible with another individual as he was with Josylinia. He'd loved the company of his wife to an extent that made most other men shake their heads, and found Cache's presence equally as enjoyable and stimulating, but being with Josy was almost like having himself merged with her. She always knew exactly when to give him room and when he wanted to feel her touch...when he needed to hear her voice and when to fall silent...when a kiss was desired and when desire was far beyond that.

After a week, the pair were so synced that it was hard to imagine they'd been apart for so long.

Josy did more than just pant after her heartthrob too, working her farm chores around his exercise regimen, just as before, and with Ron beside her they were a marvel of efficiency and teamwork. That partnership even gave them time to have a good amount of fun, which led to numerous sessions of playful hijinks. Josy was a shrewd little devil of practical jokes and mischief, which kept Ron both amused and on his toes to prevent falling victim to them.

The only drawback to their play became obvious one glorious afternoon however.

The two were in the barn when Ron mistakenly opened a high cupboard door which held a large bucket of water precariously balanced upon its latched restraint. It dumped its entire load fully into his unsuspecting face. Josy burst into such a huge belly-laugh that it sent Ron into mock rage, roaring at her as if he were facing Draake Tarbold once again.

The raven-headed beauty chirped sharply and dashed away, but Ron caught her quickly and tossed her ten feet through the air into a huge pile of freshly stacked feed straw...and then he dove in after her.

The feel of how easily Ron overpowered her...his strength having increased in his absence by a staggering amount...sent shockwaves through her body. And that, combined with the sensation of horizontal flight, literally took her breath away, leaving her startled, exhilarated, and incredibly aroused!

She flung a couple of handfuls of straw back at him in a lackluster attempt to keep him at bay, but he was upon her in a blink nonetheless. They wrestled and laughed a few more litas, but Ron could read the fire in Josy's eyes and see the flush of crimson across her entire body, so he granted her inclination. A moment later he'd tossed her skimpy attire to the side and held her pinned beneath his bulk, her hands locked over her head in his iron grip and a rather hefty part of him skewering her delicate region. Josy's eyes clenched shut as she arched herself against his intrusion, squirming and twisting maddeningly as the feel of their coupling tore through her like wildfire.

They writhed and grunted in the pleasure of their lust for several borts...until...

Ron's keen hearing caught the light footsteps of Mishea's approach, but he was unwilling to cease his conquest, so he merely snatched up the bit of cloth that made up Josy's halter top and covered her mouth with it just as she peaked.

Luckily, the horses near the large door that Mishea had entered were shuffling their way toward her for the snack they knew she was bringing them, and their plodding and rubbing against the wooden pen drowned out the erotic release of elation that Josy was grunting out.

Ron fully intended to withdraw from his overheated lover when her spasms subsided, just to keep from being caught in such an embarrassing situation, but the exquisite feel of Josy's explosive climax was merely too much to ignore. Before the focus could return to those entrancing two-toned eyes, Ron was burying his face in the thick mound of straw while his own scalding eruption of passion filled her cradle with its own undeniable reaction.

Josy clung to him desperately with all her strength, her body coursing with waves of ecstatic submission even as she struggled to withstand his sensual onslaught. She knew that something was different just then; the act being far more...aggressive...than was normal, even for Ron. Fortunately, to her relief, the experience fell short of painful, although not by much, and so even as her own quaking still vibrated through her, she began to wonder at the cause of his fervency.

A moment later, Josy felt a new vibration, but it wasn't the typical tremors of her love's downward slide...it was low and deep, almost subsonic to anyone not in physical contact with him. It was a growl!

No other person could possibly have heard that sound, but the animals in the confines of the barn certainly did, and their startled, frightened reactions gave away the pair's location.

Every creature in that huge structure suddenly shied away from the hay storage pen, backing up in their stalls and staring directly at where Ron and Josy lay coupled. Mishea reacted much as they did simply because she was all too familiar with the temperament of beasts. She knew instantly that something was in there...something they feared.

Josylinia was the only one who knew where that utterance had originated though, and didn't fear for her safety in the least. She was absolutely certain to the very atoms of her being that Ron Allison would never consciously hurt her in any physical manner, but she worried in that moment about what exactly was going on with him.

Crude tools of multiple styles hung about the barn at various locations, each having a different use or purpose, so Mishea carefully pulled a nearby scythe from its hook and edged forward. She was beautiful, highly educated, refined, and diminutive of stature, but she was also Karne Gitove's wife...and had been well schooled in the arts of self-defense and weaponry.

Ron suddenly raised his head once more and cocked it to the side, listening to that approach. His pupils were immensely dilated in the dim lighting, but were piercing as well, showing his unusually intense inspection. His glare was filled with fury and his lip lifted at the corner, forming a contemptuous sneer...and the rumbling continued.

Josy managed to wriggle one hand free and cautiously reached up to lay it on Ron's cheek, gently urging his face around to meet hers. When it did, she saw something she'd thought he'd left behind him more than three cycles in the past. She saw the blazing, searing fire of the beast of the Retribution Games. She saw no fear, no compassion, and no mercy. She saw Shartae the Invincible!

What had triggered the reaction was a total mystery to her. Was it the scent of the animals? Was it the scent of her? Was it the primordial drive of his inner self, sparked by the primitive location and the fact that they'd been nearly caught in the act of copulation? She was clueless to the answer of why, but that didn't matter in that moment. She needed to bring him back...fast!

Mishea took another few steps closer, her heart racing by then, and that triggered Ron even further.

"RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!" he rumbled, the sound crackling through the enclosed building like the warning of a Bengal tiger.

Josy heard her mother's feet crunch to a halt in the dry dirt of the barn's central walkway, although she didn't know it was her.

"Stop!" she called sharply. "Whoever is out there...leave now...and quickly!"

Ron was still joined with Josy, leaving her in a very helpless position, but she did nothing to alter that. She needed to diffuse the situation, not cause more angst. Instead of trying to squirm out from under him, she instead, interlaced her legs with his and whispered into his ear which was merely inches from her lips.

"Ron Allison, my love...my life," she breathed in a velvety exhalation. "Come back to me. Calm yourself, Ron."

Mishea recognized her daughter's voice immediately of course, but hesitated to leave, having heard that bone-chilling growl. And then the realization of just who was most certainly with Josy hit her! She hadn't been around when Ron first slept in their home, when moments of fury and aggression roared out from his lips in sporadic fits of delirium, but she had listened to Josy's stories enough to connect the dots. Also, she'd seen Ron in man-to-man conflict with her enormous husband and knew immediately that she was practically helpless if he attacked her, no matter what weapon she might wield.

Mishea took her daughter's advice then, and back-pedaled to the opening of the barn hastily, dropped the scythe in the grass, and ran!

The removal of that encroaching stimulus allowed Ron to ratchet down a notch...to cool the blaze. His ears soon began to hear more than just threat.

"Baushe`," he finally deciphered.

That word, spoken in the soft, delicate voice of his heart-song, began to extinguish the fire of battle that stoked within.

After another few litas, Ron recognized his surroundings again...the barn, the scent of the horses, the chickens, the hay...and then his focus locked onto Josy. Her gaze was filled with loving worry, and that registered soon afterward.

He blinked once, and then smiled.

Josy's face transformed instantly. He was back. She blasted him with a grin as bright as Caron's star...and then she tugged his face down to hers and kissed him deeply.

When they separated a few borts later, Ron gazed lovingly back at her...and then his face morphed to puzzlement. He knew something had just occurred, but it was just a hazy, onerous feeling.

"What happened?" he finally asked.

"You don't remember, Baushe`?"

Ron rolled his thoughts back for a few litas.

"We were making love," he said slowly, "and then I heard someone at the doorway...a woman...most likely Mishea, I would guess. I tried to keep you from crying out, from...well...you know...and then...I dunno. I felt this heat surge up inside me. It was primal...barbaric...violent. It was...jeez...I dunno...and then you were looking at me and whispering to me...pleading with me."

Ron then separated himself a bit further from Josy's nude figure, noting many areas on her body that were very red, even through her dark tan.

"Did I...hurt you?" he asked.

Josy sat up quickly and reached out for his hand, clasping it tightly in hers.

"No, Baushe`!" she assured him. "You did 'not' hurt me!"

Her expression was too emphatic though, to truly assuage his misgivings. She saw it in his eyes.

"You were a bit more...aggressive...than normal," she admitted, seeing his keen inspection, "but I was not harmed. You just seemed to lose yourself for a few borts."

She then smiled at him seductively. "It was actually quite erotic, now that I think about it."

Ron smiled back, but his eyes flicked from one rosy spot to another, and Josy followed his examination.

"You have grown stronger, my love," she admitted with a few quick eye-brow raises, "since our last time together."

Ron grinned back at her, but he'd learned to read her almost as well as she could read him, and so he kept prying.

"I scared you...didn't I?"

Josy knew better than to try and hide the truth from him, especially when she was certain the incident would not die then and there. In fact, she was surprised that her father wasn't already rushing in. She quickly explained what had happened while she slipped back into her clothes, which wasn't easy with straw stuck to nearly every part of her body.

Ron dressed as well, listening carefully to her story.

Just as she'd feared, Karne came dashing into the barn as soon as they stepped out of their little love-nest.

As usual, it was almost impossible to tell what he was thinking, his grotesque face being so thoroughly covered in inked artistry that an expression was virtually invisible, but he made it clear with his words.

"Are you alright?" he asked of his little girl in a booming, angry tone. She was his one and only daughter, and he felt intensely protective of her, even when it came to Ron whom he admired more than any man not blood kin to him.

"Of course, Father," she replied, breaking free of Ron and running to him to ease his anxiety. "I'm perfectly fine."

"But Mishea said..."

"Well," Josy began, stepping back from Karne so she could look up at him better. He'd dropped to one knee, but still loomed over her.

Ron kept his distance. He was armed with his throwing knives, but held no sword. Karne was dressed as usual...fully armed for battle, as any good Kreete warrior should always be. For all practical purposes...at least against the giant Reaper...Ron was as defenseless as Mishea had been.

Josy was a bit shy about what to say, but she relented to the full truth.

"Ron and I were...together...in the hay over there, when Mother walked in and surprised us...actually...surprised him because I didn't even know she was there for a while. I don't know what exactly happened, but something about the situation set Ron off...and he scared Mother."

"You threatened my wife?" he asked of Ron in his overly deep, rumbling, gravelly voice. His enormous fingers clenched into fists the size of basketballs as he rose, and he took a half step forward.

Ron was as embarrassed as he'd ever been, feeling completely sick about the entire mishap. He'd behaved dishonorably toward someone who'd never shown the slightest inclination of menace toward him. It was demoralizing, and filled him with disgust. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head in submission.

"I offer no excuse, Karne. If you wish, I will leave your wonderful home and never return."

Josy nearly panicked, knowing that Ron meant it and terrified that her father would accept.

Karne turned to his daughter. He knew she adored Ron, but was still filled with dread about that little wild-man. Could he be truly trusted with his most valued treasure?

"Were you injured?" he asked as softly as he could manage.

Josy wouldn't lie to her father, and she knew she would show bruises over the next few days that couldn't be denied, so she changed tactics.

She smiled up at Karne and placed both her hands on his forearm which was the size of her thigh.

"Father," she smiled up at him. "Have you never 'injured' Mother?"

Karne stiffened just a bit...almost indignant at the question...but then he relaxed again. He obviously saw the logic in her question.

"Humph," he returned.

After a few moments of consideration, Karne hugged Josy roughly and rose.

"No harm done, I suppose," he agreed. "But, Ron..."

"I will apologize to Mishea immediately," Ron blurted out, still kneeling with his head down. He truly loved her as he loved his own mother, and would never think of harming her.

"Oh...well, yes...I guess you should, but that is not what I...stand up, Ron, and face me for the Creator's sake."

Ron rose and stepped up to his future father-in-law.

"Do you know what caused the...incident?"

Ron just shook his head. "I have no idea, really."

"I do," Josy piped in. "Or at least, I think I do."

Both warriors turned to the brunette goddess.

"I think it's because of the life he's been forced to live over the past cycle and a half. He's been threatened, attacked, abused, manipulated, imprisoned, tortured, and I don't know what all else. He needs time away from the warring, the struggling, and the mistrust. He needs time to be at peace...time to relax...time to love and be loved. He needs me."

Ron couldn't agree more with her assessment, and her words filled him with delight. She moved over to him and wrapped her arms about his waist, placing her cheek to his broad chest.

The tension of the scene quickly dissolved after that, and Mishea graciously forgave Ron his moment of anger and menace when he apologized. However, it placed everyone on alert for any more signs of volatility.

The parental Gitoves kept a watchful eye on Ron over the following days, but all they saw was a pleasant, helpful, hardworking man who loved their daughter completely, and so after a couple of weeks everything returned to normal. He by no means turned into a passive or spineless fellow, but there were no more occurrences of unexplained aggression.

The next harvest found Ron and Josy teamed up again, working the section of buonta beans they'd worked before, but this time, they were not hiding out in seclusion. At least a hundred townspeople took the time to walk or ride all the way over to them to spend a few moments in the presence of what they all had decided was Caronian royalty. No one could imagine a mightier king, nor a more beautiful and deserving queen.

After living a santari on the Gitove farm, Ron really couldn't conceive of a better life. He had everything he needed there, and sometimes wondered why mankind had ever wanted to advance at all. Life was simple on Caron, and at least for the time being, there was peace.

Cache visited often with Sheyah, and left her with Ron several times while she travelled back to Rauld to continue the struggle out in the galaxy. She declined to discuss those plans with him though, openly acknowledging exactly what Josy had said...that he needed the time away to recharge. They had agreed on six santaris, and she would not break that pact.

Ron grew much closer to his daughter too, due to their time together, and hated to see her go when she went with her mother back to the cottage. Sheyah was a marvel to the man of two worlds, and he could see Cache in her at every turn. She was brilliant, defiant, and shrewd, even at such a young age.

One cool, breezy night, when Josy and Ron lay in bed together, she could tell his mind was on Sheyah, so she snuggled up tightly to her dream lover and made him an offer.

"Would you like to have children with me?"

Ron just grinned broadly and said; "Of course I would. When would you like to start?"

"Really?" Josy squealed.

"Well, yeah! Why on Earth...that is, Caron...would I not?"

Josy looked off into the darkness and shrugged.

"I don't know," she said. "You never talk about it, so I didn't know. I thought that maybe since you had Derek with Angela, and Sheyah with Cache, that you might feel uncomfortable about starting another family. Cache has explained to us that your culture is not like ours."

"Well," Ron returned after he'd considered her statement for a moment, "I do suppose that's true...at least to a degree."

"You feel guilty for not being with your wife and son?"

"Yes, of course I do. But that was...is...unavoidable."

"But you still feel the remorse?"

"Yeah...I'm sorry...but I have to admit that I do."

"And Cache? You feel guilt-ridden that you have not made your life with her...for the sake of Sheyah?"

Ron paused a long while at that. He didn't want to cause Josy pain, even in the slightest degree.

"Yes, Josy...I'm afraid that's true too. On my world...at least in my family...it is despicable for someone to have a child with a woman and then choose another to live their life with."

There was a long pause...and then...

"You still care for her deeply, don't you...Cache, I mean...even though we are to wed?"

Ron couldn't look away from such an important question, even though he wanted to badly. He tensed, but replied; "Yes."

"Then," Josy asked softly, without anger or anguish in her lovely voice, "why is it that you are here with me?"

"You sure you want to hear this?"

She already knew what he was going to say, so she nodded and smiled sweetly.

"Cache convinced me that it would be for the best...for me personally...but please believe me, Josy, I'm absolutely in love with you...truly."

"I know you are, Baushe`. Really, I do. And her reasoning is unerringly correct, as usual. When I told Father that you needed me...you remember...back after that 'incident' in the barn...I meant it. Here you have a refuge. Here you have tranquility. And here, you can have a family...if you want it."

Ron pulled her to him tightly, filling his senses with the undeniably sensuous feel and distinctive scent of her body. Holding her was like a drug of euphoria.

"I want that very badly, Josy...but I still feel..."

"That leaving us to perform the work you and Cache are driven to do would be like abandoning us?"

Ron took another breath. "Yes."

Josy lay there in his arms a while longer before speaking again. She recognized that she needed to understand Earth's society much better before trying any further with Ron.

"Well, Baushe`, I'm afraid that I'm drifting. We'll have to take this up another time."

She gave him a light peck on the lips and then they fell asleep quickly, intertwined with one another.
Chapter Eight

### The Moon of Tropia

Eathanius; home to Dexratlige Marrsoman Ruubin, was as unlikely a place for life to develop as ever there was. It was a class 10.2 planet only because its rotation was so abnormally slow, and that was due to the close proximity it held to a giant gaseous planet; Tropia. Tropia was the size of Jupiter, although its density...and therefore its gravity...was fifteen percent greater.

The moon was one of eighteen, and it whizzed around its massive parent world at a staggering speed, taking only twenty-one Kreete dactrais to complete a tremendous orbit. For most of that journey, the world was bathed in sunlight, from direct exposure to the central star, and from the nearly equal amount of radiation reflected off its gaseous prime. That being the case, the temperature on Eathanius' surface warmed up quickly to a baking degree, and even with its thick, hazy atmosphere to diffuse the barrage of light and heat down to a survivable level, it was an environment fraught with deadly hazards, just as Larson Gitove had described.

Furthermore, while not discounting its impressive haste, a third of its orbit...more than a full torjourne...placed it in the shadow of that massive sphere, and thereby firmly in the grip of the cold clutches of space. That alone made existence on its surface a tenuous task of nearly constant peril.

If it weren't for the gravitational stress that Tropia placed on the moon, it likely would be barren of life, but that constant flexing and stretching of its malleable crust generated enough internal friction to keep the surface viable for habitation...but just barely.

Most of the mammals of the moon were forced to live in the shadows of the thick verdure or underground much of the time to prevent the star's deadly rays from literally roasting them alive, and the deep, penetrating cold from freezing them to death. But as with every other world, evolution had accomplished miraculous wonders there too, and so the grazing animals had developed ways to combat their harsh environment. They'd developed super-thick hides crowned with dense tufts of fur that both shielded them from the intensity of the radiation when in the sunlight, and insulated them against the bitter frost during the long night. Those adaptations were truly gifts from the Creator. However, just like other worlds as well, such evolvements were not specifically resigned to those animals. Their predators were equally enhanced. That made life on the open surface a constant battle for survival that drew the attention of even the most advanced species.

The only creatures intelligent enough to openly...and intentionally...combat the dilemma of extreme opposites were the humans, but they were hampered badly by the narrow bands of time they were free to roam and explore, and to hunt and plant. Therefore, even though their solar system was old by most standards, the Eathaniuns had developed very slowly in comparison to the average sentient species of the galaxy.

When the Kreete found their world and made themselves known, the natives considered their most advanced mode of conveyance to be the twenty-man canoe. It was sleek and fast upon the water, and when coupled with the proper canopy, allowed for long, nonstop journeys that would normally take three or four stops on foot. That conveyance connected many tribes that lived along rivers, but it was restricted to those narrow avenues...not fit for the open oceans. Those broad expanses of salt water yielded untold riches in food supplies, yet held equally as many perils due to the tides being so extremely violent as well as inherent storms of even greater ferocity.

Across the land, horses, nor any other beasts large enough to carry a man were able to be domesticated. There simply wasn't time enough to tame and train them. That being the case, running was still the most efficient way of traveling any real distances. Toward that end however, the humans had made impressive strides. It was nothing for a man or woman to run for five or six billots without a break. That ability alone let them spread across the globe, from one subterranean safety point to the next, and to chase the sprawling herds of grazing creatures they required for sustenance.

In the beginning, the Kreete seemed like Gods to the Eathaniuns, and so the natives worshipped them as such. They didn't experience the reviled taste of animosity toward the men from the stars as most do because they were so far separated from them. They just accepted their roles as servants, even so far as to erect monuments and shrines to the Kreete Lords, and to offer them gifts.

The Kreete took a liking of their generosity, finding their women of exceptional beauty, strength, and stamina. And at first, the natives considered it a great honor to have someone from their meager villages or tribes be selected to serve the Lords, but over time it became clear that the lust of the 'Gods' was becoming too much.

It took a single successful revolt to show the Eathaniuns that the Lords were not Gods, and that they could match their fierceness with the giants. The tale of that act was carried across the planet over the following decade, which abruptly shifted the Kreete's interest in their society. That's when Eathanius was transformed in the minds of the Kreete from a place of amusement to one of survival.

Now, for the past one hundred and forty-three cycles, the Lords had sent their troops to Eathanius to either live or die...as proof of their worthiness to be counted part of the Kreete Triad.

Sometimes, during the collection phase of the mission, the Kreete would capture a few of the natives to use as playthings in their various games or endeavors. Many of those were sold off to live out the remainder of their short lives in one slave camp or another. Such had been the fate of Dex.

With all the enticements of Eathanius however, the one thing the Kreete absolutely detested about the moon was the long, dark, cold periods. Thereby, they were always sure to leave during those times and return only when the dawn arrived. Their species did not see well in the nighttime, and the cold was too unpleasant for the activities they enjoyed.

In fact, because of the propensity of their species abandoning the moon at regular intervals, it left a huge window for a newcomers' insurgence just as Karne's youngest son had proposed.

Therefore, during one of those dark times, a spaceship so black as to appear to be a stray shadow in the night sky glided down to the surface of the moon at a predetermined location. It was unmanned, yet not a drone, having a cyber-intelligence that bordered on cognizance. That ship's mission was to find a suitable sight and deliver a special pair of Cnauts, ones specifically designed for a unique set of tasks. Once in position, they began immediately.

Just as on three other worlds, they worked in remote areas, converting and creating the available resources into elaborate, highly advanced technological structures. Those structures incorporated the necessary...and abundant...geothermal energy reserves from the moon itself, and transfigured it into a powerful electrical grid. That grid would soon become the savior of Eathanius' people, but they would never even know it...at least not for many, many generations.

Once the delivery was made and the process had begun, the black ship lifted off and streaked away to its next objective, just as the moon began to see the burgeoning glow of daylight.

### Chapter Nine

### Old Friends

Cache stepped through the portal and back into her Caronian home just in time to see Fraidze Zanferi leaving to meet one of the local ladies he'd met at Ron's party. They'd been seeing one another regularly since that celebration.

"Fraidze," she called out, stopping the large man in his tracks by the sheer surprise of her entrance. "When you get back, I would very much like to speak with you...if you do not mind."

The huge fellow was instantly intrigued, and so closed the door and strolled over to her.

"I've got time now, Cache. What's up?"

"Well, I do not wish to inconvenience you by..."

Fraidze waved her apology aside off-handedly.

"Come on, little missy...what's on your mind?"

Cache motioned him over to the sitting area and took a seat. Fraidze did likewise and waited for her explanation.

"Well, it is a matter of your assistance that I would like to talk about."

"Really?" Fraidze exclaimed. "You want 'my' help?"

He'd often spoken with Ron about his blonde-headed partner and so was somewhat familiar with her brilliance and her grand mission to help liberate worlds...not to mention she was extremely easy to look at as well.

"Yes. If you are willing."

Fraidze just nodded slightly, his expression still one of puzzlement.

"Ron has told me about your past...about how you were captured by the Kreete and sent to prison."

Fraidze blushed heavily, feeling a bit betrayed by Ron at that announcement. He wasn't overly proud of his 'less than noble' occupation that had led to his arrest, and had kept it mostly to himself. Yet he heard nothing of judgment or condemnation in her voice. She seemed merely curious.

"Yeah...what about it?" he probed.

"You transported goods in secret...outside the scope of the Lords...did you not?"

Fraidze was growing more uncomfortable by the lita, and quickly wished he'd put off their little chat until he'd gotten back from his date. By then he might have been in a more relaxed mood.

"Yes, that's right," he acknowledged.

"Excellent!" Cache said, smiling grandly. That really got Fraidze' attention. "I was wondering if you might be able to help me acquire a ship...to move some equipment to a certain...highly secure facility."

"Oh!" he replied, finding himself suddenly delighted to be of assistance. "Sure...I suppose. What is it that you're hauling?"

"We can leave that until later. First, let us discuss where we might 'procure' the ship I need."

Fraidze liked the way she emphasized 'procure', and so he grinned even more.

"I knew a few people in the Hosteir Sector who might be able to help, if they're still around."

"Are these people trustworthy?"

Fraidze had to smile at that.

"No...not likely. But I have an in with them. You see, I used to run a...uh...well...a 'salvage' crew with a couple dozen men and women."

"You were an outlaw?"

Fraidze's smile turned a little wry.

"Convicted of piracy against the Triad...yes maam."

That word gave Cache pause and urged her to delve further.

"Against civilian commerce?"

Fraidze furrowed his brow hard.

"Well no one in their right mind would try to prey on the Kreete military!"

Cache saw his point, but she'd also read transcripts of some of the more violent groups out in the wide expanse of space and wanted nothing to do with a band of cutthroat murderers.

"And what was done to the crew of these ships you attacked?"

Fraidze immediately saw where she was headed.

"No-no-no-no-no...it wasn't like that at all. Not with my squad at least. The ships we targeted were often-times drone transports, either flying strictly on avatar control or with minimal crews that were in sleep pods."

"But would they not be escorted?"

Fraidze smiled again.

"Sure...but the slags only provided cover up to .5 VL-1. After that, they usually peel away and returned to their base."

"I do not understand."

"Well, you know the stress of accel and decel. It wears you out doing that over and over, especially if you have to endure it all the way to transop. Twenty billots of boring duty fighting against the pull of inertia isn't something people look forward to, especially if they have to slow down, change course, and then repeat the whole process to get home. So, to keep their soldiers from burning out, the Kreete decided to break off at the halfway point and let their pilots cruise on back...unless there was a real need to expedite the flight back, that is."

"Why do they not just continue with the transport throughout the entire trip?"

"Well, you know how difficult it is to coordinate two spacecrafts into and out of transop. It takes a level seven drive-link at least, or the group could be split by millions of hoz when they come out. And many of the human transports can't afford such high-grade equipment."

"So the Kreete simply pick them up as they decel at the far end?" Cache asked.

"Right, and on top of that, they don't think we mere humans are a threat above that speed since it's so difficult to accomplish a raid before VL-1 is reached and the ship jumps to transoptic flight."

Cache nodded her grasp of that scenario.

"Yes, I would have to agree with their analysis."

"Well, that was our specialty," Fraidze said with a wink. "We had an inside girl who monitored all the traffic scheduled for departure from about a dozen worlds, so we could get into position ahead of time. We'd get up to speed in front of the target, and then deploy a sophisticated cloaking field that led any followers to believe we were still accelerating...but we'd chop our engines and wait for the transports to catch us. After the coast was clear, we'd slip back and glide right up next to them and dock via a Varisian bridge (a flexible tunnel developed for high velocity emergency rescues).

"We always entered through a maintenance hatch, or some small, unshielded entry point to avoid the primary safety barriers. Then we broke into the ships' systems and ran the manifest. Once we found something valuable, we overrode the cargo doors' locks and hauled it right out with hover-sleds built for space harvesting."

"But what about the ships' onboard sensor logs and scans?"

"Pppppppppppssssssssssss!" Fraidze scoffed. "Child's play."

Cache was smiling by then, feeling confident she'd found the answer to her needs for an upcoming mission.

"Do you think we might be able to hire a crew to make a single robbery?"

"Are you kidding? If you pay enough, you can get them to try just about anything!"

"Excellent!"

"What's the cargo and destination?"

Cache looked at Fraidze keenly.

"Two Starflex portal probes and a scattering field generator....for Coriolus."

Fraidze stared back at her with a blank expression. His heart rate then began to run.

"Are you serious?" he finally asked.

"Of course."

Fraidze didn't hesitate another lita.

"Count me in...and when do we start?"

"I thought you were headed out?"

"Oh, yeah," he said softly, having forgotten all about his previous engagement. "Well it was just a..." his mind skipped along quickly, "a beautiful young woman who was ripe and eager." Fraidze decided to alter the dynamics of that statement however. "A few new friends meeting for drinks and dinner. I'm sure they'll manage without me."

Cache wasn't that naïve, but she gave him a pass.

"Very well," she said, rising and heading for the com terminal. "Tell me about your contacts and perhaps we can find them...or leave word of where we might meet."

Over the next few billots, Fraidze spit out names and descriptions of some of his former comrades to Cache who compiled all the data into the Raulden central computer. It didn't take too long before she was sending the raven space ship to an area that appeared a likely place to start with.

When that was done, Cache turned to Fraidze.

"Tell me about how you were captured."

The large fellow then sat back and let his memory roll through that time period. Over the following three billots he described the events leading up to his loss of freedom, and fully accepted the blame for his demise.

"If I hadn't have loitered at Lainine Station so long," he said, recalling with vivid clarity the gorgeous reason for his delay, "I'd have been halfway to Bratook before the slags even got there."

Cache nodded slightly in agreement.

"Like Ron always says; 'timing is everything'."

"Ain't that the truth?" Fraidze admitted.

"Come on, Fraidze," Cache then told him, rising to her feet and heading for the portal station. "Let's go plan our caper."

They spent the next torjourne traveling back and forth to Rauld, preparing for the mission she'd imagined. They returned often because Fraidze found Caron much more enjoyable than Cache's homeworld. Some of that was due to the 'new friends' he'd made, but too, the gravity and sense of normalcy he felt there...even though it was so primitive...was much more to his liking. Rauld was just too sterile and boring for his tastes.

During one such trip however, while they were in Gammone's communications room coordinating details of the mission with Aanlis and her team, a message came in that derailed their focus for a while. It was from Jazzimeridon...and it was in real time, which meant she was in a ship close to Raulden space.

That was a huge surprise to all in attendance, and so it took a few moments for them to consider their options. Ultimately, they chose to hear what she had to say, so Aanlis opened the link. Cache, however, decided that she and Fraidze would stay to the side, out of sight...at least until she'd heard whatever it was the Theranian wanted to convey.

"Greetings to the fine Raulden people," Jazz said with incredible warmth and sincerity, looking around at the gathered assembly of Rauldens, as well as Arsisi who sat beside Aanlis.

"I am Jazzimeridon Balerious Tricerit Vocingy...leader of the Ordicean people and friend to Ron Allison. I would like to open a dialogue with either Ron or Cache Kuar...if that is at all possible."

"I would be happy to pass along the message," Aanlis replied politely. "May I inquire as to the subject matter you wish to discuss? Or is this perhaps just a social call?"

Jazz didn't show the slightest irritation or impatience. "We have unfinished business to discuss," she replied, "concerning assurances made during the Triad competition."

That was what Cache was waiting for. The tiny alien was calling in her chit.

"I am here," the little blonde said, moving into the picture. She'd tried to temper her words into a friendly pattern, but it had come out a bit terse nonetheless.

"Excellent!" Jazz said jubilantly, showing no sign of hearing the difference and no suspicion at her not coming forward earlier.

"What might I do for you, Jazz?"

"Firstly, if you don't mind, would you introduce me to your friends?"

Cache saw no reason to comply with that whatsoever, but she forced a smile and attempted to sidestep that request.

"Please forgive me, Jazz, but I am afraid the timing of your call is not conducive to our schedule. You see, we are in the middle of a very important mission that is time-sensitive, and we must get back to it. Perhaps I could contact you when this is behind us...or is there some particular topic you wish to express concern about now?"

Jazz never faltered in her cordial, pleasant appearance.

"Oh I understand the press of a schedule, believe me...so I will not delay you. Please feel free to contact me at your leisure about completing our previous agreement."

That statement struck a nerve in Cache that she could not ignore.

"And just what agreement was that exactly?"

Jazz changed her expression from overtly friendly to sweetly surprised.

"You gave me your word that you would help us defend ourselves against the Kreete if we aided Ron Allison during the Games." Then her voice shifted a bit...to one with a tart edge. "Surely you recall that exchange."

Cache dropped her façade completely.

"I believe you are referring to a pledge coerced from me under false pretenses, while simultaneously deceiving my partner about your entire situation...after kidnapping him, torturing him, imprisoning him, and dangling his life at the end of your puppet strings!"

Cache was practically hissing at the little Theranian woman by that point.

"Is that the conversation you are talking about?"

Jazz too dispensed with her fallacies. Her expression morphed to one of ultimate superiority.

"You will honor your commitment to me, Cache Kuar!" she announced. "You will deliver what you vowed or you and everyone you hold dear will pay the price! That is my pledge to you!"

"If you want to go to war," Cache spat back at her, "you know where to find me!"

With that, Cache reached out and cut the com link, her hand vibrating from the rush of adrenaline.

Everyone in the room stayed completely still for nearly a bort while Cache stood there staring at the wall, her jaws clenched in fury. Fraidze finally slid up beside her and laid his hand on her shoulder.

"You okay?" he asked.

Cache inhaled deeply, held it for a few litas, and then released.

"Yes, Fraidze. I am. I just let her insults get to me, and I should not have."

She then swept the room with her eyes. "Please forgive me, everyone. We should get back to our work."

"Is there anything we should worry about," Fraidze asked quietly a moment later, when they had a bit of space to themselves, "You know...regarding her threat?"

Cache had considered that while she'd been fuming.

"No, Fraidze. Our best analysts and scientists have conducted exhaustive tests after those vile creatures' first attack...the one that gave them information about Ron and us...and have found absolutely no means by which they could either disable the _Darlile_ , or break through our planet shield. Any 'threats' they might make will remain that...just threats."

From there, they refocused their attention to the previous mission, and after a few dactrais had passed, the incident was all but forgotten.

Fraidze provided as much information as he could about his homeworld and the rest they dug out of the data streams the Kreete used. As with any undertaking of that magnitude, every possible angle was discussed and prepared for, but they knew that reality would certainly provide unseen risks and problems, so they had to accept fate's interdiction as well.

When all was ready and Cache had received word that the _Darlile_ was in position, she and Fraidze abandoned the safety of Rauld for the exotic, eclectic life aboard a far-flung space station.

The Drakonius Oasis languished in orbit over Prothe, a class ten world in the center of the Hosteir Sector. It was gigantic, having two hundred thousand permanent inhabitants and the capacity of twice that. It was a floating metropolis with trade connections to the furthest reaches of the Triad...although a good part of that was not quite 'out in the open'.

Cache docked the _Darlile_ at a rundown section of the massive complex...one that had seen a large fire race through its corridors recently. She felt the damage would lessen the likelihood of discovery. After all, she was well aware that the Kreete had an enormous bounty placed on any sightings of her ship.

Fraidze warned her about the likelihood of some nefarious activity in that section, due to the same limited sensor coverage, but she merely smirked.

" _Darlile_ ," she said calmly. "Feel free to defend yourself against intrusion or theft."

"Acknowledged," the avatar replied.

Fraidze cocked his head to the side and smiled.

"I wonder how far that will go?" he thought, but he said nothing.

A bort later he and Cache were whizzing along in one of the stations hundreds of interior people-movers. It was much like a subway car system, with many junctions and terminals for embarking and disembarking. They rode all the way to the opposite side of the manmade city before Fraidze hauled her out.

"We're here," he announced.

They were on a level with a class nine-point-nine rating, and Fraidze strolled along casually, trying to keep any attention to a minimum. He'd sent word out to a few of his former allies, using the secret codes and protocols he remembered, and he was hoping he'd snagged at least one of them.

Fraidze followed the long, straight layout of the walkways toward a large warehouse that was bustling with movement. To a casual observer, the pair blended with the flow of foot traffic surrounding the area seamlessly. However, when Fraidze approached that structure, instead of entering through one of the wide doors, he slipped into a narrow panel just around the corner that was marked; "Restricted".

Cache didn't question him, nor did they speak at all during the journey, until they'd reached a dimly lit power control center between levels. At that time, she was practically vibrating with anxiety and wishing Ron was at her side very badly.

Fraidze slowed his approach when he heard voices in the next section of the latticework infrastructure.

Very carefully, he eased forward until he could hear their conversation. Cache stayed arms' length behind, watching their flank. It was dark and intimidating, but she held herself at the ready like an experienced CIA operative.

Neither of them wore armor because that would have been a tell-tale giveaway to everyone on the station about their intentions, so this part of the plan was fraught with danger. They did of course carry some light armaments.

After two borts of spying, Fraidze stood more at ease and turned to his petite accomplice.

"We're at the right place," he whispered.

A moment later he stepped out into the open, causing every one of the nine people in the conversing group to snap to attention. Several pistols were drawn...at least from those who had them...and blades for the rest. One woman even brandished a mini crossbow.

Fraidze stared at each person, one at a time, and then reached up and tugged the hat from his head, exposing his features to the throng.

It took a few litas before recognition began to show across some of the faces that stared back, but then one of the women...the one with the crossbow...a tall Denetian with the tattoo of a fierce cat on her bare shoulder... suddenly broke out in a broad grin.

"You have 'got' to be kidding!" she said in a feminine, yet husky voice. "Zeno! Is that really you?"

Fraidze smiled back and gave her a nod. "You bet, Isara. It's been a long time!"

He stood his ground though, not wanting to rush into anything just yet. Several of the others were strangers to him. Cache stayed in the shadows, exactly as they'd planned.

"Betchi!" Isara said then to a man beside her. "It's Zeno! You remember Zeno...right?"

Betchi was a tall, slim man with nervous eyes and a disruptor pistol in each hand. It took a few more litas before his glare showed signs of easing up.

"I thought you were dead!" he finally said, lowering his weapons while he kept glancing about.

"Didn't you see the Games?" Fraidze asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, sure...of course," Betchi replied, "but we figured the slags skinned you for sure afterward."

Fraidze nodded quickly. "Yeah. That's probably what they had in mind...or something equally pleasant. But my teammate...Itsu...had some seriously gifted colleagues. They slipped us out right in front of those gray-skinned flarges."

Three more of the group knew Fraidze as well, and when they had all acknowledged he was someone of acceptable standing, the tension fell away and the weapons returned to a safer status.

"I'd like to introduce someone to you all," Fraidze said after the greetings were done. "She has a proposition you'll be interested in, I think."

Cache eased around the corner and approached cautiously. She didn't show fear, but she also didn't show submission.

"This is Cache Kuar," Fraidze began. "She would like to hire..."

"Fraidze Zanferi!" boomed a loud voice from off to their left, startling everyone for a quick lita.

A huge fellow...equally as bulky as Fraidze, with large, hard muscles bulging through his clothing...strolled out of the darkness and into the area the group had chosen to have their meeting. He had shoulder-length brown hair, a massive neck, and piercing blue eyes. He wasn't grinning, but didn't seem to be a threat either as he drew closer to Fraidze.

To Cache, it appeared that they were at least somewhat friendly toward one another.

"I thought the slags had gutted you for certain...until you showed up in the Games, that is," the big man said.

"Scilas!" Fraidze returned, and Cache Kuar suddenly tensed.

"How the sart did you...?" Scilas began, but...

When Scilas was just a stride away, Fraidze launched himself at the man, landing a solid right jab on the fellow's anvil-sized chin.

Scilas went down hard, but Fraidze didn't follow, stepping back instead to gauge the man's reaction.

Scilas scrambled to his feet quickly and pulled a disruptor pistol, but Cache was quicker than him. The group of Fraidze' former comrades stood agape at the attack, so they were even more astounded when that little woman surged forward in a blinding, spinning maneuver.

At the instant Cache heard the man's name leave Fraidze' lips, she readied herself for the battle she knew was coming. Her hand slapped her right thigh where she'd fashioned a holster for a thin rod. When Scilas hit the floor, that innocent-looking device slid free, pausing just a moment to judge the next move. When she saw his hand automatically clasp the pistol, she squeezed that rod, causing it to extend out to the length of her tiny frame. And before it had even reached that point, it was flashing around in a blinding, whistling motion. It was hollow, but constructed of the same metal as Ron's sword, with a rounded ball at each end, and so when it struck Scilas's gun, the innards of that weapon sprayed across the deck in a shower of flying debris.

The following lita, Cache was back at her previous position, her svelte staff held in both hands at the ready and her teeth clenched for further battle.

Scilas leaned her way for an instant, as if he would attack her, but Fraidze stepped across his path with fire in his eyes. Scilas refocused his attention back to him, and then he spoke again.

"What's the meaning of this?" he growled, rubbing his chin against his rounded shoulder.

"You betrayed me!" Fraidze fired back. "You turned me in...handed me over to the slags!"

Scilas's expression was one of surprise, but not of insult or indignation.

"You lie!" he retorted immediately, but those who knew him well could tell he was just spouting words. That epiphany was more surprising than Fraidze' attack.

"You got caught because you were sniffing around that little whore for too long!" Scilas continued. "We all warned you."

Fraidze clenched and unclenched his fists. He quivered with ire.

"No one knew who I was on that world!" Fraidze said. "The only way the Kreete found me was because you sold me out to get yourself out of a jamb!"

More surprise flitted across Scilas's face...then confusion.

"Believe what you will, you dragen coward," Scilas hissed, "but you just signed your death warrant! You were never man enough to fight me, piss-hole! Now I'm going to beat you to death in front of all your friends! And then I'm going to take that little piece of fluff apart too," he added, nudging his head in Cache's direction. "And I'm going to enjoy that immensely."

Scilas stepped forward, his hands up and ready.

Fraidze stood his ground and waited, feeling himself gather onto the balls of his feet out of pure instinct. He tested the artificial gravity of the station next and adjusted for it.

Scilas went straight at him, head down and constantly moving, like a prize fighter. It was clear that he was very experienced. He started the brawl nice and easy, just tossing out a few quick shots, and then stepped it up.

Fraidze blocked every incoming punch, taking them on his forearms and sliding to one side or the other, adjusting to his opponent's methods and quickness.

Scilas quickly grew more aggressive, wanting to hurt Fraidze badly...wanting to prove who was in charge. After a particularly vicious right-cross though, he learned a valuable lesson. Fraidze Zanferi was no longer an unskilled pushover.

Fraidze' torso fell back just slightly when that deadly punch whistled in, and he instantaneously countered with his left elbow slamming into Scilas's temple.

Scilas stumbled to the side a half step, his vision blurred and his momentum carrying him off target badly...but that wasn't the whole of it. Fraidze followed him that time with a powerful strike to his lower back, right in the kidney area, and that stood Scilas back up like a bolt of electricity.

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh!" huffed the big man as his back arched and he went forward another few steps.

Fraidze let him go however, falling back to regroup and prepare. He was patient.

Scilas couldn't help but reach around and grab the small of his back, spinning to face Fraidze once more. His glare was blazing and the humiliation of his failure glowed red on his face.

He didn't waste a moment, charging back at Fraidze with a growl of frustration.

"Now you die!" he roared.

Fraidze stayed balanced and watched his adversary closely. He was all business, and didn't waste time with frivolities. He'd been taught to be efficient.

When Scilas's punch shot forward, Fraidze slipped to the side again and sent his class ten fist rushing straight down at Scilas's thigh, feeling his knuckles sink into the thick muscles of that limb. Scilas's eyes flew open in sheer agony and down he went again.

His femur was cracked!

"Maybe before I was sent to Parkanick and had to fight to survive!" Fraidze said in a seething snarl.

Fraidze didn't back away that time, and instead, danced nimbly to his right. His left fist shot out and three of Scilas's ribs reported audible 'snap' sounds...and the big man writhed anew on the ground.

"And maybe before my closest friend was Itsu of Caron...the finest fighter in the galaxy!"

Scilas rolled over and struck out with his bear-like hand, attempting to trip Fraidze up...to haul him in close. But instead, he found his wrist snatched right out of the air before it could land...and then it twisted violently around, far past what it was designed for.

A moment later, that appendage released a white-hot blast of misery that had Scilas shrieking before it too collapsed.

"But your dominance over me...and everyone else...is over!"

Fraidze then punched Scilas hard on the side of his thick neck, shorting out the nerve cluster that lay beneath his pale skin. The pirate leader flinched hard and curled up into the fetal position, gasping for air and whimpering in distress.

Fraidze backed away after that and turned to face his former colleagues.

"I can prove what I said to that dung-eater is true," he told them. "Or, I should say, she can."

Cache still hadn't spoken a word, staying to the side and away from any contact with Fraidze' old friends. They didn't know her, so why would anything she said be of interest to them anyway? She reached into her left pocket smoothly and produced a small flat disk which she pressed before flipping it to the deck between Scilas and the group.

A holo-recording jumped into motion immediately, displaying Scilas chained in an interrogation cell. At the top of the scene was his name, the location of the cell, and a time stamp. The chronometer was steadily rolling.

Over the following ten borts, it showed their accomplice...Scilas Lomas...trade names and specific details of past events for his own freedom, with the promise of further betrayals yet to come. And each time a name was given, someone in the group flinched, recognizing that person and recalling their fates. Each had been similar to Fraidze', or worse.

Before the entire recording had played out, Betchi drew one of his disruptors and ended Scilas's life by blowing a hole in his chest the size of a bowling ball. No one in the group showed a shred of remorse for it either. Afterward, they all left that area...and each of the assembled crew spit on the remains of their former partner as they passed.

Fraidze guided them all to a nearby building that was designated as a restaurant/bar where he'd reserved the back room. Once they were seated, he nodded to Cache who tossed a small, white, spiked ball up against the ceiling. It stuck to that spot and held fast.

"Initiate," she said, and the device glowed blue. "We are secure now," she told Fraidze.

From that point, Fraidze assumed the position of leader of the pirates, introduced Cache, and began to and lay out her plan.

### Chapter Ten

### Josy goes to Earth

Five dactrais later, just before sundown, Cache strolled into the Gitove mansion with Sheyah in her arms gazing about in wide-eyed wonder.

She'd left Fraidze with his friends to do their plotting at the space station, feeling the group would work best without a stranger in their midst. Also, at his suggestion, and to minimize the chance that the _Darlile_ might be discovered, she would make herself scarce until they were ready and he called for her. That played right into her own line of thinking as well because she had a new mission for the sable spacecraft anyway.

Once she'd set up the parameters of the assignment with the ship's avatar, she transported back to Rauld, and the _Darlile_ set off across the heavens once more.

She stayed in Gammone for the following few dactrais, monitoring the progress of each of her other undertakings and wondering if she might be spreading herself a bit too thin.

"It sure would be nice to have Ron around to share the load," she thought one night, but that was out of the question. He needed a break and she was determined to give it to him. She would just have to make due alone.

On the fourth dactrai, Rauld received a call from Earth, which directly led to her current situation.

Mishea saw her first and called out to her daughter.

"Josy, dear...Cache is back!"

Josy entered a bort later at a fast walking speed, always excited when Cache returned because, firstly; they were truly very good friends, and secondly; it meant that Sheyah was back as well...and she absolutely adored that little girl.

They stood for a while, chatting and playing with the child, but the two Gitove women could tell Cache had an ulterior motive for the visit as well, so they finally maneuvered her into the grand living room and urged her to explain.

"I was wondering if Ron was anywhere around," she began.

"No, Cache," Josy replied. "I'm sorry, but he went hunting with Father and Larson. The smokehouse was thinning out, so they've gone to restock it. They were planning to stay within a day's ride, but they'll have to clean and preserve the meat, so it will take a while. We don't expect them back until the end of the week. Is it urgent?"

Cache let out a sigh of relief and shook her head.

"No...not at all. I just wanted to ask him...well, 'wanted to' is not quite the correct intent...but nonetheless, it is a moot point now anyway."

"Why," Mishea inquired innocently...just being curious about the little blonde's nervous attitude. "What has you so worked up?"

Cache cracked a timid grin...one of obvious reluctance...and elaborated.

"Okay...well, you see, Sam...the man I was partnered with during the war over Earth...has invited me to his wedding to Ron's wi...that is, his ex-wife...or whatever you can call her now, since, in their society, she technically is still his wife. My goodness, it is complicated, is it not?"

Josy nodded, but sat quietly, absorbing the insanely unique situation with an odd expression of her own.

"At any rate, Sam invited me and insisted I bring Ron along...because he does not know who Ron really is to Angela...you see?"

The Gitoves nodded, following along with her story.

"And this is something Angela knows nothing about, I suppose?" Josy interjected. "A surprise?"

"Yes, exactly. So you can see why I am relieved that he is unavailable."

"And when is the ceremony?" Mishea asked while bouncing Sheyah on her knee.

"It is three dactrais from now, in the early afternoon on Earth, which will be around dawn here. I will be going back and forth to Earth for the next few days...during the nighttime billots...so if you do not mind, I would very much appreciate it if you would watch Sheyah and keep her sleep schedule uniform."

"Of course we will," Mishea told her sweetly. "Anytime you need, because..."

"We're family!" Sheyah piped in brightly, grinning and giggling like only a baby can do.

"That's right!" Mishea told her, pulling her in for a big kiss on the cheek and a strong hug.

"Great! Thank you. I should be back during the daytime, but will..."

"May I accompany you?" Josy suddenly blurted, her figure sliding forward to the edge of the huge couch. "Would that be alright?"

Cache was surprised at the request, but saw no reason to deny her.

"I suppose so," she returned, but there was a question in her eyes that Josy clearly recognized. "You want to go to Earth?"

"I have been tremendously curious about their customs for as long as I've known Ron," she said. "Other cultures have always intrigued me, you see. And I would very much love to meet his parents, and Angela."

Cache felt she was exceedingly familiar with how Josy would come across to Ron's first love, having already stood in her place and watched that ravishing brunette take her position in Ron's heart, and so she hesitated.

"I want to understand the social significance of the vows and the expectations of the commitment," Josy added, trying to clarify her position.

Cache couldn't come up with any reason to turn her down, so she happily accepted the company.

"Very well. I am heading back to Rauld now to find some proper attire. If you like, you can join me and we shall make a dactrai of it."

Josy didn't pause, and didn't take a thing with her. They both arose, locked arms, and headed to the little cottage, talking excitedly like any two women would on the verge of a major shopping expedition.

In merely twenty borts, the pair of gorgeous ladies were on Cache's homeworld, standing in adjoining booths and perusing thousands of selections of dresses that had been linked with Earth's latest styles and fabrics. They used holographic displays to see how each frock would appear on them, burning through hundreds of selections in quick order.

Approximately two billots later, they were dressed in their new frocks and Cache asked Aanlis to dial up the portal probe in the Allison's den.

It was just after 7 A.M. and Kurt was enjoying breakfast with his wife, chatting about the latest local news like normal, and wondering if the thunderstorms forecast for later on would slow down his business at the boatyard. Much of the newscast was about the ongoing recovery of the country, but the Allisons barely listened, choosing to tune out the overly sensationalized rhetoric.

"Brrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnngggggggg!" sounded the probe. It was programed to sound like a normal telephone, so that any strangers in the house would be fooled about its highly irregular purpose.

The Allisons had sent the message to Rauld on the previous day, but it was during Cache's sleep cycle. They'd spoken with one of Aanlis's assistants, so they had no idea how soon Cache would return the call. As it was, they grew immediately nervous, staring at one another as if each should have the other answer. It wasn't that they were afraid of the little blonde, but more that they were hesitant to interact with her species, not wanting to risk causing insult or tension with such a totally foreign race.

Finally, Kurt got to his feet and went to the unit with his wife at his shoulder.

As soon as his hand touched the appropriate panel, the image of Cache burst into view.

Her face emitted a smile that swept away any trepidation that the Allisons had imagined, restoring their nerves to a calm and composed state. Cache had been so warm and friendly during all their previous meetings that they instantly felt a wave of guilt sweep through them to have ever dreamed that she would worry them.

"Kurt and Jessica," she said easily, "it is wonderful to see you again. Are you well?"

"Oh yes, Cache," Jesse replied with equal warmth. "And how are you, and our little girl?"

"I am in excellent health, thank you...and so is Sheyah."

"I suppose you got our message?" Kurt interjected. "About the wedding?"

"Yes, and I thank you for that. In fact, that is why I have called today."

She looked from one Allison to the other and added.

"I was wondering if it would be possible to come over for a visit? And I would like to bring a friend."

Ron's parents both appeared slightly shocked...not about the request, but about why she might think it would not be perfectly fine. After all, she'd saved their entire planet and was the mother of their granddaughter.

"Of course it's possible, for goodness sake!" Jesse told her. "And any friend of yours is welcome as well. Get yourself over here and give me a hug!"

Cache beamed all the more and then watched as they moved back to give the portal room to operate. She nodded to the side at Aanlis who slid her finger from minimal power to full, bridging the void between worlds like sliding open a window.

Josy conceded that she was a bit nervous, but didn't hesitate following her petite friend to the new alien world. In the next two litas, they both left Rauld and stepped into the lighter gravity of Earth.

Cache went right to Jessica and embraced her with a long, heartfelt (but gentle) squeeze...and then she did likewise to Kurt. "It really does warm my heart to see you both again," she told them, and then she stepped to the side and turned, holding out her hand to Josy.

Josy strode forward with her eyes much wider than normal, feeling the full effects of the unnerving drop in gravitational pull of the planet, and it made her pause for a moment. It had been a much easier transfer going from Caron to Rauld, but here it was dramatically less, even with the hefty garment Cache had made for her.

"Are you alright?" Cache asked, forcing a lyrical giggle from the black-haired beauty.

"Yes...I...I guess so. It feels so weird!"

"It does...I have to agree. My first time was quite a surprise as well."

Cache then turned back to the Allisons.

"Jessica...Kurt...I would like to introduce you to Josylinia Gitove."

When Cache drifted aside, the two Allisons' mouths could not keep from dropping open. They'd always thought Cache as exquisitely lovely...and they were correct, of course...but the woman standing before them now was...was completely, irrefutably, unparalleled.

Cache saw the blank stares on the two Earthlings faces and a twinge of jealousy could not be avoided. However, she used her advanced, pragmatic intelligence and forced that feeling out of her mind almost as fast as it had arrived. It was not Josy's fault that she was so incredibly alluring, and she'd already made peace with her assessment of Josy and Ron's future.

"Josy," she said smoothly, "may I present Ron's parents; Kurt and Jessica?"

They were still stunned into immobility, so Josy stepped forward and greeted them. She wore a translator fashioned into the neckline of her dress, so that she would not make a clumsy mistake with the language. (Ron had only taught her a fraction of English as of yet)

"It is truly an honor to meet you both," Josy told them, her words sounding as soothing as a harp's strumming. "Ron speaks of you often, and with great pride."

"Home to welcome as you are," Kurt said, not realizing that he'd even spoken, much less incoherently.

That bit of blathering brought Jesse back to animation. She slowly turned to her husband of thirty-three years and promptly slapped him in the chest with the back of her hand.

"What was that?" she chastised. Kurt jerked from the blow and stared at his wife.

"What?"

Jessica rolled her eyes heavily and returned her attention to their newest guest.

"Please forgive my husband, Josylinia. He's never been exactly 'smooth' with the ladies, you see. I believe what he meant to say was...welcome to our home."

Josy's smile actually brightened, which they both thought would have been impossible.

"Thank you so much. I have looked forward to meeting you for ages."

"Josy and Ron are going to be married," Cache added, which received even more surprised expressions.

Jessica's eyes flicked to Cache quickly, before returning to Josy.

"So...she's the one!" Jesse thought silently.

"Holy smokes!" Kurt blurted...again, without thinking. That got another condescending glare from his spouse. He ignored her that time though and stretched out his hands.

"Well," he bellowed with a great grin plastered across his face, "Congratulations are in order then!"

He strode over directly and took Josy's hand in both of his. "Welcome to the family, little darlin!"

His heart raced when his fingers reached her warm, deeply tanned skin, and as he gazed at her, she grew more breathtaking with every beat of his pulse.

Jesse gave Cache another look while Josy was accepting Kurt's greeting, and she found a relaxed little blonde smiling back. That allowed her to accept her future daughter-in-law much more willingly. She then stepped up and nudged Kurt aside roughly, feeling he'd over-sold his welcome a bit.

"Congratulations, sweetie!" she told Josy, moving in for a strong hug.

With the aid of his wife's 'nudge' (elbow) in his ribs, Kurt managed to pry his eyes away from Josylinia long enough to ask Cache a question.

"And just where is our little angel?"

"Forgive me," Cache pouted, "but our worlds are not in sync, rotationally, just now, so she is sleeping on Caron. However, I promise to bring her to the wedding."

That got both the Allisons almost giddy. Sheyah was such a sweet little thing.

From there, the visit turned more normal between them all, which gave Josy nothing but pleasure. Kurt called his work partner and told him he'd be late, and that he should just open up on his own. He mentioned a few boats that were the most pressing jobs, and then bid his farewells and returned to the ladies.

They chatted lightly for a time, each group asking the other dozens of questions. The Allisons obviously wanted to know as much about Josy as they could, but they didn't leave Cache out of the conversation either. They both had multiple inquiries they'd thought of since her last visit, and wanted an update on her crusade against the Kreete Empire.

Finally though, Josy breached the subject she'd made the trip for.

"Jesse...Kurt...I am curious about your society's outlook toward the emotional...as well as physically intimate...ties between men and women."

That got the Allisons' attention with astounding ease.

"I have read about, and witnessed, many different cultural attitudes toward pair-bonding between men and women humanoids. Many agree...as does my father and my mother's heritage...that one male having multiple female partners makes for better genetic dispersion and a more stable family dynamic. Each member brings their own unique strengths and perspective to the group, and therefore the multiple approaches yield better results in child rearing, and in social awareness. Might I get your personal opinion on the subject?"

Kurt and Jessica both stared blankly at the ravishing brunette. Cache was also schooled in such traditions and so didn't appear surprised in the least even though she did not find such arrangements appealing.

"So you are from a polygamist society?" Kurt finally said.

"Well yes...and no. My father has had many families over his long life, and at times has lived with multiple partners. My mother grew up in a family where there were five women joined to her father, but she was young when she partnered with 'my' father and so has not experienced that in person. They eventually settled on Caron where they now live, and father has never expressed the desire to add to our family, although I suppose it could still be an option."

"I see," Jessica said nervously, not really knowing what to make of that.

"But Ron has mentioned that on your world, such traditions are not typically the case. To clarify that position for me, could you please explain the meaning of your 'bonds of holy matrimony'?"

Jesse's eyebrows rose abruptly, and then she looked to her husband.

"Uh...I declare! I don't...know where to begin," she admitted, seemingly very confused. "Give me a moment to think...my word!"

Josy sat calmly by unperturbed, trying to be the patient guest.

"I guess...I guess put simply, it's when one person chooses to live their life toward the needs of the other...and just the other...that single person."

"Yeah," Kurt chimed in. "Like the song says; a woman leaves her family to make a family with the man, and she vows to forsake all others until death separates them. The man takes the same commitment. They each belong to the other and move forward as half of the whole."

"Exactly," Jesse concurred. "Ron will set you and your happiness first in his life, and you will do the same for him."

"So he would be forbidden from seeking the companionship of another...sexually?"

Jessica turned beet red at that. Her upbringing had not prepared her for such a candid discussion.

"Well...yes. That's right," she answered.

Kurt simply bit his tongue, but his mind was whirling. "Any guy who would look further than you for sex would need to have his head examined!" he thought.

"I see," Josy pondered, her thoughts drifting away for a moment while the Allisons collected themselves.

"But what about his duty," Josy added, "you know...the intergalactic struggle he and Cache are involved in? Wouldn't that supersede his pledge to focus on one person? After all, there are literally billions of lives at stake."

"Well," Jesse replied slowly, "I think I understand your point, sweetie, but it's like when Kurt was called away to his military duty. He had dozens of men...sometimes hundreds...relying on him to keep them as safe as possible while deployed to help thousands, but his duty did not keep him from staying true to me and our life together.

"There are some circumstances that cannot be avoided, where placing me or my safety first was impractical, or impossible, due to the distant between us, but the emphasis of the commitment...the core of the sentiment, if you will...stays intact. No one and nothing would come between him and me...in here," she added, patting herself on the chest.

"I see," Josy responded again, her thoughts jetting off once more in directions known only to her. "And what of your personal...needs...during a long separation?"

"Our what?" Jesse asked innocently, assuming the foreign woman had misspoken.

"Oh!" Kurt blurted, his face suddenly turning as beet red as his wife's had when he realized Josy's inference. "Well, that, my dear is non-negotiable. There can be absolutely no...fraternization...on either side, or else the trust between the pair is destroyed. And without that, the marriage is doomed."

Jessica nodded along with her husband, finally understanding the question. "That is probably the most difficult part of the arrangement, Josy...especially for military families. Time apart wears on a couple, as I'm sure you already know, having Ron missing for such a long period."

Josy nodded, her thoughts still racing along.

"And what happens if this 'fraternization' is forced upon one of the pair?" she asked.

That brought a shocked expression to the faces of the Allisons.

"Oh, Josy," Cache said suddenly. "Don't you worry about what happened in the Games! Ron was not himself. He was drugged and couldn't..."

"No, that's not what I meant," Josy returned.

"What?" Jessica interjected. "What happened to Ron?"

"Uh...well," Cache said nervously. "There was a certain...incident. The Kreete tried to take Ron's team out of one of the events by...well...sexual interference, you might say."

"Oh, my!" Jessica exclaimed. She'd grown up with the staunch conservative traditions of a southern lady, and such a situation was quite embarrassing for her. "So they...uh...ra...attacked him?"

Cache was trying hard not to give out too much information, understanding her hosts' fragile emotional tie to Ron.

"Something like that. But he and his friends were not really harmed. They were just...well...how do I put this...drained...to impede their abilities in the athletic event."

Kurt couldn't help but let out a soft chuckling cough, which received a sharp glare and another backhanded slap from his wife, this time on the shoulder.

"I better not find out about any such 'interference' with you, mister smarty-pants!" Jessica snapped at him.

Kurt threw up his hands in surrender, shaking his head vehemently. "No-no-no-no, Jesse! I swear!"

"In any event," Jessica finally said, pulling her piercing stare away from her husband and restoring a more pleasant and calm demeanor, "I'm sure Ron would never seek solace with another woman, my dear. He's as true-blue as they come!"

Now it was Cache's turn to blush, vividly recalling her own interlude with Ron on the trip back to Rauld. She of course remained silent about that.

Josy took Jessica's outstretched hands in hers and accepted her assurances. She hadn't quite received the answer she was searching for, but the basic premise was clear, so she changed the subject.

"Ron said that Sam and your country's leader...your president...are rather close. Do you think he will be at the ceremony as well?"

Kurt was more than happy to accept the diversion, quickly jumping in with an answer.

"Oh, yeah! He's already sent teams of Secret Service Agents out to interview all the guests. It's going to be quite the affair!"

From that point, the conversation stayed much lighter, and the visit was filled with plans for the joyous occasion. Josy did not get to meet Angela, but was satisfied nonetheless with meeting the Allisons and receiving their ardent acceptance into their family.

When they parted, Jessica asked a final question.

"When will your wedding be, Josy?"

"We're not exactly sure just yet, but it will be quite a while. I will make sure you're notified when we decide."

Cache and Josy were strolling back across the sprawling meadow of the Gitove farm a few billots later...about halfway between midnight and daybreak...when Josy made a certain admittance.

"Cache, I know about you and Ron...about what happened in the _Darlile_ on the way back from Kreete."

Cache pulled up immediately, her mouth agape.

"Josy, I..."

Josylinia merely waved her off.

"I'm not trying to put you on the spot, or embarrass you, or hurt you, Cache. But considering the recent conversation with Ron's parents, I wanted to clear the air...and I thought you should know that I knew. I understand why you didn't tell me yourself, but I don't want there to be secrets between us."

She then waved her little blonde friend onward and they continued toward the house.

"Ron told you?" Cache asked timidly.

"Of course. On his first night back...before he proposed. He is the most honest man I've ever known, and he said he simply couldn't accept my love unless I knew the truth."

"And you forgave him, I suppose?"

"How could I not? I love him absolutely.

"He has never tried to deceive me about you, even from the first time I met him. I know that he loves you. I've always known it. He told me what you and he discussed too...the reasons he should be with me instead of you. I was shocked that you and I had arrived at the same conclusion, but I was also extremely pleased, as you might imagine.

"You could have taken him from me with a simple request...and the bond of a father to his child...but you chose to give him up. You love him so deeply that you would rather see him happy and contented with me...raising a family...than risk his life being filled with never-ending war and strife.

"How could I possibly hold that against you?"

Cache's smile returned, and even though her mind swirled with the complexity of her friendship with Josy, she knew she'd made the right decision.

### Chapter Eleven

### Grand Larsony

"Dock Commander, this is Jhirthane Moluuce, Captain of the Kreete Destroyer; _Xeciganey._ "

(Xeciganey is a Parvusian word that means; death rain, and the Parvusian campaign was considered one of the most celebrated wars of the empire's domination because they were such a fierce people)

"This is Nomant Klosec, Commander of the space station; _Estabar Paradise_. Please transmit the verification code."

Jhirthane turned to his com officer and nodded, and the Slayer-class warrior executed the order instantly.

"Code received. We have been expecting you. You are clear to dock at pier ninety-eight, and the sweeper crews are standing by."

"And the accommodations for the crew are prepared?" Jhirthane asked.

"Yes, Captain. Your vessel has the entire forty-seventh level at your disposal. Your men should have everything they need."

"Excellent. Jhirthane out."

The captain caught a glimpse of the men around him and the expectation in their mannerisms was clear. It had been a long deployment and they were ready for some distractions. The brothels on that station were widely known for their exceptional variety...and crews from half a dozen other ships were nearby to blow off their need for conflict. This would be a good break from their long patrols.

"Helmsman!" Jhirthane barked, getting the crew's attention back on their duties. "Is your course plotted?"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!"

"Very well. Bring her in."

Any vessel the size of a Kreete Destroyer-class warship did not exactly handle nimbly, even in the zero gravity of space, so matching the docking ring took some time. Thereby, when the coupling was finally completed, everyone not on duty aboard the _Xeciganey_ had readied themselves for the shore leave and were already filing into the exodus tube.

That tube was a cylindrical shaft approximately ten peors in diameter that could accommodate a wide variety of ships' cargo apertures, and was normally utilized for the intake of supplies. The docks themselves were positioned at the very center of the station so as to minimize the strain on the overall structure of the facility. (A heavy ship attached outboard of the center might possibly tear apart a section if it were to become out of sync with the rotation) There was no centrifugal motion at all there either, and so had no gravity, which made the storage and transfer of large quantities of goods much more manageable. However, it also forced the crewmen to wear grav-suits within its confines in order to maneuver. It was clumsy and awkward, but only took a few borts to navigate, so was not that much of a bother.

Once inside the station's matching tunnel, they boarded elevators to the desired levels...each level having a specific speed of rotation that accommodated the widely varied patrons. Some of the heaviest accommodations were actually a few hoz away. That particular station provided the gravitational needs for class 8 worlders, as well as those for class 10.4s.

After a few billots, the _Xeciganey_ was totally evacuated and Jhirthane completed his final sweep of the ship through the tally of the men who'd exited, as well as through internal sensors. He and his personal assistant/bodyguard were the last two crewmen aboard.

"That's it," his attendant announced.

"Good, Roote. Shut it down."

Roote Uyian tapped the final symbol on the wide console and the central computer went dark. For the next three torjournes, the _Xeciganey_ would go through an exhaustive series of maintenance cycles that would search out and repair any damaged structure or faulty power conduits, sanitize the entire water recapture system, upgrade the computer core, purge the ship of radiation buildup, replenish the fuel cells, and restock the food supply. It was an action that had to be done once every seven operational cycles (Kreete years).

Jhirthane then left the ship to the station's crew.

Roote stayed at Jhirthane's side for the entire stay, and he was the only officer that was not allowed to enjoy the exquisite offerings of the massive space station. His only function was to watch Jhirthane's back...to prevent any attempt at assassination during the leave. The Kreete code of conduct left plenty of room for a subordinate to enhance his ranking by killing off his superiors, so that was a normal proactive action by Jhirthane.

(Incidentally, volunteering for such duty was a mandated requirement to move up, and if anything happened to one's charge during that time, it meant the death of the bodyguard)

The time aboard the station went by exceedingly fast for the crew and for Jhirthane, but as with every vacation, it had to end. On the twenty-first morning, the captain of the _Xeciganey_ awoke to the start of his next tour of duty with a slight resentment. The four lovely females that shared his massive bed all lay about still in the grip of sleep, and he sighed heavily.

"It will be a long time before I can revisit such pleasures," he thought solemnly.

He moved to the adjacent room and walked by Roote.

"Anything to report?" he asked his personal sentry.

"No," came the reply. "All is quiet."

"The men will begin reporting for duty this evening. Pull a list of those who are wounded, incarcerated, or dead. I will begin..."

"Already done, Sir. It is on your personal drive."

"Humph," Jhirthane snorted. He never thanked his subordinates, but Roote could tell he was at least satisfied with his work. The commander placed his enormous hand on the console and the biometric locks tested his identity. Soon the holo-screen burst into life and stood at the ready.

"Show me the status of the crew of the _Xeciganey_." The information jumped to the screen immediately.

"Out of ten thousand," the commander recited, "only twelve dead, thirty-five are damaged but should be ready for exit, and twenty-eight in chains. Not bad!"

"Show me the status of the ship."

The huge screen went blank.

Jhirthane took a long drink from a tankard he'd ordered up. It was a mildly fermented version of his favorite fruit juice from the Kreete homeworld called wacsi. It had the widely known reputation of being able to absorb alcohol and other internal vices typically utilized by the Kreete during recreation periods.

The screen remained blank.

"Show me the status of my ship, you dragen whore!" Jhirthane growled, quickly losing his patience with the mechanical device.

"Which ship?" the station's avatar softly inquired.

"The _Xeciganey,_ damn you! What other ship do I command?"

"I have no record of any currently docked vessel with that designation," the computer replied calmly.

Jhirthane suddenly felt a cold chill racing through his body, but he held it in check.

"This is just some kind of mistake," he rationalized. "The stupid machine is not hearing the name correctly!"

"Show me the dock at pier ninety-eight!" he then snapped.

"There is no dock with that designation."

"WHAT?"

"There is no dock with that designation."

Jhirthane instantly broke out in an icy sweat.

"WHAT THE DRAGEN SART IS GOING ON HERE?" he screamed.

Roote was at his side by then. He too was growing anxious at the repartee`.

"Elaborate," replied the mechanical device.

"Shut up and show me a map of this station!"

The information sprang to the screen instantly.

"Highlight the piers' designations!"

Each docking port quickly grew to a more legible size. The primary shape of the station formed a perfect cross with the living quarters centralized in a pair of huge, rotating drums which orbited the 'X' axis and was split into two sections by the 'Y'. Along the 'X' axis, the docks were shown as starting at one end with odd numbers counting down from 47 to 1 at the center, and then going from 2 to 48 on the other end. On the perpendicular axis...the 'Y'...the numbers ranged from 97 to 49 and from 50 to 96.

Jhirthane began to shake, his mind spinning with increasing speed.

"I docked with this station twenty-one dactrais ago! We were scheduled for our forty-second overhaul! Check your records again! The _X-E-C-I-G-A-N-E-Y_!"

"Our schedule shows your ship arriving tomorrow. It will dock at pier twenty-one and begin its maintenance regimen at 27:35. All is prepared and standing by."

Jhirthane sat there completely perplexed, his entire body trembling.

"It can't be!" he screamed inside his head.

"Wait a lita!" he suddenly spat out. "If the ship is not in dock, how do you explain its entire crew living aboard your station?"

There was a brief moment of silence, and then...

"I cannot," replied the avatar.

Jhirthane leaped to his feet.

"My armor!" he ordered to Roote. "Inform the station commander that Jhirthane Moluuce demands his presence on the bridge!"

Ten borts later, the two of them stormed out of Jhirthane's suite and headed for the control center of the station.

The current time was the middle of a sleep cycle for the Commandant, but he was waiting when Jhirthane arrived, already reviewing the discussion between the captain and the station's computer persona.

"What is the meaning of this?" Jhirthane bellowed when he stepped into the command center.

The commandant snapped his fingers...emitting a sound equal to the breaking of a two-by-four...and setting of an instantaneous reaction from seven heavily armed guards who he'd ordered to the scene. Each drew down on Jhirthane and his escort with neural suppressor rifles. One blast of those weapons could completely incapacitate a Kreete soldier by hitting him with a charge of electricity that would shut down his entire nervous system. Many times death ensued when they were dialed only to the halfway setting. Those were all pushing the 'full-power' mark.

Nomant Klosec stood rigidly at the center of the giant space station's bridge. He was of higher rank than Jhirthane by two full levels, controlling the equivalent of a planet Lord in monetary value alone, and at times held even more authority than that as he managed the fleets of the entire parsec. He wasn't about to have this mere captain try to intimidate him, and kept his back to Jhirthane while he completed his investigation.

For thirty borts, Nomant and his team of officers combed through the timeline of events three torjournes in the past. When he was finished, his huge fingers popped loudly as he gripped the railing of his raised dais, where his seat was mounted and where he now stood staring out into space.

He slowly turned to Jhirthane and stared at the captain.

"I have found the record of your men and you checking into the loading tunnel, and then into your accommodations. Other than that, every shred of data concerning your ship's arrival has been wiped!"

"That's impossible!" Jhirthane growled, his hand moving unconsciously to the hilt of his short sword. His bodyguard did likewise. "No one can..."

At the flick of a finger, Nomant had one of his men fire on Roote. He went down hard and lay there as limp as a pile of cloth. He was stone dead.

Jhirthane flinched sharply at the lethal action, and when he saw his man fall, his eyes whipped back around to Nomant. His hand was still on his blade.

"I realize that you are among strangers here and have just received some startling, perhaps implausible news," Nomant said sternly, "so your instinctive response to draw your weapon is understandable. You are the captain of a Kreete warship and have tremendous responsibilities, so you have earned the latitude for such open defiance. He, however, has not!"

Jhirthane wanted to act out in retaliation for his man's death, but the current position was gravely one-sided against him. The two Kreete leaders stood for a long few moments just staring each other down. Finally, Jhirthane slid his hand from his sword and crossed his arms.

"How is it that you personally ordered us to a dock that did not exist?"

Nomant showed obvious confusion...not an easy thing for a Kreete.

"That," Nomant said emphatically, "did not happen!"

Jhirthane bristled again. He didn't like being called a liar.

"I spoke to you myself when we arrived! You sent us to Pier 98 and corroborated that all was ready for our maintenance stay!"

"That is not possible," the commandant countered. He then turned to the computer console at his huge seat. "Show my location for the four billots before and after the arrival of the first crewman from the _Xeciganey_."

The locator imbedded in his dermas clearly showed him leaving the control center three and a half billots before the alleged docking time, going to have a meal, and then retiring to his quarters.

"You see," Nomant indicated, "that is not my duty cycle time period. If anyone would have spoken with you, it would have been Salice Boome...but the records for that timeframe indicate no transmission to any destroyer-class vessel."

"How can a ship of that size possibly move into your control space and dock with your station without anyone on this bridge either seeing it or acknowledging its presence?"

"That is the real question," Nomant said.

Jhirthane could feel the heat inside him building and he needed to release it.

"Well it really doesn't dragen matter does it?" he snapped. "Your station took control of my ship and now it is missing!" he growled. "My superiors will have you torn to pieces for that!"

"Yes...perhaps," Nomant conceded. "We shall soon see. The station's avatar filed an incident report to the High-Command the moment the inquiry began. They will have been following along with our investigation, I'm sure."

Barely a lita passed before the main viewer changed from a bird's-eye-view of the busy station's comings and goings to a brightly lit room with several high ranking Kreete officers sitting around an arc-shaped table. One individual was standing and staring into the monitor...right at Nomant and Jhirthane.

"I am Beigro Viine!" he said in a loud, angry voice, catching everyone's attention by the sheer power of his statement. He wore the markings of a Planet Lord...sixth level...and did not seem like a man anyone would ignore.

"We are an investigative board that represent the Ruling Council of the Kreete Triad!" he explained, sweeping his enormous, seven digited hand around to indicate his companions. No one on the bridge of the space station dared breathe. Men of that level held power unfathomable to even the station commander.

"Everyone out!" Beigro ordered sharply, and then clarified his statement with his fingers. "Except you two."

It took a few moments to place some of the workers' functions on hold...those who were guiding dozens of ships to and from loading ports...and then they all scurried out the door.

The two commanders then stood side by side, facing the councilmen.

"Suspend internal recording!" ordered Beigro.

"Confirmed."

Nomant looked hard at Jhirthane, then back at their superiors.

"We have reviewed your recordings and found them to be extremely disturbing," Beigro said in a deep, growling tone. "Our finest techs have been able to find no trace of tampering with the sensor data...yet, obviously, there have been substantial intrusions. The level of technology these thieves have shown is beyond impressive."

The two underlings were more shocked at the lack of an immediate death sentence, or of life imprisonment, than of the incredibly swift review of the report, but they quickly grasped that this event had not surprised the councilmen.

"Lord Beigro," Jhirthane interjected, "you do not appear to be completely unfamiliar with such an act. Do you suspect a particular group?"

"GGGGGGGGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRR!" the Councilman rumbled through his entire body. It was quite apparent that he was deeply aggravated. "Yes. We are certain that the rising faction calling themselves the 'Freedom Seekers' is behind it. They seem to be acquiring any ship they can get their hands on!"

"This is not the first time this has happened at one of our stations then?" Nomant pressed.

"No," the massive fellow admitted, clenching his huge fist. "It is the fifth!"

Chapter Twelve

### The Wedding

Josy and Cache returned to Earth on the following day, dressed casually in what appeared to be upscale jeans and sandals. Cache added to that with a sleeveless silk shirt featuring a plunging neckline, and Josy chose a form-fitting backless tank that had a teardrop peekaboo front. They were both absolutely stunning.

The Allisons took them to see the venue where the grand occasion was to take place. Kurt was going to walk Angela down the aisle in the absence of her own father who'd passed away some years previous, and Jessica was going to fill in for her mother in likewise fashion...helping her into her gown, arranging her hair, and the like.

It was an outdoor location at the Lake Charles Country Club's summer pavilion which was large enough yet secluded enough to allow for a hundred guests yet still keep the security tight, in lieu of the President's attendance.

At the entry gate to the fenced-off pavilion compound, a Secret Service detail screened the Allison party thoroughly, and that was when a small hiccup occurred.

"I'm sorry, Miss," Dorian Blalock said, holding his hand out to stop Josylinia from continuing into the park. He was a tall man, wearing a fine suit that had a slight bulge in the area of his left ribs...where his P-9 automatic pistol hung. "But you are not on the approved guest list. I cannot allow you to enter. You can wait out here until the rest..."

"Forgive me, Agent," Cache said sweetly, "but how might I get her added to that list of yours?"

"Well, Miss Kuar, I'm afraid that's impossible at this late hour. There won't be enough time to do a proper background check on her...and without that, I'm definitely not going to let her through. Sorry."

"I see," Cache replied, her eyes sliding swiftly to a tiny purse she carried. She popped open the clutch and slipped a small device out of it. It looked like a cell phone, but it was totally Raulden.

Kurt glanced behind them to see if they were holding anyone up. A couple of the club's members...two ladies...stood there patiently, trying to be polite, but he knew that wouldn't last.

It was the Governor's and the Mayor of the city's spouses. He smiled at them and said, "This won't take a moment."

Kurt held the rank of General, and so was used to being around high-powered officials and dignitaries, but he also didn't want a scene to develop that might spoil the event for his daughter-in-law. His mind instantly shifted to ways to diffuse the situation.

"But if you like," Kurt said to the women, "you can go on in ahead of us."

The ladies smiled brightly. "Well thank you, Sir," one of them replied, and they moved to bypass the hold up.

"Call President Brice Garner," Cache said into the small device. The two ladies instantly halted.

Cache then smiled at the sentry and held up her finger, "One second, please."

Agent Blalock suddenly stiffened, his brow furrowing a bit.

"Just who the hell does this little woman think she is?" he thought.

The two women nudged up a bit closer, no longer impatient at the delay.

The phone rang twice, before; "Hello?" glided out into the air. She had it on speaker mode, and it was clear that the voice was extremely surprised at the call.

"Brice, this is Cache Kuar. Do you remember..."

"CACHE KUAR!" shouted the voice in jubilant recognition. "Hang on, Cache. Uh, sorry fellas...but I need to take this."

There was a brief hustling of chairs and footsteps as a room was cleared.

"Yes, Cache, of course I remember you! Are you kidding? It's great to hear from you! Are you here, on Ear..."

"Sorry Brice," she said quickly, cutting him off, "but I have you on speaker at my end."

"OH...I see. Well then, I guess we can catch up tomorrow then, right? At the wedding?"

The onlookers suddenly searched Cache up and down, the surprise obvious on their faces. Next, they scanned the group with her looking for some sign of recognition. After all, if the blonde woman knew the president of the United States well enough to call him by his first name, she must be someone extremely influential.

"I look forward to it immensely," Cache replied.

"Wow...okay. I didn't really think you would be there, if truth be told!" he added, but then realized he must be sounding a bit overly excited and unprofessional. He collected himself and asked; "All right. Now, obviously you didn't call just to chat, so what is it that I can do for you, Cache?"

"I must apologize for interrupting your busy schedule, Brice, truly; but I brought a friend with me...all the way from 'home'...and she cannot get into the event without someone in authority's approval. Could you possibly vouch for her on my word...to pass your security?"

"I have no reason to believe that this person is really the president," Dorian said in a gruff, irritated manner. "That could be your brother for all..."

"What is your name, Agent?" asked the voice on the phone. He was cool and controlled once more. He was the president.

"Dorian Blalock, whoever you are, but..."

"Hang on, son. Jerry, (President Garner's personal aide) get Phillip (Phillip Whitestone...the head of the Secret Service) on the phone, and have him ring his point man for the Weeks' wedding event. Have him call Mr. Blalock directly and patch me through...and be quick about it! Yes, that's right. Okay then, I'll be waiting.

"Sorry, Cache, but this won't take long. Tell me, how are you? And how are things going in your life?"

"Things are progressing well, thank you. Sheyah is healthy and happy, and so am I. How is your wife, Anastasia?"

"Oh, she's great. I think she's getting worn down from the constant grind of it all...being the president's wife comes with its own draining demands, of course...but she understands and supports me."

"Yes, I would imagine it is a strain on her, especially with all that you and your country have been through. What about your sons, Matthew and Brice Jr.?"

"They're doing well too, thanks. I think Mat's finally going to be getting engaged. He's been dating a wonderful girl for...oh...hold on.

The phone in Blalock's pocket began ringing. He squinted sharply as he reached for it.

"That's got to be a coincidence," he thought. Then he saw who it was who was calling and nearly jumped to attention. It was his regional supervisor.

"Hello?" he said carefully. "Yes, Sir! I know who you are, Sir!" as those words came out, he did snap-to, just like he was back in the Marines. "Of course, Sir."

"Cache, I'm going to speak with Mr. Blalock now. I'll be right back."

"Thank you, Brice. I will stand by."

From there the conversation was just between the two men, but the ashen shade on the agent's face made it clear that he no longer doubted Cache's claim.

"Mr. Blalock, this is President Garner," Brice said into the land-line phone on his desk.

"Yes, Sir!"

"At ease, Son. I know you're just doing your job, and I am not about to reprimand you for that. I appreciate everything you men are going through on my behalf, and the behalf of my family."

"Th-thank you, Sir."

"Don't mention it. Now, about Miss Kuar. I am going to be as frank as I can be...okay?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You will give her ANYTHING she asks for. If she says her friend wants to join us, then you will bend over backwards to accommodate her. If she says she needs the entire place repainted bright pink, you will ask her what shade. If she asks for an ice cream, I want two men with sirens blasting headed to the nearest stand...and I don't care who protests. Take care of her!

"Now, is that crystal clear, son?"

"Sir...yes, Sir!"

"Excellent...and thank you again, Mr. Blalock."

"You're welcome, Mr. President."

"Cache," Garner then said into his cellular phone. "Are you still there?"

Agent Blalock was frantically assembling a pass card for Josylinia while they spoke. It was a platinum colored card which gave her full access to anywhere inside the club, even the security booth.

"Yes, I am still here."

"I'm sorry about the misunderstanding. You won't be delayed any further. You and your friend have a nice time, and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thank you so much, Brice. You are very kind. I shall see you tomorrow for sure."

"Okay then, bye for now."

"Goodbye."

"Here you are, Miss Gitove," Dorian said hastily, handing Josy her pass. "Please forgive me for the..."

"Don't worry over it one little bit," Josy replied, flashing her brightest smile and clasping his hands with hers. "It was no bother, and you were not in the wrong. Now let me thank 'you' for this, and you have a wonderful day."

The agent let out an audible huff of air, supremely relieved that the strange interlude was at an end, and more than a little bedazzled by the stunning brunette.

When the Allisons's group had moved off into the beautiful grounds, he wondered badly about just who that blonde woman was to have the President of the United States at her beck and call. But that was so far above his pay-grade, he could barely guess...and he knew better than to make inquiries about it. He simply went back to his duty afterward, and tried to relax.

Kurt and Jessica took their time and showed the ladies around the elegant venue before they all headed back to Westlake. As they crossed the city's limits Josy pleaded for a tour of Ron's hometown, thereafter taking in the sights of the little municipality like it was a museum. She was completely unfamiliar with the way of life on Earth and wanted to get some inkling of where he came from. And even though it wasn't very in-depth and didn't take long, she felt a bit more understanding of his roots just the same.

It was a little strange for the Allisons, having the focus of the visit...Ron...absent from the group, but Kurt and Jessica did find it a bit easier to let their pride out about their son without him constantly dismissing their ardent praise. Cache and Josy even sampled some of the local cuisine, each finding it 'tasty and quite interesting'.

All in all, it was a nice day of bonding for all concerned.

At two in the afternoon on the following day, the alien ladies stepped back onto Earth's surface once again. This time Sheyah was in Cache's arms. She was dressed in a beautiful little gown of layered yellow silk that made her look like a tiny princess, and Jessica just went on and on over it.

Cache wore a contemporary southern sundress that was of the same color and material, but it was exquisitely tailored to her fine figure with intricate lace affixed about the sleeves and hem, and short gloves of the same. Her hair was up and sprinkled with little white flowers all about, leaving her looking extremely demure and beautiful.

Josy had chosen powder blue as her color, but had gone with an off the shoulder dress that was open in the back with just a few bands of gold chain spanning that area. The bodice, sleeves, and hem were trimmed in crisp white linen that made her dark skin look even more entrancing and dramatic. In fact, most men found it almost hypnotic. She'd put her raven hair into tight curls that just cascaded and bounced all about her shoulders, and Kurt was forced to turn away and take a few deep breaths to keep from stumbling all over himself once again.

"My word!" Jessica said in a great gasp. "You two are going to give half the men heart attacks! And the other half will probably get slapped!"

Cache and Josy smiled all the brighter.

Kurt was in his military dress uniform, and Jessica was in a lovely soft pink cotton dress that was decorated throughout with delicate embroidered flowers.

"You look beautiful too, Jesse," Josy said, running her hands across the material on the sleeves to emphasize her genuine intrigue. "That is quite well done!"

Jessica blushed heavily and smiled back.

"She did all the needlework herself!" Kurt boasted proudly. "She's always had a gift for that kind of thing.

The Allisons checked that they had everything and then they all loaded up in Kurt's Chevy Suburban and headed off.

On Caron;

"Jooooooosy," Ron called out when he drew close to the house.

He, Karne, and Larson had returned early from their hunting expedition, having had wonderful luck in the outing. They eased the wagon full of meat around the huge home and began unloading it into the large smokehouse.

"Well, that must have gone well," Mishea said sweetly as she made her way across the wide porch and down to greet her men.

"Yeah," Ron piped up, "almost too easy."

"Well, it does help to take the best tracker on the planet along," Larson added, having been genuinely amazed at Ron's uncanny woodsmen skills.

She said her "welcome homes" to Karne and Larson, and then hugged Ron too, always recognizing that even a simple, yet necessary, trip into the forest for food could potentially be very dangerous on their primitive world.

"Is Josy in town or something?" Ron asked, glancing about. He'd missed his gorgeous fiancé more than he thought he would. After all, it had only been five days.

"Well, I suppose the 'or something' might cover it," she replied.

Then, while the men hefted the huge sides of wild pravort, bartcha, and gralleen (Caronian antelope), she informed Ron about exactly where and why her daughter had gone. When she was finished, Ron went silent for a while.

The Gitoves caught up with their own news while Ron considered his. It only took a little over half a billot to transfer the meat, and then Ron took the wagon and headed to the barn while Karne and his family sauntered toward the house.

Ron helped the stable hands take care of the horses and stow the wagon, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He checked his chrono for the time...it being synchronized to Caron's, Rauld's, and Earth's rotations on different screens. By the time he rejoined his host and hostess, he'd made up his mind.

"I'm going to Earth," he proclaimed, "and I'll return with Josy."

Mishea could see the turmoil in his expression, and wanted to caution him on what she knew he was headed into, but she was certain he'd made his decision and would not be dissuaded. Instead of counseling him, they just bid him goodbye and good luck and out the door he went.

Ron started jogging toward the cottage, but before long he was sprinting. He flew into the small dwelling and slammed his hand down on the transporter panel without a moment's delay.

"Rauld!" he said excitedly.

Aanlis wasn't available, but instead, Arsisi's face flashed onto the screen.

"Uh, hi!" Ron said when the link was live.

"Hello, Ron," she replied happily.

"You're running the portal?" he inquired...surprised that a non-Raulden was in control of that fantastic device.

"Temporarily...and under Phalia's supervision. I'm in training."

Phalia was one of Aanlis's communications team members. She was a slim woman, approximately three hundred cycles old (middle-aged for Rauldens), and had long brown hair with green eyes. She had a son about Sheyah's age.

"Oh, well, that's good."

"What may I do for you, Ron?"

"I need to go to Earth, so could you open the portal please?"

"Of course. Stand by."

A few quick moves at her station and the portal was expanding outwardly into the cottage's living room space.

Ron hated trusting his life to that machine, but it was the only way to achieve his goal, so he took a quick breath and strode forward.

"Thanks," he told Arsisi when he was safely across. "Now could you send me to Ear..."

"Aanlis said to show you this if you came today," Arsisi informed him, indicating an area off to her left.

Ron didn't want to seem irritated by the young woman, but certainly felt it inside. No matter, he turned to see what she was showing him and then suddenly sighed, letting out a sly smirk.

"Cache, you little wizard!" he muttered, knowing full well that she'd prepared for this exact scenario.

Hanging right there was a fabulous navy-blue suit that was an exact duplicate of a Giorgio Armani original...although when he lifted it he felt the Raulden influence instantly. He judged it to weigh around a hundred and fifty pounds! There were all the accouterments to go along with it as well.

"There is a sanitizer out that door and across the hallway, on your left, Ron," Phalia added, also smiling at the exceptional preplanning.

"Thanks," he replied, already dashing out the door with his new ensemble.

Fifteen borts later, Ron stepped back through that door and strode straight to the portal exit, looking like a huge version of Ian Fleming's James Bond. He was clean shaven and sporting a grin like a Cheshire Cat.

"Okay then," he told Arsisi. "I'm ready to go now."

She already had the destination plotted and just pressed her finger down.

"Good luck, Ron," she and Phalia both told him, and then he was gone.

He didn't hesitate even a second in his parents' house, turning left and heading straight for the garage where he kept his massive motorcycle...the only thing that could carry his bulk short of that Hummer he'd built...or a one ton truck.

The stink of Earth struck him like a slap in the face, but he ignored it and kept moving. He rolled the bike out into the bright sunshine, slipped on a pair of wrap-around sunglasses he'd found inside his jacket pocket (Cache really had thought of everything), and fired the monstrous thing up. A quick check of the systems and he was screaming down the road, headed for the interstate.

"It's getting close, Mrs. Allison," said Lindsey Barlow, the wedding coordinator.

Jessica was just finishing up with the last minute adjustments on Angela's veil, locking it into her hair with some long straight pins.

"All right," she called to the woman without turning around.

"There," she told her daughter-in-law, as she stepped back and took a good look. "Angie, you look like an angel!" she added before reaching up and wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

"Thank you, Jesse," Angela told her, so very glad that her mother-in-law was such a wonderful person. "It truly means the world to me...what you and Kurt have done to help out with all this."

"Think nothing of it, Sweetie. It's been our joy and pleasure to be part of your big day!"

Angela beamed at her.

Kock-knock-knock.

"How's it coming, Jesse?" Kurt asked through the door.

Jessica went to it and swung it aside.

"You tell me."

Kurt just stood there staring at the breathtaking woman before him.

Angela's gown was ivory in color and strapless, which allowed full view of her elegant neck and delicate, tanned shoulders. The bodice was covered in elaborate beading and fit her very snuggly, demonstrating what a fabulous figure she had. The lacy upper edge cradled her lovely bosom well, yet left plenty of cleavage to stir every man's soul. The train was on the short side, but trailed enough for a dramatic appearance, and it was made of creamy satin.

"Wooooooooow!" Kurt said in a long release of air. "Darlin, you look so gorgeous."

Angela smiled sweetly and checked herself over one more time. "Thanks."

Lindsey appeared at the door just then and called for Jessica.

"Time to take your seat."

Jesse gave Angela one more hug, making sure to not smudge her, and then went out the door.

Kurt and Angela could clearly hear the music playing the song for the family members to be walked down the aisle. Time was getting short.

"Are you nervous?" Kurt asked.

Angela squeezed his arm and said. "Nope. Not a bit."

Kurt gave her a squeeze back, looped her hand around his arm, and headed for the door.

A quarter mile to the east, Ron swung round the final turn and gunned the engine toward the country club's entrance, but the gates had already been swung closed...and there was a large sign stating that no more vehicle traffic was allowed.

Ron gritted his teeth at that, but kept going nonetheless, eyeing along the fenced compound for spots where he might be able to infiltrate the guards. It didn't look good, especially in the daytime, because there were a lot of men.

He screeched to a stop beside a valet, threw down the kickstand, and hopped off.

"Sir," one of the gate guards said immediately. "You can't park there."

Ron flipped the keys to the valet and approached the towering wrought-iron gate.

"I'm here for the Allison-Weeks wedding. Has it begun?"

"What is your name, Sir," the guard asked.

Ron saw four large men in suits and dark sunglasses begin edging closer. Their hands drifted slowly into their coats as they moved.

Ron started to say his real name, but quickly remembered his alias on Earth.

"Ronin Dangarth," he said, still scanning the grounds behind his own dark glasses.

"Dan...Dan...Dan...Dangarth!"

Ron's head snapped around toward the fellow.

"I'm on the list?" he thought. "Excellent!"

"I have you down as one of Cache Ku...Oh shit!"

Ron tensed himself, wondering at the change in the man's speech.

The guard quickly pressed his thumb on his walkie and said; "Roberts...get over to the gate ASAP!"

Ron's fingers started to clench into a ball as his adrenaline spiked, but...

"Mr. Dangarth," the sentry said sharply, hurrying over to open the gate, "Please allow us to see you to the venue!"

Another man then came flying up on an oversized electric cart and stopped hurriedly in front of Ron. He looked frantically at the gate attendant.

"What's up?"

"Mr. Dangarth here is with Cache Kuar's group!"

"OH!" the new man said. "Mr. Dangarth. If you would, please hop on and I'll get you to the wedding as fast as I can!"

Ron was very surprised to hear how much pull Cache seemed to have with those men until he recalled her relationship with President Garner, and his with Sam. Then it all made sense.

Ron hurried around and took his seat beside the fellow, and watched the driver's reaction when the heavy duty cart listed hard to the right. But the man said nothing and just floored the accelerator.

Down in the front row of the seats, Cache, Sheyah, and Josy were sitting next to the Allisons, on Angela's side of the attendees. Derek was old enough by that time to sit beside his grandparents, but instead of focusing on the proceedings, he put all his attention on Sheyah, who sat on Cache's lap right next to him.

President Garner and his wife were next to Sam's parents on the other side.

When Jessica made her way to her seat and her escort usher exited, the bridesmaids began filing out.

It was a small ceremony, with only three bridesmaids...one of which was Ron's sister, Ainsley. They took their positions and waited for the flower girl (the maid of honor's daughter) who would be the precursor to the bride's entrance.

There was a pause that dragged on for a while, and then everyone started glancing down the aisle to see what was the matter.

Lindsey suddenly came rushing up to Kurt and Angela in the foyer with a panicked expression.

"I'm afraid the little one who was going to act as the flower girl got sick on too much punch while waiting!" she said shakily. "She's ruined her dress."

"Oh that's a shame, the poor dear," Angela said, concerned for the girl but not at all upset. After all, she had a young child and that's the way it goes with kids their age. "We'll just go on without a flower girl," she suggested.

"Okay," Lindsey exhaled, glad that Angela wasn't one of those 'crazy brides'. "Then you're up!"

"Wait just a second," Kurt inserted, an idea popping into his head. He whipped out his phone and tapped a quick message to his wife.

Jessica heard the phone in her purse and recognized the ring as Kurt's. She gave it a quick look and then spun to Cache.

"Cache, Kurt says the flower girl has taken ill. Do you think Sheyah could fill in?"

"Oh, well...I...do not know. What does she need to do?"

Jessica explained quickly and before Cache could even answer, Sheyah said, "Stay here, Derek. I'll be right back," and leaped down from her mother's lap. A second later she was headed on up the aisle. Cache noticed that she could walk much better than normal because of the Earth's lower gravity, so she just watched her little girl with glowing pride.

Every head turned and followed that tiny tot waddling up the aisle until she rounded the entry, and they were all chuckling at the sight. A few seconds later, Sheyah reappeared in the doorway with a little basket filled with rose pedals in her hand. She paused just a moment for the music to begin and then started down the long carpet tossing those pedals into the air as she went.

The cameras began flashing like she was a starlet on the runway at the Academy Awards, and that just made Sheyah ham it up all the more. Her tiny little hands began flinging the flower petals way up, until they were raining down on her as she walked.

Sam was clapping and egging her on, winking pointedly at Cache when he caught her eye.

The men in the audience all laughed at her antics and the women all cooed at her; "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah".

It was absolutely adorable.

When Sheyah finally emptied her basket and took her seat once more, the organist began the time-honored wedding march theme. Everyone rose to their feet at that, and all eyes locked on the entrance...and then Angela stepped into the opening on Kurt's arm.

Sam's breath caught in his chest. He was utterly transfixed with her, and would have sworn no other woman had ever looked so incredibly beautiful.

Several low whistles sneaked out and there was a good deal of gasps escaping while that ravishing woman stood framed in the doorway. Then she took a single step before...

"Stop!" rang out from somewhere inside the building, behind the pair.

The sound of that order echoed all the way down to the minister, and sent everyone into instant wonder.

Kurt and Angela both jerked to a halt and their heads pivoted about quickly, searching out who it was that dared spoil that special moment...and then both their mouths hung open. The musician even stopped playing.

"I'll take it from her, Dad," Ron said calmly to his father. "That is, if the bride doesn't mind."

"Uh...what...no...no, Ron. Of course I don't mind!" Angela said; the surprise nearly overwhelming. "Are you sure though?"

Ron smiled down at her with complete ease.

"Yes, Anj...I'm sure. In fact, I think this is just what I need to help me put the past to rest. I want you to know that I'm so happy for you...and for Sam. And I mean that sincerely."

"All right then," Kurt said, relieved that Ron was taking it so well. "I'll see you two afterward."

Kurt then strolled down the aisle and took his place at Jessica's side. He waved at the organist to get his attention and motioned for him to begin again.

There was much murmuring throughout the guests until that music restarted.

Angela stood their staring up at her former husband while her heart beat as fast as a humming bird's wings. It was extremely emotional to stand beside her first, truest love again, but also, Ron was devastatingly handsome. The chiseled features of his face looked like the comic book picture of Superman had come to life. His shoulders appeared four feet wide and the cut of his suit showed the inverted triangle of his physique superbly...not to mention the clear bulge of his biceps. The women nearest to the pair were gawking openly at him and scanning him up and down nonstop.

They were about twenty feet from the nearest guest, and out of earshot, so Ron took a moment to express himself.

"You will forever be in my heart, my love," Ron whispered to her. "I want you to be clear about that."

"I hope you know that I feel exactly the same way, Ron," she replied.

"Do you love him?"

"Yes...very much. And he loves Derek like he was his own."

Ron smiled a warm smile at that, and nodded.

"Good. I'm so glad. Now give me your arm and let me take you to your new life."

The music had begun again at that point, so Angela wrapped her arm around Ron's for the final time, and they began the long walk.

Ron stopped beside Sam, turned and raised the veil from Angela's face, and then kissed her on the cheek. She felt a quiver race through her body at his touch, but it wasn't the old sensation of when they were together. It was simply the excitement of the moment...and the familiarity.

Ron straightened up and turned to Sam who was staring at him in complete befuddlement.

He held out his hand and clasped it with Sam's.

"I hope you know just how extraordinarily lucky you are, Sam," he said.

"Believe me," Sam replied, locking his eyes on Angela's hazel-green orbs, "I do."

Ron placed Angela's hand in Sam's and said; "Best wishes to you both."

He then moved off to sit between Cache and Josy. Josy leaned heavily on Ron's shoulder and Sheyah climbed into his lap, both feeling he needed their support. Even Cache laid her hand on his arm for comfort.

From there the ceremony went flawlessly, and soon everyone was cheering for the newly announced couple.

The reception was a whirlwind with so many people vying for the newlyweds' time, but President Garner managed to spend most of his with Cache and Ron, inquiring about what was going on out in the galaxy. However, after Cache had explained a bit of what all had happened since they last met, he was more than happy to be dealing with only his country's problems. When he tried to think on the scale she was faced with, his head began to pound.

Sheyah and Derek continued their partnership the whole time, talking and talking, and even dancing at one point, which got even more pictures snapping away.

About an hour later, when the cake had been cut and all the pictures taken, Angela finally got a chance to sit down and eat a bite with Sam. They were both grinning madly at the wonderful way things had turned out when Derek went running over to his mother excitedly.

"Mommy-Mommy. Did you know I have a sister?"

Sam smiled at the little guy and tried to laugh it off, thinking he'd gotten the wrong idea about who Sheyah was, until he saw Angela's surprised and embarrassed expression.

"Baby?" he asked of his brand new bride.

Angela smiled sweetly and took his hand in hers. "There are a few things I need to explain to you, Darling. But I promise, this doesn't change a single thing between us."

She then turned to her son. "Derek, sweetie. Would you go and fetch your dad?"

That tiny man walked off and returned only a few minutes later, trailing a very large one.

Angela held her arms open and her son ran to her, scrambling up into her lap out of habit.

She remained seated, trying to keep her composure, and said, "Sam...Darling...I'd like to introduce you to Ron Allison...Kurt and Jessica's son."

Ron held out his hand once again to Sam, this time with no more secrecy between them.

"Sam," Ron said calmly, "I meant what I said to you both. I wish you nothing but the best."

Sam stood and faced the fellow he thought was bonded to Cache, Sheyah's father, and just looked at him. He was too stunned to say anything.

"Please don't lay blame on Anj for not having told you sooner. Even she was kept in the dark until fairly recently, at which time I'm sure it was very difficult to even begin to comprehend. And aside from that, I asked her to just let it lie. I mean, really, what good could come of letting the secret out?"

"But...I could've...you...you and Cache are from..." his eyes darted around the room. Only three other people in the entire crowd actually knew who they were. "You know!"

"Yeah, that's part of the reason that this is so messed up. You see, up here," Ron tapped his temple, "I'm still from Ear...that is Westlake...mostly. All this," he indicated his physique, "was because I was transformed by the Rauldens. So in many ways, the original Ron was overwritten by the new one. That being said, if I want to be completely honest with myself, I have to admit that Angela's husband is truly and factually just a memory.

"Now it will be up to you to wrap your head around this bizarre situation...and believe me...it won't be easy. But you must know this one absolute truth. Angela loves 'you'. In her heart there will always be an echo of her Ron, but it is not me. I am no threat to you or your life together. I even hope you give Derek a brother or sister. I think it would be wonderful. But of course, that is entirely up to you two.

"I would like your blessing to be able to keep tabs on Derek as he grows, but I won't interfere either. My life is so different from Ear...this society...that I could hardly see myself ever second guessing Angela's decisions about his upbringing, whatever they might be."

Sam's face was extremely flushed. He was normally a very level-headed person, and his temper rarely flared, but he now knew that Angela had kept some rather important...actually 'frigging enormous'...information from him, and it was difficult to absorb.

Ron plainly saw the rise in his blood pressure, it being clear on his face, so he too began to adjust in a like manner. It was simple human nature, especially between men.

Luckily, Josy glided up beside Ron at that time and slid her fingers into his. It was like a cool breeze to feel her touch, and it allowed Ron to restore his calm.

"Hello, Sam," Josy said, blasting him with one of her most dazzling smiles.

That exhibition was like a dose of ice water on Sam's growing state of anxiety too, and diffused him just as swiftly, sweeping away his growing anger in barely an instant.

"Angela," Josy then said, turning to her, "We met briefly in the receiving line but I'd like to introduce myself properly. I'm Josylinia Gitove, Ron's fiancé."

For just a split second, Angela's eyes flared greener than ever before in her life as a twinge of jealousy raced through her, but her son broke that spell immediately.

"Mommy, she's Daddy's friend!"

Angela tore her eyes from that breathtaking woman and regarded her boy. He was so happy to see his father again that it diffused her annoyance as well. She then quelled the vibration of the adrenaline spike by taking a deep breath. "That's right, Derek. Mommy is with Sam, and Daddy is with Josylinia."

Derek then held his hands up to Josy and she didn't hesitate a moment, scooping the little guy right up.

Three men dropped their glasses of punch when she made that move...her incredible figure granting a mind-blowing, ostentatious view as she bent over...and the shattering of those tumblers broke the rising tension in a loud and messy way.

That was like sticking a pin into the balloon of building angst, and gave everyone a moment to think and compose themselves. When their attention returned to their discussion, Sam regarded Ron once more and could see no rival, and Angela had already known about, and come to grips with, Josy's role in Ron's life.

From that moment on, the conversations returned with pleasant, happy tones, and no one gave further thought to the past.

### Chapter Thirteen

### Hosstry

While the wedding celebration continued on Earth, the _Darlile_ hung motionless in space, seven hundred thousand hoz from Barthume Headigon's homeworld; Hosstry. Larger than Caron by 4 tenths, the globe of his birth was very much like hundreds of others scattered across the Kreete Empire. It was a modern planet, even by the Kreete's standards, and interstellar traffic came and went without end.

The Hosstrians had been in the fold of the Triad for more than five and a half centuries, and were well adjusted to their role in the grand scheme of things. They accepted the Kreete laws and decrees, fulfilled their obligations of economic restitutions, and even provided human workers for whatever the Lords demanded.

In fact, after all the useful minerals had been extracted from the surface of their planet, and the Kreete saw no further need for keeping a presence there, the natives found an innovative commodity to barter with. There quickly arose a new and extremely lucrative business across their globe in the form of slavery. And it wasn't confined to just the native inhabitants. They'd done extensive research and knew that variety and distinctiveness were the keys to success in the Triad. Be it for the Lords' pleasure girls...which held a wide range of considerations...or for combatants in their blood sports, the people of Hosstry had learned exactly how to play the game, and had adapted.

Presently entire regions of the planet were dedicated to the sole purpose of humanoid training, development, and exploitation. It was like the gladiator ludi of old Earth, only on a much broader, grander scale. They produced magnificent fighters who were sold across the Triad to entertain the Lords or some foreign dignitaries' impulses or fetishes. And to further their cause...to advertise their wares...many competitions were held to prove the worth of their merchandise. The bouts were sent electronically around the empire, just to whet the appetites of potential patrons.

So too were their female products advertised. They were each recorded during their recruitment phase, during training in the various arts of pleasure, and even during practical demonstrations on actual clients. It wasn't nearly as lucrative as the fighters, but held much less overhead and loss of product.

To someone from Earth, or Rauld, or Caron, or any seemingly sane society, the planet of Hosstry was a sadistic factory of bondage, torture, and depravity. To those who controlled the flow of merchandise however, it was just a way of life...a very well-compensated way of life.

Holding its position with its scattering field running at the maximum setting, the _Darlile's_ directive was both simple and complex. Cache had sent her ebony invention to monitor the planet for signs of any resistance force that she might make contact with...someone with enough authority or influence to help her establish a foothold on the world.

She'd already gleaned as much information as she could from the Triad's data stream, and together with Aanlis's technical experts, they had combed through that compilation for possible avenues to exploit, but had found none. The world seemed too firmly entrenched.

It was Cache's hope that being physically close to the world might unveil some hidden ally she could approach. She felt there had to be a group on the surface somewhere that would be willing to risk their lives to break free from the grip of the Triad...and be driven enough to carry forward and fight the Kreete once the planetary shield was initiated.

However, the ebony ship had been there for more than a torjourne and had found no signs of any such band.

The current cities across the globe were extremely diverse, with dozens of alien races and their cultures all intermixed into an eclectic myriad of life, and all seemed to be willing to keep the status quo. Trade...both above board and below...was widespread and teeming with excitement and purpose.

If anyone were to venture into that society, they would have thought nothing about any threat from the Lords looming over their heads. Life was as it was, and they simply embraced it.

After the festivities on Earth were concluded, Cache returned to Rauld with high hopes. Unfortunately, when she received her update, she was forced to concede to the facts. She then dejectedly sent the _Darlile_ to the next destination.

Hosstry was lost.

### Chapter Fourteen

### A Romantic Getaway?

By the time Ron and Josylinia arrived back at the Gitove farm, it was just past midnight. They cleaned up, made love very tenderly, and then readied themselves for sleep without much conversation. Josy could tell by Ron's quiet disposition that he was distracted by the day's events, so she made a suggestion while they lay in bed.

"Ron, my love, what do you think about taking a little trip with me...just the two of us?"

Ron snapped out of his funk immediately and smiled grandly at her, their noses almost touching in the darkness.

"That sounds fantastic! But wouldn't you prefer to wait until after the wedding, and make it our honeymoon?"

"I had considered that, but no. That's not necessary. It's still six santaris away at least, and I don't want to delay being alone with you for that long."

Her exuberance made Ron grin.

(The matrimonial ceremony had to be scheduled so far in advance to allow Ron's friends from all across the lands to attend, especially those from Lampsh. Their crops wouldn't be due for harvest for another three santaris, and it was a santari long journey, so the soonest they could hope to hold it was at the end of the cycle.)

"Well, in that case, I would be more than happy to oblige you! Where would you like to go?"

"I remember you saying that you'd like to explore the lands southeast of here. You said there were no Kreete outposts in that direction during the war and wondered what lay there."

"Yeah, that's true. Sure! I think that's a great idea! When do you want to leave?"

"Well, it will take a day or so to prepare. How about the next time Vorac (Caron's smaller moon) is full?"

That would come four days from then.

"Perfect! It'll give me time to say proper goodbyes to Cache and Sheyah, so they won't worry. But first, we'd better make sure that Karne is okay with it."

"Oh, he will be...especially when you tell him your old friend will be with us for security."

"My old friend?" Ron queried, his mind instantly picturing Roelantish but knowing that burly woodsman couldn't possibly be who she was referring to. "What old...?"

"The eight-legged one!" Josy replied, beaming with delight.

"Flash?" Ron asked, totally surprised. "He's here? Really?"

"Yes, I sensed his presence this morning...well, yesterday morning I guess now...while you were still out with Father. He's been checking in with me every few santaris since all the way back when you last left for Rauld. It seems he thinks of you as his surrogate father."

"How come I haven't heard his thoughts?"

"He stays pretty far away from the house...so as not to frighten anyone...but for some reason, I can communicate with him much farther than you. I guess it's my heritage. I told him that if you were back by then, we would ride out and visit him tomorrow morning. He'll wait for us fifteen hoz due south, where the river makes a sharp horseshoe turn to the west."

"Bartcha tusk ravine?"

"Yes, that's the one."

They stayed up a while longer, chatting eagerly about the trip, but Josy was weary from the day's events and satiated from their latest round of love play, so it wasn't too long before she snuggled up against Ron's chest and her eyes fell shut. She was out immediately.

Ron was particularly excited about the upcoming excursion, having had the yearning to explore for a long time, but he used his phenomenal self-control and forced his mind to shut down for the night. He drifted off shortly after Josy.

Sleep was never something Ron needed a great deal of however, and so he arose extra early, slipping out of the house and down to the barn in the predawn billot. It had been a good while since he'd last planned an extended outing, and he wanted to go over it all very thoroughly.

He and Josy pitched their plan to her folks during breakfast, and even though the older Gitoves had their misgivings, they couldn't really blame the young people for wanting to be alone. And when Karne realized that Flash was going, his worries fell away directly. With Ron Allison at her side, he knew no men would get close to his little girl, and with Flash running point, he knew no beast would either.

They saddled up their horses right after the meal and set out at a fast trot toward the rendezvous. The day was a bright one, with deep blue skies that were sporadically dotted with wispy, feathery clouds high overhead.

As they drew closer to the ravine, the route turned to wild forest, untamed by man. (The southern edge of the Gitove estate was the last vestige of farmland in that direction. ) That said, the pair were fortunate that the terrain wasn't so thick that they couldn't ride most of the way. They just had to slow down a good amount. The ground was hilly, but not too steep or treacherous, so for the most part it made for a nice, leisurely outing.

Those woods were some of the prime hunting land that the local residents utilized for their meat supply, and for good reason. It was teeming with many varieties of game, of which Ron saw obvious signs.

They ran into the young Redalien Tracker barely a billot later as they topped a small knoll.

"Stop," came a warning in Ron's mind. Josy heard it too.

The two humans halted their mounts instantly.

"On foot," was the next message.

Ron understood immediately and hopped off his saddle in one smooth move.

"Why should we leave the horses?" Josy asked as she copied Ron's motions. "He wouldn't hurt them would he?"

"No," Ron chuckled, "but they wouldn't understand that!"

"Oh, yes," Josy agreed, finally understanding the creature's logic.

They tied the horses securely to a tree at the edge of a tiny spring that was pushing up through the ground. There was plenty of grass growing around it too, for them to munch on.

"That's very shrewd, don't you think?"

Ron nodded.

"How smart do you think he really is?"

"I don't know, Josy, but I tell you what. I'd hate to have to find out. Come on. He's this way."

"How do you know that?" she asked as she fell in step beside Ron.

"Cause he'd have to be downwind of us. Otherwise the horses would have panicked."

Josy nodded; impressed at the easy way he'd deduced that.

They walked down the slope for a hundred peors until they reached a narrow gap in the tall trees forming a long clearing that ran east to west. A nice, stiff breeze sped through that gap and struck their faces heading east. That's where they found him. He was standing out in a sunny patch of tall grass fifty peors away with his ears flicking every direction and his eyes locked securely on them. He'd heard them coming for the past twenty borts.

Flash bristled his amazing camouflage coat and waited until Ron spotted him, and then he charged!

Ron jolted to a stop instantly when he caught the movement, and then his eyes widened even faster. Flash was on him so quickly that he barely had time to gasp.

"Kuthump!" went Ron onto his back with the now fully grown tracker squarely on his chest.

"Huuuuuuuuuhhh!" huffed Ron as most of the air in his lungs was squeezed out of him.

"Holy-crap!" Ron grunted as Flash nuzzled him hard and patted him repeatedly with his huge paws.

"Happy...see you!" Ron heard in his mind.

Josy stumbled back with her hands over her face in horror until she saw what the creature was up to, and then she began to giggle. Ron felt like he was being pummeled into the ground by the excited beast, but couldn't find it in his heart to order him off, so he just tensed up and rode it out until Flash had completed his hasty inspection.

"I'm glad to see you too!" Ron said and thought back at the beast.

When he could finally stand again, Ron patted and scratched and hugged the monstrous tracker like he was the family's Labrador, and never gave thought to the fact that if anyone else could have witnessed that reunion, they'd have fallen over in disbelief.

Ron asked Flash about his life since the war, and then he and Josy listened to the broken reply with great interest. The youngster had traveled far and wide across the wild lands of Caron, always staying well clear of any humans. He'd fought many of the most feared creatures indigenous to the planet and had seen the far off ocean to the east.

As Ron and he spoke back and forth, Josy began to wonder something. When there was a break in the discussion, she posed a question of Ron.

"Can he read our thoughts all the time?"

Flash looked about, always on the alert.

"No, I asked him that once, when we were marching toward Huinrag. He can only grasp our 'language'...if you will...when we concentrate hard and direct it at him. Otherwise, it's background noise, as I understand it...like leaves rustling in the wind."

They asked him if he would like to go with them on their adventure and he agreed straightaway.

"I think he's been lonely," Ron told Josy. "His species is very intelligent, and even though they spend much of their natural lives in solitude, they often communicate with one another across the distances...to maintain their domains and search out mates when the time is right."

"But how would he know about that?"

"His mother's instincts and much of her life's experiences were downloaded to him during his incubation. He was born with a great deal of her knowledge already locked into his mind. It's the only way they can survive on their world...which apparently has an extremely harsh environment."

Ron and Josy stayed most of the afternoon with Flash before heading back, agreeing to meet him again three days hence at the same spot.

They then spent nearly every lita of the next two days with Sheyah, playing with her and being entertained by her adorable antics. And during that time Ron explained why he and Josy would be gone for a while. Sheyah didn't seem overly distraught, but Cache knew it would be very difficult for them to tell that amazing little girl goodbye, so she planned a trip back to Rauld on the night before. That at least made the parting a little less emotional.

On the designated morning, the betrothed pair rode off into the rising sun, talking excitedly the whole first day. They trailed two extra horses packed with provisions, and Flash scouted their path with the enthusiasm of a six-month-old puppy.

The way was truly wild and rugged country, but with Ron's skills of navigation and his amazing ability to read the terrain, they made good progress and saw some breathtaking sights. Also, it didn't hurt to have Flash around to run point and avoid any really hazardous obstacles.

After nearly a santari of aimless wandering and leisurely travel, they ran across a mountain range that looked as formidable as the Taerdrasseg Mountains west of Lampsh, so they turned east.

Flash informed them that there was no pass through those peaks all the way to the salt water sea, but Ron wanted to follow it for a while anyway...a strange curiosity driving his urge...one he didn't really understand. Josy didn't mind in the least, the heart of an explorer beating within her as well.

A week later, while hunting for an evening meal, Ron accidentally stumbled across a narrow cleft in a sheer rock wall. It appeared to be nothing more than a shallow split of rock, but upon closer investigation, he found that it was actually cut deeply into the towering cliff. Like a flame to a moth, that dark flaw in the mountain drew him to wonder about what might lie beyond. It would be a tight squeeze, but he was certain he could navigate it.

Flash usually did all the hunting for the two lovers, but sometimes Ron preferred to make the kill himself, just to keep his skills sharp. At those times, the pup stayed near the camp to protect Josy and the horses. It was unknown and dangerous country they were in, where few souls ever dared venture, and even fewer returned. That particular day though, Ron was still close enough to camp to call to the beast.

"This might take a while, Flash, so stay with Josy while I investigate...okay?" he asked his multi-legged friend.

Flash snorted and raced back from his patrol perimeter to the very side of the buxom brunette. He then stood guard faithfully on full alert.

Josy noticed the change in his actions and questioned the creature.

"Flash. Is something wrong?"

"No," came the reply.

"Is Ron alright?

"Yes. Delayed."

"Oh," she muttered, but didn't fret about it. She had already accepted what all the other Caronians believed...that Ron Allison (Ronin Alsone to them) simply could not be killed, so she just spent the time building a fire and preparing for the coming night.

Ron slowly followed the rough natural path that was barely wide enough for him to slip through, at some points even forcing him to exhale to do so. It snaked back into the stony land for almost a half hoz before opening up to a wonderful little valley nestled between the peaks of a diverging mountain range. It was roughly diamond shaped, possibly a hoz in length, and was about half that at its widest point. The center was open grassland but all along the edges was thick forest. He scanned the area thoroughly from the safety of the rocks, but saw no sign of any people or dangerous beasts.

As was his usual tendency, Ron then made a careful reconnaissance of the area, finding three crystal-clear, spring-fed pools at the southern end that bubbled up from the deep rock. From there they merged into a nice creek which ran off to the base of a northern cliff, and then disappeared into the mountain. But even with that wonderful boon of a clean water source, it was just as he'd first suspected...deserted. In fact, he could only spot two places with a very old sign of any person ever having passed through there, and he had to admit that even that might not have been made by man. Every other trail was of some breed of small antelopes or of critters no larger than jack-rabbits.

As he headed back to Josy, he surmised that it was either too well hidden to have ever been found, too isolated to be of interest, or too small to sustain a community of any size, so even though it was extremely beautiful, it lay forsaken.

Ron entered camp in a fast jog, which startled Josy, but when she saw the excited grin on his face, she simply had to grin back.

"I found a place I think you'll like," he told her as he slowed his approach to a walk. That perked her curiosity up right away.

The sun was already low on the horizon, but they packed up their little site quickly and headed south. Ron hobbled the horses so they wouldn't run off too far and set Flash to keep them corralled while he and Josy were away.

He then led her back through the narrow gap. It was tough going because Ron had to press his large pack over his head for much of the trip to keep it from getting stuck, but they reached the little oasis just before twilight.

"What do you think?" he asked his heavenly partner when they stood at the northern entryway.

It was harder to see by then because the shadows darkened the entire little valley, but it still appeared like a wonderfully private, serene retreat.

"Oh, Ron," she sighed with a devastating smile, sweeping her gaze across the glorious landscape. "I think I could live here for the rest of my life! It's just magnificent!"

Ron nodded his agreement immediately. The surrounding meadow appeared rich and fertile, and held sufficient room to grow enough crops to sustain a single family. The steeper sections that were covered with thick forest had shown enough game trails to tell him that meat was plentiful in the area, so that would not be a concern. And the secluded setting was rife with peace and tranquility.

It was a true Eden.

It was also a fleeting fantasy.

Ron and Josy both knew that such an escape would never come to be...that her link with her family, and his duty to Rauld, would make that dream completely absurd...but it was nice to dream it anyway, at least for a while.

Without further delay, Ron led his love to the area nearest the spring's head where they made a hasty camp as the day ended. The night air had a chill to it at that altitude, but Ron built a roaring fire that kept them comfortable enough until they'd eaten and cleaned up for the night. Then they slipped beneath the warm bedding they'd packed and Josy heated things up in another fashion.

They spent the following three weeks hiding out from the world in that little valley. They took long walks through the grass often, explored the wooded sections thoroughly, and spent a good amount of time pondering how the sheer walls had possibly formed such a unique refuge.

There were plenty of birds, rabbits, and squirrels the size of cats to kept them fed, so their food supply lasted nicely, and every other day, they made the trek back to the horses to see that they were cared for, and of course to let Flash know they were alright.

They swam in the pools every day and made love whenever either of them had the urge. Josy, who was never one to wear much even amidst a public gathering, spent much of the time completely nude, sunning herself and just being lazy, which failed to draw any complaints from Ron.

The place put him so much at ease that he thought time was literally standing still, and he never wanted it to end. It was like being on a deserted island, cut off from all responsibilities, commitments, and duties.

They were utterly safe and secure...for a while...before the inevitable happened.

In the largest pool of the three, Ron and Josy were swimming one afternoon...just another day enjoying the carefree seclusion of the alluring valley in nothing but their birthday suits...when their vacation abruptly came to an end.

After splashing and laughing raucously in an extended game of tag, Ron finally clasped his gorgeous lover in his arms and smothered her lips with his.

When they split, Josylinia just gazed into his eyes and said;

"The Creator most assuredly shines down upon us, Ron, for my heart could not be more filled with love. You make it want to burst with joy!"

"I feel the same way, Josy. When I'm with you...when I touch you...I can't beli..."

His words ended in mid-note when a single noise reached his hyper-keen ears. It was the sound of an arrow sliding across the rest of a bow...followed immediately by at least a dozen more.

Ron's eyes instantly tore themselves from their focus on Josy's exquisite face and flicked around the nearby shoreline. The pool which was barely fifty peors across was ringed by armed men, twenty-five in all.

Ron felt Josy quiver in his arms as she followed his gaze and saw their predicament, and then she plastered herself to him tightly.

The apparent leader of the group stepped over to where the couple had cast their clothing. He was a tall man, broad across the shoulders, darkly tanned, and thick about the chest. He wore his black hair pulled back and braided down the center of his back, and had a beard that was closely cropped. There were ceremonial scars and primitive tattoos about his face...as well as a long, sharpened bone protruding through his nose. He appeared extremely fierce, but of no recognizable clan Ron could identify.

His attire was strange to the couple too. It consisted of tall leather boots to his knees that were shod with metal, a kilt or skirt of thick leather armor, and similar layered protection up his torso to his neck and down his arms. His demeanor explained his accouterments even before he spoke. The man was a professional soldier.

The fellow stood starkly still for a few moments, just staring at Ron and Josy. His men stayed at full draw on their weapons and none of them showed any sign of uncertainty or weakness.

"Separate," the man finally ordered, but it was a language neither Ron, nor Josy understood, so they made no move.

The warrior motioned with his hands, first together, then spreading out sharply. "Separate!"

Ron's chest began to rumble and the water surrounding him showed it, racing away from him in tiny ripples. Still though, he did not move.

The speaking man suddenly snatched the bow from his aide beside him and in a tenth of a lita an arrow took flight. It split the tiny gap between Josy and Ron with marked precision. He obviously was an expert marksman.

"Separate or die!" he ordered, setting a new arrow upon the rest. "It is your choice. Make it now!"

The translator in Ron's brain had not deciphered the words as of yet, but it was clear to him and his mate what was required of them.

Josy wanted nothing more than to stay latched to Ron's chest, but she saw that the situation was hopeless so she turned to him.

"Release me, my love," she whispered to him, her eyes locked on the anger-filled glare that he cast at the strange leader. "Let us see where this leads."

Ron would have taken his chances on his own, feeling he could possibly submerge fast enough to avoid the first volley and take the fight to them. But Josy would be at their mercy, and he simply couldn't risk that.

His steely hands soon opened and he drifted beside his love, kicking slowly and just staring at the warrior.

"What is your purpose here?" the man asked.

The chip was beginning to work by then...at least rudimentarily. Ron perceived; "why...here?" but he said nothing. He cared little for speaking when threatened. Instead, his mind was on a hundred differing angles of combat. His heart was pounding, flooding his veins with adrenaline that would soon be set loose mercilessly on those strangers menacing him and Josylinia.

Josy was frightened, but she remained in control enough to see a possible way out. Too, she was well aware of how the chip in Ron's brain functioned. He needed to hear as much of their dialect as possible.

"We are betrothed, Sir," she said as lightly as she could, "and just came here to enjoy the beauty of this valley. If we are trespassing, it was not our intention."

The man continued to stare at Ron, even while Josy was speaking. His men did not flinch. They were well disciplined.

"This place is sacred...forbidden," the leader said sternly. "How did you find it?"

Josy turned to Ron. "I think this valley is special to them," he told her softly, his lips barely moving. "He's asking how, or why, we are here."

She then pivoted back to the soldier. "My escort here, is a very fine woodsman. He merely followed his instincts through the northern pass...just there," she replied, indicating the direction they'd taken.

Ron just floated and took in the scene.

"Please," Josy continued, "this is all merely a misunderstanding. We meant no harm."

The leader's eyes shot over to Josy's and then back to Ron.

"Why do you not speak?" he questioned of Ron. "Why do you allow a 'woman' to question me...leader of the Sentinels?"

Ron heard: "Why you no talk? Why your slave dare open mouth?"

He remained silent. He was in no mood to chat. All the weeks of peaceful exploring, and then more weeks of nothing but joy and happiness were gone now. His inner self was calling up the needed response to threat. The old fires of combat were stoked. It was as easy as breathing.

"Approach and exit the pool," the fellow commanded.

Ron saw no way to maintain his position long enough to alter the dynamics of the situation, (sundown was still billots away) so he moved in front of Josy and began slowly edging toward the shoreline.

"NO!" snapped the soldier. He knew exactly how to get his way. "The woman comes out here! You," he told Ron, "swim over there."

Ron bristled at being ordered around, but there was naught to do but comply. His armaments lay at the leader's feet...at least most of them. Since his near death in the jaws of a tryton (Caronian crocodile), so long ago now, he never allowed himself to be without a weapon if he had the option. Therefore a throwing knife was presently strapped to each of his calves.

When Ron and Josy were at the edge of the pool, the soldier snapped his fingers and pointed at Josy. Four of the bowmen swung around toward that divine woman.

"If you so much as flinch," the man growled at Ron. "She dies."

That statement sealed the fate of every one of those men in Ron's eyes. He would slay them all!

"Harm her and the wolves will feed on your entrails!" Ron growled back in as close to their tongue as he could manage.

The leader's face quickly pinched into a strange expression...one of odd, almost fearful recognition.

Ron's entire frame quaked with rage, but he had to concede that this foreign soldier knew what he was doing.

The next few moments were going to be extremely risky, but he and Josy had discussed such circumstances in the past. That may seem like an odd or even insane topic to most people, but with the history the two of them shared, it made perfect sense to them. They'd decided that if a situation ever reached a point that they would be forcibly separated, they would rely on their wits, surprise, and Ron's incredible ability to wage war to get them through. If they perished in the attempt, at least they would die together.

Josy glanced at Ron, who was staring at her as she gathered herself to exit. The edge of pool where she paused was rocky and deep enough so as to force her to heave herself out, much as one would when exiting the deep part of a swimming pool. An extremely subtle inflection with his eyes told her his plan in an instant.

She delayed no longer. With a strong kick, she pressed herself up and out and into a standing position in one incredibly graceful, lithe move. She then posed there with her shoulders back, daring them all to look away as water cascaded down her voluptuous figure in jaw-dropping fashion.

It was totally mesmerizing to watch, so Ron did not. His concentration was elsewhere.

When Josy arose from the confines of the water, there was a conjoined gasp from the armed group. For the first time in their lives they were actually witnessing what men could only fantasize about. Her dark coppery-toned skin was absolutely flawless from brow to toe, a smooth and delicate surface of mind-blowing curves and dips and swales. Her large breasts stood out proudly, the dark circles of her areolas pursed tightly into distended points of tender, succulent, beckoning flesh, and a glistening drop of water clung desperately to each, like the dew on a freshly plucked melon. Below those audacious mounds, her belly button highlighted the center of a waist that was insanely slim and precisely formed to accentuate the quickly flaring swell of her wide, glorious hips.

Josy was not a tall woman, but the symmetry and tautness of her gorgeous legs made them look much longer than they were, and the delicate size of her lovely feet simply added to the overall perfection of her figure. Moreover, the raven triangle of heavenly delights betwixt her thighs dripping water to the ground was not overlooked...and simply mouth-watering.

Josy's long, wet, pitch-black hair hung straight back and down to the curve of her magnificent derriere, pulled away from her exceptionally beautiful face by its weight. And the sun blazing down upon her countenance set the blue of her eyes flashing as if they literally radiated cobalt fire.

Ron mentally held his breath while that inspection occurred, praying that the warriors would not loose their wooden missiles due to a lack of focus, but his physical actions were quite the opposite.

He'd counted on the devastating vision of her beauty to draw attention, and his appraisal of what every man's reactions would be was dead-on. When he saw several men's eyes...the ones that were supposed to be keeping him in check...flick over to his love, his hands flashed in the late day sun.

Two blades found their marks and two men fell dead, and another split lita saw Ron dive forward at one of those falling soldiers. That brought the other bowmen back to their task and a dozen arrows immediately sought out his glistening hide.

Ron's flying form collided with the closest corpse before it even hit the ground and he used that poor soul as a shield against the incoming attack. Eight arrows slammed into the dead man and one tore through Ron's left calf, but it didn't even slow him down. The dead sentinel's bow was in his grasp and pulled to his ear even from his half prone position, and more warriors began to drop.

Seven bowmen were down and three more wounds burned into Ron's tough skin before a clear and unmistakable noise stopped the melee`. It was the distinct sound of hardened wood clattering on stone. Ron had ducked back out of sight behind his human shield, reaching for another arrow when he noted the stark change of the battle...and for just an instant, his heart lurched to a stop, fearing what might have happened to Josy. However, when his head popped up to investigate, he couldn't have been more startled.

The four bowmen who'd been threatening his heart's desire...as well as their leader...were prostrating themselves at Josy's feet, muttering nonstop. As Ron took that scene in, the remainder of the troops turned their backs to him and did likewise, casting their weapons to the side as if they were suddenly terrified of them.

Josylinia stood stone-still in the blazing sunlight, unharmed...her expression equally as confused as Ron's.

Ron popped up with an arrow at his cheek, but only as a precaution while his eyes swept the entire area carefully. There was no more danger. The Sentinels were completely subservient, apparently mortified at having committed some horrible crime.

Ron let off on the bowstring and hurriedly snapped off the arrow that had pierced his leg, checking very quickly at the amount of blood leaking from the wound. It was not a threat. No major artery had been hit.

In another moment he was beside Josylinia, having scooped up one of the Sentinels' swords as he sped to her. He then took up a position between her and the groveling men as he guided her slowly back to where their possessions lay on the stone. Once there, Josy dried off quickly and restored her clothing.

When she had her modesty intact once more, she toweled Ron off while he maintained his vigilance, and patched his leg. She then stood guard as he dressed, using her own bow as defense. All the while, there was ceaseless yammering from the strange soldiers.

"What are they saying?" she asked Ron softly while they went around the entire pool and gathered up all the weapons.

"I need to hear more of their language to be certain, but they seem to hold you in great regard. I think they are calling you 'Goddess'. And apparently, she is the lost love of a great warrior. Let me see if I can get them calmed down."

Ron bid her sit behind him, yet in full view of the men, as he took a seat, cross-legged before the leader of the band of southern men. Then, he attempted to speak to them in their language.

"Please...stop and talk with me," Ron said, still not completely clear about the foreign dialect.

The men kept muttering their apologies.

"The Goddess would like to speak to you...through me...please."

That got their attention enough to have them raise their heads and meet his gaze.

At the initial sight of the half-dozen minor wounds on Ron's body, (he wore only shorts and a small vest due to the warm day) the men began apologizing again at having injured him, giving little thought to their own dead and wounded men.

Once it was clear that they would not threaten Ron and Josy anymore, Josy called each of the suffering soldiers over to her and put her healing skills to the task of removing arrows and sealing their wounds. That got them even more apologetic.

While that took place, Ron spoke with the leader, quickly learning more of their vernacular. He translated to Josy as they talked.

"Who are you...and what is this place?" Ron asked.

"I am Goshune Parlani," the leader said, "First Guardsmen of the Sentinels...the protectors of the northern border of the Arieadites. This is holy ground...the secret valley...the entrance to the only passage through the Great Barrier. All who pass here are condemned to death...but of course, not the Goddess...nor her escort. We did not intend disrespect to you, Goddess Olina," Goshune explained, turning to Josy and bowing low again with a reverent expression on his face.

His men all hastened to agree, each also bowing incessantly at Josy again.

And then, like a true 'light-bulb' moment, it occurred to Goshune just who her chosen lover might be, and he quickly spun about to face Ron again. His eyes flew open wide and his mouth matched them before he suddenly dropped his forehead to the grass once again.

"Nor to you, mighty Ronin!"

His men then all went perfectly rigid...they too catching on to what their commander had concluded. As one they shuddered, fell to their knees, and did as Goshune had done, leaving Ron and Josy staring at one another in utter confusion once more.

"How could they possibly know me?" Ron thought while his mind spun onward.

"My name is Josy Gitove," Josy told them softly. Ron translated. "And this is..." she hesitated just a moment, realizing how similar Ron's name would be to their hero, and then gave a different name for Ron. "This is Baushe`, my fiancé."

Ron did his best to calm them down while further deciphering the odd Caronian language. When they'd spoken for a billot, and all the men were patched up, Ron was 80 percent fluent and pressing them for more and more information about their people.

Goshune and his men belonged to an ancient sect called the Sentinels, of their even older society who called themselves Arieadites. The Arieadites populated all the lands south of the Great Barrier for two santaris' march. They were a nomadic people who constantly roamed the undulating grasslands that covered their domain, grazing their herds of picharas...beasts that sounded something like earthly llamas to Ron.

In his mind, Ron equated their lifestyle to that of the ancient Mongols of Earth's past. They were warlike and fiercely protective of their communities which ranged from small groups of three or four hundred to as many as twenty thousand souls.

Goshune belonged to one of the larger tribes.

The Sentinels were elite warriors who patrolled the fringes of the main body, and each time their tribe moved on, they would coordinate relief duties with a small band who were tasked with guarding the all-important northern pass...the valley Ron and Josy had mistakenly discovered.

Apparently, that tiny vestige of serenity was the single point of egress and ingress through a towering mountain chain that ran from the Taerdrasseg Mountains in the west, across the continent to the eastern ocean. It was called the Dreacasar Mountain Range and was indeed as ominous as the deadly peaks Ron had crossed upon his first arriving on Caron. The only route through it went under the mountain in winding, natural caves and took a solid week to navigate...if you knew the way. Many had perished in those deep, dark areas who did not.

Finally, Ron got to the subject of the Goddess, Olina.

Goshune then perked up grandly, confused a bit, but his expression quickly turned more toward elation at being able to share the story.

"Come...come," he told them, rising to his feet and beckoning Ron and Josy to follow him.

He led them straight to a cliff face less than a hundred peors from the couple's little camp. It was a place Ron had passed by when he'd first examined the area, and many times since, but he'd seen nothing. Even now, he could discern no path forward until they were within a few strides of it. The jagged nature of the opening blended so perfectly with the surrounding shards of weathered stone that it was virtually invisible. In fact, if he hadn't been shown its existence, he likely would never have noticed it...and he noticed everything.

Ron was wary at first, especially when it became clear that Goshune was leading them to the opening of a dark cave, but the commander had ordered his men to leave their weapons back at the pool so as not to appear threatening, so Ron stayed calm.

In they went for approximately half a billot, finding torches and caches of oil strategically placed along a winding, almost dizzying cavern. All the while, Goshune spun his tale.

"In a time that is long gone and almost forgotten, all the civilized lands...even those of the Arieadites...belonged to a single great kingdom; the greatest that ever was. It spread from these northern mountains of the Dreacasar range to the southern ice caps...from the Taerdrasseg range (Goshune called it the Vesseghian Mountains) a thousand hoz to the west, to the towering granite cliffs of the Montegee Sea far to the east. You could not ride across it in a year, so expansive was that realm.

"All that a man could explore in ten lifetimes, and encompassing twelve lessor factions of considerable diversity, was governed by a single ruler. That king sat upon a throne in the centrally located kingdom that we know as Ertay. It has many names, you see, depending upon which race you speak with.

"The king worshipped the Creator...the Guardian...the one true master of heaven, land, and sea, while each of the other, smaller groups worshipped the Gods of their ancestors, of which there were many.

"At the pinnacle of that ultimate civilization however, a dire omen was foreseen by all the different peoples' prophets, including the king's. It came to each of their wisest shaman in the form of a dream, all within a single week. A great war was coming...one that would see the end of the king and the fall of the powerful empire...possibly the death of everyone on Caron. Yet no timeline could be interpreted by the shamans.

"You see, Gods' concept of time is much different than ours. To Gods, a mortal's lifetime is but a blink. Nonetheless, the omen had been cast and all who lived under the king's rule felt they were suddenly in grave peril.

"Soon after that however, a glimmer of hope was restored to the people. The Gods had chosen to offer a single opportunity to spare them. And the one chance we Caronians were given came about by pure happenstance because of ultimate love and unwavering honor.

"It is said that Treasheri, the God of the heavens, had a daughter of such beauty, that to see her in person would enslave any mortal man to her slightest will. Her name was Olina. To protect the lower beings from losing their way, Vrassal...the God of life upon Caron, commanded four of his two hundred guardsmen...those who protect the entrance to the Gods' domain...to always shelter her from contact with the simple natives, as she was want to wander upon the land from time to time.

"One of these guardsmen fell hopelessly in love with the Goddess, and she with him. That, of course was strictly forbidden. As is with us and our nobility, no God ruler would allow his child to couple with a servant, so Treasheri...having discovered the relationship...cast the guardsman out of the realm of the gods and placed him here on Caron. He even stripped the soldier of his impervious protection. For all common purpose, he was made mortal, never to see his beloved Olina again.

However, also as with men, even a God's daughter can bend the will of her father if she is so inclined. Therefore the guardsman was given a single chance to redeem his betrayal and was set upon a path to prove himself...to demonstrate his worthiness of the Goddess.

"He was to travel the face of Caron and spread the word of this great evil that was coming, to prepare the mortals for a battle that would test the mettle of men to see if they would survive or be sent to the fires of damnation. This warrior was tasked to be a champion for the weak and defenseless, purely out of selflessness, with no reward or honor ever to be bestowed upon him for his duties. And if he could do this for long enough...then Treasheri would one day allow his precious daughter to join him on Caron.

"This warrior was delivered to us inside the egg of a great Ceatary...placed among a simple people in the highlands of western Ertay, in a region called Piercilon."

Ron's chest tightened at the mention of that name...almost identical to the moniker of Kaskle's brethren...the Piercellione.

"That place was named after the God of war; Piercei, because it was a realm that had seen nearly nonstop conflict from its founding...and that was due to its location at the nexus of three prominent trade routes that spanned Ertay. There, at the center of eternal conflict, he began his chore.

"The warrior was granted a single weapon from Treasheri...a sword given to him by Piercei himself. It was completely indestructible, having been fired in his own divine forge, and was like no other metal ever seen. It was completely black...as if night itself had been made solid...and it gave off no reflection at all, even under the blazing light of Casar (their name for Caron's sun)."

Ron was certain that he knew the answer to his next question, but he asked it anyway.

"And what was the name of this indomitable soldier?"

Goshune smiled at Ron in grand delight. "He was known as Ronin Alsone."

"And how long ago was this?"

"The beginning of his quest is lost in the ages, but we know it was more than seven hundred years ago, because we have been guarding this secret pass for all that time, and he was long gone by then. In fact, we are convinced that he is the one who discovered it."

"And your people believe this story...I mean, that it is true...that this 'super soldier' was a real person...and that it all actually happened?"

Goshune stopped in the black cave; his brutal face eerily illuminated by the dancing flames of the torchlight, and just stared back at Ron as if he were completely astonished.

"Of course it is true. We would not guard the path for so many generations if it were not."

"How could you possibly be certain the legend is based in fact?"

"We have proof!"

Now it was Ron's turn to be stunned, and when he translated that to Josy, she too furrowed her brow in wonderment.

"But if it was so long ago," Ron began, "then how could there be proof?"

"Come," Goshune bid them excitedly, smiling like a madman. "Come. It is just a little further."

Down another hundred peors, the leader broke off from the main route and ducked into a side passage. It wasn't long before it opened up into a cavern large enough to hold all of them comfortably.

Ron and Josy took note that the place was the soldiers' barracks, as the far wall was lined with weapons and low cots, and there were travel packs at the foot of each one. Off to the right was a small, lighted alcove that Goshune directed them toward.

When they stood in front of it, they realized exactly what it truly was...a shrine...for painted on the smooth face of the light-grey (almost white) rock wall was a picture.

Ron's chest clenched tightly once again and Josy gasped out loud.

It was a remarkably accurate depiction of her...of Josylinia Gitove. It was drawn life-size and every curve and turn of her incomparable face and figure was expertly crafted onto the stone. She was shown wearing a halter top and short skirt, just as she typically dressed...as she was at that moment in fact...but there was no color. It had been done completely in charcoal...a material that would last eternal...except for a single addition. The artist had somehow created enough pigment to make a single startling enhancement...one that would remove all doubt about her most obvious, signature feature. It was her eyes! The blue starburst of her exquisite two-toned eyes was replicated to absolute perfection.

They stared at the drawing for nearly five full borts...both too amazed to speak. Finally though, Josy found her tongue.

"Baushe`," she whispered. "How is this possible?"

Ron was even more astounded than she.

"I...I...have absolutely no idea," he breathed back at her, his eyes still absorbing the exactitude of the artwork. "I cannot imagine that there could ever have been another such as you, my love."

Ron then turned to his escorts, as he now thought of them.

"And this has been here all this time?"

"Yes," Goshune replied. "I was first shown this temple by my great grandfather, when I had proven myself worthy to be counted among the Sentinels. He was very old and I was still very young...not even joined with a mate back then. I have led these men for thirty years now and have seen five of my grown sons introduced to the Goddess as I was...and so it has gone for the past twenty-five generations."

"And you think this Ronin person drew the picture?"

"We know he did. Did you not see his markings?" He then pointed to the base of the shrine. "Look!"

Ron had been so focused on the drawing that he'd overlooked that single indisputable detail. Beneath the picture was a short phrase scratched deeply into the ebony base of the shrine. It was written in the native language of the inhabitants of the region, so Josy could not read it. She had to watch as Ron suddenly lurched forward, staring intently at the saying gouged into the stone by some extremely sharp instrument. His eyes jumped up to hers and gooseflesh sprang out upon his skin.

"What is it, Baushe`," she pleaded, grasping his forearm tightly as if sensing something frightening.

Ron stared back at her for a few litas, then over to Goshune, and then back to Josy.

"It says: 'Harm her and the wolves will feed on your entrails!'

"And it's signed; Ronin Alsone."

Chapter Fifteen

### Coriolus

Cache sat in her pilot's seat aboard the _Darlile_ , staring at an enhanced vision of Coriolus, the homeworld of Fraidze Zanferi; her current copilot. Fraidze's cohorts were busy scouring the cosmos for the necessary craft Cache had specified, so he had requested to join her on her latest information gathering mission.

When they began the journey from Rauld to Fraidze's home, she'd felt very odd at having anyone other than Ron in that seat, but Fraidze was a very affable person...especially toward that exquisite blonde.

She offered him the option of sleeping through the long voyage in a cryo-chamber, but he declined, preferring to spend his newly won freedom fully awake and ready for whatever might come to pass.

Just like during any trip with Ron, Cache and Fraidze spent much of the long billots exercising and sparring. She liked to stay fit and in good fighting form because she knew that every time she exited the _Darlile_ , she might face a life and death struggle. Such was the cost of her lofty, yet highly dangerous endeavors.

They were presently approaching the planet at a moderate rate, attempting to blend in with all the other traffic. Coriolus...like Hosstry...was an ultra-modern world with many amazing technological accomplishments to boast of, but unlike Bart's home, the natives had not been beaten down by generations of Kreete rule.

They had been completely overrun by the Lords however, and that was apparent even from space. As the _Darlile_ approached the night side of the planet, only a single point on the entire dark half showed signs of lights. It was Arbeziar, the center of Coriolus' civilization...or at least it had been at one time. Now, that incredible metropolis was totally dominated by the Kreete, and they kept it intact for the sole purpose of its existence...the space port that fed it.

That mega-city stood out for another reason too. It happened to be the only habitable region in the entire northern hemisphere...but that fact was due to the planet itself. Over the past thousand cycles, the tilt of its axis had shifted until it had reached its current angle, which seemed to have stabilized. The effect of that shift however, caused the global climate to shift as well, and not for the good of the population. What once had been a large and influential city in the northern section of a rising province, now found itself separated by two thousand hoz of snow and ice that was colder and more barren than Antarctica.

Only because of the staunch determination of the populous and the bold ingenuity of their scientists could they manage to eke out an existence in that harsh climate at all...but when they succeeded, it was beyond miraculous!

Three hundred years in the past, when the winters began to extend longer and longer, and the ground stayed too cold to plant crops, the leaders envisioned an almost impossible solution. They decided that they would heat the ground...and not just the ground in the city, like some Earth cities do to keep vital sections of the sidewalk passable in winter. No, they determined that the entire farming community for thirty hoz in every direction would require their fields to be heated as well.

It was incomprehensible. How could that much land be warmed against the frigid onslaught of, basically, an ice age? Their science teams went to work and experimented on thousands of ways to get the job done, and it took more than a century to come up with a viable solution. And even that was a paradigm shift in thermal mechanics. They imbedded the soil with tiny metallic flecks of gold alloy...like an airplane's windshield uses on Earth...and then they fed a live electric current through it continuously.

To supply such a daunting amount of energy, they developed a series of electric power-plants that when combined could power all of the USA ten times over. One hundred in total, those underground generating facilities were linked into a seamless coalition that went immediately to work battling the elements. Billions of grow-lights were also implemented to keep crops in full production when their part of the planet was tilted even further away from the sun's rays, casting the region into a four-santari-long dark period.

The only boon of the exotic, tenuous situation was that they were able to collect all their water supply from melting the surrounding snow and ice that was constantly being replenished by blowing winds and howling storms out on the open ice sheet.

Limitations in nearly every facet of life were a definitive fact that could not be ignored however, so the city was also forced to put restrictions on its population density as well, so that managing the food supply and other commodities could be made possible, and that was almost as difficult as fighting the climate.

As the population fluctuated with births and deaths, hard choices had to be made that put tremendous social pressure on the citizens. However, after everything they'd been through for the previous ten decades, the remaining souls were staunchly locked on their course and eventually accepted the plan due to pure pragmatism.

That demand on the internal social order had a rather harsh side effect too. It forced the people who were less motivated to succeed away from the project, and transversely, getting into it was a rigorous chore, so only the truly exceptional got through. That led to a long period of brilliant innovation, experimentation, and triumph.

Arbeziarians were the first to launch spacecraft...the first to venture beyond the solar system...and the first to contact alien cultures. And due to that adventurous, ingenious spirit, they constructed one of the finest space ports in the quadrant.

They built what most civilizations would have thought impossible too...elevators to space. They could transport a thousand people or an equal weight in goods in rapid fashion to and from the work colonies in low orbit. They even developed a way to power those habitats by using the planet's magnetic field.

The rest of the globe was much less advanced, yet did not typically begrudge those citizens. To everyone living in the 'normal' regions, the Arbeziarians were heroes and giants in their fields. Most commoners regarded the city dwellers as the grandest achievement of their species. They existed on a scale unachievable to the rest, and to have one of your children selected to actually live in Arbeziar was the ultimate goal any parent could wish for.

Once the Kreete arrived though, they immediately commandeered the grand metropolis and removed all the natives either by slaying them or simply sending them packing to live with their less advanced relatives. The Lords then stripped them of their planet-wide power-grid and communications network, leaving each city isolated from their neighbors and thereby removed any means of them ever advancing or retaliating.

Afterward, the Coriolus citizens were left in veritable peace, for the most part, but to their great chagrin, they were sent back to the pre-space era.

For many cycles that was the status quo, but when the Planet Lord who'd initially settled Coriolus died at the hands of his lieutenant, things took another drastic shift.

It was true that the planet was not rich in minerals the empire desired, but another angle brought to light a way to make it pay off nonetheless.

Since the world was a class ten planet, and the inhabitants were healthy and strong, the new Planet Lord decided to make use of those two facts. Within a santari of his rise to power, Curosh Oleandar sent out a siege of troops to organize the populous. Every major city was immediately tasked with constructing a specific building, and that structure was designed for a single purpose...breeding.

The Lords typically used surrogates on hundreds of worlds to propagate their supply of recruits because the attrition rate to reach warrior status was so high. It was a horrendous blow to the Coriolus' society, both in their mental state as well as in their own essential gene pool, but defiance was met with harsh punishment. Tens of thousands of adult male Coriolus citizens were killed in large-scale public massacres in order to force compliance. Eventually, the females decided it was better to be treated like cattle than to see their husbands and sons and brothers slaughtered right in front of them.

Each female was to give one male child to the Lords as a tax on her survival. Failing to do so would condemn every male person in her family to death.

For cycles, that surrogate process was done by artificially inseminating the women with the sperm of Kreete warriors who'd proven themselves in combat. But even that conciliatory arrangement ended up getting reformed eventually.

The Kreete soldiers who lived in the southern cities and monitored the process began keeping track of the most alluring Coriolus women, and that temptation led to the newest addendum. For the most celebrated officers in Curosh's military, he began allowing them to choose a female to mate with physically. She was then collected and sent to Arbeziar where the soldiers could use her as much as they wished until she was confirmed fertilized. Then she was sent back to the south for incubation and delivery. And if she did not carry the child to term, she was executed along with her family.

Life on Coriolus had become a precarious nightmare.

As Cache and Fraidze approached the planet, the _Darlile_ gathered information as usual, and quickly saw the perfect solution to what every planet's primary shortcoming was...how to get power to the proposed generator that would eventually establish the planet shield.

The raven ship's avatar gleaned the information stream between the space port and the Kreete ships, and if it could have, it would have laughed at the simplicity of it.

When Cache and Fraidze read the recommendation from the _Darlile_ , they stared at each other in surprise. The energy output of that single city would do the job. But it would require all of it and make the city uninhabitable.

"Do you think your people will accept this?" Cache asked.

Fraidze weighed the loss of their greatest triumph against the unending humiliation and degradation of every female citizen. It seemed like an easy choice.

"In a heartbeat!" he replied.

Chapter Sixteen

### The Compromise

While Fraidze and Cache brainstormed about Coriolus, Ron and Josy had not moved from the subterranean stronghold of the Arieadites. They spent much of the rest of the day with Goshune and his band of Sentinels, and most of that time was in the small quarters belonging to those men, examining the shrine.

They spoke of the legend of Ronin Alsone, of his storied life and some of his many adventures...at least those that were rumored to be his. It was quite the tale. It seemed that every time a war broke out...and there were many...that mystery warrior was somehow there, as if waiting...as if he already knew his services were needed in some remote area of the enormous, wide-ranging land. And it didn't just happen in one time period either. Apparently, his fortuitous interludes kept occurring over generations, even centuries after he'd supposedly been delivered from the Gods.

"Okay, Goshune," Ron asked after many questions had been made and answers given. "It's clear as the nighttime sky that someone envisioned a real figure to be your Goddess, Olina. But what about this super-soldier...this harbinger of justice? Is there no picture or painting of him?"

"No. Not that anyone has ever claimed to have. He was to stay anonymous, you see."

Ron had to admit that 'was' part of the spoken lore.

"What about a description?" he asked. "Surely there had to be some type of portrayal of the man."

"Only the vaguest kind. He was tall, but not overly so. His hair was black and his skin was dark from many years under the heat of the sun. He stood straight as an arrow shaft and was as hard as a dranin tree (a tree with grain so tight it could barely even be cut down with their crude saws). It is said that he could not be bested by a hundred trained soldiers and that he growled and roared like a beast while in battle...and that his eyes were the color of polished metal."

Ron's skin prickled once again, and his gaze flicked to Josy who sat there waiting for his translation. When he repeated it, she shook visibly and squeezed his forearm.

"You must see how this all sounds, Goshune...right?" Ron asked. "I mean, how could a man possibly do all that is claimed, especially over such a tremendously long span of years?"

Goshune merely shrugged. "It is the will of the Gods!" he replied matter-of-factly.

"But you said the Gods made him mortal. It sounds like he is immortal."

"No, not immortal. That much of the tale was always clear. The Gods, it is said, proclaimed that 'he could be killed, but he could not die'!"

Ron squinted at the leader with a look of curious disbelief.

"That statement is contradictory all on its own."

"Not to true believers," Goshune replied easily.

It was clear that his mind was set.

"So he might still be around?" Ron pressed, searching for the limits of the man's beliefs. "He might still be wandering the face of Caron, defending the weak?"

Goshune just smiled at Ron with a mischievous grin. "That much would seem obvious, would it not?"

Ron had to grin back at walking right into that one.

"But Goshune," he said calmly, "wouldn't I know if I were this person...this Ronin?"

"Let us consider that you are the real Ronin. If you thought that to admit your true identity might cost you the one chance to be with your beloved Goddess, wouldn't you deny it with every type of contradiction?"

Ron had to admit that the man was absolutely correct.

"However," Goshune went on, "just to clarify the reasoning of our beliefs and our dedication, I will attempt to explain."

He then took a few moments to think.

"Our people have existed since the dawn of time in the lands south of the great mountains. Even after we discovered this ancient path left to us by who we believe to be the 'Great One' himself, the elders decided never to venture beyond them with intentions to expand our people's realm. The North is not our place, they decreed. The Gods made that clear when they built the impassable barrier. However, once every ten years, we send two Sentinels through the northern pass in search of word of Ronin, or of the Goddess Olina. It is the ultimate test of our devotion to the Sentinels' duty, and to be chosen is a great honor. Unfortunately however, most never return. In fact, I have only met one in my lifetime that has...and it was barely a year ago that he did. His name is Recindal Barook.

"In his report Recindal claimed that a great war raged across the north lands a few years ago. He said that it was a battle of men against giants. He said the giants were of such fierceness that one could kill a hundred men, and that these giants could fly in huge, metal machines. He said that the northern people had been made slaves to the god-like giants, and that all hope was lost. But then a great leader arose from out of nowhere...a former captive...a slave of the giants himself. Recindal said that this slave escaped the chains of the giants...the Lords, as they were called by the northern people. He reported that this former prisoner organized an army of men, and then led that army into an unwinnable battle against the very giants that had enslaved him.

"Recindal said that he was there at a time when this leader's soldiers laid siege to a tremendous fortress inside which lived the mighty Lords. He said he watched as a creature from beyond the bowels of the underworld was unleashed upon the human leader...a monster with speed and ferocity beyond belief. But this man...this leader...was so powerful, he summoned his own such beast to protect him. Together they killed the giants' creature and then the human army took the fortress.

"Recindal then witnessed the very next day the ability of the Lords to fly when they returned with even more impressive soldiers, all coated in metal. He was badly injured in that battle though and did not see the end of the war, although he was told of its conclusion.

"When he was well enough to travel, he made his way back to us...his people...and shared the news. He rejoined his family once more, now heralded a hero. He said he'd asked his friends in combat about the great leader who'd led the men to victory, inquiring about the fellow's name and heritage.

"Recindal said they told him the man's name was Ronin, and that he was of the Piercellione."

It then became clear to Ron just how the legend perpetuated itself. Every time a war broke out, the victor's side claimed that one of their great warriors either was, or had seen the legendary Ronin on the battlefield. That was how their side was able to win.

Ron still couldn't account for the eerily accurate drawing of Josylinia, but finally had to chalk it up to pure coincidence. After all, hadn't his life been dotted with other such inconceivable forms of chance, some even more unbelievable?

He shook his head in wonder.

"Well, we'd better get back," Ron finally said to Goshune, which started another round of begging and pleading.

"Please, Ronin and Goddess Olina, come with us back to our people. It would mean the world to us and to them!"

Josy was moved by their devotion and insistency, but she also knew that she and Ron needed to get back to Thackere before her family began to worry. They'd already been gone longer than they'd planned.

When she and Ron turned to retrace their steps to the valley, the soldiers all dropped to their knees again, throwing their arms out straight and placing their heads and palms to the ground.

"Please," Josy told them, "Goshune...and all you fine men...do not worship us. Rise, my friends, please. My name is not Olina...it's Josy. I am no goddess. I'm just a woman, and my family will be concerned if I do not return."

Ron translated for her.

The men arose slowly, but Goshune's face suddenly changed from devoted attendant back to the fierce warrior his training and experience had produced over his lifetime. He swiftly glanced at his men who all then turned from Josy and drifted over to the wall, near the cots. Ron just thought they were dejected at the news that they'd been mistaken after all those years of waiting and searching. But it was something else entirely.

"Well then, Josy," Goshune said curtly, "if you are not our Goddess, then you are not. It is our mistake."

Ron couldn't help but notice the rapid change in his tone though, and it gave him an odd chill. His gaze swept the room hurriedly. It was lined with dozens of weapons...swords, bows, and spears.

"But unfortunately, since you are not our Goddess...then by our own law; trespassers are condemned to death!"

With that announcement, twelve men snatched up swords and rushed at Josy, who was standing closer to them than Ron. One of the other men whirled with a spear held high and flung it straight at the heart of that gorgeous brunette.

Ron moved so fast that he was a literal blur, and the shadow blade flashed out even faster. He was between his love and the flying weapon before it had fully left the man's hand, and the raven super-blade slapped the long, evil-looking metal head well off target before meeting the charging warriors. And when he did, the growling challenge of a lion rumbled from his lips.

Swords smashed and sparked in the dimly lit room for barely ten litas before the Sentinels...the finest warriors south of the Great Barrier...were all disarmed and in full retreat, several bleeding from grisly wounds.

Ron seethed from the bout, not for the danger the men posed toward him, but rather at the fact that they had dared attack the innocent woman he loved.

"STOP, OH GREAT RONIN!" Goshune shouted, once again flinging his weapons to the ground and dropping to his belly. His men copied his motions again. "It was only a test!"

Ron sprang forward and placed his blade at the man's neck. One flick of his wrist and Goshune's spine would be severed.

"I told you that if you harmed her I would gut you and throw your corpses to the wolves!" Ron hissed, his eyes watching all of them for any signs of movement, but they were frozen where they lay, arms outstretched.

"But I knew we would not harm her...that you...the greatest warrior who ever trod upon the face of Caron...would stop us! And now that we have seen your abilities and the black sword, there can be no doubt! We are yours to command, my Lord!"

Ron's heart was pounding like a bass drum, once again coursing adrenaline-charged blood through every muscle in his body. It was difficult to stay his hand. Just the thought of one of those men putting a blade to Josy kept the flame inside him blazing white-hot.

He paused a moment, wondering if he shouldn't just execute them anyway and be done with all this hero-worshipping nonsense. When he and Josy left the valley, no one would ever know.

For a few litas it was very tempting to his overwrought psyche...but with the next breath came sane, conscious thought again, and his grip on the unbreakable weapon eased up.

Josy then glided up beside him, as if only a draft of air.

"Ron," she said softly, a breeze of sound just barely reaching his ear. "It's over, my love."

Ron continued to stare at the backs of the prostrated men, but her words had broken the spell on him. He was his old self again.

"We should go," he said flatly, still holding the naked sword.

"No, Ronin!" cried Goshune pitifully, surging to his knees. "Please, I beg of you! We are your loyal servants! And yours, Goddess Olina!"

Ron turned to face the man, his face twisted with anger.

"You threatened to kill us...to kill this beautiful, unarmed, innocent woman...as a simple test! How might I ever trust you now?"

"I beg your forgiveness, mighty Ronin! And I know I've betrayed you...but I had to be certain. I had to know before my time on Caron was done that I had fulfilled my quest...that I had truly met the 'Great One' himself.

"Why the Gods would finally guide you to us only to snatch you away again is beyond me, but I am just a man and cannot expect to understand their will.

"However, I did openly threaten you and your love. So, if it is your wish, then slay me now...but only me, I beg you...because my men should not be condemned with me. They were obliged to obey my orders. I take full responsibility for the attack upon you and the Goddess.

"Take my life, but allow my men to return to our people...to let them know that our long wait is over...that our goal has finally been achieved! It would mean the world to them."

Ron hesitated, his thoughts returning to the attack. It had been quite poorly contrived if their intention had been to actually kill them. The spear cast was done only after Goshune had announced it...and there had been only one. With fourteen healthy troops still standing, they might easily have sent a dozen such devices hurtling toward Josy's tender flesh. And the swordsmen had charged only half-heartedly, not trying to overwhelm him with their sheer mass, which likely would have worked in such a confined space. No, it was more to see his reaction as Goshune had stated...his strength...his speed...and his weapon.

Armed with that notion, he began to understand the Sentinels' impetus. If they could return to their people with the actual figures they'd worshipped for so many centuries, it was bound to ensure future prosperity for them all, at least in their minds. Such was the deep-founded beliefs of primitive cultures.

Ron drew in a deep breath, and then slowly released it. After another moment, he stowed the ebony blade.

"I too must apologize then, Goshune. We were not completely truthful with you either. My real name is Ron Allison, and I have been called Ronin many times, although for the life of me I don't truly understand why. Josy's full name is Josylinia Gitove.

"I accept that there are marked similarity between our names and those of your deities, but neither of us have ever been south of these mountains," Ron explained, indicating the roof of the cave with his hands spread wide.

"Also, I am unfamiliar with...and don't understand...your beliefs or your legends. With that said, you must recognize now that we are not of the Gods any more than you. If we were, and had wished to avoid this 'interaction', we certainly would have never entered the secret valley."

Goshune just kept smiling politely.

"Now, with that in mind, I can only conclude that this entire incident has been a tremendously bizarre happenstance...an impossible coincidence."

"There are no coincidences, Master Ronin...only the Creator's will, and fate!"

Ron was out of angles. He'd used straight forward logic, fact, and honesty, but it had been a moot point. The Sentinels had their beliefs and there was no dissuading them.

"I am truly sorry to deny you, Goshune, and the rest of you devoted warriors," Josy told them. "But I was not lying when I said my family would be worried...that we must return to our home."

When Ron concluded her words, Goshune tried once more.

"But Goddess...ere, Oslinya, if you could only..."

For a split lita, Ron couldn't help but notice the further similarity of how they pronounce Josy's full name, neglecting the 'J' altogether. It wasn't intentional, but their language had no such letter sound, so they'd just dropped it.

"How about this?" Ron finally asked. "What if we come back next year? We could return to this valley in one cycle...one year from today, and then we will be prepared to travel with you to meet your leaders and your people. How about that?"

Goshune looked as if he would explode with relief. "YES-YES-YES!" he exhaled in a gushing release of air. "That would be perfect! We can inform the elders and they can arrange for our entire tribe to be close to the passage. That way it will be easier for you and the Goddess to reach them!"

Goshune immediately sent four men southward to bring the message to their people's leader, and then he and his other men travelled back with Ron and Josy to the valley where they gathered up their dead and their previously discarded weapons.

"I am sorry for the loss of your men, Goshune," Ron told him as he watched the poor souls being carried off. "I wish things had happened differently."

Goshune threw his shoulders back and squared his chin.

"They did their duty like the true warriors they were!" he said proudly. "They will be remembered as mighty soldiers...defenders of the people, and their families will carry their memory with honor!"

"It truly has been a dream come true, Lord Ronin," Goshune told Ron when they were ready to leave. "And my men and I would gladly escort you and the Goddess to your home if it pleased you."

"I greatly appreciate the offer, Goshune, and I have no doubt that you would defend us nobly and with your life, but we have the issue of security well in hand on the other side of the barrier."

"Then allow me to say that it warms my heart more than you can imagine to know that you have finally been permitted to be with your love!"

Bowing deeply to Josy and Ron, he gathered his men and returned to the southern passageway.

Ron faced his heartthrob when they'd gone and stared at her a long while in total silence. Josy stared back, both their minds screaming along at breakneck speeds, and along similar lines of questions.

After nearly two full borts, they both said; "What/what do/do you/you/ think/think about/about that/that?" and then burst out in a confused, awkward laugh.

Ron then stepped up close to Josy and took her in his arms, their noses touching lightly.

"You know what though," he began, staring down at her, directly into her blazing blue eyes, "I always thought you were a goddess too."

Josy grinned brightly, accepting the complement without hesitation.

"And if ever there was a real Ronin Alsone," she responded easily, "the greatest and noblest warrior ever to walk the surface of Caron, it would unquestionably be you, my love...and there would be...and is...no doubt that you have earned your reward."

With that, Josy locked her lips with his.

The next day, with saddened hearts, Ron and Josy left the little Eden valley and worked their way back through the narrow path. Once free of the crevice, Ron checked to make certain they'd left no tracks that might lead others to find the passage. He felt that the Sentinels had the right to their privacy, and also, he didn't want any innocent explorers to meet their maker just because they were curious.

They were halfway to the small glade where they'd left the horses when Ron came to a screeching halt however, and the shadow blade leaped from its sheath once more.

Josy immediately ducked in right behind him, knowing that something had aroused his senses...something dangerous! She trembled and jerked her head all about, searching out any threats.

Ron slowly lifted his head and drew in a quiet breath, testing the air carefully. The long weeks of safety and carefree life had not dulled his animal instincts.

There was a definite hint of musk in the air, coming at them from off to the eastern side of the grassland.

"A greel," Ron whispered back to Josy. "Possibly two."

He was about to head back to the safety of the cleft when Flash appeared off to his right, about fifty peors away.

"Safe," came a message inside Ron's head.

"The greel?" Ron asked back out loud so Josy might hear.

"Three. Mother...two offspring."

"After the horses?" Ron asked.

"Yes."

"When?"

"Last night."

"What happened?"

"Taste good!" Flash replied.

Ron then instantly relaxed, stowing his sword and calling Flash over for a good round of scratching and patting.

By mid-morning, they'd collected their mounts and were headed northwest.

Over the following week, Ron and Josy spoke a great deal about their unusual encounter with the Sentinels, but decided to keep that little interlude between themselves. Ron didn't want even a hint of their knowledge of an entire country of people beyond the towering mountains to leak out. He and Josy both realized what disaster that could bring to both sides. And barring any unforeseen delays, they would be married by the time they'd promised to return, and so it wouldn't cause suspicion for them to simply ride off on another private vacation.

Without detours, it still took the better part of a santari to reach the farm, and every day closer weighed on Ron's mind with increasing pressure.

The morning of the day that would see them home once more, Ron was quiet and solemn. It was a heavily overcast day, but that wasn't the reason. What had him so morose was that he'd begun to fear the end of his time with Josy and the return to the mission.

It wasn't the danger, nor the enormity of the Raulden goal, it was the separation. Once again, the foundation of his consciousness was rooted in his Earth origins, and all he'd ever wanted was to be a good husband and father...to be at home each night with his family.

"You're very withdrawn this morning, Ron," Josy commented when they'd said goodbye to Flash and started the final leg. "Are you excited to get back to the fight? Or are you anxious?"

Ron huffed out a light chuckle.

"You always know exactly how I'm feeling, Josy. It's a bit unnerving...but wonderful too."

She edged her horse over closer to Ron and reached out, placing her hand on his firmly.

"You can talk to me about anything, you know. Absolutely anything."

"Yeah, I know...and I really appreciate it. It's just that I'm so torn. Life here, with you, is like a dream come true. I want to stay and enjoy it."

"But?" she coaxed.

"But I have a duty out there...and it's not just because I gave my word to Cache and the Rauldens. There's an entire gamut of enslaved peoples and worlds out there that have no hope to escape the yoke of the Kreete without help. Partnered with Rauld, we can save so many. It truly is a marvelous, philanthropic goal, what they're...we're...trying to accomplish..."

He paused in mid thought.

"But?" Josy softly coaxed.

"But I still feel terribly conflicted."

Josy squeezed his large, callused fingers tightly.

"It is quite a responsibility, Ron...what you and Cache have undertaken...one that is no doubt gratifying on a hundred levels, and..."

"But life here with you would be too, Josy...just in a different way. I've always considered the duty of a husband and father to be equal to anything anyone else might achieve, if done correctly. But if I try to do both, I fear the lack of complete devotion to either will cause me to be a double failure. I just don't want to end up falling short."

"I highly doubt that could ever happen, my love, because about this I am absolutely certain. You falling short is about as likely as the sky turning orange. When you do something, you put 150 percent of yourself into it. That is why you are so often the victor when no one else could be...and that is why I am so enamored with you.

"You just need to remember one thing when you are out there, Ron. My heart is yours absolutely. There is 'nothing' you could do that would change that. I will never judge you for whatever you might choose to do, or be forced to do. You have proven time and again that when under pressure you react to what's happening in that moment, whether it be good or bad...or horrible. I cannot even begin to understand half of what you've been through, and I don't expect to in the future. I just know that I want you to come home to me whenever you can. I will be here waiting with open arms. I will always be your safe harbor.

"Do what you must, my beloved Ron Allison. Do whatever it takes to survive...to return home to me. That is all that I ask of you."

Ron pulled his steed to a hasty stop at that. He then leaned over to lock his gray eyes with Josy's two-toned ones, his expression filled with stern sobriety.

"To my final breath, Josy. I swear it on my daughter's life!"

He kissed her passionately after that, and then they continued onward to the Gitove estate.
Chapter Seventeen

### Back to the Fight

When Josy and Ron finally returned to the manicured lawn surrounding the sprawling farmhouse, it was almost as if they could actually feel the weight of the galaxy pressing in on them. Josy had spoken from the heart about Ron's future prospects, and would stand by her pledge unfailingly, but inside she could hardly bare to think of his leaving again.

She put on a brave face and beamed at her mother who'd run out to meet them as soon as she heard the alarm.

Karne had set up a round-the-clock watch almost three weeks in the past, but hadn't reached the point of setting out after them just yet. He and Mishea had discussed it often over the last santari, but to begin a search of that scope was indisputably fruitless. There was simply too much country to cover, even with the vague direction Ron had said they'd be heading.

All the worry came abruptly to an end though when the betrothed pair broke out of the forest late in the evening...their horses quietly meandering along without a sign of distress. The clouds had pushed on to the east and the setting sun was acting like a spotlight on the couple.

Karne and Larson were away in town restocking supplies, so it was just Mishea and the house workers left at the mansion, but that was just fine with Ron and his love. They were already in a solemn mood anyway, and more faces to smile at would have been trying.

It was a few billots before the gigantic soldiers returned home, so the two lovers had a little while to unpack and scrub the trip off them, and to gather their emotions. By the time the patriarch and his son rode in, they felt more ready.

After a long...and huge...meal filled with questions and stories, Ron bid his apologies and took a stroll to the cottage to leave word that he was back and that he was ready to rejoin Cache. He felt the adrenalin rush he always felt when he knew he was about to engage in combat, and as his hand hovered over the com station, he briefly wondered about Josy's earlier question. Was it anxiety or expectation?

Ron then placed his left hand on the flat panel and triggered the signal with a single word.

"Rauld."

There was a short few moments of silence, and then; "Hello, Ron."

It was Aanlis.

"I trust you are well?" she asked, flashing a beautiful smile filled with warmth.

"Yes, Aanlis," Ron replied easily, "Thanks. Everyone here is fit as a fiddle."

Aanlis stared at him with a blank look of confusion across her brow.

"Everyone is fine," he clarified, instantly realizing she had no idea what he'd just said.

"Excellent," she returned, smiling again. "What may I do for you?"

"Could you contact Cache please? I would like to speak with her about our next mission."

"I will be happy to relay that message, but I am afraid she is out of communication range at the moment. We expect her to contact us tomorrow or the next dactrai."

"Really? Where is she?"

"She is in transoptic flight at present, heading to a rendezvous with some of Fraidze' old acquaintances."

"Oh, yeah? Well...okay then...I guess I'll try back tomorrow evening. What about Sheyah? Is she there, or sleeping?"

Aanlis grinned even broader at that question.

"No, she is not sleeping yet, but it will be her time soon. Would you like to come and get her?"

"Uh...yes...I suppose I could...I mean, of course I would."

Aanlis wasn't put off by Ron's hesitance. She didn't allow herself to judge whether Ron wanted to see his daughter or be with her. She knew that answer too well. It was just that Ron had a powerful distaste for the transporter. Cache had explained his aversion to it on a previous occasion.

"That device radically shifted his life twice already," she'd told Aanlis and a few others who operated the transporter, "and every time he uses it makes him wonder if that is about to happen again."

"Very well then," Aanlis told him. "Stand back."

Ron took two extra strides away from the point marked on the floor, and then he had to force himself to not draw his sword.

The 'window' to the other planet swiftly expanded, granting him more of a view of the Raulden facility, and when he saw Arsisi sitting beside Aanlis, he let out a sigh of relief. If the transmission were fake, he was certain that she would not be there because no one besides him and Cache even knew she was on Rauld.

"You are clear to cross over, Ron."

His sense of caution (animal instinct for survival) forced him to withdraw a moment. He turned his back to the portal and scanned the room carefully, and then he stepped over to a shelf and pulled a picture from it. It was one of him and Cache, with Sheyah in her arms. He set it flat on the floor.

Ron then faced the portal again, feeling a sharp chill streak through his body, but he strode forward nonetheless.

The gravity shift was sudden, and he nearly jerked at the feel of it, but his brain adjusted almost immediately and he relaxed once more. Standing there in the super-advanced Raulden station, Ron inwardly sighed with relief, but those around the room just saw his smiling, calm exterior, so they merely smiled back and returned to their work. They were always busy analyzing communications streams from all around the Kreete Empire to compile as thorough a data-base as they could. It seemed like mind-numbing work to Ron, but the Rauldens appeared right at home with it all.

"Everyone has their forte`," he told himself.

Ron chatted for a short while with Aanlis and Arsisi before heading off for Sheyah's nanny's quarters.

His little girl had been there a few weeks while Cache was off on her surveillance mission with Fraidze, and nearly exploded with excitement when Ron rang the door. When the panel slid down, she was already wobbling her way over to Ron with her arms outstretched.

"Daddy!" she shouted.

Ron scooped up his tiny tyke and squeezed her to him tightly.

"Hey, baby-girl! How's my little sweetie?"

They visited for a time with Klarissa before Ron explained he was back from his own trip and would like to take her for a few days.

Ron and Sheyah went straight to the transporter room from there and said their goodbyes to Aanlis before she opened the portal again.

"Daddy, what's that picture doing on the floor?"

Ron kissed his little girl on the cheek. "It's just a game I play when I leave the house."

"To make sure it's not fake...right?"

Ron looked at his daughter with great wonder.

"Yes, but how...?"

"That's a good idea," the toddler agreed, nodding her head.

"You surely are your mother's child!" he told her, and then he stepped through.

The gravity shift forced a huff from Sheyah, and then an "Ooooh!"

"Thank you, Aanlis," Ron told his friend. "Talk to you later."

"You are welcome, Ron...and I will be expecting your call. Sleep good Sheyah."

Then she was gone.

Aanlis's parting remark gave Ron a quizzical look.

"Sheyah," he asked as he strolled through the little house toward the door, "do you sleep alright when you go from Caron to Rauld...or back the other way?"

"Yes...mostly, I guess. Here in the house, I sleep well enough. On Rauld it's too quiet though. I sleep best at Josy's house."

"Really?" Ron said in genuine surprise, knowing that the sounds of the outside world had no barriers in her bedroom at the Gitove house since there were no window panes on Caron. "The chirping bugs...and calling birds...and croaking frogs make a lot of racket, don't you think?"

"Yeah," she said with a grand smile. "It sounds good doesn't it, Daddy?"

Ron grinned down at her and agreed. "It surely does, little one."

For the next three nights, Ron heard nothing new from Rauld. He and the Gitoves and Sheyah tried to enjoy those few more days of peace and togetherness, but while it was a wonderful time, it was also expectant, and each day that passed got Ron a bit more on edge. He didn't like Cache charging off without him, no matter how important her crusade was, and was just about ready to try and override the _Darlile_ 's system to find her when she finally answered the com.

"Hey there, stranger," Cache said when the portal lit up. She had a dazzling smile brightening up the screen.

Aanlis had initiated an automatic transfer to the _Darlile_ when he called on the fourth night.

"Whew!" Ron exhaled, shaking his head and smiling back. "Hey back, you! You know you really had me worried there, Cache."

"Oh?" she said nonchalantly. "Really? Why is that?"

Ron chuckled and shook his head again. "Oh, I don't know. Let's see. You're off on a quest of galactic proportions...alone...and go missing for days. I dunno...maybe that's it?"

"Well, I was not alone the whole time. Fraidze was with me until a torjourne ago. I just brought him back to his old smuggler friends. They are working on a new project."

"A new project, huh? I'm sure it's nothing dangerous...right?"

"Oh, you big worry wart!" she retorted. "If I did not know better, I would think you missed me."

Ron grinned broadly at that. "Well, are you ready for some company?"

"I suppose so. Do you know someone who might be interested in joining me?"

Ron gave her a smirk.

"Yeah-yeah-yeah. I know. I've been on vacation for too long and you've had to do everything yourself."

"I did not say that!" Cache replied sharply, not completely sure Ron was joking.

"Relax, Blondie," he told her lightly, "I'm just messing with you."

Cache smiled again, and then looked around quickly.

" _Darlile_ ," she then said. "Stay alert and do what you must to keep safe."

"Affirmative," the avatar replied.

"All right, Ron," Cache told him, "Move back. I'm coming home."

Ron stepped clear and Cache strolled through.

"Wow!" she exclaimed when her feet felt the pull of her new homeworld. Her legs shook for a moment as she adjusted. Finally, she looked up into Ron's eyes and grinned again.

"Hello."

Ron surged forward and snatched her up in his arms, lifting her from the floor like a feather pillow. They hugged one another for a long while...each truly ecstatic to be together again.

Ron then set her back on her feet.

"I guess we have a lot to talk about, huh?" he asked her.

"Yes...absolutely...but please allow me to change."

She was still wearing her flight suit; the only way to simulate gravity aboard the _Darlile_.

"Sure...sure."

"I will not be long."

Cache disappeared into her bedroom and returned in quick fashion, dressed more like Josy, in shorts and a midriff-free top. Together, they began the long walk to the main house.

They spoke of Ron's time off...not too specific, of course...and held off on the particulars of the mission until they'd reached the huge estate. Cache felt that all the adult members would want to know what was going on in the struggle against the Kreete Empire.

She held and played with Sheyah until the little girl was ready for sleep, and when she was down for the night they all gathered in the great room where Cache began her debrief.

She started out by reciting everything Arsisi had told her on the day of Ron's return to Caron.

It was difficult for Ron to listen to, especially after he'd suffered through so much to get the Ordiceans...make that the Theranians...their victory. He was fuming by the end of that story, kicking himself for being so naïve and trusting.

"How could I not see it?" he growled, leaping to his feet with his fists clenched.

Cache wanted to say something, but she still felt the bitter taste of betrayal and failure as well, and could not. Josy would have liked to go to Ron, to comfort him, but she knew he needed to vent. It was his coping mechanism.

In the next moment he strode across the room and out the door, looking like he was headed for the river.

Josy of course felt his inner fire flash before he left her, and so as soon as she saw him clear the doorway, she too leaped up and rushed away...but she was racing to the second floor. She made it to Sheyah's room just as the world around them began to reverberate with the terrifying, horrendous roar of the Aredanz Mountain Folks' challenge to war.

Sheyah's eyes burst open in fright, but Josylinia was there, scooping her out of her bed and pressing her firmly to her breast.

"Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh," she shushed the child, kissing her head and covering her ears. "It's all right, little one. There's nothing to be afraid of."

Sheyah couldn't help but cling to her tightly, the sound of that wailing roar too terrible to let pass.

She only cried for a few moments though, because it had startled her so badly. Then, as the echoes drifted away and the normal night sounds returned, she began to calm down.

Josy knew it would take a long while before Sheyah could hope to sleep again, so she headed back to the others, cradling the little girl.

Cache came rushing in at that point, not realizing until Ron's eruption of sound had fully crested, that their daughter would be frightened out of her wits by it.

Sheyah reached out to her and latched onto her mother like an octopus.

"Do not fear, Sheyah," Cache told her calmly. "There is nothing to be afraid of."

"What was that, Mother?" she asked when her cheek was nestled tightly against Cache's neck.

"Oh, that was just your father, Darling. It is okay now though."

"He sounds really mad!" she said back.

The three of them walked back down the stairs together and were just getting seated again when Ron returned. He was clearly steamed even then.

"They led me around like a trained dragen monkey!" he growled as he entered the large room.

When he saw his daughter on Cache's lap though, he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Oh, shi...man!" he hissed, before rushing over and dropping to his knees at Cache's feet.

"Sheyah, baby...I'm so sorry. I completely forgot that you...I didn't mean to...oh, sweetie; Daddy's sorry."

She just smiled at his worried face and held open her arms. Ron snatched her up right away.

"It's okay, Daddy. I'm not scared anymore. But why were you so angry?"

Ron hugged her tightly. "It's just that...well...Mommy told me some news about the bad people...and I wasn't ready to hear it, I guess. It's alright now though. I won't do that again."

Ron squeezed and patted Sheyah for a few borts before one of the house attendants came up and offered to take her back to bed. Her eyes were bleary and red, but she didn't question what all the fuss was about. Her employers were very important figures in the area...in the entire province for that matter...and she was certain there was a good reason for the terrifying outburst.

"I'll stay with her until she can drift off again, Mistress Cache," she said sweetly, gathering up the little girl.

Ron then plopped down beside Josy once more with a deep grunt. Everyone could see the red in his face and the dire look on his brow, but no one offered a word of advice or solace. What was there to say?

A moment later, he was on his feet again, pacing the room.

It was Karne who broke the spell. He arose abruptly and approached the man half his size.

"It is done, Ron," he said with his barrel-like, gravelly voice. "We have all been fooled at one time or another...and all have felt the frustration you feel."

"Really, Karne?" Ron snapped back. "Did you help convince your friends to give their lives toward a goal that turned out to be a trick...a lie? Because that's what I did! I got them all killed!"

"Horse shart!" the mighty Reaper spat back. "You got no one killed! You were thrown into battle with an unknown enemy and you fought through the only way you knew how! It's as simple as that! And yes...I have done exactly that...on many occasions."

Ron stopped his pacing and faced the giant. He was listening again.

"I have sent my men into countless deadly missions. Some of them had been with me for decades...true allies in the sea of treacherous hierarchy that is the Kreete military. Those men chose to follow my orders, even when those orders were given without full knowledge of the parameters they entailed. I have been the pawn more times than I am willing to concede, and I take responsibility for the deaths of thousands."

Ron was staggered at that admission. He thought Karne the ultimate leader...a brilliant tactician and heralded warrior.

Karne's fingers clenched tightly as he spoke, and everyone could feel the pain in his words. He truly grieved for his fallen men.

"I did as I was ordered, thinking I was part of some greater plan...that I was living by the warrior's code and defending the honor of the Empire. It wasn't until much later that I realized how little I truly understood...how in the dark each of us was kept to protect our superiors' status. We were simply tools. That is why I turned away from that life."

Ron let those words resonate in his mind for a while, and then he took his seat once more. Karne did the same, and then he bade Cache continue with her tale.

She explained that the Rauldens had begun multiple campaigns. That each of the men on the Outcasts team deserved to have their planets freed first, as reward for their sacrifice...even though it would be mostly posthumously.

"The Benoi project is coming along well because the planet is so sparsely populated and the Kreete cannot inhabit it on a full time basis.

"The planet of Hosstry is another story however. There is a heavy amount of Kreete occupation and influence, and the technology is advanced, so secrecy is very difficult. But the central issue there is that I have found no avenue to explore that would break the bonds the humans have established with the Kreete. The population is extremely eclectic, from dozens of worlds, and they do not seem to show any interest of becoming independent. In fact, they have invested heavily in markets that cater specifically to the Lords. Unless something new becomes available, I have little choice other than to abandon that world."

That news was difficult for Ron to hear. Bart was a good man, and it was hard to think there was nothing they could do to show their appreciation.

"Could we possibly rescue Bart's family from that place?" Ron suggested.

"I am sorry to have to tell you, Ron, but as far as I could find out, his family members are all deceased."

Ron nodded his understanding, but felt badly even still.

"The Eathanius Moon should not be a problem because of its unique location and designation. Orbiting the gas giant, Tropia, actually takes care of several typical problems. And the fact that it is used for Kreete survival training and not constant cohabitation gives us plenty of time to work with.

"Fraidze's homeworld is going to be an interesting challenge, but first we need to get through the security layers that the Kreete have established. I have been exploring some angles in that arena, and we shall see what we can come up with."

Ron listened to the information for the next two solid billots before Cache concluded her update. By then he was much calmer and was absorbing the intel like normal. His mind began to extrapolate contingencies for her plans, and he finally grinned at her and smirked.

"What is that look about?" Cache asked suspiciously.

"I have a couple of ideas," he replied wryly.

### Chapter Eighteen

### So, You Need a Diversion?

Ron Allison tore across the heavens at the maximum speed the _Darlile_ could achieve, heading for the farthest reaches of the Kreete's domain.

Fraidze's homeworld... Coriolus...lay in that relative vicinity, and Cache was having a difficult time infiltrating that planet with so much enemy activity in the area. The problem was that the planet was too 'visible'...too closely watched. It provided tens of thousands of fledgling Kreete soldiers per cycle and was the draw of every captain for its 'creature comforts'. Along with that, it was located at a somewhat isolated stellar position which made the journey to and from it a long...easily monitored one.

That isolation gave Gorush (the planet lord) his newest idea to attract commerce. He would expand his surrogate service to high-paying dignitaries that might wish to make use of the unique selection he had at his disposal. He initially planned to establish a space-bound, state-of-the-art brothel, with selective menus of his merchandise available across the quadrant. That notion however, quickly expanded to a full-blown grand oasis that could accommodate any and all vessels venturing there for business or commerce. He would offer up any of the four and a half billion people on the planet for whatever entertainment the client so desired. Of course, those indulgences that resulted in the devaluation or death of the products would have to pay considerably more.

Those widely varied offerings were designed to entice Coriolus' commercial interests to linger in the area longer than they might otherwise have, adding to the traffic congestion around the planet and along the access route. That increase naturally compelled the Lords to assign a larger "peace-keeping" force to patrol the nearby space.

By the time Cache was ready to make her move, there were simply too many sensors, too many eyes, and too much firepower around. The _Darlile_ , even with its superb stealth and defensive abilities, was too well known to the Kreete to even attempt to reach the planet, so an alternative method had to be employed. That's what she'd enlisted Fraidze and his former colleagues for.

Cache and Ron discussed those same problems from several viewpoints and they both drew the same frank conclusion.

"What we need here is a diversion!" Ron said with a crooked grin.

Cache had seen that look before, so she just grinned back at him and shook her head. "Here we go," she thought.

At that time, they were sitting in the _Darlile_ , using a 3-D rendering, holographic depiction of the planet and its nearby space, so Ron used his hands to manipulate the image. First, he collapsed the ten foot wide projection to the size of a marble, and then he ordered up a new vantage point.

" _Darlile_ , show me the six nearest inhabited systems surrounding Coriolus.

The image instantly shifted to a stellar map of Coriolus and the required other solar systems. The projection was remarkably accurate, with each star perfectly recreated in relation to the one around Fraidze's planet.

They studied the map.

"Wow," Ron breathed. "Coriolus really is out there all on its own, isn't it?"

Cache nodded. She and Fraidze had already studied that issue, hoping its isolation would help their endeavors, but that hadn't panned out. In fact, it seemed to be working against them, especially since most of the traffic was routed through the space station. Gaining access to the planet was vastly more difficult because of Gorush's tight hold on it.

"Darlile, show me the trade routes that come the closest to Coriolus."

Thin, glowing lines jumped into the picture, criss-crossing the map in a dozen ways.

"There!" Ron said a moment later.

He expanded that section of the map and stared at it intently. There were three lanes of traffic that either grazed the edge of Coriolus's space, or was just beyond. One even had a space station...although it was a full-blown Kreete military post. That was an excellent point to transfer cargo, exchange men, and refuel and resupply.

"That's what we need!"

Cache stepped forward as Ron enlarged the station to fill the room.

"Are you out of your mind?" she asked at a wildly grinning Ron.

Ron hadn't been deterred. He merely explained his plan to draw some of the fleet away from Coriolus, and then sent Cache away to join Fraidze for their own mission...the one to actually land on the planet.

Presently, Ron was closing in on his objective.

Into the pilot's seat he slid, mentally preparing himself for the long decel period. A moment later he took a deep breath and triggered the action. Immediately, his seat spun about to face aft, and then the mighty engines spooled up, their energy plumes redirected to the forward position to quell the incredible velocity the ship was moving at.

As soon as he was back in tangible space, he also began studying the sensor readouts coming in on the ship's main viewer, which was currently swung around to be in front of him again.

He saw the target of his extended journey and smiled. It was just as he'd hoped.

Ron was headed directly for that lonely crossroads intersection in the travel lanes of the Empire...and their enormous space station.

It was a huge spinning structure, appearing like a bicycle wheel to the earth man, but was easily fifty hoz in diameter. The spokes that kept the shape round and true were actually cables made of super-strong vasilium nanotubes...millions of them in each strand...and were impervious to cold, virtually unbreakable, and completely resistant to radiation. They were also electrical conduits, carrying power from the central hub of the colossal wheel...which was actually a giant fusion reactor that supplied electricity to the entire structure.

The inhabited section of the station rotated at a speed that would maintain centrifugal loads equivalent of a class ten planet's gravity, and was half a hoz in cross-section. There were docking positions along both sides of the "tire" part of the wheel with room for more than two hundred ships at any given moment. At that time, it appeared to house only sixty-three.

Ron then focused primarily on the military aspects of the complex. The station proper was heavily protected against radiation as well as attack, having impressive layers of energy-diffusing shielding. It also carried a thousand plasma cannon turrets which could ward off most any hostile fleet. But on top of that, possibly due to the increasing aggression of the "Freedom Seekers", the Kreete had four cruiser warships equally spaced around the facility. They stayed in constant motion so as to be able to leap into any fight no matter the direction it came from.

It was at those sentries that he began to formulate his plan of attack.

As the _Darlile_ closed the gap, Ron started to get excited. He was about to try out the newest modifications that Cache had developed while he was on Caron, vacationing with Josy.

Since she was fully expecting Ron to engage the Kreete space fleet at some point, Cache had decided that he would need more firepower to level the field with the huge numbers of ships the Triad could throw at them. Toward that end, she used up some of the space in the cargo section of the ship and installed a third engine. It was much smaller than the thrust engines, but its sole purpose was to feed the cannons' capacitor. She estimated that the ship would be able to increase its firing speed to nearly constant, even at full-powered settings. And with the Raulden's special blend of plasma energy bursts...also retuned to increase effect...she was confident that it would hold its own in a fight, no matter the enemy's numbers.

She'd also recalibrated the dark ship's shielding matrices to be able to actively adapt to the enemy's disruptor fire even during a battle. She knew the Kreete had studied her invention on many occasions when she and Ron had clashed with their technology, so she had done the exact same thing.

Ron watched the deceleration timer counting down and readied himself to give those little upgrades a dry run. He smiled a sardonic, lethal grin as he waited.

The billots eased by slowly, and when he finally took control once again, his fingers were itching for the cannons' trigger.

When the ship was trotting along at merely ten percent VL-1, Ron began his first run.

"Commander Loras," the tactical officer aboard the Kreete warbird; _Death Dealer,_ said to his superior.

He was not excited or concerned. He was merely following his duty protocol.

"There is something small inbound...possibly a ship...but I have no record of any flight plan approved from that direction. Also, the sensors are having a difficult time locking onto it, so its configuration cannot be verified. Whoever they are, they're using a very advanced scattering field."

Loras Devlin watched the small object/craft coming fast and wondered briefly about it. A slight whisper in his sub-conscience tried to urge him to caution, but the size of it was miniscule when compared to his massive war craft...and so he stayed calm.

"Hail the vessel and inquire as to its purpose...and verify its registration," he said to the communications' officer.

That man initiated the normal procedures like a seasoned veteran.

"Inbound vessel...slow your speed and state your intentions."

There was no reply.

The cruiser wasn't positioned directly between the _Darlile_ and the station, so Loras ordered his helmsman to send them into an intersecting vector. On came the little ship.

Loras was following the attempts his com's man was making and soon began to wonder about the interloper. Was the ship out of control? Certainly they would have checked their speed if they were going to dock with the station.

"Weapons officer!" Loras called to the fellow to his far right, almost five peors away. "What do you see?"

Berellis Iish stared at his panel even more intently than he had already been since first hearing the report of the anomaly. The ship's sensors were still unable to penetrate the scattering field the tiny craft was emitting.

"I see...almost nothing, Sir!" Berellis replied. "Barely a distortion in space...like a ripple. The weapon's guidance computer cannot even verify there is a target."

The ability to blind one of the finest sensor arrays in the known universe was like a splash of ice-water to the face of the commander. He had seen nearly sixty years of duty in the vastness of space, clashed with some of the fiercest species the Triad had ever encountered, and had heard of only a single vessel in all the Empire that had accomplished such a feat...and it wasn't Kreete's!

If it could have, Loras's thick gray hide would have burst with goose flesh.

"Magnify that section of space!" he ordered, surging forward to the edge of his huge seat. "Follow it as best you can!"

The sensor operator flashed his sausage-sized fingers rapidly across his panel and the view-screen changed to a telescopic setting. All eyes then strained to see what was gathering their attention. It took another bort before...

"There!" shouted the ship's navigator, Bronnin Jeif, pointing to the far right edge of the screen.

"I...don't...see it," Loras said, still baffled by the chore of it all.

The navigator leaped to his feet and rushed forward to the ten peor wide viewer.

"Focus...there!" he bellowed at the operator.

The center of the screen then swung around to that spot, and jumped in magnification another tenfold.

"There," cried Bronnin.

Suddenly everyone saw the image of a small twin-engine spacecraft hurtling toward the space station.

"Gunners!" Loras finally barked. "Use visual enhancement! Destroy that ship! FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!"

The weapons' officer instantly had every gun trained on the _Darlile_ , so it was almost immediate that the space around Ron lit up with cannon blasts...yet they hit nothing.

Ron was ready for the volley, and made a hard left when he saw the cannons' glow red. The move was a relatively small distance, perhaps only five hundred peors, but it was enough to sidestep that opening salvo.

The cannons swung over to his new position incredibly swiftly, yet they missed again...and then the _Darlile_ retaliated for their inhospitable welcome.

Blue plasma energy erupted from the nose of the sable craft at that point, and the commander of the _Death Dealer_ felt his heart stop. The physical jolt was minimal in such a huge spacecraft, but the energy surge caused by the Raulden weapon forced a dozen consoles to arc, flash, and then die.

Loras's eyes snapped over to check his ship's shields, and he stood there mesmerized for a few litas.

"It can't be!" he huffed. "That's not possible!"

The shield strength had dropped thirty percent on the _Darlile's_ very first pass!

Ron swept the dark lady down the side of the _Death Dealer_ and raked her from bow to stern with her new cannons...and then he smiled. He was dancing the _Darlile_ to the beat of the enemy cannon fire...always just a little ahead of the strongest bursts...and then he swung about for round two.

Down-right-left-down-up-left-down. Ron used his instincts well and kept his movements random enough so that the targeting computer aboard the Kreete ship had no chance to guess at his next one. It was a fun game to Ron Allison...but to Loras Devlin...with more than two thousand Kreete soldiers aboard his ship...it was the exact opposite.

"Shoot a wider pattern!" he screamed at the weapons officer. "Spray the dragen field with it!"

The gunner quickly adjusted his targeting array to a broader spectrum, but that did little to slow the savage little fighter they were tangling with.

Ron was rocked a few times by some lucky hits, but his shields barely dropped ten percent. He merely drew in tighter with the enormous cruiser, forcing the reaction speed of the turrets to ratchet up to their maximum setting, and then he simply outpaced that.

"Gillborn!" screamed Loras to his weapons officer. "Hit that dragen flarge before he..."

"Kraaaaaaaaaaaaaafffffffffffoooooooooooooooooooommmmmm!" echoed a devastating explosion near one of the engine nacelles a thousand peors behind the command station. It was intense enough so that every man on every level was thrown from his feet to the deck, but that was not the worst thing. The truly bad news was that the shield generators had failed completely.

Ron swung around once more, totally safe now because the cannon fire from the _Death_ _Dealer_ had ceased with that explosion as well. Another ten litas had the giant war machine of the Kreete Triad split in four locations and drifting aimlessly through space. That's when Ron eyed the next target and bolted for it.

The _Scillation Tiger_ (another cruiser) was headed toward the _Darlile_ by then, and opened fire shortly after Ron had changed course. It took longer, but eventually that ship met with an equally horrible fate as the _Death Dealer_.

The other two cruisers were maneuvering around the station as Ron dispatched that one, but he peeled off and struck at the enormous Ferris wheel's central component instead. He watched the sensor readout carefully, and was impressed.

That giant station had enough shielding to withstand solar storms, intense cosmic energy, and even good-sized meteor fragments...so it absorbed the cannon fire well, losing barely fifteen percent of its strength. And then it cut loose with its own defenses.

Plasma energy spewed from three hundred points and covered an area the size of Manhattan, but the retaliation program had been written with a serious flaw. It was designed to fend off a rival Kreete fleet...one with enormous, yet slow ships...and never imagined such a fight with a craft so small and so nimble.

Ron took his time and chipped away at it. When the remaining cruisers finally came at him, he broke off that attack and did battle with them for a while, but it was already a forgone conclusion that they would follow the fates of their fellows and fall to the smaller, yet far superior, black ship.

One thing the cruisers did accomplish though, was that they bought enough time for many of the vessels docked at the station to disengage and make a run for it. None of them knew why the attack had begun, but it hardly mattered to them. They simply didn't want to get caught up in it.

It took a couple of billots, but Ron finally wore down the defense net the station used and destroyed the power facility at its center, ending any further attempts at resistance. In another bort, and after another pass from the black ship, the station was flying apart in a dozen different directions, its central cables cut.

Ron pulled back at that point, and didn't attack the individual segments of the living areas, feeling no need to kill non-military individuals. Those segments were all designed to be lifeboats in case of some disaster, so those aboard would be fine until rescue vessels arrived. That being the case, he didn't fret over them.

He was following the outgoing transmissions for help during the battle and knew that his plan had worked. Reinforcements were on their way from multiple locations...one being Coriolus. The large military force that kept watch over Fraidze' home had dispatched twenty different ships...half of its entire compliment...and so Ron was about to exit the scene when the _Darlile_ spotted a particular vessel that had been designated as "High value" in its memory banks. The blip on the screen suddenly changed color and had its name in bold lettering beside it on the viewer.

It was the _Confarii_!

It was making a run for it without its normal escorts, those ships not having been docked at the station at that time because it was in a 'safe port'.

Ron caught it in just over a billot.

" _Confarii_ vessel!" Ron said calmly over the com. "Lower your shields, open your cargo hold, and prepare to be boarded."

The commander fired back...

"Burn in the fires of Kreete, you dragen flarge scum!"

Ron laughed. The ship had no weapons and its shields were pathetic for anything beyond interstellar debris.

" _Darlile_ , adjust your cannon's output to just knock out their shields."

"Ready," the avatar replied smoothly.

Ron fired one blast and the ship was totally defenseless, but when he approached, the _Confarii_ made some aggressive moves to keep him from being able to get close.

Ron parried that tactic by firing a small probe at the retreating ship. The probe attached itself to the hull of the communications vessel, and then the superior technology of the Raulden scientists went to work against its main computer.

The Kreete had installed extraordinary safeguards to be sure, but the passive intellects of Rauld showed their worth over the following billot and a half when that tiny device overwhelmed the engine management computer, the navigational input controller, and finally the operation of the cargo doors.

When the _Confarii_ settled down into a nice, steady attitude and the cargo doors slid aside, Ron simply flew right into the bay and landed. Then, after the area was pressurized again, he calmly walked out into the wide open space.

The _Confarii_ held just one strike team of Kreete soldiers on board to maintain order amongst the four hundred human souls who managed the ship. Those soldiers met him in the landing bay.

"I order your surrender!" the commander growled at the much smaller form of Ron.

"Screw you!" he replied, pulling his ebony blade free of its scabbard.

Most of the Kreete that faced him unsheathed their own swords at that display, but ten of them quickly drew energy weapons and fired at him, hoping to catch him off guard. Unfortunately for them however, Ron was standing just inside the invisible bubble of the _Darlile's_ shields. The plasma glowed brightly for a few litas, and then dissipated.

"Dragen cowards!" Ron bellowed.

That really infuriated the Kreete and they broke forward at him, their blades held high and war cries on their lips.

"Combat!" Ron said, and his armored suit morphed into being, ready for any more attempts to shoot him.

Ron took half a dozen steps forward and then stopped abruptly again, as if waiting for the twenty-one rampaging soldiers to meet him...but then...

"Now!" he ordered.

Instantly, the cargo doors began sliding aside once more!

Ron's suit used its own power source to lock him to the metal deck, but the _Darlile_ killed the _Confarii's_ artificial gravity plating, and the entire group of Kreete warriors was blown out the doors and into space.

A few borts later, everything went back to normal, and so Ron stowed the ebony blade and continued on toward the interior of the vessel as if nothing had happened.

The single remaining Kreete met him at the control center.

"You have no honor!" he growled at Ron when they were face to face.

"You chinch-eating whore," Ron shot back. "How many times did your so called 'superior race' pull some kind of underhanded, yellow-bellied scheme to try and kill me during the Games? And you say 'I' have no honor?"

"Well, there will be no underhanded trick to escape me, little man!"

With that, he drew his short sword and a long knife, and dropped into a fighting stance.

The massive fellow wore no armor, so Ron didn't bother reestablishing his own. He just hauled the black rapier free again with his right hand, and slid his smaller katana from its sheath with his left. In mere moments, the room began to tint with the old, familiar red hue.

The Kreete rushed him with a horrendous roar that sent every human in the vicinity into a shrinking retreat...every human but one.

Ron growled back at him even as the clang of their hardened steel weapons blasted off the walls and slammed into his ears. He parried the huge blade a dozen times in the first five litas, and after a bort, he had Miret Gin, the newest commander of the _Confarii_ , figured out. Over the following five borts, Ron nicked and sliced and jabbed his monstrous opponent until he got a clear opening...and then he removed the giant's leg at the knee.

Miret looked up from his submissive position just quickly enough to see the final blow...and then he saw nothing at all.

Ron turned from the grizzly scene in a single smooth move, the threat having been inexorably extinguished, and spoke to the huddling clutch of people.

"Do not be afraid! I have no quarrel with you, and will set you free as soon as I find what I came here for.

"Now, if you don't mind, could someone call for a sanitation Cnaut and get rid of this mess?"

Ron then stepped over to the command chair and took the seat. Of course, it dwarfed him easily, but he fired up the central panel and got to work.

" _Darlile_ , can you break into this station?"

"Affirmative. Done."

"Excellent. Now, could you search the files for everything they have on the Games and the transgressions that were made?"

"Yes."

The files began appearing on the main viewer almost immediately; dropping into a queue that Ron hastily started reviewing. He knew the Kreete were sending a large force to investigate the fight at the station, and that they would know exactly which way the _Confarii_ had headed.

That communication vessel was an extremely valuable commodity, having every single planet's com frequency locked in its memory, as well as terabytes of messages that had passed through it. They would want it back very badly.

Ron found out that Arsisi had told them the truth. The Kreete had sabotaged the _Shurnoot_ , but they had no knowledge of what had befallen the other two Benoits. As far as he could tell, they were more stunned than anyone.

" _Darlile_ ," Ron said afterward. "Search out the Hoondelli. I want to know where they come from. I want to speak to their leader."

"Understood."

When that was underway, Ron made an announcement across the ship's intercom.

"Anyone who wishes to leave this vessel should get themselves ready immediately. We will be docking with a transport in one billot. Those who wish to remain in service of the Kreete will be placed in lifeboats for their masters to collect them. After that, the _Confarii_ will be destroyed. Position yourselves as you wish at the forward loading stations."

Ron had already changed the ship's course to intercept the _Stellar Horizon_ , a huge passenger craft headed across the void to a destination far from there. He then climbed out of the commandant's seat and headed for the loading area to manage the evacuation.

Chapter Nineteen

### The Mission to Coriolus

Cache and Fraidze dropped out of transoptic mode at almost the same time the Confarii went up in a cloud of stellar atoms. They guessed that by then, every Kreete ship in the nearest four parsecs had been sent to investigate and exterminate the problem at the depot.

She wore a disguise that would hide her looks thoroughly, even though (as far as she knew) no one had any idea who she was. A gnawing worry that Jazz might have divulged her identity to the Kreete just to get even with her had crossed her mind once or twice. In any event, she suspected her new persona should allow her to pass by any Kreete inspection that might arise in the city. Her hair was mottled light and dark brown, was cut in a ragged state and left dirty and oily. She had Fortell change her eyes to a dull brown as well, eliminating any attraction her normally stunning violet orbs might draw. Also, she had a long prosthetic scar attached to the left side of her face. And to top it all off, she wore baggy, disheveled clothes that hid the fact that she was even a woman quite well.

Fraidze dressed in a lackluster garb that also drew little attention. His hair was now jet black, and he'd let his beard fill in nice and thick. Even the fame of his participation in the Triad Games shouldn't give him away.

They flew in a stolen Kreete frigate that was about four times the size of the _Darlile_. Fraidze' pirate friends had liberated it from a poorly guarded space station called _Wosirea_ , at the edge of the Miocen Sector. _Wosirea_ ('the dump' in the Kreete's language) was a place the Lords sent their antiquated vessels for scrap. It spun above the planet Iyara where the natives could shuttle back and forth from their world for the necessary work. They manned the station around the clock and stripped out every possible piece of working technology before cutting the skeleton of the ship up for reprocessing into ingots of metal. Those two-ton blocks were then sent to a Kreete construction facility twelve dactrais away where they were merged with newer alloys to create up-to-date spacecrafts.

The work queue for _Wosirea_ was twenty ships deep, so it would likely be nearly two santaris before the ship was even discovered missing.

Fraidze' contacts had arranged the transaction for him and Cache, but had also warned them about the dealer...Hirosha Nevar. They'd had exchanges with the fellow over the years and said that if he felt he could take advantage, he would...so caution would be advised.

Nevar of course, had done just as they'd warned. He saw the tiny yacht-sized ship that Cache arrived in and tried to double-cross her at the exchange. However, that small craft was the Raulden designed _Darlile_ , so when the monetary transaction was complete and they decided to renege on the agreement, they received a very big surprise.

Fraidze had been sitting beside her at the rendezvous, filled with anxiety and dread. He much preferred the stealthy sorties he was accustomed to over face to face...or more accurately, cannon to cannon...dealings.

The tone of the meeting was abrupt, even curt, and that hadn't helped him ease his tensions. So when the marauder 's vessel...the _Phargoon_...which was ten times the size of the _Darlile,_ cut loose with their guns, he threw his hands up to shield his face knowing full well that he was a dead man.

Cache had wanted to shake her head at his antics, but instead, she just focused her attention on the pirates.

"You really should not have done that," she announced while still being slammed with energy blasts.

The vibration of the assault was rough and the _Darlile_ shook badly, rattling every movable object inside it, but that all came to a halt when she triggered her own weapons.

The targeting priorities had already been locked in...an automatic function she'd programmed into the _Darlile_...so the first salvo obliterated the _Phargoon_ 's shielding. The second destroyed the foreigner's cannons. The third sheared off their propulsion nodes. And the fourth vaporized their communications array.

She felt the urge to just blow their ship to pieces, but decided against it because they had never truly been a threat to her or the _Darlile_.

"You should learn to keep your word," she scolded them as she nudged the black Raulden ship over to her newly purchased prize. Once docked, Fraidze took control of the frigate and together, they made their way back to Rauld for some upgrades.

Now, as Cache and Fraidze approached Coriolus, the former Kreete vessel was more advanced than any of their similar ships, with more powerful engines and weapons, and a Raulden designed scattering field that would show whatever she wanted it to upon any alien scans.

"Frigate _Valaira_ ," an announcement chimed in. "We have you on our sensors. Please transmit your destination and cargo manifest for clearance."

"As you wish," she responded. The _Darlile_ masked her sweet, lilting Raulden speech into a replica of Karne's gravelly, bellowing vocals.

She had broken into the communications system of the planet santaris in the past and inserted a delivery of some basic maintenance requirements that the power-plants needed to keep the electricity on in the city of Arbeziar.

That gave them the okay to bypass any close inspections at the space station and fly right down to a huge storage facility at one of the outer plants. Once the ship was on approach and scanned for corroboration of their cargo, they were left alone to complete the delivery. It was all very normal and uninteresting to the Lords who managed the flight patterns in and around the city.

When they landed, a pair of Kreete scouts met them at the pad. Cache sent them a video message from the cockpit. The image looked like Neidar, Karne's older child who'd died during the fight for Caron. Cache knew that the Gitove family had been flagged as traitors, but felt that no one would be looking for his likeness since he was deceased.

"I'm sending a couple of human flarges to offload the cargo," the image said with the typical Kreete gruffness. "You can accompany them if you wish, or not. I don't give a shart. But do not slow them down! I have to repair the Transoptic modulator before I can leave, so I'm staying aboard."

"Do you wish me to call for a maintenance team?" one of the sentries asked.

"Nobody touches my ship but me!" the image growled back. "Just keep to your own dragen duties, Scout!"

The image was of a Slayer class officer, so the two guards just kept their mouths shut and stood their post.

Fraidze and Cache then went to the cargo hold and began emptying it.

Fraidze kept his eyes down around the soldiers, and didn't gaze about...trying to seem less frightened than he really was. He'd seldom been around actual Kreete, so his hands trembled and he stumbled a few times. The guards paid him no mind. They were used to being feared by humans.

While hovering into position at the landing pad, Cache had scanned the underground facility thoroughly and located the perfect place to put her equipment. One of the warehouses had once been used to store massive quantities of food supplies for the human population that had lived there. But once the Kreete moved in, they cleared the space out when it began to spoil. They used alternative dietary sources that took up far less room, so the warehouse stood virtually empty.

Fraidze and his small helper placed all of their cargo in that warehouse, and then left.

They were in and out in under four billots, and before they even broke ground, the containers beneath them had begun to open and disperse. One was a powerful scattering field that showed the space as empty and inert. One was a shield generator that produced an impenetrable energy wall just inside the huge room, so that if anyone were to enter, they would think they were in a small utility closet. And one was a large transporter probe with the ability to move equipment the size of an automobile. It began to hum as soon as everything was secure, and then the window between worlds opened and an army began filing through.

It was an army of Cnauts, and with them came sections of an immense puzzle. Most immediately began constructing the Shotal Energy Shield generator. But some had an entirely different objective.

### Chapter Twenty

### Benoi

Every day was just like the last if you happened to be one of the damned. That was the term used by the natives on the planet of Benoi. Life under the rule of a Kreete taskmaster was more than a burden...it was a sentence. And almost always, that sentence was death.

The Lords were so frightened of the giant beings that they kept them constantly shackled with advanced technology in the form of special collars. If one of them got out of hand, he or she could be electrocuted from the safety of a bunker or the high walls of their fortress compounds where the masters lived.

If more than one were to try and ban together, they could be killed by the explosive charges in those same collars. If, by some insane happenstance, more than five were to join forces, their families...along with the families of every worker in the entire camp...would be slaughtered in the same fashion. It was a powerful tool to keep the peace, and it worked very well.

The weak point in that plan was the fact that every kind of prison had its own faults...that every type of armor ever constructed inherently had chinks. It was the nature of things meant to force control of one species over another. It was like building a dam. Sooner or later, time, weather, corrosion, or catastrophe would someday allow the constant press of the water to find a way out...or through. It was inevitable. It was fate.

Well, exactly like that, fate came knocking one day to the Lords over Benoi.

"Take us up," ordered Wierson Morg, the captain of the cargo ship, the _Gorgann Prins_.

"Yes, Sir," replied the helmsman, Kreslar Balante.

With the slide of his massive finger across a flat panel of glass, the antigravity drives cut the ship's ties to Benoi and the _Gorgann Prins_ drifted aloft. As soon as the ship reached a safe altitude, the primary thrusters fired up and sent the massive cargo hauler heading for space.

"We should break orbit in eighteen borts, and rendezvous at _Galarian Station_ in one billot," announced Kreslar.

"Excellent," Wierson said, watching the entire event from his huge command chair on the bridge of the _Gorgann Prins_.

There was more than five-hundred-thousand ibetic tons of ore in the belly of the ship, and that represented a nice little payday for him when he reached his destination four torjournes from then. The _Gorgann Prins_ would stop over at the space station for fuel, supplies, and the rest of his crew, and then they would be space bound for the remainder of the trip. It was all very routine and familiar...at the moment.

"Sir!" the communication's officer said suddenly a few borts later. "I've lost contact with _Galarian Station_...but I don't know why!"

On that same dreary, rain-soaked afternoon, the massive, misshapen Benoi workers who toiled relentlessly to keep the Lords' machines functioning on their world felt a strange sensation, as if the air had suddenly been charged with static electricity. That got their attention so profoundly that many stopped what they were doing and gazed about. At first, they feared their masters had decided to terminate them all...that the sensation was their collars powering up. But when that did not occur they checked the skies, expecting to see some new or strange alien equipment hovering about. But again, nothing was there. Everything was as usual.

The workers then glanced from one to the other, trying to ascertain if the feeling was theirs alone and not sensed by any others. However, they became even more anxious when they noticed the animals that were normally milling about creating the typical ubiquitous background chatter all began shrieking at once as if each of their mortal enemies were pouncing upon them. That was odd enough, but when it kept up for many borts, the sentient natives grew certain that something had drastically changed.

Wierson Morg sat more upright in his chair when his comsman made his announcement. He wasn't worried so much as concerned that a fault in the communications array could delay their mission, and he was already counting the dactrais to some well-needed R&R.

"Can you tell if it's us or them?" he queried.

"I...can tell that it isn't us, Sir...but these readings are all wrong."

"Captain Morg!" broke their dialog as the deck officer in charge of the _Gorgann Prins'_ sensor array suddenly piped in. "Something strange is happening!"

That got Wierson's attention just because of the urgency in the man's voice.

"What is it, Raicc?"

"I don't...there is something happening on the surface, Sir! A power surge of some sort!"

"From where? One of our generation stations?"

"No, Sir. It's...holy Creator! Look!"

At the press of a finger, the central screen alit with a new image. It was the area of land at the equator...the Barrens. From their position high above, they could make out a long band of shining material suddenly appearing out of the ground...and it was growing very rapidly.

"Magnify that!" Wierson commanded.

The ground suddenly jumped upward to appear as if they were barely a thousand feet above it, and then the scene in that sandy, desolate landscape became clear. There was some kind of glass, or shiny metal under the dust that was shedding its layer of camouflage at a fantastic rate.

"What is that, Raicc?"

The officer was hastily examining his sensors.

"They're photovoltaic plates, Captain. Millions...tens of millions of them! And they're charging!"

The ship was still climbing fast, but Wierson didn't bother about that. After all, the phenomenon was taking place far beneath them.

"Is it a weapon?"

"No, Sir. I'm receiving a buildup of energy, but there is no focal point. It cannot harm us. It's just dispersing it into the atmosphere. It's just...wait a lita!"

Raicc stared at the readings at his station for several litas as the ship continued to race upward.

"Well?" Wierson questioned, quickly becoming anxious.

"My sensors are fouling, but...it appears that..."

A few more long litas dragged by.

"Sart, man...what is it?"

"No-no-no-no-NOOOOOOOO!" roared the officer.

Planet-side, the slaves' conviction that something was terribly amiss rapidly escalated too, because a sudden flash from above drew thousands of eyes skyward where a brilliant explosion outshined even the intense white star that heated their world.

It took a moment or two before they understood what had caused that enormous blast, but those who were watching were of the northern clans, and they had knowledge of such things. It was the total disintegration of a space ship...and a very large one at that.

It was the _Gorgann Prins_ , one of the gargantuan barges that the Kreete used to ferry a load of newly refined biserial steel to the smelting station over Hasoir Bloo...a class 9.9 world in the Navairina Sector. Biserial steel was the prime ingredient for a hyper-light alloy needed to build space stations, and Benoi was literally covered with the stuff.

After the blast abated, the Benoits turned their eyes away from the sky, secretly happy that such a calamity had claimed one of the Lords' ships, but then they noticed even more oddities all around them.

A Kreete scout ship was approaching their work encampment (prison), and it suddenly dropped altitude dramatically and slammed into an outcropping of rock hard enough to crumple the hull. It then spun about, careened off another part of the hundred-peor-tall natural column, and slipped roughly to the ground. It was as if the craft had lost all readings of altitude, attitude, and speed.

As the crew of that ship staggered out of the wreckage, they witnessed three of their ore hauling hovercrafts simply fly into a building. In mere borts, it became evident that all their electronic devices had suddenly gone haywire...that nothing was working properly.

Even the guards of the facility who were forced to where exoskeletons while on duty (the gravity was so strong they could not withstand long periods without them) found themselves struggling to operate their suits.

It took less than another ten borts before the Benoits began to understand the obvious. The Kreete had lost all control of their high tech devices! And without their gadgets and weapons, every native knew what that meant...they were Benoi fodder.

One of the workers, a fellow by the name of Shaean Nevide, decided he would take his chances and see just how far the mighty Lords had fallen, so he rushed one of the guards. The Kreete was already nervous because his suit was malfunctioning, so he was quick to respond. He snapped his disruptor pistol up to defend himself and fired point blank at his aggressor.

Nothing happened.

Shaean braced himself to feel the center of his body blasted away in a nearly instantaneous burst of energy, hoping to at least live long enough to vent his many cycles of groveling abuse. But when the weapon failed to operate, he continued his attack, tackling the mighty Kreete warrior and carrying him violently to the ground.

The Benoi man's hide was so tough, it was barely scraped, even against the metal exo-suit. And his class 11 strength had little problem ripping the Kreete out of his advanced protective gear.

"This is for the death of my father!" Shaean roared down at the struggling scout. His fist slammed down against the Kreete's face with the force of a fifty pound sledge hammer. "And for my sister," crunch, "and for my brother," crunch, "and for..."

Shaean then proceeded to beat the guard to death.

In the following five borts, that scene was repeated all across the camp until every Kreete was dispatched. And then they all headed for the holding areas where their families were kept.

The camp was an improvised village wrapped with deadly razor-edged wire three layers thick, a deep, dry moat, and a twenty foot high wall where the Kreete kept continuous patrol. Those precautions were there because the Benoi men had staged more than one uprising over the cycles of Kreete occupation, and had proven themselves to be extremely tough to stop.

The mob of enraged Benoits brought long poles that they used to first slip under and then to hoist the wire high enough to pass beneath. They then built improvised bridges to span the ditch, and carried hastily fashioned ladders to scale the walls.

The Kreete guards already knew their coms were down, and so no one would know about the attack, but they held their positions because of their devastating firepower. There were level-90 cannon turrets stationed all around the perimeter, and were able to cover overlapping territory so that no one position might be overrun. The guards tried to use their vocal enhancers to order the 'dissidents' to halt and disperse, but when that failed, they powered up the guns.

The Benoits were past the wire and bridging the ditch when the Lords opened fire. But when nothing spat out the end of the weapon, they were completely dumbstruck.

"FIRE-FIRE-FIRE!" bellowed the commander of the village, Laciir Bilton, but it was as if his men refused to obey his orders.

He tried to move toward one of them but his suit would not obey his body's commands. He didn't understand it...as none of them did at that point...but the servos that operated each joint, and those that acted as muscles, were controlled by wireless direction from the primary computer...and that communication bridge had been severed. As a last resort, he triggered the 'release' mechanism and clambered out of the useless machine. Then he broke into a frantic dash to the closest turret.

"What the dragen sart are you doing?" he asked the scout manning the gun.

"Sir...it won't fire! It's malfunctioning!" the soldier replied in frustration. He'd also been forced to discard his exo-suit for mobility. "It charges and appears to fire, but the energy bolt barely clears the muzzle before dissipating. It's like the air is absorbing the energy as fast as the gun can dispense it!"

"That's impossible! The capacitor must be faulty."

He shot a quick glimpse at the attacking horde. They were across the ditch. Then he searched out the next nearest cannon position. The operator there was also frantically examining his weapon.

"No sir. You see? The level of energy held in the chamber is at maximum...just as it should be. But watch."

The operator pulled the trigger again and the area just in front of the long barrel glowed bright red, but it simply vanished in the next instant.

"It looks like some kind of dispersion field has been erected around the compound!" the sentry said. "But I've never seen anything like it."

When he mentioned the dispersion field, it jogged a memory in Laciir's mind. It was during a report from several cycles in the past, and the only reason he remembered it at all was because of how unique it had been.

During the attempted conquest of a world...'attempted' being the optional word because the Kreete had never been able to conquer it...it was reported that an entire planet was surrounded by an energy force that was impenetrable. The inhabitants had somehow created a dispersion field out of the very atmosphere that encased their homeworld. And that planetary shield's outer layer could destroy any ship that came into contact with it. In the report, it had stated that the scout ships could still fire, but that the cohesive state of the energy blast lost integrity quickly...in less than two hundred peors' distance in fact...that it was absorbed into the very air around the ship.

That had been on a planet of much lesser mass than Benoi, but Laciir quickly wondered what such a device might do in the ultra-dense air of his present assignment. There was little time to ponder the matter however because the enemy was scaling the ramparts.

"Swords!" Laciir roared out to his men. "Keep them off the walls!"

Next, he turned to the men inside the fort-like compound.

"Gather up the prisoners!"

There were barely a dozen scouts in the area who broke into motion directly, but they too had been forced from their protective armor, so they struggled to make haste.

In a fleeting thought, Laciir found it awfully coincidental that the power failure and the attack both happened on the final day of his men's duty cycle, when living on the planet's surface had drained them as much as it could.

His troops were all large, powerful, and fierce Kreete soldiers. (Only the strongest were able to qualify for that prestigious assignment because only the strongest were equipped to survive the almost debilitating effects of the gravity on Benoi)

He wondered in a fleeting thought; "Will that matter at all now?" He was all too familiar with the immense strength and terrible ferocity of the Benoit men.

The Kreete guards used their agony wands to force the families of the workers out of their pens and into a central holding area. Once there, they grabbed the youngsters and put blades to their throats just as the walls were breached and the massive ultra-heavy men poured into the compound.

"STOP!" roared Jaciir, standing out in front of the warriors who were using the children as shields. He needed to buy some time for his superiors to restore control of their facility. He was confident that they were making all haste in the effort.

Shaean was one of the instigators of the mob, and he pulled up short to evaluate the scene. The 'fearless Lords' were ten peors away, each of them with a sword in one hand and their dagger in the other...at the neck of the children. The women were mostly on the ground, having been wanded savagely when they'd tried to protect their babies. The entire situation was deplorable to anyone who might actually comprehend honor.

Shaean turned and gazed about at those men beside him. There were easily a hundred. He noted that many were of his race...the southern Benoits. It was easy to pick them out simply by the savage look in their eyes. They hadn't been tamed in the least by the two and a half decades of enslavement by the Kreete. If anything, they'd become even more wild and unruly. He then glanced at the ground, namely at the ubiquitous stones that littered the compound. His fellows saw his focus and they too caught on to his hastily laid plan.

In the southern hemisphere, the children were raised in a harsh, demanding, and often cruel environment...one that required certain skills taught at a very young age. One of those skills was killing...be it rabbits, squirrels, or birds. Those children often had no weapons other than what they could find, so the development of their aim with everyday items was paramount. Such was the case with those men now.

With the press of so many angry fellows...and the scuffling and arguing that went with it...it wasn't difficult for those men to scoop up a few of the loose stones that littered the compound.

When Shaean saw that they were ready, he did as his playmates had done in his youth. With his left hand, he tossed a large, flat stone into the air where it would fall out in front of the crowd for all to see. Many workers saw the toss and wondered at the reason behind it, so the group suddenly fell quiet.

The stone went up and up, flipping end over end like a coin at a football game. Even the Kreete couldn't stop their gaze from watching the small display, but they didn't understand it at all.

When the rock struck the hard, bare ground, twenty bulging arms snapped forward like bowstrings.

An important thing to realize about those rocks too, was that they were Benoi rocks. Each was the size of a baseball and had the mass equivalency of an ingot of depleted uranium...and they were just as hard.

Before the Kreete could move even a twitch, those perfectly aimed projectiles slammed into their skulls. All fell over dead, and only two of the children were injured, although not mortally.

Jaciir saw the attack, and his head whipped about to see his men drop lifeless to the turf, and then he turned back to the mob. In his final move, he charged the group of ultras with his swords high and a battle cry on his lips. He accounted himself as well as he could, taking down two of the unarmed giant men, but then he felt the fingers of a Benoi on each of his wrists, and the fight was over.

They literally tore him to pieces with their bare hands.

Similar scenes took place across the face of Benoi, and in the more advanced areas, the battles lasted for a couple of days, but the press of the natives was relentless, and their hatred of the Kreete could not be quelled or bargained with.

In the end, the planet was back under Benoi control in less than a week, and every Kreete soldier was dead.

Chapter Twenty-one

### The Coriolus Effect

On Coriolus a santari and a half later, the hand of fate fell in a far less dramatic and violent fashion...yet fall it did.

At the appointed time the Shotal Energy Matrix would initiate, a small black ship was streaking for the planet at eighty degrees to the normal trade route.

The deep space sensors saw it clearly when it was still half a billot from the planet, and so seven speedy ships were dispatched to investigate. They were swift fighters...the terror of the Kreete arsenal when it came to one-on-one clashes with encroaching adversaries, yet they faired quite poorly that dactrai.

Ron sat at the controls beside Cache at that time, having evacuated Fraidze the night previous.

That's when the native Coriolus man had stood in front of the _Darlile_ 's Starflex transporter, ready to cross into his newest chapter of the war against the Triad. The destination he was headed for was the same place he and Cache had left their cargo two santaris previous, the storage warehouse at Arbeziar's innermost electrical powerplant...the primary nexus of control for all of the one-hundred energy-creating facilities. He was shrouded in an armored suit just like the ones she and Ron had used on several occasions.

"When you step through," Cache had told her new friend, "stay hidden until the system activates. Once it does, you must get to the primary control center and clear out every Kreete operator and technician in the place. Then, attach the override device directly onto the computer core and turn it on. That unit will do the rest. We will rendezvous with you afterward."

"Understood," Fraidze had told her, and into the portal he strode.

Ron broke off his direct line toward the planet just when the enemy fighters opened fire, making it a little harder for them to target.

Cache was cocooned in the ship's best safety layer and just watched as Ron worked. It was amazing to see.

The _Darlile_ literally skipped in the pitch-black sky, never repeating the same move or multiple moves, and always skirting the most powerful blasts. It felt like they were inside a castanet while a musical performer worked his magic, but the constant bouncing, rattling, and pounding was not enough to do real damage to the ebony craft.

Ron had his usual laser focus running high, even though he appeared as relaxed as if he were merely watching television. The fighters were agile and quick, menacing and lethal, so his adrenaline level was far from actually relaxed, but that little skirmish was all part of his plan.

When Coriolus' shield matrix snapped into place, the fight was just outside the threshold of its power, so Ron dove straight at it.

The _Darlile_ already had the necessary code in its memory, so it passed straight through. However, the four remaining Kreete vessels disintegrated against that impregnable field of energy in a milli-lita.

Once inside the atmosphere, Cache triggered a world-wide announcement that was prerecorded by Fraidze. It was meant to accomplish several strategic initiatives.

The announcement was:

"Attention to all Coriolus citizens! I am Fraidze Zanferi, one of only two surviving members of the 'Outcasts' team...the champions of the Triad Games. Most of you saw the competition and know I am from your world, so you should trust me when I make this next announcement.

"This planet is no longer under Kreete control! Their technology has been crippled! Their ships cannot navigate, nor can they fire upon you. They can no longer track you! You are now free to do as you please!

"If you are frightened, go immediately to your homes and stay there! If you are willing to fight, then this is your chance!

"Destroy the Kreete overlords and take back your world!"

It was disseminated across every form of media and into every known dialect of the natives, and it kept repeating long after the Lords' communications array had shut down.

Into the lower atmosphere the _Darlile_ streaked, heading straight for the grand city, Arbeziar.

Among the soaring towers of the tallest buildings were the Kreete's most powerful weapons, and even though they could not detect the ebony craft on their sensors, they could still see it coming by visual mode. Like an explosion of anti-aircraft weaponry from Earth's latest war, the cityscape erupted in bursts of bright red plasma.

Those cannon emplacements belched out a nonstop stream of lethal firepower...at least what would have been had the shield not been charged. As it was though, those cannons did little more than shower the skyline with pretty red light.

The _Darlile_ simply picked off each one until no more resistance could be seen from the ground.

Soon however, even the buildings themselves began to shut down...one by one.

"Fraidze did it!" Cache cried when she saw the power levels begin to drop all across the city.

Ron smiled too, and then he banked the ship around to head south.

"Scan for any and all Kreete facilities," he told the ship's avatar.

A moment later, hundreds of such sites were displayed across the main viewer.

"All right then," Ron said to Cache. "Let's get to it."

"Plot the most efficient course to destroy them all," he ordered.

From there, Ron and Cache moved across the planet's surface as quickly as they could. It was like shooting ducks on a pond, but much more rewarding. Each of the breeding stations went up in a cloud of blue plasma, and every time a Kreete vessel tried to engage the _Darlile_ , it was met with equal lethality.

Many locations were already destroyed even before the Raulden duo arrived, and when they were, Ron merely gave them an unseen nod and sailed by, headed to the next target.

It took barely three days to eradicate the Lords from every southern city, and then all that still remained in Kreete control was the crown jewel; Arbeziar...but their presence was swiftly dissipating.

One of the 'special deliveries' Cache had left upon their first mission was a radically specialized Cnaut. It had been designed on Rauld to travel along every power distribution stream in the mountain fortress of Gammone to monitor and repair any faulty sections. On Coriolus however, it had been reprogrammed to identify and segregate every type of power drain not dedicated to the shield generator. When the shield initiated, those causes of energy siphoning began to lose connection to the power grid one by one. Every building, patch of farmland, recreation center, water recycling station, and any other draw to the system was eventually cut off completely. The only remaining links to Arbeziar's power network were the ones devoted to feed the Shotal Energy Matrix.

By the time the south was totally freed, the ground around the great metropolis was frozen solid, and the temperature inside the once lush gardens of the centralized park had fallen to below freezing for the first time in nearly seventy-five years.

The luxurious living quarters of the Kreete upper class were also returning to the natural state of the regional climate, and everyone was huddling below ground in the last vestiges of warmth.

Ron and Cache returned to the city and rescued Fraidze, who'd stayed at the facility during the purge to make sure no armed band might regain access. The Kreete though, hadn't even considered such a takeover, and so they had never planned for that contingency. They made a few lackluster attempts to retake some of the powerplants, but each was now protected by a Raulden energy field that was impenetrable to the weapons they wielded.

Once Fraidze had been brought up to date on the state of his world, they all discussed what to do with the remaining Kreete.

"Should we allow them to escape?" Cache asked Fraidze candidly. "We did such a thing on Caron. We permitted them to load up their ships and take that single opportunity to leave, never to return."

Fraidze considered it for barely a moment, having already spent countless billots contemplating that exact question.

"Let them freeze," he replied. Then he excused himself and went to bed. He slept more soundly than he had in many years.
Chapter Twenty-two

### The Search for Isleff

On the class 10 planet known as Liviano, in a seedy suburb of its largest metropolitan center; Presurios...a large man drifted through the night like a panther on the hunt. His eyes saw everything, and even though he outwardly appeared calm and controlled...even perhaps bored...he was ready to pounce at the slightest provocation.

The city itself was fairly high-tech, with millions of cameras patrolling the streets and public areas, sensors constantly sifting the air for bio hazards, and auditory receivers set to direct those devices to any sound of distress or danger. The public areas were literally covered with precautionary surveillance and those scanning machines were connected to a fantastic computer system that alerted authorities to thousands of perceived problems each billot.

Peacekeepers roamed freely on foot, on hover-sleds, in automobiles, and in aircraft, constantly patrolling the open-air spaces for the typical criminals, just like any other city. And like the norm, most were good, hardworking individuals dedicated to maintaining order and safety for the public. But also like other metros, there were sections of the city where people didn't always follow the rules.

Presurios was also, for the most part, human domain, but since the planet was under the Triad's influence, the Kreete had ultimate control of policing the city, and so would step in when the local law enforcement couldn't handle an outbreak...or their cut of the pie wasn't quite what they felt it should be.

On Liviano, the Planet Lord...Farragi Jayce...a Kreete soldier of Reaper distinction, accepted that the humans would rule themselves up to a point...but not beyond. As long as they provided him with the appropriate tribulations, what they did to one another was their business.

(Typically, when the Lords were forced to intercede, they leveled a building or a city block with their scout ships to quell an incident. They never offered an apology or explanation either. Their mindset was simple and straight forward. They didn't want the Livianos thinking they were growing soft.)

That sort of arrangement was widely considered the norm across the Kreete Empire, at least on the planets that were advanced.

Liviano was classified as a class 10 world, but it was the smallest in the Kreete's domain to hold that 'heavy' distinction. That oddity, and thus its draw, was caused by two key factors...its makeup and its revolution speed. You see, typically, a planet with only a moderate size, such as Liviano, would have been a 9.7, or 9.8, but since its core was so dense, being nearly thirty percent nickel, its gravity was enhanced greatly. And beyond that, it spun at a remarkably slow rotation which forced the corresponding lack of centrifugal force to accentuate the pull of its mass. And if one was to factor in that it orbited a brown dwarf star at barely fifty million hoz, it was truly a wonder of abnormalities.

Due to the extraordinarily dim light from its central sun, even in the midst of a long day, visitors on Liviano's surface peered about as if it was heavily overcast. They stood out too, those alien races not belonging to the strange planet, because the natives were adapted to the dimness by having eyes that were easily twice the size of humanoids' from 'normal' worlds.

However, the newcomers did not shy away from the natives because the female Livianos were gifted with inordinately sensual features that drew foreign men to them like moths to a flame. They tended to be tall and slim, with abundantly robust breasts and well-proportioned hips...and their movements were smooth and oozing with grace. It was widely rumored across the heavens that copulating with a Liviano woman was so intense, it could actually kill a man.

As with most large cities, Presurios had its outlying sections that were less than up to par and filled with the dregs of society. Those pockets were run by local gangs and thugs who couldn't compete at the larger scale of the powerbrokers in the central areas.

Into one of those sleazy regions, strode the large man.

Ron Allison was that man, and he strolled calmly down the dark streets without haste, but with a stern purpose. He was thoroughly schooled about Liviano culture and its inherent limitations, and was prepared as well as he could be to deal with them. As he moved, his eyes swept back and forth like a radar dish and took in every nuance of the dreary place while appearing to those he passed as merely a curious tourist. No tourist in their right mind however, would have willingly ventured within two hoz of that sordid burrow alone.

The sidewalks and streets were thick with people, making for a rather onerous feeling to a stranger, but still he didn't falter. His ears kept tabs on each individual he skirted, to see if they altered their paths upon his passing, but those that did so, paused only for a moment before continuing. That gave him the only peace of mind he could muster.

Even his finely honed nose examined the crowd like a bloodhound, twisting and wincing at some of the more 'ripe' citizens, but reported no threats he could clearly distinguish.

Ron couldn't help but compare the place with a trip he'd taken to Bourbon Street, in New Orleans, Louisiana one summer, although the local architecture was much more modern on Liviano. It was rundown to be sure, but modern. The clientele's purpose was very similar too...although they looked quite different, being from at least twenty different worlds.

He could hear women calling to men from the second and third story floors of the bordering buildings, offering sultry delights to all. And to the sides were gambling and drinking establishments in abundance, along with sparsely placed restaurants and other businesses.

One over-aggressive hawker reached out and grabbed Ron's arm as he passed, but he was flat on the stone walkway before he knew what was happening...a razor-edged blade at his throat.

"I'm sorry, friend," the man pleaded desperately with wide eyes showing the terror he felt. "I meant no insult! Truly!"

Ron was up and moving again in a blink, leaving the prone fellow to recover at his leisure.

"It's not too much farther," he muttered, dismissing the altercation completely.

Two more direction changes and three more blocks fell away without interference before Ron reached his intended destination.

Over the past three santaris since Ron's clash with the Confarii, the _Darlile_ had done all it could to assist him in his search for the assassins who'd killed his Benoi teammates. With Cache at the console, they hacked into the cyber-brains of multiple merchant ships that plied the "less than fully legitimate" trade routes, six space ports that catered to such shady exchanges, and even a Kreete light cruiser docked at a space station. After combing every shred of accumulated data those sources held, with ten completely different filter profiles, they could only generate a theoretical location for the group he was hunting. After all, the specific vocation in question was, by its own nature, extremely secretive. The best that Cache and her ship's avatar could do was to point Ron toward a certain individual who dealt in the profession of the Hoondelli...assassination.

Ron paused outside a restaurant/tavern/whorehouse/casino called The Vortex, and took a deep breath. There was a steady stream of traffic going in and coming out of the building, and he dissected the ones leaving easily. Most were inebriated and smelled of alcohol and strong, opiate-laced tobacco. Many of them grumbled as the swayed down the street, obviously having had poor luck at the gambling house. Others smiled a peaceful, contented grin and reeked of strong perfume that advertised that they'd spent their money in the pleasure areas. None seemed overly stressed from their adventures, but Ron suspected that sort of client was likely ushered out a wholly different exit to avoid spoiling the mood of those about to enter.

He cast his eyes across the towering, wide, dismal looking structure's facade with mixed emotions.

"Now it gets interesting," he sighed, and then entered.

The foyer was large, spacious, and surprisingly nice, belying the building's outward appearance. There were chairs and couches set all about, and numerous arched portals on either side to guide the visitors into the differing sections.

Ron skipped over the 'Relaxation Center' (bordello), the tavern, and the restaurant, and headed straight to the casino.

Down a long hallway lined with promising pictures of hundreds of previous winners and their rewards, he walked, ignoring the titillating, flashing signs that pledged games that were certain to pay off. He was in search of a specific genre.

From his experiences in other such establishments, Ron felt fairly certain that the owner of the casino would linger around the most profitable games, and they would lie toward the rear of the place. That's where the owner would have the most control...so he slowly made his way there.

He saw no surveillance cameras, but knew they were undoubtedly placed around the room to cover every inch of the floor. He didn't worry over that however, because he also knew the rec-jammer (facial recognition jammer) he carried would prevent his picture from being taken. That little device forced every adjustable lens out of focus, and every fixed lens into an immediate reboot condition. For a hundred peors in every direction, he was as good as invisible to those recording safeguards.

Ron milled about the room for a while studying the variety of gaming that was available before settling in at a horseshoe-shaped table which had a multi-faceted video display showing five different games in progress. Those around the table placed wagers on each of the games' many components...the score...the change of lead...the chance of injury or a death...etc.

He had no clue as to the schedule of the man he sought, but felt he could occupy that area for a long period without drawing attention. While he waited, he placed a number of bets and nonchalantly studied the crowd.

There were at least thirteen different species moving in and out of that sprawling room and a more oddly eclectic group could not be imagined. Outwardly Ron was a mask of stoic apathy, as if he frequented such establishments so often the diversity was tiresome, but inwardly he was captivated at the variety of humanoid life in that one place...many of which he knew were typically hostile to one another. It was truly amazing.

"I guess the Kreete don't put that many restrictions on space travel within the Empire," he concluded.

He also took special note of each of the casino's many security guards who drifted in and out of the different sections. They weren't the tuxedo-wearing, thick-necked brutes one would normally find in a Las Vegas casino...this place not being that high-classed...but they were serious, hardened, wary men who seemed confident and comfortable in their duties.

Almost three billots went by before Ron spotted his target entering the gambling hall from a side door that blended in with the wall very nicely. He watched as the fellow...Irsle Vass...shook hands and greeted a number of players, slowly working his way around to a set of stairs in the very back corner of the room...right next to the table Ron 'coincidentally' sat at.

Vass was escorted by two huge men who looked as if they were as solid as the building's foundation. They were cagey, focused, and grim. Also, they weren't Liviano. They were Narsigian. Ron had faced their kind in one of his wrestling matches during the Triad Games. They were very tough and immensely strong.

He slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat and produced a pair of gloves which he quickly donned before standing up. They were thick along the outside of the fingers and knuckles, and those digit sleeves were lined with a heavy-metal compound that had and interesting quality...it turned solid when struck.

Ron waited until Vass entered the room at the top of the stairs with one of the men, leaving the other guarding the bottom. He then walked straight up to that massive fellow.

"Stop!" the man said, holding out his hand to deter the intrusion.

He stood easily four inches taller than Ron and was likely twenty percent heavier.

"No one is allowed up these..."

Ron paused not in the slightest, ducking under the outstretched hand and punching the guard as hard as he could in the solar plexus...exactly one inch under the sternum. It was a picture-perfect strike utilizing every ounce of his weight and strength.

That blow did three things in half a lita. First; it removed every ounce of air from the man's lungs. Second; it fouled the transfer of nerve signals from all of his lower extremities and a good portion of his upper. Third; it folded him up into the fetal position instantly, dropping him to the floor in a numb, confused, and pain-racked ball, twitching and gasping for breath.

It all happened so quickly and with so little fuss that hardly anyone in the room even noticed. The one that did however, was a nearby roving security guard. His face morphed from indifferent, to surprised, to furious in a fast lita and a half...but Ron had already planned for him, having been watching him all the while.

With a lightning-quick flash of his hand, Ron snatched a heavy glass dish off the table he'd just vacated and whipped it at the guard before the man could take a single step. The edible contents of the shallow bowl rained all about causing several people nearby to shade their faces from the flying snacks, but the dish itself flew supremely straight.

That glittering accent-piece smashed into the guard's left kneecap with mind-numbing results, shattering the fellow's patella and forcing him to the floor in excruciating pain. Ron then merely stepped past them both and climbed the stairway.

At the top, the door was locked, so Ron just knocked on it.

Those inside were immediately startled by the sound of his pounding knuckles, so Vass turned to his personal guard in irritation.

"Get that, Clive!" he ordered. "And it better dragen-well be important or that fool brother of yours will have to find himself another job!"

The fellow hurried to the door. He triggered the security feed monitoring that portal, but the image was distorted badly. Not wanting to anger his already fuming boss, he opened the door to speak to his brother face to face; never considering anyone on that world could get by him so quickly.

The instant the door moved from its locked state, Ron leaped. He brought both feet up to chest height and kicked out powerfully, sending the heavy door smashing into Clive's right shoulder. That spun the big man around enough to allow Ron to land and lash out; connecting solidly with Clive's left shoulder. There was a distinct 'crunch' as the blow destroyed several tendons and ligaments, causing the guard to winced sharply and fall back. He fought hard against the blinding white heat that was searing through him and tried desperately to stay on his feet.

Ron followed him in however, as if physically latched to him. A moment later, that massive fellow learned what kept Ron ahead of almost every adversary he'd ever faced. He knew every single weak point of human anatomy, how much force it took to disable or destroy it, and had the strength and quickness to get it done.

As the entry door swung closed, Ron kicked the side of Clive's left knee hard, ripping the tendons there as well.

The huge sentry let out a chillingly sharp cry of pain a split lita before the next blow struck his jaw, dropping him to the floor like a sack of wheat.

Irsle Vass was standing by then, no longer lounging comfortably on his plush couch while watching the multiple video feeds. He just stared at the dark-headed fellow who'd just ran through his men like they were a couple of inept schoolyard bullies.

Ron took a moment to turn and bolt the door before facing Vass again.

"What do you want?" the gangster boss inquired, knowing full well that Ron was completely in charge of the situation at that moment.

"I want to know where to find the Hoondelli," he replied calmly. The short skirmish hadn't even made him huff. "Where is their home planet?"

Vass turned as white as a Bresoor (a bear that lived in the frozen southern pole region of the planet. It looked much like an Earth polar bear but had six short legs).

"Are you mad?" he asked.

Ron just stared back.

"No one goes searching for those devils!" Vass hissed, his eyes darting all around, even in his own private chamber. "To merely mention their name in public is to flirt with a ghastly death!"

"Their planet!" Ron growled. "Where is it?"

"I-I-I-I-I-I-I don't know!" Vass stammered nervously. "No one does! That secret is so well guarded that..."

Ron withdrew one of his many knives from its sheath and took a step toward Vass.

The man tried to retreat, but there was nowhere to go. He stumbled backward and fell onto the couch.

He wasn't an overly large man, and he was soft...not someone who normally does his own work, or defends himself. Ron was on him before he could even sit up, the tip of his dagger just touching Vass's neck. The gangster froze, sweat dripping from his brow.

"I know you've done business with them!" Ron said through gritted teeth, his face barely an inch from Vass's. "The payment for the termination of Hirbine Weer...the head of the gambling committee overseeing Presurios...less than one santari ago, came from your account. That assassination was done by one of the Hoondelli."

Vass was trembling uncontrollably by then. How could anyone know such things?

"I j-just t-t-transferred the funds!" he countered.

Ron slowly moved his blade to the crease of Vass's shoulder.

"If I shove this in...just here...," Ron told the man, pricking him through his thick jacket, "it'll sever all the nerves to your right arm and feel like it had been burned off with a blow torch. The med-techs might be able to repair it...eventually. But I really don't know. You'd likely never get all the feeling back in your fingers."

Vass somehow grew even paler.

"I-I-I had nothing to do with that," Irsle whined. "I just sent the money...I swear."

"If you didn't make the deal, then who did?"

"It would have to have been one of the Bosses...or the Lords!"

Ron pressed until blood began to drain more prominently. Vass nearly passed out.

"The Kreete don't hire out their kill missions," Ron growled. "They like to do it themselves!"

"Not always," Vass told him quickly...desperately.

Ron could see the man wasn't lying.

"Sometimes they contract the job to make it look like someone else was behind it. They keep their associates in order that way...you know...never knowing who they can trust!"

That actually did sound about right to Ron.

"So how would they do it?"

"There is a man...a rich, powerful man. He lives in the city. They say he can arrange anything for a price, but I take care of the payments so it can never be traced back to him. I move the money and the target dies. He never fails. He has connections everywhere...but..."

Ron leaned in a little harder.

"Nobody knows who he is!" Vass groveled. "He's a ghost! You just send the payment and it's done!"

If no one had ever seen him, it made perfect sense to Ron that this man was actually just a figurehead...most likely a false persona altogether. Someone else...perhaps not even on that planet...was pulling the strings through this 'ghost' individual. Or his existence was just a cover for one of the Hoondelli themselves. It would in fact be quite simple to accomplish.

"How do I contact him?" Ron asked.

Vass hesitated. "If I tell you, you'll kill me!"

"I didn't kill your men, did I? It would have been easy."

Vass took another moment, but finally nodded.

Ron let him up and backed off a step, but his tone was dire. "Now if you lie to me...or try to set me up...or warn him I'm coming...then I'll return here for a more serious chat...and when it's over there won't be anything left of you bigger than a fingernail!"

Irsle Vass told Ron the information and then sat as still as stone while Ron absorbed it, still staring hard at the casino boss...watching for clues to any deceit. When he felt sure Vass hadn't just made up a story, Ron produced a small round metal device from an inner pocket and flipped it at the sitting man. It struck his chest and hung there like Velcro.

"This is tribronimite," Ron explained calmly.

Irsle's eyes opened until they seemed ready to leap from his skull.

"If you make any sudden moves, such as trying to flick it away from your person, it will incinerate this entire room. This," Ron said pointedly, showing the man a small device in his fingers, "is a trigger for that explosive. If you don't call off your men until I'm safely out of the building, the results will be the same. Once I round the corner, the disk will turn green and then dissolve, and you can go back to cheating all these fine people. Okay?"

Vass was too frantic to speak, so he just nodded in a very small, vibrating motion.

Ron then pulled up the collar of his turtleneck shirt until it cover his nose and slipped a pair of dark blue glasses on. He didn't know how long he'd be in the city and didn't want to chance being recognized by one of the people he was about to pass, since every head was bound to be locked onto him as soon as he stepped outside the office.

When he felt ready, he strode over to the door and opened it, allowing six of the casino's guards to rush in. At the first sign of aggression, Ron bellowed, "STOP!", and pointed to Vass.

The guards were confused, but hesitated long enough to check with their boss.

"Yes-yes," Vass said softly, afraid to make a loud sound. "This man and I have just agreed to a business arrangement...that's all. Please leave him to his privacy and take Clive here to the hospital."

One of the men hurried over to Irsle and leaned down to help him up, but Vass beat him to it.

"No-no-no," he chirped, waving his hand at the man as gently as he could while smiling a tense, panicked grin. "I'm fine! Just take care of Clive and let me be!"

Ron smiled behind his mask and strolled swiftly from the room. No one molested him in the slightest.

The 'drop box' Irsle had described turned out to be electronic...which didn't surprise Ron a bit. It was located in a public forum with a million individuals all accessing it at once, thus keeping the operator of the site completely confidential. In any event, it was also cleverly coded so only someone looking for the exact right phrase might have admittance to it. And according to Vass, the code changed frequently.

The current key phrase was; "An erasure is needed to fulfill my gift request."

Ron thought about his next move carefully, finally concluding he had to take a gamble if he were to be successful. He then sent a short message on the site.

After that, Ron just had to wait.

It took four billots to get a reply.

By then he was on the other side of the city, seated in a downtown restaurant and enjoying a nice steak dinner. He felt a slight tingle when the _Darlile_ contacted him.

"Please provide who the gift is for and when it should be delivered."

Ron sent a picture of himself with the name of his accommodations and his room number. "Tomorrow night...and finalization may be difficult so take extra precautions."

"Understood. We have just the courier you need nearby. Twenty million credits."

Ron was familiar with the accepted monetary system across the empire and knew that was a staggering amount, but he didn't hesitate. After all, it wasn't his money anyway. As a matter of fact, he had the _Darlile_ transfer the amount from a corrupt weapons dealer's secret nest-egg, which drew a soft chuckle from him when he pressed 'send'.

The conversation then ended, so Ron finished his meal comfortably knowing that a master assassin would be headed his way shortly.

He slept well that night in his fine, upscale hotel room, and the next day he spent in preparation. Once he had his room and the entire rest of the floor thoroughly mapped out for infiltration and egress, as well as laced with defensive articles, he rode down to the lower lobby for a meal.

It was evening by then, and Ron was famished. Apparently, preparing for a night of peril and attack really worked up his appetite. He tipped the hostess a substantial amount to get him seated at a semi-secluded, corner table in the hotel's restaurant, claiming he wanted the privacy so he could think. However, before the server could even take his order, a stunning woman strolled right up to him and began a conversation.

"I don't believe we've met, but I just thought it was a terrible shame for you to be dining all alone. And since I am too, would you mind if I join you?"

Ron easily recalled her from the casino on the previous day. She'd changed her appearance a great deal, but he knew it was the same woman. She had been standing beside a blonde-haired man who was playing an odd form of craps. There were six di and fifteen different ways to either win or lose your bet. She'd been focused on the game until her eyes had flicked his way...just before Irsle Vass had entered. There had been a momentary hint of familiarity in her stare, but then he'd been obliged to attend to his own business at that point.

Ron set his menu down and rose to his feet like a good southerner does, and then took a long look at the woman.

She was tall...easily six-foot-three...and impressively well-proportioned. She wore a clingy, shimmering green dress that revealed her many attributes exceedingly well, and her long, silky, honey-brown hair was pulled up into a braided ponytail that draped seductively down her left shoulder...its end just brushing the ample mound of her breast.

The bodice of her dress was cinched tightly about her waist and provided the only support of those heavenly features, as her shoulders were completely bare. Below the corset-like top, a skirt wrapped her wide hips magnificently before ending high on her thighs, making her firm, tanned legs appear exceptionally long.

She stood atop five-inch heels that exhibited the taut muscles of her calves beautifully, and added a bit of flare to her spectacular backside. Ron couldn't suppress a gulp of exhilarated surprise as he completed his exam.

"Hello," Ron said to her softly, his deep voice rolling as smooth as silk. "I'm Ron, and I'd be honored to have you join me."

Her face was devastatingly gorgeous, with perfect symmetry. Her large, almond-shaped eyes were deep green here when they'd been ice blue the day before, and when she smiled, it was absolutely dazzling. She had an elegant, delicate nose, and the soft tone of her skin showed a young, exuberant glow which seemed to draw one's attention without fail. And to add to it, her dainty chin was graced with a prominent dimple that accentuated her already striking face.

He held out his hand invitingly, palm up and fingers reaching for hers, and when she realized what he meant, she placed her own in his, nearly pulling them back when she felt the instant jolt his touch produced. It was almost akin to an electric shock. His hand was hot against her skin too, revealing the flush of excitement he was feeling, and that fact made her own heart pound hard as well.

Ron bent slightly and pulled her hand to his lips, pressing them lightly to her skin as he gazed up into her eyes. Her reaction was a perfect combination of exhilaration and haughtiness, both surprised and enthralled at his gesture.

"And what, might I ask," he inquired, "is your name."

Her free hand drew up and rested gently on her heaving bosom, a subtle, yet typical reaction to his advances that Ron noted as he motioned for her to take the seat to his left.

"I'm Phealcy Dregoon Lymarse," she replied, and then she slid into her chair as effortlessly as a breeze.

Ron took his seat again and the waiter appeared immediately.

Ron ordered a drink for himself and Phealcy, as well as an appetizer that had caught his eye. It was cubed odar meat in plum sauce. (an odar is a fleet bird from the southern tip of the continent) As soon as the waiter left, he leaned forward a bit.

"Are you sure your previous partner is okay with this?"

She looked bemused for an instant, and then followed Ron's gaze over her shoulder.

Back at the bar...where she'd just come from...three men were in a terse discussion, and one of them pointed toward the table Ron and Phealcy sat at. He did not look happy.

Phealcy turned back to Ron and shrugged her lovely shoulders. "That's Boddier. He tried to pick me up, but I wasn't interested."

Ron smiled lightly. "Apparently he's not used to being told 'no'."

The man squared his shoulders and strolled directly to the table with his two friends beside him.

"Hey, Feely," Roddier said, tapping Phealcy on the shoulder with his index finger.

Her eyes squinted with annoyance for a quick lita before she turned to regard him.

"It's Phealcy...not Feely!" she corrected him with a sarcastic tone.

"Whatever," he barked back. "I bought you a fifty credit drink, so what's the deal? You just walk away and take up with this guy?"

"Thanks for the drink, but I just don't like you," she said flat out, with no sensitivity whatsoever. "Ron here is much better company."

The fellow turned beet red and a vein pulsed prominently at his temple.

"Well, you accepted the drink, so I say when you can go," he growled, reaching for her arm.

Ron was quicker however, and the man was on his knees before his two 'wingmen' could so much as flinch. Roddier's hand was wrenched around backward with his wrist at the snapping point while Ron remained seated squarely in his chair.

Phealcy jerked back a hair before realizing what Ron had done. Then she settled again. She seemed openly captivated.

"Perhaps you should just go," Ron said softly to the man who now knelt at his feet, his face twisted with pain.

Ron spotted the Maître d walking briskly toward him, so he released his grip and sat back calmly. The kneeling man fell back on his rear end, and then he popped up again rubbing his sore wrist and cursing softly.

"Is there a problem here?" the head waiter asked nervously. Three other huge men appeared from some unseen entrances and began to edge toward the table from the corners of the room. They were undoubtedly from the hotel's security force.

Ron smiled grandly and explained.

"The gentleman stumbled and I caught him...that's all. He may have sprained his wrist though. Possibly he could use an ice bag."

The injured man glanced around at the scene and decided to take a different tact.

"She stole from me," he declared. "I want her arrested."

Phealcy stiffened from the insult, and then her face flushed as well. There was the look of real anger...and something else, Ron thought...a sly smirk perhaps...that flashed across her gorgeous face, and then it was gone...back to her calm, beautiful self.

Ron could tell Roddier was a man of considerable means...possibly even connected to some underworld organization in the area...and was used to getting his way, so he stood quickly.

"I tell you what," he said to the group. "I'll walk out with these men and settle any misunderstanding. Then I'll come back and enjoy my dinner."

He then winked playfully at Phealcy, grinning so broadly that to all those watching, it diffused the entire situation, and the Maître d` began to breathe again.

The man Ron had accosted smiled slyly and leaned over Phealcy's shoulder.

"I'll be back for you in a bort, my little whore," he whispered.

"Hah!" she chirped with absolute confidence. "Not likely."

Phealcy's drink appeared suddenly and she took a hasty sip of it. It was a fruity, colorful liqueur that smelled like peaches. The server then set the appetizer down next to it.

Ron paused a moment to allow the three men to lead the way, and then he leaned down.

"Don't eat it all before I get back," he told her softly, reaching down and stroking her chin.

Phealcy smiled up at him warmly, her eyes twinkling.

Ron popped one of the treats into his mouth and grinned. "Not bad," he said lightly.

"Anything else I can get for you, Miss?" the server asked when the men were away.

"Not for me...but you probably should call a med-squad for those three gentlemen."

The young fellow smiled and bowed before leaving, not really knowing what he should do.

Ron was back before Phealcy had downed half her drink. He straightened his belt just before he took his seat, and then smiled at his stunning dinner guest.

"Now, where were we?" he asked.

There wasn't a smudge or a wrinkle on his clothing, nor a hair out of place.

Ron and Phealcy chatted nearly nonstop for the next billot and a half, enjoying a fine meal and excellent drink...a bottle of Anteguan wine...which she ordered after boasting it was the best in the entire city.

When the meal was concluded, Ron escorted her out the door and onto the sprawling entryway of the towering hotel. It was a lovely, cool evening, with the dim sun just setting and a view of the first stars beginning to pop through the cloudless atmosphere.

"Well, Phealcy," Ron said to her. "May I call you a car? Or would you care to walk?"

Phealcy stepped close to Ron then...their bodies touching...and stared into his shining gray eyes. She stood even with him...a most unique accomplishment Ron thought considering his height...and they both felt the obvious heat between them.

"My hotel is just up the block...half a hoz at the most," she breathed, leaning even closer and brushing her lips ever so softly across his.

Ron's heart beat fast by then, the scent of her filling his olfactory senses. Nevertheless he gave a lingering glance up at the soaring marble fascia of the hotel, and that drew a question from his companion.

"Is there somewhere else you need to be?" she asked innocently, her eyes darting between his in rapid succession.

Ron saw the pleading need in her gaze...and something else as well. She was young and extremely eager. She practically vibrated.

He smiled back at her in grand fashion and then wrapped his arm about her slim waist, striding off in the direction she'd indicated.

"Nothing that can't wait, I suppose," he told her.

They strolled along the busy street slowly, Phealcy leaning heavily against Ron while speaking in a low, husky tone. He could easily sense her overt intentions.

At the Stravarious Hotel they rode a maglev elevator to the penthouse level, where she'd told him she stayed whenever she was in the city. (She admitted her family was one of the most affluent and influential on the entire planet)

When they stood outside her door, she suddenly turned to him with a confession.

"I know who you are, Itsu," she said, her hands pressing against his wide chest. "I..."

She lowered her head for a moment and gathered her thoughts. Then, without raising her face, she continued.

"I watched you on the vid-screen every moment of the Games," she explained. "I recorded them all, and have seen them a thousand times."

She then pulled her hands down from him and held them to her stomach, as if embarrassed.

"I recognized you the instant I saw you in the restaurant, and I just had to...to...to meet you."

Ron reached down and tugged gently at her delicate chin, pulling it back up to face him.

"Is that all?" he asked her softly.

She stared at him desperately, her heart racing inside her chest.

"It's embarrassing, don't you think? To be a stupid groupie of the 'Champion of the Triad Games'? I mean, really...how many millions of girls are out there...having done the exact..."

Ron didn't let her finish. Instead, he crushed her to him and kissed her as if she would vanish had he not. That set off a firestorm in the young woman...one that nearly had her stripping in the hallway.

After several hot borts of passionate embrace, Ron finally pulled away long enough to let her press her hand on the entry plate, unlocking the door.

Before the portal had even closed though, Ron had Phealcy back in his arms and pinned against the wall...their lips locked to one another and their desperate grunts huffing in the dark.

His deft fingers found the clasp to her dress in a half-lita, and then it was torn from her overheated body and cast across the room. An instant later, the barely-there undergarment that covered her nethers was ripped from her body in one quick move that she didn't even feel.

What she did feel though, and which forced her to tear her mouth from his and gasp in unrestrained ecstasy, was his manhood slipping inside her body with mind-blowing results.

She instantly clutched to him with all her strength, revealing to Ron that she was in excellent physical condition...strong and firm.

"OOOOH!" she gasped. "You're so...so..."

Ron surged anew.

"OOOOH!"

That was just the beginning of the most incredible sexual experience of her young life.

Phealcy gripped Ron tighter, her grunts and moans building in volume and frequency with every powerful thrust that plunged so deeply into her. Finally, at a moment when she threw her head back to take a bigger gulp of air, Ron took one of her large, pursing areolas into his mouth and sucked hard.

"UUUUUUUUH!" she grunted sharply, her body writhing at the peak of her orgasm. "OH, CREATOR ABOVE!"

Ron grinned at her squirming, melting form and immediately released his own pent-up need, flooding her canal with sloshing, jolting pleasure.

Ron held Phealcy off the ground effortlessly, the bands of hardened muscles she clung to managing the task so easily that her female psyche simply crumbled under the onslaught of his masculine domination. Always one to be in total control in every aspect of her life up till then, she willingly acquiesced it all to him in those passion-filled borts. The madman of the Triad Games could do to her whatever he wished...and he did.

The surging tactile sensations of him inside her continued for so long, Phealcy began to wonder if it would ever subside at all, never having experienced such a powerful and prolonged orgasm. But just when she feared her heart might actually explode from the pleasure, it began to ebb, and that racing organ began to slide back to a more manageable lope instead of the hell-bent sprint it had been running. And when the two new lovers at last began that downhill slide of emotional release, they both trembled from the frantic coupling.

Phealcy still clung to Ron's neck as he separated himself from her, and would have collapsed right to the floor had he allowed it. But instead, he scooped the vivacious young lady into his arms and carried her to her boudoir.

"Lights...half," he called out when she lay draped across his bulging arms.

She stared back at him with smoldering fire clearly locked in her lovely emerald eyes.

"That was absolutely amazing, Ron," she whispered.

Ron smiled back. "Oh, yeah!" he admitted.

He placed her feet on the soft covering of the bedroom (a material that felt like something between cotton and sheepskin), and took his first clear look at her nude figure. She was utterly stunning. Her body was as firm as a star athlete, and the curves and dips of her were phenomenally sensuous and amazingly alluring.

Phealcy took her own inventory of him as well. She was no novice virgin, having explored her own sexuality with other gorgeous, muscular men, but Ron had her completely in awe. She ran her fingers slowly over his body, astounded at the hardness of his rippling, corded physique. It was as if every female fantasy of godlike male perfection had been bestowed upon him, and she simply could not resist exploring it further.

Ron was staring at her pointedly as she completed her inspection, and when she met his gaze, he saw the building heat in her eyes once again. Phealcy then reached out and gripped his fingers, turned slowly, and led him into her bathroom.

The posterior view of her incredible body sashaying before him with each graceful step instantly relit the flame in his furnace as well.

"Shower...setting; Phealcy three," she said as she towed him into a large, granite-lined compartment that had fourteen shower heads blasting away.

For the following billot, they soaped each other down and played sensual games that ended in another grunting, gasping round of intense lovemaking in the slippery confines of the booth.

Phealcy finally staggered out of the shower on shaking legs and slipped into a thick robe that both dried and warmed her. Ron strode out like a conquering king and toweled off while she combed out her soaked hair, and then waited for her as she dried it as well.

Phealcy paused only long enough to flash her fingers over a flat console...ordering a late snack for the two of them. By the time she was finished with her hair, there was a soft chime at the door.

A billot later, they lay in bed with Phealcy's nude body curled up against Ron's.

"It was better than I'd even imagined, Ron," she told him while her fingers played in his raven locks. "And I'd imagined it pretty dragen hot!"

Ron just smiled back at her and nodded.

"But I guess you get that all the time, don't you?"

Ron gave her an expression of surprise. "You think I couple with every admirer I run into?" he asked.

Phealcy gazed back at him calmly. He could tell she was searching his face for proof of his honesty.

"Don't you?"

Ron let out a huge grin. "No...I most certainly do not. In fact, 'you' are my very first one-night-stand...and that's covering my entire life."

Phealcy looked suspiciously back at him. "Come on!"

Ron held up his right hand. "I swear!"

She smiled grandly at that...and then her eyes changed slightly.

"You know," she said, "it doesn't have to be so."

Ron furrowed his brow slightly. "What?"

"A one-night-stand."

Ron grinned and hauled her to him, kissing her deeply.

"I'm afraid I'll be leaving as soon as I conclude my business tomorrow," he told her when he pulled free.

Phealcy pouted heavily, but then inched herself even closer and closed her eyes.

"Fine," she whispered, thoroughly spent and ready for a night's rest. "You had your chance."

Ron smiled back and then he too closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Dawn came many billots later, and Phealcy stirred quietly and gazed about. The soft light of the new day cast just enough light into the room to show Ron's bulk still lying next to her, and she smiled a devilish grin.

She reached her hand out and gently felt his neck...and then her grin turned to a smirk of pure ice.

She found no pulse.

Without a moment's hesitation, Phealcy threw back the covers and calmly slid from the bed, striding away like an arrogant queen who'd just finished with her latest play-toy. She scooped up a small, flat, oblong-shaped device and walked right out onto the balcony, still stark naked. She never talked about her business inside. There were too many ways to intercept her messages within a room like that, even without electronic surveillance. Outside, where the nonstop wind destroyed any trace of her voice instantly, she could be at ease.

As she placed the com-unit to her ear, it came alive, specially keyed to her biology.

"Send in the cleaners," she said arrogantly. "Yes, it was even easier than I'd expected."

At that point she went to take another shower. This time it was very hot, the way she preferred it.

She lingered there for a long while, proud of herself for playing her role so perfectly, and thrilled to have accomplished what so many before her had failed to do. Her sponsors would be extremely pleased, and when word got out about that job, her fee would take a nice hike.

It really had been one of the best nights of her career. And too, she hadn't lied to Ron entirely. That had been the most incredible sex she'd ever dreamed of.

Phealcy took extra time in the bathroom, fixing her hair and applying a few touches of makeup before slipping into a sickeningly expensive dress and gliding out into the bedroom once again.

When she did however, she immediately came to a very abrupt halt. The two large fellows sent to dispose of Ron's corpse were strewn across the plush carpet. One was wide-eyed and alert, although neatly bound and gagged. The other was unconscious and appeared to have been through an extremely brutal thrashing. One arm was bent in an odd place and a knee appeared to be operating backwards.

"Good morning," Ron said to her, sitting fully dressed at a small table, munching on a wonderful breakfast that he'd ordered while she was in the shower. "Sleep well?"

Phealcy was stunned beyond reason. Her hand flashed to her waist in a blur...to a fancy buckle that accentuated her outfit marvelously. Its cover broke loose with a sharp twist.

It was a razor-edged throwing star.

Her wrist flicked outward just as quickly, but it was to no avail.

Ron simply gripped the tray the food had come on and deflected the whistling blade into the nearby wall.

"Now-now," he chastised her. "Is that any way to treat your newest lover?"

Phealcy spun about in a blur and slapped her hand against a nearly invisible panel beside the doorway to the bathroom, but when it sprung open, her fingers reached into empty space.

"Looking for this?" Ron inquired calmly. He was holding a pneumatic pistol like the ones the bouncers carried at the casino. It fired exploding bullets.

She dropped to her knees at the side of a small bureau, her fingertips feeling behind it for the blade she kept there. She found an empty sheath.

"Dragen fool," she growled at herself.

Then, in a blinding maneuver, she gripped a heavy glass ornamental tray filled with decorative beads and flung it at Ron, dashing for the door while it was still airborne.

Ron slapped the tray away and beat her to the exit. At the last moment, Phealcy pulled up short and her eyes flicked to the wall of glass across the room. It led to the balcony. It was twenty stories to the ground, but she had an escape plan for that route as well.

Ron caught her halfway there and tackled her, but slung her away from him instantly, back toward the bathroom. She popped up nimbly from where she'd landed, smiling back at him...her eyes alit with fire.

Ron didn't look down, but knew he was dripping blood onto the plush floor, from where her fingernails had bit into his flesh. They were tipped with sharpened metal. He'd noticed that when he'd kissed her hand on the previous evening.

He slowly moved toward Phealcy then, staying in a crouch. She knew he'd cleaned her room of any other weapons, so she prepared to defend herself with what she had. Crouching quickly, she retrieved the high-heeled shoes she'd so hastily kicked off the night before and yanked off the heels' tips, exposing steel spikes. She then twisted the special release for them that formed a T-handle and slipped one into each hand, the spikes protruding from her small fists. They weren't much, but could penetrate and eye easily...or his jugular.

Ron closed with her shortly, unarmed, but no longer smiling.

Phealcy was well-trained and very quick, but she faced Shartae the Invincible, the most feared, respected, and wanted man in the entire realm of the Kreete Empire. It was hardly a fair match.

She struck out half a dozen times...her skills notable and her balance sublime...but Ron just brushed each strike aside and finally threw a single punch to her lovely jaw.

He'd waited until the optimum position to avoid killing her outright, and struck only as hard as he needed. Her exquisite, sensuous, beautiful form dropped to the floor in a heap.

Phealcy came to a billot later. She was tied to a heavy chair by four of her own belts Ron had borrowed from her closet. He was sitting across from her patiently.

The foggy sensation of consciousness sharpened in only a couple of litas, and then she knew her predicament.

Ron just waited.

She stared at him questioningly, and then rubbed her swelling jaw against her shoulder. It hurt, as did her throbbing head, and she was pretty certain three of her teeth were loose. She felt of her fingertips and found her nails had all been trimmed short.

"When did you know?" she finally asked, bringing Ron back into animation.

"When you looked at me in the casino, I could tell you recognized me," he confessed.

Ron grinned at the light in her eyes, when she realized just how astute his observation skills were. She'd colored her hair bright red that day and had it wound into a tight ball above her head. Also, her makeup was vastly different...more dramatic and oddly shaded to blend in with the almost Gothic look of the usual, less affluent crowd who frequented that area. And lastly, she'd been wearing thigh-high black boots with baggy yellow shorts and a bright pink jacket. How he picked her out was truly astounding.

"That, by itself, wasn't too obvious though, because so many had seen the Games, of course. But when I attacked the guard at the bottom of the stairs, you weren't shocked or surprised at all. You were impressed. That also, in and of itself, wasn't what clenched it. But when you approached me in the restaurant wearing those sexy stilts...on a slate floor...I could barely hear them at all, and that's when it clicked."

Phealcy nodded and pursed her lips. She'd been waiting for him to show up for a while, toying with Roddier to pass the time, and so when he did, she was too intent on her upcoming performance to remember to walk more normally.

"Still, when I kissed your hand, I detected the slightest scent of Farilian vagra berries...a thick, sweet juice commonly used to mask the bitter taste of numerous poisons. That's when I was sure.

"You are one of the Hoondelli...right?"

Phealcy smiled and just shrugged.

"Believe what you want, but that's ridiculous. If that myth of a secret league of expertly trained assassins could be proved at all, which I highly doubt, how could you possibly make the insane leap that I'm one?"

"Oh, I know you are," Ron countered easily. "You see, I've examined your assortment of tools...some of which I don't even understand their use. I found ten different poisons, a dozen assorted cutting blades, micro-wire for an excellent garroting tool, mechanical climbing gloves and a folding grappler, a compact blow gun...and...well, that's how."

"But if you're so certain that I'm one of these 'unstoppable' assassins, then why did you play along?"

"I had to be sure you were working alone. And when those three goons in the restaurant interrupted us, I wondered for a while if they weren't part of the game too...but I was fairly sure you'd have picked some more convincing ruffians if they were. Then, when you dosed me with that Parcinean aphrodisiac in the wine, it gave me the perfect ruse. The rest was just to get you to buy into the plan...and to make sure you were really alone."

Phealcy altered her expression back to the innocent young groupie, and gave him another pout.

"And you didn't have any fun at all?" she asked, her eyes sparkling.

Ron grinned back. "Well..." he chuckled lightly. She was, after all, extremely beautiful.

"How are you not dead, by the way?" she finally asked. "That toxin has never failed me...and I checked your pulse."

"That was the interesting part."

"The only interesting part?" she interjected coyly.

Ron just grinned back.

"You see, I spent a considerable amount of time in the hands of some rather enthusiastic Kreete soldiers who wanted me to provide them with information I was unwilling to part with. Toward those ends, they tried quite a lot of different techniques to coerce me to speak. Many of them had various amounts of poisonous concoctions designed to inflict pain, disorientation, hallucinations, and sedation. Their mistake though, was not allowing me to die from the procedures. Instead, you see, they gave me antidote after antidote to keep the hope of a successful interrogation alive.

"After experiencing all of that, my body's immune system apparently developed some rather extraordinary resistance to similar substances. That's how I was able to survive being pierced with six Treochy darts and live to tell the tale...or at least, that's how my personal physician explained it."

Phealcy's eyes widened at that. Treochy poison was an incredibly effective neurotoxin...and almost always lethal. Normally a man's brain was ruined by just one dart. Two was certain death.

"So the venom I injected you with?"

"Adder venom? Yeah, sorry...no affect at all. Well, ya-know...I shouldn't say that. I did sleep pretty well," he added with a chuckle.

"The pulse thing is a little trick I taught myself," Ron continued. "I can slow my heart rate down to only four or five beats per bort."

Phealcy sat there calmly, her mind swirling with both incredulity and amazement.

"What made you think I wouldn't just slit your throat instead of poisoning you?"

Ron perked up at that.

"You see, that's where I was the most certain. When you brought me here...to your home...to your real home...I knew I was safe from almost any violent assault. I mean, really...who would take someone to their personal sanctuary and then defile it with what was sure to be a very messy act?"

She looked even more astonished.

"How did you know this was my 'real home'?"

"When you opened the door, I could tell by your scent. It hung in the air as clearly as that chandelier."

She stared a while longer...silent. Then...

"And the sex?"

Ron sat back comfortably. "What about it?"

"It was very intense. Yet you felt nothing for me?"

"I wouldn't go that far, Phealcy," he admitted. "In fact, I like you quite a bit. But to play out the entire charade was crucial to my plan...which was to make you think yours had worked flawlessly. After all, I needed to capture you alive, and to attack you in a room where you had two dozen different weapons hidden would have been dicey at best...at least to prevent a serious injury."

"Why do you want me alive? Surely you know I will never tell you anything."

"Oh, I don't want information...that is...not verbal information. I just wanted a confirmed member of the assassin clan."

Phealcy's eyes suddenly darted from side to side, her mind running fast. Her superiors would be extremely displeased.

"What did you do?" she demanded, her expression turning stern.

"The Kreete, as it turns out, actually have a couple of noteworthy attributes. Keeping thorough records of all the beings in their realm is one of them. I just wanted to know what planet you're from, so I took a DNA sample...that's all. I'm running it through their catalogue now."

Her knuckles turned white as she clamped her fingers to the chair's arms.

Ron's chrono chimed a few moments later, and so he turned his attention to it.

"Desimuss Prime," he read. "The central habitable world of the Hefiira Star System. The two other planets are little more than mining colonies though, so I don't really see the need to call it 'Prime', but in any event, there you have it."

Ron could tell his information was correct, but it perplexed him nonetheless. That had all been far too easy. It brought back to mind his conversation with Cache while Phealcy had been unconscious.

"She could have masked her DNA," Cache had told him. "It really isn't that difficult, especially since secrecy is so much part of who they are. Or, her species might be one of many who are recruited...or even volunteer...to join the Hoondelli."

Either scenario could be true, which left him back at square one...almost. But he didn't let on that fact.

Phealcy's contempt was clear in her eyes. She openly scoffed at his list of "proof", tossing her head to the side in mock amusement, but when her lips pursed at the sight of the clock, and how much time had passed, Ron was certain his plan was on the right track.

Phealcy returned her attention to Ron then, suddenly much more animated.

"So...what now?" she asked. "Are you really going to try to bargain with my employer? You don't seriously think he'll give you anything other than a slow death, do you? For both of us, that is, because I'm as good as dead too, just for being captured."

Ron casually went to the built-in refrigerator that blended with the wall perfectly, and pulled out a bottle of orange liquid. He appeared to be in no hurry at all. He popped the lid and gave it a sniff before guzzling the juice down.

"Ooooh, that's really good!" he said, smacking his lips afterward. "Would you like something?"

Just then, there was a muffled sound from right outside the door that caught both their attentions.

Ron glanced at Phealcy and she smirked back at him.

"Now you die!" she said.

A fraction of a lita passed before the door flew inward halfway across the room.

Phealcy used what small amount of inertia she could muster to force the chair she was strapped in to roll backward. It was made of wood, so when it struck the marble floor, it broke enough to get her left hand free.

Ron was across the room, so he dove into the bathroom and kicked the door shut, scrambling away as fast as he could.

"He's in the bathroom!" Phealcy shouted from her awkward position.

Three of the men raced for the lavatory door while one sprinted to her side with a knife already in his hand. Her legs were free in two swift flicks of his wrist, and then she rolled to her feet, still trying to slip her right hand out of its bindings.

"I've got this! Get him!" Phealcy ordered at the fellow helping her.

The door to the bathroom tore from its hinges under the heavy foot of one of the men. They were no cleaning team. They came prepared with body armor and an assortment of high-tech weapons.

The first item through the door was a grenade that sprayed the small room with jagged shrapnel. It wasn't as powerful as what the Kreete normally used because they didn't want to catch the attention of the Lords, but it would have severely wounded anyone within its blast. Luckily Ron had taken shelter inside the stone-lined shower.

The first man through the door cut loose with his automatic weapon, shredding the interior of the lavatory in a blink. It was a pneumatically driven rifle shooting explosive pellets that literally filled the air with debris. But when he released the trigger to have a clearer look around, he never even saw the silent, flipping blade that subdivided his jugular. He fell to the side with a slight recoil as the double-edged device pierced his throat and lodged in his spine. He was dead by the time he slid to the tile.

Attacker number two leaped in but slipped on the thick litter covering the smooth floor, having to catch himself with one hand to stay upright. When his momentum stopped, he was face to face with Ron barely ten feet away.

"Thwuung!" sounded Phealcy's bow and the man's skull exploded. It didn't have the power of his custom built one, but it got the job done.

Ron had been fairly certain that the clan would dispatch a new team when the first went missing, so he'd planned his defense well in advance.

The third fellow didn't even clear the doorway before his shoulder was pinned to the framework. Blazing white fire seared through his mind but his pistol-wielding hand tracked his target nonetheless and he fired.

That weapon spat out ten rounds in a quick burst, but none of them hit their mark. Arrow number two had already ripped through his chest.

The fourth attacker was at his comrade's side when he perished, so he pulled up quickly enough to stay out of the line of Ron's fire. He turned to Phealcy and waved at her.

"They're all down! Get out of here!"

The look on her face was one of sheer disbelief.

"Holy Creator above!" she whispered.

She knew immediately that the man's warning was exactly correct. She needed to get out of that room...and fast! She was suddenly supremely aware that she was woefully unprepared for the assignment she'd accepted. She wasn't ready to face Itsu of Caron!

Phealcy glanced at the entry door but discarded that avenue. It was too easy for him to follow...and she felt the fourth guard would last about four more litas before the demon she'd intended to kill had cut him down.

Out to the balcony she dashed, turning to the left where she'd prepared a last-ditch escape rope in case she'd ever been discovered. She lived on the top level of the living section of the apartment complex, but it was still five more floors to the actual roof of the building, so she prayed she had enough time.

The climb was swift and easy for her, her conditioning being what it was, and she was three stories up before Ron was able to locate her escape route.

The position of the rope was such that it lay beside the ornamental beautifications of the upper floors and effectively blocked any clear shot he might have from her terrace, so he improvised. In a quick maneuver, Ron leaped up and backward, catching the balcony's railing with his knees and allowing his torso to hang outward twenty stories above the street.

From that hair-raising position, he drew back on Phealcy's bow and let an arrow fly just as she scrambled over the lip of the roof.

"Aaaaah...shaaaart!" she screamed as she tumbled onto the hot surface of the rooftop.

She rolled to her back and gripped her right thigh tightly, feeling her blood pouring into her fingers. A fast inspection showed a foot-long gash running up her thigh where Ron's arrow had grazed her. It was an ugly wound but not life-threatening.

Phealcy saw the rope draw tight beside her and so she crawled to the anchor point as fast as she could. She was someone who prepared well too, snatching a knife from its watertight sheath next to the attachment piton and severing the rope in one swift swing.

She could tell by the way the rope whipped over the edge that there had been weight on it, and she hoped she'd gotten lucky, but when she limped over to check, she spotted two booted feet clambering over the edge of one of the decorative protrusions only three floors down.

"Shart!" she hissed. "Is he truly unassailable?"

Without another moment's hesitation, she raced back to her previous spot. There was a well camouflaged cabinet there and she opened it with a touch of her hand. Inside it was a parasail, complete with a jetpack.

With blood draining down her leg, she strapped into the contraption and bolted for the northern side of the building where the wind was blowing away from the tall structure. Her gait was off badly however, forcing a heavy limp to her normally smooth stride, so it took her nearly twice as long as it should have to reach the edge.

Before she did, a powerful report of metal slamming into metal rang out into the morning air as she heard the heavy door that gave access to the roof blast open. Luckily for her though, it was just as she launched herself into the open air.

In order to place enough distance between her and Ron...so that he wouldn't have a good shot at her...she freefell for almost fifteen stories before pulling her chute. A few litas later she glanced over her shoulder and grinned broadly. She could see him standing atop the roof, staring after her...totally helpless to stop her or follow.

"We'll meet again, my fine lover!" she murmured to herself condescendingly.

She was already convincing herself to be proud of her skill and cunning, having abandoned the notion that she'd been extraordinarily lucky to have eluded permanent capture...and only then after six others had given their lives toward that opportunity.

The propellant in Phealcy's pack gave her enough range to reach her secondary abode, ten blocks away and completely out of any line of sight Ron might have. Once she landed, she took the time to clean up and dress her wound, sealing it with a thick layer of synthaskin.

A billot later, she strolled out the door and headed for the parking structure in the deep basement of the tall building. Soon, she was cruising down the urban streets in a heavily tinted vehicle that would have resembled an Earth sedan if it had wheels. (It glided on magnetic levitation waves)

Straight to the western side of the city, Phealcy drove...to a private airport where her shuttle was kept. She'd be off-planet in less than a billot. And under the circumstances, she felt like a change of location was in order...at least until she figured out her next move.

She parked her vehicle in her private hangar and walked quickly to the small vessel, about the size of a business jet. But when she approached, she noticed a broad-shouldered man pushing a rolling cabinet over to the forward end of the ship.

"Hey there!" she barked at the man. "What are you doing?"

The fellow jumped sharply, looking around before facing her.

"Who...me?" he asked with a nervous pitch in his voice.

"Yes, YOU!" Phealcy replied tersely. "What the dragen sart are you doing to my ship?"

"What...uh...you mean this?" he asked, clearly in a panic. "It's just some scanning gear...you know...for the quarantine."

"WHAT QUARANTINE?" Phealcy screamed. "Who are you? Who gave you permission to..."

"WAIT!" called a woman from off to their right. She was running into the hangar and waving excitedly.

"Not that one!" she cried as if in disgust. "Check the requisition, Boris!"

The man was shaking by then, as if he'd just been caught in a compromising position.

He snatched up his work order and read it again.

"The scan is for hangar thirty-six C!" the woman scolded him. "This is thirty-six D!"

Boris glanced at his tablet, and then up at the designation over the doorway, and then back at his tablet.

"Oh...yeah...I see."

Then he turned to Phealcy with his head lowered.

"Uh...sorry...uh...I guess I got the wrong ship. No harm done though," he added, trying to lighten the mood. "I didn't start the scan."

He hurriedly spun about and began pushing the heavy cabinet away toward the proper venue.

"I am terribly sorry for that," the woman told Phealcy. "Boris is new, and still gets a bit rattled when asked to perform duties he is not comfortable with. I hope this has not caused you any delay."

"No," Phealcy said, noting that the woman was exceedingly lovely for such droll work. And also, she couldn't help but assess the female inspection worker walked with near perfect balance and poise. Her training had instilled an eye for such details into her subconscious. Now it was automatic.

"She is, or was, an athlete," Phealcy concluded. "No doubt about it."

The female assassin wondered for a half lita what had brought so fine a specimen to such a thankless, monotonous profession, but then the curiosity left her. She needed to go! With Itsu on her trail, she knew it was only a matter of time...and not much of it.

"No, it's no bother," she told the inspector.

"Very well then," the woman added before turning to leave.

"Wait a lita," Phealcy suddenly chirped, stepping over to the hatch of her ship. "What about this?"

She indicated a small device that spanned the seam of the door, sealing it against tampering.

"Oh, sorry. That is a locking device to keep someone from accidentally entering a vessel during a scan. That could be fatal, you see. It has not been officially activated as of yet, so let me just pull it off and I shall be on my way."

Phealcy's temper flared at the thought that someone had touched her ship, and would do so again.

"Step back!" she ordered harshly, sneering at the worker. She snatched the magnetic plate loose and shoved it rudely into the little woman's hands.

"There," she snapped, "Now get away from my ship!"

The petite inspector accepted it and shuffled back quickly, visibly vibrating as she spun about and hurried away.

Phealcy took a careful look around and then hurriedly walked the perimeter of the craft, checking for any more tampering.

"Betina," she called to the vessel's avatar. "Perform a sensor sweep for any foreign items on the hull."

"Done," the mechanical assistant replied immediately. "No detectable devices anywhere on the ship."

Phealcy made her way back to the entry portal and gave the hangar one last glaring scan. Then she boarded the vessel and began the launch procedure. In a few borts, the shuttle was taxiing out of the hangar and over to an open area used for lift off.

She toggled the com, but suddenly felt unusually light-headed. She stopped the ship immediately and took a deep breath, hoping her thoughts would clear, but they did not. In the following moment the monitor swam out of focus badly and her speech slurred heavily.

Phealcy tried to concentrate again, shaking her head hard to clear it, but that didn't help. She felt the air pressure inside the ship change suddenly and then there was a person standing next to her...but she hadn't opened the hatch.

"That's odd," she managed to think.

It was the little woman from the hangar...the one with the beautiful, violet eyes.

Chapter Twenty-three

### A Bold Move

Once inside the shuttle, Cache merely sat back and allowed the automated system to launch and rendezvous with its parent vessel, the _Balleene_ (Balleene means 'dagger' in Phealcy's homeworld language). And after she was aboard that, it took Cache barely half a billot to override all Phealcy's security protocols and take command of the interstellar starship.

She then broke into the assassin's personal files, accessing all her mission assignments, false identities, and secret stashes of supplies and suppliers. However, that was completely useless information because they were written in some form of personalized shorthand, and she knew Phealcy would never give up the code.

The brilliant Raulden was however, able to trace the ship's routes over the past ten cycles, and therefore she managed to locate the origination point of the woman's journey...and the homeworld of the Hoondelli's training sanctuary. It was on the planet Cacilia, in the Dorcantor Sector.

Ron met her high above the planet in the _Darlile_ , and together they discussed everything they knew about the woman assassin, the upcoming mission, and what they expected to gain versus the potential risks. There were so many unknowns still to consider that they finally decided to just take one step at a time, and go forward as they could.

By the end of their assessment period, the pair were having dinner aboard the _Darlile_ when their meal was suddenly interrupted.

"Warning!" announced the black ship's avatar. "Inbound Kreete vessel. It is the _Breva_ _Narge_...Eigellen Class."

(Eigellen means Executioner in the Kreete language.)

"Eigellen Class!" Cache said with surprise and awe in her voice. She leaped to her feet immediately. "What is its heading?"

"Sixty degrees to our present course, but it is slowing quickly. Apparently it is intending to dock with the space port over the Tione Province."

"What's up, Cache?"

"We do not want to engage in battle with that ship!" she replied, already hurrying to the airlock.

"Why," Ron queried, following her to the junction connecting the two spacecrafts.

"It is the finest experimental warship they have ever created."

"But the _Darlile_ has always beaten their technology. We've taken on everything they've thrown at us...even those drones on Caron."

"I understand that, Ron. But this is different.

"I only just found out some of the details about that project while you were on Caron," Cache explained, stopping for a moment at the final bulkhead. "Its creators claim to have developed the most advanced shielding ever designed...one that makes plasma weapons almost useless against it. And their own weapons system is new also...but I do not know any of the specifications. If they have truly made a breakthrough on that front as well, I would rather find out about it surreptitiously...not first hand."

With that statement, Cache continued her hasty retreat into Phealcy's starship and powered up the drives. Ron did the same and then both ships headed out of Liviano's solar system.

Two torjournes later, the _Balleene_ docked at the space station that served Cacilia with both Ron and Cache at the helm. Ron had reluctantly stashed the _Darlile_ in a dark crater on Boria, the planet's smallest moon because they couldn't take the chance of its presence becoming known to the Kreete. The ship's incredible ability to fool any sensors into believing it was simply a rogue bump on the moon was its only protection, but Cache had instructed it to protect itself if in danger. It would try to run first, but could fire upon aggressors if necessary.

Once they checked in at the station, Cache found a way to get them authorized to land planet-side, and that was by purchasing a santari's worth of accommodations at a very expensive resort on the coast of one of the largest continents.

When they entered the planet's biosphere, Ron launched a dozen scanning probes, but it took another torjourne to eliminate enough of the planet's surface to give them any real hope of finding the super-secret compound where the galaxy's finest killers were trained.

During that down time, Ron and Cache discussed a myriad of plans. Most had to do with the upcoming infiltration mission, but there were many others as well. Cache had done a great deal of preparation for several campaigns across the Triad. They were both covert and overt in nature, with each tailored to get a specific reaction from the Kreete. Havoc, distrust, paranoia, and all-out rage were the desired results from those missions. Ron liked that very much.

The probes' searching grids painstakingly eliminated one suspicious section at a time until only three remained, each having its own, unique challenge for the sensors. After that, a trio of smaller, more refined and well-camouflaged probes flew new search patterns for two more dactrais before one of them at last located an ingeniously disguised scattering field encompassing a large island at the end of a long archipelago in the eastern equatorial ocean. Unfortunately, the field was so well designed that the probe could distinguish nothing behind it...only the total lack of information for a radius of some ten hoz.

From there, Ron realized he'd be forced to continue the reconnaissance mission himself.

He used Phealcy's little shuttle to get him close...it had been modified by Raulden tech to be equally as invisible as the base...and landed several hoz away from the edge of the scattering array.

Setting out on foot, he hiked his way toward it, but the grounds were extremely well guarded with men as well as electronic gear. It took another six dactrais of tension-filled, sleep-deprived excursions to get him to a slim shard of rock that overlooked a large coastal valley at the western edge of the island. At the very fringe of that valley was a sprawling fortress city.

The security of that place was even more impressive than what he'd already circumvented, which filled him with dread. But as usual, he would not relent.

He carefully worked his way back out of the extensive sentry net and rejoined Cache two dactrais later. Together, they formulated a daring (actually insane) plan of infiltration. He suspected that an organization as well developed as the Hoondelli had to keep extensive records on all of their agents as well as their missions, so he would just need to locate their storage center for such information and retrieve it. Simple!

Seven dactrais later, rain pelted Ron's eyes as he clung desperately to the face of a sheer cliff, his iron-hard fingers grasping tiny imperfections in the surface of the rock that even seasoned climbers would have been hard-pressed to find. It was a harrowing, miserable scene, but was also the only possible way to gain entrance to the impregnable stronghold that was his objective.

He hadn't looked down even once, but below him lay the rocky coastline of a wild, ferocious sea some eight-hundred-feet away...a place which marked the beginning of his ascent.

At sundown of the previous day, he'd actually started two hoz to the west, edging his way along a narrow shelf of broken rock. That tiny protrusion was a reminder of the instability of the geological strata the island mountain consisted of, and was the only avenue he could cling to in order to reach his ascension point. He was barely above the breakwater then and was soaked from the first few borts of the trip, but that didn't matter at all because he knew a rainstorm was moving in, and 'it' was a huge part of his plan of stealth.

He'd been forced into that long, circuitous and tedious path because the water along the section of coast he needed access to was mined with buoys that would have sensed any approach by boat. And chancing a swim in those rock-laden waves was more ludicrous than even he was willing to gamble.

As he climbed, Ron constantly studied the area above him, mostly the stone within his reach, but too, the frightful distance he still needed to go (nearly another thousand peors). To any other man, it would have been enough to send them running for a safer route, but there was no other, so he just set his focus and pushed onward.

Ron had seen a photograph once of mountain goats perched across the wide expanse of the face of a concrete dam in Italy. It had amazed him. They stood upon the slightest cracks and deviations in the surface of the smooth material and ate the lichen and moss that grew here and there as if they were grazing comfortably in a meadow. In a fleeting moment of recollection, he felt exactly like them, hanging there as if suspended by nothing at all. It was a moment of surreal introspection, but only a moment. Time was against him and so he pressed forward.

If his skin hadn't been made of such thick layers of heavily callused material, he'd have been a bloody mess by that point, but even with the softening effects of the rain, his weathered hide did not fail him in his time of need. Every sharp edge he could search out bit into his skin and held...and on he went.

Another (and very important) point of his adventure helped settle his nerves, even in the tenuous, precarious situation he was in. It was the companionship of his old friend. Twice that massive comrade had saved him from certain death along the suicidal course Ron had chosen, and at every next surge of his hardened frame, Ron took solace that his chum was just below and to his right. Without the peace of mind of pitons, rope, and grapplers, that cohort was as good as it could get.

Another hundred peors along, Ron found himself at a hopeless juncture, the next possible move a foot out of reach and his current anchor less than reassuring. He hastily scanned a route back but couldn't be sure it would be any more fruitful. In the dark, rain-soaked night, it was extremely difficult to see much past his arm's length, so every decision was a gamble. He decided to ask for help.

Looking down at the shadow beneath his foot, Ron whispered, daring not to raise his voice even in such a hopeless place of danger and solitude.

"Can you support me for a moment or two?"

"Yes," came the reply, but not in the traditional sense. "I am secure."

Ron cautiously reached out with his boot and found a firm, solid shelf to push off on. His heart thumped powerfully with relief.

"Thanks," he breathed as he balanced all of his weight on that broad snout and felt upward for the sliver of jutting rock he'd barely spotted.

A moment later and Ron was moving steadily upward again.

"It must be nice to have 'eight-wheel-drive'," he thought, smiling at the notion.

"Yes...very handy," came a mental reply. Flash's forty claws, each easily capable of holding his incredible weight on that planet, were superb tools with which to accomplish the present task. He was having absolutely no trouble with the climb. His only worry was Ron.

Up...up...up they went.

Ron measured the passage of time without the use of a chrono. Such a distraction would only break his concentration. It didn't matter anyway really. He would not rest, but neither would he rush. Instead, he mentally measured the litas it took to find every new handhold, and prayed he was moving fast enough. They desperately needed to reach the summit before daybreak, and it was too swiftly drawing near.

Billots later, at a spot two-hundred feet below the upper lip, Ron felt his hope slipping away in a rush. That final leg was the ultimate impediment. The men who'd planned the security of the compound had apparently dropped masons down on tethers who'd chiseled away the outer surface of the cliff to the point of an almost polished texture. Ron felt of it for several borts and caught the sheen of its wet surface in the dim light. It was utterly smooth.

"Son of a b...!" Ron grumbled. Now he was stuck. To go back down was completely impossible. He was already spent, and groping his way downward was far more hazardous than going up. He knew he'd never make it.

Flash heard his thoughts, and the desperation in them, and decided to help.

"Give me the end of your rope," the great beast thought to Ron.

"Don't even think about it, Flash," Ron said back to him in a soft, yet firm, breath. "It's too smooth...even for you."

Ron had recruited the unstoppable Redalien tracker to get him through the outermost defense...a two hoz barrier filled with dozens of wild beasts that had been specifically trained to hunt humans for food. As he'd expected, Flash had kept them away without much fuss. At that time, he'd tried to send the mighty beast back to the transporter probe, but the young creature had been too curious about Ron's mission to turn back.

Now, as a reply to Ron's warning, Flash simply snorted.

"Rope!" he thought more forcefully.

Ron knew he had little choice in the matter. He was completely stuck, and too, he had no real control over his partner.

Flash took the end of the cord in his teeth and turned upward again, easing forward much slower than before.

Ron watched the creature as carefully as he could in the dark night, and his eyes soon spread wide. It was true that the rock face was smooth and unbroken, but it didn't matter. That terrible, vicious, phenomenal creature from the plains of its heavy homeworld simply spread its paws out wide, tucked its claws in, and used the natural adhesion of its rough skin to grip the rock. Eight giant paddles of gripping power then went to work...and up he went!

Ron had never seen a tracker "slink" before...and wouldn't have imagined it ever would...but that was exactly what Flash was doing. He kept his body flattened out and low to the surface, moving one paw at a time and testing each new placement thoroughly for traction.

Unbeknown to Ron, the angle of the ascent had dropped slightly, to only about eighty-five degrees, so Flash was able to make use of that minor advantage.

Five borts later, Ron felt his friend urge him to climb. He did not hesitate, flying up that rope in a rush.

"I should have done this the whole way up!" Ron chastised himself. He'd erringly assumed Flash was hanging on by barely a hair's breadth just like he was.

Once at the top, Ron found Flash gripping the upper edge of the fortress's wall with his forepaws. They were better than any grappling hook he could ever have devised.

The hoz-long perimeter of the wall was a smooth, gradual arc, forming a bowed shape, and that allowed a central figure the ability to watch almost the entire surface, and in turn, each of the other three sentries could watch him as well. It was a well-designed safeguard. The only failure in it was the present combination of darkness and rain. Ron knew that the glow of dawn would likely have doomed them, but luckily it was yet to come because of the torrential weather. Nevertheless, they needed to work fast.

"Any lookouts?" Ron asked through thoughts alone, no longer even willing to whisper.

"Four," Flash returned, mentally showing Ron their locations.

Out came the black bow.

Ron flexed his overworked fingers for a few litas and then headed off, sending Flash the other way. The early rainy morning was so dark however, that Ron had difficulty finding his targets. He wondered at how the great beast was faring.

"Flash," he sent to his chum, "how well can you see?"

Ron received a confused reply.

"I see all. Why?"

Ron saw no avenue that could get him inside the fortress unnoticed. The guards had it covered too well, and killing them would have left him only a few billots to search out what he was looking for. The place was too big, so that simply wouldn't do.

"I need to get inside without being noticed. Can you see a way?"

Aside from the security aspect of the architecture, the sweeping shape of the upper fortress gave ample view of the lower levels around its curvature as well, so Flash showed Ron the mental picture of a point where he could repel over the inner lip of the rampart and into what looked like a window fifty peors below.

That position though could only be gained by crossing a hundred peors of open ground, with a guard pacing the immediate area diligently. And the only things that broke up the smooth expanse of stone were three weapons emplacements...two missile batteries and a plasma cannon.

They appeared to be automated at least...standard equipment on a developed world...so he needn't worry about any more interlopers showing up to man them.

Ron slunk from one of those to the next until he was as close as he could get to his goal, and then he got onto his belly and low-crawled his way to the inner lip of the bastion, using the darkness and the pounding rain as his only concealment. Three times, he thought he'd been discovered when the sentry stopped and scanned the area, but the fellow just set off on his rounds again each time.

The undulating shadows cast by the widely spaced lamps against the waves of rain helped mask his movements, Ron guessed. But when he was close to the drop point, he couldn't see how he could possibly avoid the guard's detection when he went over the wall's edge.

His reoccurring, uncanny luck provided him his only window of opportunity.

As Ron lay there in an inch of water, straining to see the guard, the man suddenly stopped, looked about carefully, and then strode quickly over to the far lip of the massive parapet. A flash of lightning soon illuminated him for a long moment...long enough for Ron to smile, and get moving. The fellow was emptying his bladder.

Unlike the outer edge, where the walkway was rounded and simply slipped over into a twelve hundred peor drop, the inner edge had a four-foot-high stone rail that was notched out every few feet to allow an archer or rifleman to fire from relative safety at any encroaching enemy down below. Ron stowed his bow and had his little winch cable out and around one of the protruding stone pillars in a blink. One tug on the cable and he was easing over the wall before the guard was halfway done.

He dropped slowly, head-first, trying to keep any sudden movements from drawing attention, and so it took some time before his eyes slipped below the upper header of the opening Flash had seen.

Ron paused there for several borts with rain running down his body and up his nose. That was uncomfortable enough, but it was added to by the blood pounding inside his brain from being upside down for so long. Nonetheless, he refused to hurry.

The wall he gently hung against was three feet thick, and so the windowsill too was as broad. Whereas that offered an easy mode of ingress, it also made it all the more difficult to ascertain what lay inside the blackness of the interior.

After five borts of unbroken silence, Ron decided he'd just have to chance it, and so he lowered himself to the sill. Before he let the line disconnect from the upper attachment though, he carefully crawled inward to verify that entry was possible...that the opening wasn't barred or ray-shielded. It wasn't, but there also was a steady draft going inward that prevented him from testing the air for whatever, or whoever might be inside. Once more...and against his instincts...he was forced to take a chance.

Thirty litas of slack released the cable's clasp and in another bort the fine wire was rewound and he was easing into the pitch darkness of the stronghold.

At the instant his feet touched the smooth floor Ron knew he was in trouble because the compartment he stood in was immediately flooded with light!

"Shit!" he thought.

Ron's eyes flashed across the large room in a single heartbeat, and that scan made his gut clench tightly. He was in a dormitory apartment with twenty-five freshly awakened faces suddenly panning the room for what had disrupted their slumber.

Impulsively, Ron's hand was on his sword, not knowing what to make of his predicament, but when no one made a move toward him, it gave him an extra few litas to survey the scene.

The beds were all filled save one, the one nearest the window, just at his right, so none of the sleepers were within immediate reach. Also, they were all females, ages somewhere around late teens to possibly twenty. They all wore the same type of attire...long, closely fitting leggings and similarly body-hugging long-sleeve tops...like thermal underwear. Ron immediately knew why too, as the room was unusually cool and damp...no doubt the result of the open window and the current storm outside.

It surprised Ron greatly that he was not spotted right off since several nearby students turned their eyes right at him, but then he recalled the miraculous material he was wearing. It took an instantaneous reading of his surroundings and matched it as closely as it could.

One pair of eyes was not fooled however, and she sat staring directly at him. Soon all the others caught her glare and were doing the same. The camouflage attire was good, but not perfect.

Again Ron felt oddly surprised. None of the young women gave a cry or shout of warning...as if an intruder regularly sneaked into their abode in the middle of the night. Also, none of them showed any signs of fear. Their expressions were more of curiosity or confusion.

Ron's garb concealed all his features except his eyes, which swept the room for the fourth time before any sound was made.

"Is this a test?" asked one girl off to his left, the one who'd first spotted him. She was sitting fully upright by then with her feet resting lightly on the stone floor. Her right hand was hidden beneath the bed coverings.

Ron said nothing. He decided to act on a hunch though, and nodded.

All eyes suddenly locked on the young woman who'd spoken.

"Are you here to kill one of us?"

Ron was again surprised, until he caught several of the girls take a fleeting glimpse at the empty bed he stood beside. Ron then deduced their worry and acted on that as well. His blade slowly pulled free of its scabbard.

Before the tip cleared, the speaking girl was on the attack, her hidden fist pulling a long blade out from beneath her blanket. She sprang the ten feet that separated them in a single pounce and the ring of steel suddenly sounded in the close space.

Ron parried her blade half a dozen times as she attacked with lightning-quick actions that told him she was well trained in the art of swordplay. It would have been easy to kill her, but taking her life didn't enter into his mind even though he assumed she was fully prepared to take his.

After a few more litas, Ron used the flat of his super-blade and slammed the back of her hand hard enough to numb her fingers. Her weapon clattered loudly across the floor.

The girl hardly paused before attacking again, bare handed.

She was very quick and sent a dozen well-chosen blows hurtling at Ron in the first few litas, but Ron slapped each of them aside, not giving an inch. Too, he outweighed her more than double her slim mass, so it was little more than a sparring match. He was impressed at her tenacity nevertheless, and so he allowed the bout to continue long after he could have ended it. He was busy formulating another plan.

He was exposed in the citadel of a formidable enemy with no way of restoring his intended stealthy infiltration other than massacring a room full of young women...which of course was not a choice. It didn't matter that their goals were to become some of the most accomplished killers in the Kreete Empire. Ron Allison simply would not stoop that low. There had to be another way. His mind raced with possibilities as the girl attacked again and again.

She had to know by that point that she was vastly overmatched, but she never paused for a lita. The sharp cries she uttered as she struck each blow echoed about the stone-lined room into a chorus of grunting coughs indistinguishable from one another. But finally, more than ten borts into the fight, those compact releases of air turned from adrenaline-laced, confident, and balanced, to exhausted, desperate, gasps. She had given her all and was used up.

Three of her roommates tried to intercede on her behalf, but Ron sent them each sprawling across the floor without losing step. None of them were grievously injured, but they knew better than to repeat the attempt.

At last, the young woman threw a flying kick that had none of the earlier snap or speed to it and Ron decided to end the tussle. He grabbed that leg in one hand while she was in a horizontal position, and snagged her right shoulder with the other, clamping down hard enough to force a high-pitched squeal from her. For an instant she hung there in midair, her eyes lit up like white china saucers in the bright Caronian sunshine. And then Ron slammed her to the hard floor forcing every ounce of air from her lungs.

Very casually Ron turned from her and faced the other twenty-four girls, panning the group slowly. As the beaten fighter at his feet gasped in terror for air she was certain would never return, he raised his hands and curled his fingers in quick little movements...beckoning them forward. None moved an inch.

That's when the entry door to the room burst open suddenly.

In barged three figures...a tall woman with long, flaxen hair braided down her back, and two flanking men, each carrying naked blades. Ron turned immediately to face them, his stance dropping to one of perfect balance. If those three were guards in such a den of killers, then they would no doubt be adept in the ways of battle.

The woman took a few steps into the dorm room and paused, allowing her escorts to reach her side positions. She scanned the room quickly, as Ron had done, and took in the scene in a flash.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded at Ron, with more indignity than worry. It was as if she'd caught him flirting with the girls instead of fighting with them.

Ron had no idea how to respond at first, but then the glimmer of an out slid into his mind when he recalled that he was wearing the identical garb as her escorts. In fact, the girl he'd fought actually provided him with the idea of a possible ruse.

"It...," he began, "was...a test."

"It was a test, MISTRESS!" barked the fellow at her right. "And how dare you brandish your weapon in her presence?"

Ron knew he was on the right path with that response, so he went all in.

He dropped to one knee and stowed the black sword in one swift, graceful move, lowering his eyes to the booted feet of the woman. She was clad in knee-high leather boots which were bonded with metal shin-guards, a short skirt with layered metal ribbons, and what appeared to be a corset made of metal-covered leather armor. That uniform came complete with shoulder-pads and gold gauntlets on her forearms. She would have fit in well as a Roman centurion, he thought, and it seemed apparent that she was someone of status. The insignia at the valley between her large breasts clearly identified her rank and sub-clan, but of course Ron was unfamiliar with it. He would have to continue to adlib blindly.

"A test?" the woman queried. "Who ordered this test?"

Ron remained silent.

That did not sit well with the woman. She continued to stare at him, yet gave orders to her men.

"Make him speak!"

Without so much as a moment's hesitation, the two flanking guards rushed the kneeling figure of Ron Allison.

Ron remained on one knee, taking a huge gamble, but his blades leaped forth in his stead. The black super-sword caught one man's thrust and brushed it aside, upsetting his balance and causing him to follow suit off to the right. He parried the other with the short sword in his left hand.

Four blazing-fast defensive blocks were followed up immediately with the butt of his weapon hammering against the fellow's right shin. The thin bone shattered under the blow and he fell away to the ground in obvious agony and scrambled hurriedly out of Ron's reach.

Ron spun back to the other...his knee still firmly planted to the stone...and continued the fray. The other guard took more care and attacked with an impressive barrage of swordplay that pressed Ron hard, but Ron's position was so foreign to the attacker that he didn't quite know how to develop his apparent advantage. Ron had counted on that of course, and simply defended his posture until the man showed his frustration.

When he lost his patience and charged again, Ron guided the man's long blade just to the left of his chest, dropped his short sword, and punched him in the gut as hard as he could. That blow froze the fellow long enough for Ron to slam his sword-wielding fist into the stunned man's temple, felling him straight away. He then returned his stature to the compliant, subservient position he'd held before the attack.

The woman was shocked at the ease her guards had been bested, but too, she was furious. Her jaws clamped down hard as she thought quickly.

"This test," she began shortly. "Is it a question of how well my students are performing?"

Ron made no sound. He didn't move a muscle. He was thinking fast as well.

"Or is this a test of me?"

That was the avenue he was hoping for. He slowly raised his shrouded eyes to regard her. Her expression was exactly as he'd hoped.

"She," Ron said forcefully, pointing to the girl who'd fought him, "did well. You," he paused a few long litas to add weight to his assessment, "I have not decided."

The woman's face seemed to contort at Ron's declaration, as if a specific meaning had settled into her thoughts.

"I am a member of the high council! I cannot be held accountable for a former pupil's failures!" she announced, a bit more defensively than she might have wanted to.

Ron said nothing. He just continued staring at her.

"Am I to prove myself in the fires of battle?" she queried, her expression turning stern once again.

"If that is your wish," he responded, his hand pulling the blade free once again.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!" the woman shrieked as she lunged at Ron, her twin blades flashing in the room's bright light.

Ron met her attack in kind, his short sword working feverishly with the black sabre to deflect her every insurgence. She was exceptionally gifted with her blades, much stronger than she appeared, and absolutely focused.

The beds got kicked around as the battle raged, and the girls that belonged there pressed themselves against the outer walls to stay clear of the screaming metal that crashed and raked across one another. Many had their ears covered against that deafening barrage of sound.

In less than five borts of conflict, the woman realized something profound...that she had no more chance against him than did her student...so she took an opportune moment to scuttle back a few paces and drop her guard, hoping he wouldn't follow before she could speak.

"I would like to..." she gasped, "take this up...with the Master!" she announced in huffs.

Ron struck a pose that was neither offensive, nor suppliant. He was breathing calmly and in perfect control. That unnerved her all the more.

Ron then motioned toward the door and said; "As you wish."

One of her guards staggered to his feet to accompany them, but Ron denied him.

"Just her!" he barked, the shadow-blade suddenly leaping out as if by pure magic and resting lightly against the fellow's chest.

The bodyguard pulled up short with resentment showing, but the woman waved him aside.

"Attend Jesip, Bress," she told him. "Get him to the infirmary. I'll be fine." She then gave Ron a quick glance up and down. "If he wished me dead, I would be."

"But Mistress, I cannot..."

A glare from the woman cut his protest short and he fell back, his head bowing.

"As you wish, Mistress," he muttered.

Ron stowed his blade again and took a step toward the doorway, but stopped at another utterance.

"Mistress Assiendra," said the girl Ron had battled, "what are 'our' instructions?"

"You take charge, Irien. Begin your day as you would normally. Warm-ups, hand-to-hand, then breakfast. Blade work, tracking theory, surveillance, and biologic chemistry. This shouldn't take long too long. I'll catch up by midday."

With that, their instructor, Assiendra, strode out into the corridor with Ron close behind her.

### Chapter Twenty-four

### The Social Network

Ron and Mistress Assiendra continued down a long hallway that was lined on both sides with more of the dormitory rooms like the one Ron had entered. There were dozens of them, all showing early morning activity. That drew Ron's attention since he felt confident that these super-assassins were a rare commodity.

He was striding beside Assiendra by that point, so he chanced and inquiry.

"May I speak, Mistress?"

Assiendra flashed her pale green eyes Ron's way with a slight tilt to her head. She was only a few inches shorter than he, but the necessity to look up at him seemed odd to her, almost uncomfortable. Ron easily recalled that her guards had been half a head shorter than she.

"Possibly the men here are the more diminutive gender," he postulated.

She paused only a lita or two and replied; "Why not. After all, you could easily have taken my life back there, which leads me to a few questions of you as well. But you go first, please."

Ron filed what she'd just said into his mind so his brain might begin searching for plausible angles, but continued with his query.

"I am curious. What is the current attrition rate for your students?"

Assiendra didn't break stride.

"For this level, or total?"

"Total."

"Lately, we've seen a bit of a rise, possibly because of the growing influx of differing species. It is challenging to accommodate so wide a variety into our program. When it was just the Cacilians, the outcome was more reliable.

"At any rate, only about forty-two percent will even make it out of my authority here, at this stage of training. But the next round will cull another sixty-eight percent, then eighty-five is the average at the following step, and then ninety-seven percent at the graduate level. In fact, of all the hopeful volunteers that pass my stage...some four hundred per cycle...less than ten will survive the trials to the end."

Ron was astounded at such a failure rate, but didn't let on.

"Survive?" he thought. But then it occurred to him that they would never let a failed student leave to tell of their experiences. It was only logical.

He simply gave a slight nod.

They took a broad, winding stairway down almost fifty feet before entering another corridor. It was wide and gloomy, like the weather outside, and smelled of dampness and dust...an oddly familiar combination.

The entire structure of the sprawling facility appeared to have been made out of huge, ebony-colored stone blocks that fit together precisely, with little mortal at all. The craftsmanship was impressive.

"Now for one of mine," Assiendra said. "Why am I still alive?"

Ron's mind raced for an answer that might fit her reality. Apparently something had happened with a former student that led her to believe she'd been selected for removal.

"I was not specifically instructed to terminate you."

He then saw a narrow opening to expand his understanding of their society. "Why? Has something happened that would warrant such an order?"

"Humph!" Assiendra huffed. "It depends on your point of view, I suppose," she grumbled.

Ron didn't press her but he could see she was battling with a gnawing situation. It took only a dozen more steps before she vented.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this, but since you don't know me, then what's the harm...right?"

Ron remained silent.

"One of my former students, from three cycles past, recently failed a mission and went missing."

Ron's ears perked up at that.

"That's unheard of, of course. I mean; first, the Hoondelli very rarely fail. But secondly, she reported a successful conclusion and called in a cleanup crew, but they went dark. Then we sent in a follow-up team after the usual wait time and they also went dark...which later turned out to mean that they were all dead, of course. After a thorough search, the target was nowhere to be found, and neither was our agent!"

Ron of course knew exactly who she was referring to.

"That does sound strange, but what does it have to do with you?"

"It really doesn't, but I guess that since she visited me only a week before the assignment, the Master feels the need to investigate all possibilities...I don't know."

Assiendra left the hall and moved into a large room, heading for the opposite opening. It was a gymnasium sized space that had two balconies completely around it and a hundred ornate columns supporting those upper levels. It appeared to mimic the ancient works of Greece in its grandeur and flowing motifs, but Ron could tell it was another training ground for the students because of the incredible number of nicks and gouges from some high velocity weapons fire...most likely arrows and gun pellets. Also, the room smelled of sweat and blood.

"Wouldn't he just question you in person instead of sending an assassin?"

"That's the problem...he already did question me."

"But you don't think he was satisfied with your explanation?"

"You tell me!" she suddenly demanded, pulling up short and turning to face Ron. "He sent you, didn't he?"

Ron was stunned for a moment, with no way to get out of the obvious jam. He knew he had to come up with something quick, but in that exact instant, a new diversion presented itself to give him more time.

"He...is not the one who sent me," he told her in a low voice, his eyes suddenly locked on the second floor overlook. "But perhaps he sent them!"

Assiendra's face began to whirl around to follow Ron's gaze, but his broad hand shot out like a battering ram and struck her arm just above her elbow. That impact-absorbing limb kept him from breaking a couple of her ribs as she was launched ten feet to her right...barely before an arrow sped into the space her torso had just vacated.

She struck the smooth floor on her side and rolled to her feet as if she'd been waiting for him to do that, but as she popped back up with both her swords slicing the air, she realized that he'd just saved her life. The arrow that was meant for her was still ricocheting around the far wall's border...and Ron was returning fire.

Assiendra spun about once, seeing six attackers...two above and four rushing at them from the sides. Thinking about it from the point of view of her adversaries, (her bodyguards were nowhere around and she had no long-range weapon) it should have been a perfect ambush. But...

Ron was on the move too, diving to the side where he rolled and came up with his bow already drawn. He released two black arrows so quickly she couldn't believe it, both striking their targets, and then dove forward to avoid the incoming bolts of the second archer.

Ron tumbled twice and sprang upright to a rigid stance where another pair of black missiles erupted from his fingertips. Just that quickly, the bowmen were down.

Assiendra gaped at the effortlessness with which he'd dispatched them, but a charging assassin was barreling down on her so she braced herself.

The attacker was almost as tall as she, dressed exactly like Ron, and wielding twin short swords. She calmed and balanced herself, and then met him in a resounding clash of steel, proving immediately why she was the foremost trainer of such weaponry at the school. The two of them clanged, bashed, and hacked at one another for fully three borts before Assiendra raked the aggressor along the right shoulder deep enough to cause his blade to fall. A half instant later, she'd blocked his retaliatory move and buried her own short sword in his chest.

As the life force of that opponent drained to the smooth, marble floor, Assiendra whirled around to face anyone else who might be a threat. What she found there was another shock to her impression of the man she'd been spending time with.

Ron was plucking a knife free of one of the bodies that lay strewn about. Two of them had never gotten close enough to cross swords with him. The third's head was three feet away from its shoulders.

He had not concerned himself with her fight, feeling confident from their personal bout that she needed no help, and now was scanning the entire area for any more assailants.

"We need to move!" he hissed when his inspection was complete.

Assiendra didn't dally, but set off at a fast jog toward the opening she'd been headed to.

When they'd entered the new corridor, Ron spoke again.

"These rooms are all monitored, I presume?"

"Yes, but they shouldn't be now because there are no classes running."

"I don't think that would have mattered to whoever sent them. They were no doubt watching and have already dispatched another team."

Assiendra nodded her acknowledgement to his deduction.

"True. We'll need to divert to..."

That was it though, there was no more time to speculate or plan. The second wave hit!

The new hallway they found themselves in was constructed to accommodate approximately eight individuals abreast and had a high, arched ceiling that was intricately painted with a scene of the open sky of the outside world. It would have been a lovely place to enjoy the artistry too, had they been less engaged. As it was however, Ron and Assiendra's eyes stayed at a much lower level.

This time, ten cloaked figures rushed from the front and another five from the rear.

Ron would have made every Samurai soldier from Earth's ancient past proud in the next moment, having prepared well for the perilous mission he'd chosen. His left hand disappeared into a hidden pouch and when it came out, it held a marble-sized canister. He flicked his wrist behind him and the tiny capsule exploded ten feet away into a cloud of thick smoke that totally hid him and Assiendra from that group...and it was laced with acid!

Ron continued moving toward the others, (upwind of the slight draft of air that drifted through the hall) and the dark bow swung back into position. Three arrows leaped forward before those aggressors could close the gap, and two of them were gravely wounded. A third felt one of Assiendra's knives slam into his ribs.

Three of those dark-clad antagonists did likewise, but Ron batted one flying blade to the side with his flashing sword and dodged another. Assiendra managed to avoid the one aimed her way too...it ricocheting off her armor...and then it was sword to sword.

Ron stopped the group cold with a bold, completely unexpected move...he attacked them! Assiendra drew up beside him immediately afterward, blocking any attempt that they might have to flank his position, and then it turned into a hellacious melee` of frenzied steel.

For the first few borts, the battle was nearly a stalemate with Ron and Assiendra crushing every attack thrown at them. The strength of Ron's blows sent shockwaves through the arms of the assailants and before much longer, their fingers grew numb from the clash, forcing them to alternate with one another to press their advantage of numbers. What Ron saw however was not an advantage at all. It was a weakness. And he meant to exploit every one of those.

The next time he noticed one of the front group fade enough to cause a retreat, Ron was waiting. The instant a man glanced back to allow his buddy to swap, Ron lunged in and took the fellow's hand. That caused a panicked response from the wounded fighter which in turn fouled two more swordsmen. They both perished.

The deadly move was so smooth and swift that the men at the fringes of the bout saw nothing but their comrades sliding to the stone. It was as if they'd just fallen asleep. Their training and experience though told them what had truly happened, and so they pressed the only apparent avenue...Assiendra. After all, she was their primary target anyway.

Assiendra was holding her own pretty well, as long as Ron kept the larger group at bay, but when they shifted their focus, she fell back quickly.

Ron had seen so many skirmishes that he was ready for that too, and so he broke his previous tactics for a completely new one.

When Assiendra reached the edge of his blade's deadly reach, Ron let out a ferocious growl and whirled about violently, first left, and then right...his twin razors clearing out a swath nine feet around him.

That sudden chaos startled the group of five remaining swordsmen enough to force a momentary separation...and for Assiendra to bury a blade into one of them.

When they danced back onto their heels, Ron let one of his raven arrows fly, taking another attacker clear off his feet, and behind that a whizzing knife sliced through another's throat. In a blink of time the fight was down to one-on-one...and that was not good for the assassins' side!

Ron barely paused when his adversary fell...and that was simply to retrieve his weapons and clean them before moving off once again.

He spent only a moment listening to the smaller group who'd been caught in his gas attack. They were in no shape to pose a threat.

Assiendra followed Ron's insistence and broke into a run in his wake.

"Where can we go that they won't be able to see us?" he asked.

She hadn't ever really considered that scenario until then...the need to hide from her superiors inside their own fortress...but her many years of experience shown through quickly.

Assiendra went from nearly a sprint to a hasty slide when they passed a certain side hall.

"There!" she cried. "That way leads to the gardens and the meditation area."

Ron followed her retreating form with growing uncertainty.

Now that he was mixed up with an internal dispute of the Hoondelli Clan, how was he ever going to break free and find the central archive? It seemed like he'd destroyed any attempt at accomplishing his mission, but he simply reminded himself that he'd done what had to be done at the time and hoped that somehow it would all work out.

When they reached a wide, multi-leveled outdoor arboretum, Assiendra dropped back to a leisurely strolling pace which Ron copied. The storm had moved off by then and the day was growing bright and sunny.

"Stay behind me!" she whispered tersely, not understanding why Ron didn't know to do that automatically.

No one there took particular note of them though as they passed.

"Are there no cameras or sensors here?" Ron asked softly, taking his place at her heel.

"No. It was decided that to truly be relaxed, one had to 'know' they were alone."

"Humph," Ron grunted under his breath.

"Actually though, I think it's where the 'Elites' come to enjoy a few 'extracurricular' activities with the young recruits."

That made a bit more sense to Ron.

"So what's the plan, Assiendra?"

She cut him a strange, sharp look that restored his attitude to the present situation.

"My apologies, Mistress," he said in a submissive tone, realizing his mistake.

"You are a strange one," she muttered as she shook her head, but there was no time for speculation. "We must somehow reach the Master. That is the only hope. He will have to judge me himself before the death mark can be removed."

"Hasn't he already judged you?" Ron asked, confused by her plan. "I mean, isn't that why he's sending these men to kill you?"

They angled off to an area that was thick with lush vegetation, near a swiftly flowing waterway. It had been designed to imitate a babbling brook, complete with stones randomly spaced to appear as natural as possible. Ron found it unusually serene and peaceful.

"I understand your point, but of course you couldn't comprehend our ways unless you were one of us."

Ron was tracking every sound within ear range, scanning for anyone who might be searching for them.

"So the guards aren't part of the Clan?" his mind contemplated. "Are the Hoondelli all women? If so, who was the man; Isleff?"

He said something quite different however.

"Won't they figure out that we came in here when they can't find us on the security feeds?"

"Yes, but it should take some time...time enough for us to think our way out of here."

They went right to the edge of the garden...and to a three hundred foot drop. Ron looked down and inwardly cursed. He was trapped with a stranger who'd likely be trying to kill him if she knew he was a spy, and fleeing for his life without so much as a hint at the location of his primary goal. It was rapidly shaping up to be a seriously ugly picture.

He looked up at the summit of the massive fortress and considered calling to Flash for a few moments...but that would have really stirred up the hornet's nest. No, he needed to find a way out on his own.

Assiendra stared into the sparkling waters of the little artificial river, deep in thought, while Ron stood guard. And it's a good thing he was too because it was barely five borts before the sounds of multiple feet moving quickly reached his ears. At least by then he was ready.

Without any warning, Ron grabbed Assiendra about the waist and tossed her on his shoulder. Then, even before she could voice her outrage, Ron dropped over the edge of the waterfall...his tiny micro-winch lowering them smoothly down the vertical face of the inner wall.

The rain was gone, but there was still a good breeze blowing in the wake of the passing front, and so he descended until he and his captive were well concealed within the blowing spray of the waterfall. It was a perfect hiding place and he was quite confident that no one would look closely enough to find his cable looped about a crease in the mortar of the age-old stonework.

Assiendra was so shocked from Ron's move that she remained speechless for the next ten borts. Finally though, she found her way back through the haze of surprise and the heavy drenching downpour.

"Have you lost your mind?" she demanded, wanting to fight but too worried about the consequences.

Ron merely held her fast and waited. When he felt the searchers had been given enough time to thoroughly comb the arboretum, Ron triggered the winch again, heading up.

"No...wait!" Assiendra cried over the roar of the falling water. "Take us there!"

Ron followed her pointing finger and saw a dark place behind the falls.

"What is it?"

"It's a water wheel, for hydro-electric power. There is a maintenance service port just to the side of the wheel.

It was a struggle to fight his way through the heavy fall, but at last they squeezed into the opening and out of the flood. Ron slithered as far inside as he dared before stopping to let the cable clasp release. Then he hurried along after his accomplice.

She and Ron found a closet filled with equipment for the workers and dried themselves off again.

"We can use these tunnels to avoid the monitored hallways. I hadn't thought of it until I saw the wheel, but now I know how to reach our goal. These shafts and tubes will get us right to the Master's floor."

Two nerve-racking billots later, after slinking down another ten floors, they came out at a junction on the lowest level. It was a seldom used storage closet beside where three corridors crossed. There was a sign on the wall that directed travelers to the three primary destinations of those pathways. The one leading to the right was labeled; "Records room".

"This is where we part company," Ron told her.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I don't want to be judged by the Master for assisting you. I don't see how he won't just execute me for causing him the loss of so many men."

"Fine then," Assiendra said, extending her hand in a very Earth-like gesture of friendly parting. "Good luck to you. Thank you for your assistance, and please give my regards to your superior."

Ron found the move odd, knowing what he knew about the Hoondelli. They didn't seem to show any friendliness toward one another, but he didn't want to draw more suspicion from her so he accepted her offering, clasping her metal-shod forearm while she clasped his bare one.

When he did however, he realized his mistake instantly...but it was far too late.

The amount of electricity she hit him with would have felled an elephant.

Ron Allison dropped to his knees, still staring into Assiendra's green eyes, while his body jerked and twitched under the overpowering assault. He saw her lips curl into a grim smile, and then he was out.

### Chapter Twenty-five

### Master of the Hoondelli

Ron awakened a few billots later. His hands tied securely, as was his feet. He was lying on the cold, highly polished stone floor of what could have been a church cathedral as it had a soaring arched ceiling with numerous ornately carved columns running along both sides. There were at least a hundred hanging chandeliers scattered about that cavernous space too, along with natural sunlight blasting in from dozens of towering windows, each of them beautifully decorated as well. The windows were graced with frosted scenes of men and women who were no doubt famous in their individual native cultures, and those scenes were enhanced with colored glass images depicting spectacular natural landscapes of several alien planets. (Ron could tell the worlds were foreign because the skies were each a different color)

Another notable fact of his predicament was the fifty shrouded warriors encircling him, each armed to the teeth. They appeared as would an Earth army of 15th century Japan...carrying bows, swords, and knives. No one moved or made a sound.

Aside from them there were only five others in attendance, and they were presently involved in a quiet conversation. Assiendra was there, as were two other women and two men Ron had never met before.

Ron assumed a good deal of time had passed because Assiendra appeared freshly washed and was now dressed in more formal attire...a long flowing gown of navy blue with gold trimmings. She showed much more femininity there, and he noted that she was quite comely.

She was sitting on one of five large, ornate chairs...the central one being much grander than the pairs on either side and set several paces apart from them. The fellow occupying that center seat was a man who appeared to be of some great importance as he had four armed guards at his left and right. His clothing too was exceedingly rich in appearance, which puzzled Ron greatly.

"Vain assassins?" he thought. It didn't feel right.

"The prisoner is awake!" announced a fellow who was standing directly beside Ron.

That proclamation immediately ended the conversation the leaders were having and all eyes suddenly locked onto Ron's prone form, so he struggled to right himself into a sitting posture. Once there, he said nothing. He merely studied his captors, as they did with him.

After a long while of utter quiet, the man in the center chair finally spoke.

"Welcome, Itsu of Caron...or should we call you Shartae?" he said with a grand gesture of open arms and a bright smile. He spoke the same language as Assiendra.

Ron said nothing. His disguise had been removed down to just a small pair of trousers he wore beneath, and with his famous exposure of the Triad Games, he wasn't surprised that they knew who he was. All of his weapons were piled neatly beside the center seated fellow.

"I am Obernicus Minarty, master of the assassin clan; the Hoondelli. To my right is Assiendra Pigalli and Gigia Volle. To my left is Oen Hander, and Ielsa Wesst."

Ron regarded him directly, without even a glance over to Assiendra.

"I don't feel welcome," he said, lifting his bound hands and nodding at his similarly secured feet.

Obernicus smiled even bigger.

"No, I wouldn't think so. But this is for your own good. We didn't want you awakening and leaping to the wrong conclusion...and thereby causing a scene. You understand, yes?"

Ron had to admit that he was correct. Had he aroused unbound, he most likely would have attacked a nearby guard to gain weapons. With that thought in mind, he nodded.

"Good," Obernicus said happily. "So now that you are aware that you are under no immediate threat, there will not be a problem...right?"

Ron saw his implication and nodded. "Immediate" was the key. One false move would likely trigger a very violent reaction.

The man closest to Ron drew his dagger and leaned down.

Ron held up his wrists and was freed in moments. By the time he got to his feet, a chair was moved into position directly behind him. Obernicus indicated that he sit.

"Good," the assassin leader said when he did so. "Now, would you care for something to drink or eat?"

Ron smiled wryly at him.

"Not just now...but thank you."

"Very well then. I would like to have a conversation with you, if you don't mind. I will ask you a question, and just to be a good sport about it, I will then answer a question of yours. Does that sound fair?"

Ron wasn't completely surprised that the man was being so congenial. After all, he figured Obernicus was certain he was never leaving that room alive. So Ron decided to play along. He might even get the answers he came for.

"You are very gracious, Master Obernicus," Ron replied with a nod.

"Excellent. Then we shall begin. My first question is an obvious one. Since this facility has never been breached in the twenty-seven-hundred cycles that it has stood, how exactly did you manage to infiltrate us?"

Ron saw no need to hide the truth. If he survived past the next few billots, he didn't plan on ever returning anyway. "I climbed the eastern cliff during the storm."

There was an instantaneous murmur through the group of onlookers. "Impossible! He lies!"

Obernicus lifted his left hand to quiet them. After a few litas, the room was silent as a tomb once again.

"That seems unlikely," he said at last, his eyes drawing hard as he stared at Ron.

Ron sat back as if totally at ease. He merely shrugged his shoulders.

"My best assets have tested that route a thousand times. They say it is not scalable! Your claim seems impossible."

Ron looked Obernicus straight in the eye. "The Kreete said the same thing about a man surviving the Retribution Games...and about a human beating them in their own contests as well."

Obernicus had to admit the truth in his words. He paused for a few litas, and then relaxed again.

"Very well then, what is your question?"

Ron decided to skip the hows and whys of his capture to get to his real purpose.

"Did you sanction the execution of two of the three Benoits during the Games?"

He saw the man tense a minute amount, but it was there. Obernicus remained quiet for a long while wondering how he could possibly know that. Even the name of their clan was more of a legend than a known fact. After another moment though, he sat back again.

"Yes."

"Did your operative act alone?"

"Eh-eh-eh!" Obernicus scolded Ron lightly. "My turn. Did 'you' come here alone?"

Ron just smiled like a child who'd just been caught eating forbidden candy, and then shook his head.

Obernicus's expression of ease switched to an icy glare, and then he looked over at Assiendra.

"He spoke of no one, and I saw no one."

He then glanced to the guard who'd cut Ron free.

"Renode?" he asked.

"The Fortress Guard swept the entire complex, Master! We have found no other foreigners, and none of our sentries are missing!"

Obernicus returned his attention to Ron. He seemed to be losing his jovial attitude.

"I cannot verify the truth of your claims, Itsu."

Ron just shrugged his broad shoulders again. "It's just as well, believe me. Because if any of your people had, you would surely know about it...and they would sorely regret it!"

"That is troubling to me, just the same. Here, I am giving you good information and I feel that I'm yet to get anything on my end."

"I assure you, I am telling the truth."

Obernicus studied Ron some more, concluding that he was either being truthful or the best liar he'd ever met. He turned to his captain of the guards again.

"We are secure here, Renode?"

"Yes, Master-O," the fellow replied, bowing his head slightly. "Every door has double sentries and the sensors show no cause for worry. If someone else is in the compound, they are well hidden and of no immediate threat."

Obernicus returned to his questioning game.

"Well then, how about something more interesting? Like...how in the world did you escape the Kreete's ambush at the end of the Triad Games?"

Ron grinned broadly. "You knew about that, huh?"

The assassin master nodded, he too was smiling.

"Wait a lita, Master Obernicus," Ron stated, realizing a procedural transgression, "Isn't it my turn?"

The assassin commander thought for a brief moment, and then bowed his head graciously. "My apologies. Go ahead."

"Did your operative act alone?"

"Yes. It was extraordinarily difficult for one person to infiltrate the venues. More would have been bordering on impossible."

"Good," Ron thought. "So I'm looking for only one man."

"Now," the master continued, "back to my inquiry. The escape?"

"Yeah. Well, that was not my doing, but immensely clever and well-executed. The mednaut that patched me up was a cover for my escape...a distraction, if you will...and inside it was a marvelous invention that my friend had contrived. It actually opens a bridge in the fabric of space to any place where there is a corresponding receiver. I merely stepped through it and was gone."

"One lie after another!" Renode growled, his hand gripping his sword tightly.

Ron clamped his jaw shut tightly, the muscles of his face showing his insulted disposition. He turned to the guard and glared menacingly at him.

"Renode...," Obernicus said firmly, "and only Renode, mind you," he added to the others in the large ring, "Kill him!"

The captain of the guard surged forward without hesitation, his sword leaping from its sheath in a smooth, immensely quick action that was hard to even see. He lunged at the sitting, unarmed man barely three feet away like a leopard pouncing on a spider monkey.

As fast as Renode was, however, Ron was much faster. The guard's twenty-two-inch short sword raced down at the prisoner he'd cut free earlier only to have it, as well as all of his body's momentum come slamming to a stop almost six inches short of its goal. That's where Ron's right hand caught Renode's weapon-wielding forearm. In the next half-lita, Renode learned the lesson that so many who'd come before him had learned. Ron Allison...Itsu to those in that room...was not a man to trifle with.

When Renode surged downward, Ron sprang up, but instead of merely disarming the assassin captain, as he easily could have done, Ron released a bit of his building ire toward their clan.

With a growl rumbling from his lips and the full strength of his rounded shoulder behind it, Ron slammed the captain's chin with the heel of his left palm, snapping his head backward so violently that the man's skull struck his own spine directly between his shoulder blades. He would have been thrown from his feet too if Ron wasn't still gripping his wrist.

Renode instantly slumped to the floor...all life gone from his body.

The sword clattered to the marble floor as Ron released the dead man's arm and returned to his seated position as calmly as if visiting with an old friend. He then casually regarded his hosts with obvious indifference. Assiendra's face was dreadfully pale, casting a pasty, sickened appearance across her former lovely countenance.

"Does anyone else wish to call Itsu a liar?" Obernicus questioned in a loud voice.

The huge room was silent.

"Now," the Master said calmly, "where were we? Ah, yes. I believe it is your turn."

Ron restored his train of thought with one calm inhalation.

"Under whose wishes did you accept the contract to eliminate the Benoits?"

Obernicus paused for a long few moments.

"I suppose that under the present circumstances, I can tell you."

"You mean because I'll never leave this room alive?"

Obernicus just smiled back and spoke.

"The job was contracted anonymously...but,"

"But you don't work blindly, do you? You back-traced the payment...right?"

Obernicus shrugged his shoulders. "Possibly."

"Was it a Theranian called Jazzimeridon?"

The flick of his eyes told Ron his answer.

Obernicus suddenly dropped his cavalier attitude when he saw Ron's reaction. He'd given away too much.

"All right, then. Let's get down to business, Itsu. Why have you come here? To assassinate me?"

Ron drew back and tilted his head slightly, clearly confused by that question.

"No. I have no quarrel with you, Master Obernicus. However, as you may have guessed already, I currently have one of your operatives in my custody. The reason I came here is to find out who it was who killed my teammates. Toward that end, I propose an exchange. I'll return the operative I have to you, alive and unharmed...and in compensation, you will hand over the person who carried out the assignment against the Benoits, or provide me with their dossier. You may return to your business as soon as either that individual, or the desired information is given to me and I walk out of here."

Obernicus looked as if Ron had just told him something so absurd that he couldn't believe it. His face was stone-still, filled with absolute shock. After nearly half a bort, the leader of the assassins transformed into a completely different person. He burst out in a tremendous round of laughter.

Ron sat there puzzled. "What am I missing here?" he thought swiftly.

No one else in the room uttered a sound.

"You truly don't understand, do you?"

"Understand what exactly?"

"A few things actually," Obernicus mused. He suddenly seemed in excellent spirits. "First; the agent you claim to have..."

"I do have her."

"Yes-yes-yes, I do not doubt that, my dear Itsu...honestly. But when she botched her mission to kill you, she became worthless to us...to me. Any operative that fails to complete their assignment is marked for termination by the rest of the clan, you see. It tends to weed out those that become complacent or careless. Now, I probably could have overlooked that in this case because of just who she'd been sent to eliminate...you, of course...due to your incredible history of escaping every other attempt on your life...and of course your stellar skills of combat and survival. But when she reported success and called in a sweeper team, getting them killed and then herself captured, well that was too far outside the scope of our guidelines."

Ron felt his hope of somehow appeasing the guild slipping away, yet he could tell there was something more on Obernicus's mind.

"Nonetheless, we of the order of assassins are not without appreciation of what you have been through and what you have accomplished, both out in the other worlds, and managing to breach our defenses here. So, in an attempt to avoid the appearance of using the advantage of our overwhelming numbers against you, I will offer you a single avenue of repentance and escape."

Ron could sense a very narrow window of opportunity being pried open.

"I will grant you the information you came for and allow you free passage from our ludis under one condition."

Ron locked a steel-hard stare on the Master.

"Face me in combat!"

Ron couldn't believe his ears. "Did I just hear right?" he asked himself. "What's the catch?"

"What say you?" queried the Master.

There was no need to contemplate that question in Ron's mind. And if he did, what other avenue was there?

"I accept!" Ron replied eagerly. "Weapons?"

Obernicus stood up then, still smiling. "None."

Ron gave a cautious glance around, looking for someone who might be ready to deliver a crippling blow that would sway the bout toward their master. However, the guards all kept their distance.

Ron stood as well. He knew he'd been thoroughly stripped of his normal tools of preservation so he began to stretch out the ones he'd been left with. His neck popped as he leaned his head one way and then another. He twisted and bent his body slowly, preparing his thoughts for what was to come, and his bare feet tested the smooth floor for grip.

While Ron limbered up, Obernicus stepped down from the raised dais and approached, slowly stripping his outer coverings from himself. When he faced Ron a few moments later, he too was barefoot and wearing nothing but his trousers...attire that left him free to move.

"This man has seen me in mortal combat," Ron thought to himself. "He's watched each of those fights over and over, certainly gauging my strength, speed, and methods of defense as well as offense. He's seen me fight men, beasts, and Kreete soldiers, always the final victor...and yet he still feels confident in his triumph. That is...troubling."

The master assassin was about an inch taller than Ron and was very broad-chested, with huge, rolling shoulders and arms showing thick muscles. He was a mature man, but still well within his prime, and very lithe in his movements. He looked like a jungle cat as he glided across the stone...his eyes never leaving Ron. Slowly he began to ease to his right.

The guards remained at their positions which left a good twenty peors of space for the pair, but they also held their weapons at the ready. That was also a disconcerting detail for Ron to ponder, but he just pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. He needed to focus.

Ron held his ground, turning only enough to keep his opponent in front of him, and watched every subtle movement. The man was extremely well-balanced, and Ron had to assume he was equally as accomplished in this sort of battle.

Obernicus suddenly darted forward and delivered a flurry of blows...not punches, as they had no similarity to a boxer's moves. It was more like extreme martial arts, using the sides and heels of his hands to avoid breaking his own bones against what he deduced would be nearly unbreakable. His knees, feet, elbows, and forearms were his weapons as well, using every solid surface he had with phenomenal precision.

He struck Ron's upraised arms and torso two dozen times in the opening litas, managing to sneak in a few solid connections with Ron's chest, stomach, and ribs too. They were blisteringly fast and had brutal power behind them.

Ron countered brilliantly, willing to absorb the onslaught at first just to gauge the assassin master's abilities.

"Ten-three? Or four?" Ron inquired of Obernicus at the first opportunity.

Master-O smiled in return, greatly impressed that Ron could take such a pounding and still be able to chat...even if it was in broken sentences.

"Four," Obernicus replied. "I'm from Jarnaimo!"

Ron knew little about the world...only that it was at the edge of the Kreete Empire closest to the center of the Milky Way. Now he knew that it produced at least one extremely powerful and gifted warrior. However impressive Obernicus was though, Ron didn't worry about losing. He never did. That was the absolute wrong way to face an opponent. He fought, he watched, and he waited. Everyone had a weakness.

The bout continued, unrelenting, as the pair of ultimate fighters hammered away at one another, each giving as good as he got, and for a long while it appeared there was no advantage either way.

To the onlookers, it sounded as if two warriors were clashing with staffs made of aged hickory, so solid were the living surfaces that crashed together.

Their bodies quickly showed the signs of the struggle to those nearby too, as every surface contacted by the other fairly glowed red, and some were already turning much darker, but the war raged on nonetheless without slowing.

There was no grappling yet either, each contestant unwilling to risk the other getting a firm hold on them. And there were no big sweeping moves or roundhouse kicks like one might see in a movie. To open one's self up enough to attempt such a blow would invite a retaliatory strike that likely would cripple. Each was just that quick.

Then it happened...the moment that both of the juggernauts were waiting for.

A splash of sweat on the smoothly polished floor set the scene.

The very instant after Ron connected a savage kick to Obernicus's outer thigh, his grip on that floor gave just a bit. It was only a tenth of a lita...but it was enough.

The Master responded instantaneously to Ron's kick with a flashing fist to Ron's raised hands. It was enormously powerful, as Ron already knew from previously similar blows, but when Ron slipped, it forced a reactive shift of his hands, and that was all it took.

That momentary blink of focus allowed Obernicus to land a clean strike to Ron's nose.

Blood splattered against Ron's face as the cartilage in that appendage collapsed and the inner vessels exploded, forcing his eyes to burst as well...with tears that blinded him completely.

With such incredible success, Obernicus stepped it up a few notches, immediately setting his feet loose. The leverage a strong man can generate in a flying round-house was nearly unbelievable, so when Obernicus's foot slammed into Ron's head as he fought to clear his vision; it took him completely off his feet. He fell hard against the marble floor, his thoughts rattled badly, but not quite badly enough. He instinctually spun away just fast enough to elude an incoming blow that may very well have killed him.

Obernicus didn't relent however, tracking him and continuing the savage assault. He'd seen what Itsu...Shartae...could do when given even half a moment's reprieve, so he wasn't about to consciously grant it. He dropped one heavy fist after another, with as much of his weight behind them as he could, onto every vulnerable surface.

Ron tucked himself into a ball and rolled as much as he could, using his ears to track his assailant's position to avoid a lethal blow, but the ones he did sustain hurt badly. Obernicus knew well how to strike to deliver the maximum amount of pain, and inwardly Ron had to admit the expertise of the Master was quite advanced.

Ron countered the incoming rain of aggression as well as he could, but Obernicus didn't allow him enough time to even think about regaining his footing, preferring to keep his opponent confined to a submissive position.

In what felt like a billot, but in reality was only half a bort, Ron regained the use of his eyes for a fleeting moment of time. What he saw was a knee barreling in at his face!

Instead of a futile attempt to block the man's full weight from colliding with his skull, Ron rolled into the blow just enough to have it glance off his jaw instead, causing Obernicus to slide deeper into the clash...and finally into his grasp.

The Master was atop his adversary, apparently in a dominant position, but when Ron swapped his hands from protecting his face to the assassin's ankle, Obernicus suddenly faltered.

"Oh no!" flashed through his mind when he felt those viselike fingers ensnare him.

With a grunting growl, Ron changed tactics so quickly that Obernicus was taken completely off guard. He wrenched the master's entire body around in one violent, maniacal surge, taking that trapped leg with him.

Even with his superior physical makeup, Obernicus's ankle wasn't strong enough to withstand such an attack, and so it leaped from its socket in a white hot flash of mind-searing agony.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" he screamed.

That high-pitched vent of pain startled everyone in attendance...but none more so than the man who'd issued it.

Master-O thrashed out with his other foot but Ron was already too far ahead of him, spinning about and sinking his own heel solidly into the assassin's groin. Then it was Ron who took control.

With the snarls of an enraged tiger cascading from his bloody mouth, Ron covered Obernicus like a demonic cloak, his numerous natural weapons now falling heavily upon the injured man. Master-O had never been in such a precarious state in all his long life, even though he'd fought nearly two thousand other men, and so his actions quickly became desperate and sloppy.

Ron snagged his right hand after a frantic punch and pinned it down to his waist. An instant later his fist slammed into Master-O's right shoulder so powerfully that the leader of the assassins lost all feeling in that arm for nearly a bort. Another sinister grunt later saw six of his Obernicus's ribs collapsed beneath Ron's driving knee.

Ron was a specter of torrential misery after that, holding nothing back as he targeted each nerve cluster in the assassin's body and struck.

Obernicus was quickly transformed into a writhing, pitiful sight, and his cries of anguish echoed clearly across the huge room.

It was too much for one of the Hoondelli's young guards to take, so when Ron's back was to him, he swung the butt end of his spear with all his strength, catching the side of Ron's head squarely. The result was a resounding "crack" that made most of the other men cringe from the awful noise.

If he too hadn't been created with the bone structure of a heavy-worlder, Ron's skull would have been crushed, but instead, he slumped off to the side with jumbled thoughts and tiny white sparkles dancing across his vision.

That gave Obernicus the chance to escape his reach and recover somewhat, gathering his wits again. At that particular moment, the master was unaware of the timely assistance his guard had given. He thought he'd connected with a powerful kick he'd sent Ron's way, not knowing that it had landed on Ron's tricep and not his chin, doing almost no damage at all.

Master-O scrambled to his knees barely arm's length from Ron, wheezing hard to catch his breath and dragging his torn ankle. But when he saw the mighty Itsu slumped and clearly dazed, even in his ragged, pain-laced state, he leaped forward.

Ron's vision was tripled and his equilibrium was thirty degrees askew when the assassin master collided with him, so his defense was much less than its usual crispness. Another thirty litas of battle found Ron face down underneath Obernicus again, with his left arm locked in the assassin's two-handed grip...and at the breaking-point. The master's feet were stretched out straight to the side for leverage and he was pulling hard across Ron's back. In his own mind, Obernicus wondered if he could even muster the strength in his battered body to finish the attack...to cripple the infamous Shartae. He knew he needed to badly if he even hoped to survive, so he leaned back even harder.

Ron felt the structure of his arm screaming at him in utter desperation, but the only sound that issued from his lips was a deep, hate-filled growl. That searing wave of angst at least had one positive effect though. It forced his mind back to the sharpness he needed, and so clarified his next action.

At that point, in a move that no sane man would ever have intentionally made, Ron twisted against that pain hard. His left elbow exploded...but...it brought his right one around with lightning speed, straight into the back of Obernicus's neck.

There was a horrendous, sickening "pop" sound before the master assassin's body fell away to the cold floor where he then lay as limp as a wet towel. To all within eye sight, it was clear that the fellow would never rise again.

Ron ignored his own broken appendage as he followed that sagging frame all the way down too, his next strike raised high in the air in the form of the edge of his iron-hard hand.

As it streaked toward Obernicus's unprotected throat however, his rational side sparked to life once more, taking him out of the blood-raged desire to kill simply because he still needed a single bit of information. Too, that was when Ron suddenly understood that the Hoondelli master would fight no more, and so he halted that killing blow, one inch short of fatal contact.

As a final release of that adrenalin-soaked bout, Ron's face quickly shot to the high-peaked ceiling above him and out poured the most hair-raising, bone chilling cry that any human had ever heard from another of their species...the victory call of the Aredanz Mountain folk. It echoed and reverberated around that acoustically exceptional space for nearly a bort, and the fifty armed soldiers that still surrounded the contestants each involuntarily shuddered before it diminished.

Finally though, Ron returned his attention to his surroundings, his eyes darting around the group of armed men. His left armed dangled pitifully beside him and blood ran heavily down the side of his head where that spear shaft had struck, splitting his scalp, but he didn't even show that he felt it. To those warriors, he still appeared as lethal as ever.

They were slowly, cautiously closing in on him and their master, spears and arrows all trained on Ron. Ron's thoughts raced. Was he to die here anyway? He assumed so as he looked about. After all, he'd just vanquished their supreme leader after infiltrating their secret fortress. How could they ever let him leave? The searing pain in his arm was forgotten as he prepared to continue the battle to his last breath. But then a new angle rushed to the foreground of his mind.

He decided to try the only obvious route left to him. He stared down into Obernicus's glazed eyes.

"I have survived, Master Obernicus," he told the man who lay beneath him struggling to breathe. "By your own pledge, you owe me the answer to my quest...and my freedom."

Obernicus's eyes slowly focused again, locking onto Ron's uncompromising face. The two combatants exchanged much more than words could have in those brief litas...each showing respect, and even admiration to the other.

"Well fought," Obernicus said in a strained voice, obviously having a great challenge at speaking.

Ron stared back. He hoped the fellow would live long enough...and keep his vow.

"Tell me," Ron urged.

As a response, the master assassin began to chuckle. It was a pathetic jumble of jerks and twitches, but Ron could tell he was laughing by his eyes. That made a cold sweat break out on Ron's face.

"Was he taunting me?" Ron feared. "Would he rather die with the answer still locked inside his mind?" But then...

"I can't believe," Obernicus began, his speech growing ever more difficult to create, "that you came all this way...planned this...entire campaign...filled with...peril...when you had the one you sought all along."

Ron's brow furrowed intensely. "What are you saying? That Phealcy is really..." Ron's brain at last clunked into gear with a sudden shock. What would be the easiest alias to keep track of when in a pinch? Your own name pronounced in reverse? "Isleff?" he said, answering his own question.

The irony of the situation was so overwhelming that the master assassin couldn't keep from continuing his mirth, right up until he expired.

Ron rose to his feet and faced the other officers who made up the council of the Hoondelli.

"You heard his pledge before the match. I am to be freed by his command."

Assiendra glared back at Ron, and then her expression changed to one of sly betrayal.

"As Obernicus is now dead, he no longer commands the Hoondelli. 'I' am next in line, so 'I' am now the provisional leader. These soldiers are thereby under my control! And I see no reason to let you leave...or live."

Ron snarled at the woman.

"I saved your life several times this very day! You owe me a life-debt. You owe me my freedom!"

Assiendra drew herself up, her lovely chin rising sharply in the attempt to look down on the man taller than she.

"I 'owe' no one!" she cried savagely. "I did not beseech you to come to my aid! I did not pay for or seek your partnership! You gave it freely! I owe you nothing!"

She was practically shrieking when she finished, and her eyes were wide with insult and indignation.

"So be it then," Ron returned, his strategy shifting markedly. "I will make you a single offer, and I suggest you take it. Set me free now, or every man in this room and any who stands in my way will die!"

Assiendra was so surprised by his threat that she stood as still as the marble beneath her for several litas. The huge hall grew silent once again. And then, in a fit of utter rage, she gave her answer.

"KILL HIM!" she screamed.

"NOW!" Ron bellowed in response.

In that split lita, the world of the Hoondelli shattered like the beautiful glass window at the southeast side of the building...into absolute chaos, and grisly carnage.

Flash burst into the great hall like a tornado erupting straight from the bowels of hell!

The battle cry of a Redalion Tracker sent a dozen men to their knees, their bladders emptying onto the shining floor of the hall.

He was an absolute blur, his flashing claws shredding everything they touched, and panic filled the air even faster than the blood.

Ron broke into motion as well, taking the opportunity of surprise into his grasp...as well as a sword from a dazed guard. In the following bort, Ron slew ten of the Hoondelli's elite guardsmen, as well as the other male councilman...and Flash took care of all the others.

Finally, when the floor was covered in thick red fluid, Ron stood facing the only remaining enemy...Assiendra...and that was only because he chose it so.

Flash stood behind her, close enough that she could feel his breath on her neck and hear the splash of blood dripping off his jaws and onto the floor. She still held her sword, but she was utterly defenseless against either of them and she knew it.

Her expensive, beautiful gown was literally covered in the gore of her men, and her feet were ankle deep in their entrails.

Ron stepped up closer to her.

"You chose wrong it seems...Mistress."

She glared back at him as her body quivered with what she would have thought was impossible...terror.

Ron recovered his belongings from Obernicus's dais before taking the man's seat.

"YOU DARE..." Assiendra began to say, but a ground rumbling vibration suddenly burst forth from behind her and her words locked solidly in her throat. Just as suddenly, she reconsidered scolding her vanquisher and stood stock-still.

While Flash stood guard, Ron carefully studied the controls at the Master's command center until he had the head-up display going.

"So, Assiendra," Ron queried casually while he searched through the layers of control data. "Exactly how is it that you figured out who I was earlier?"

The assassin queen stayed quiet for a few moments, but then decided to answer just to bide more time.

"I didn't know who you were...precisely. But after crossing swords with you, I had firm suspicions that you were not one of our guards. You were too well accomplished. Also, we Hoondelli stand alone in battle and in life, so no guard or assassin would have ever come to my aid without direct instructions. And since I knew the Master had not sent you to kill me...because you let me live...the only conclusion left was that you were a foreigner. That unlikely epiphany was the single reason that kept me from exposing you right away...the fact that I couldn't believe our training grounds could be breached. You gave yourself completely away though when you asked where we might go without being seen. Every student or guard would know that answer after their second cycle here."

Ron remained silent, but followed her explanation to conclusion while he carried on with his search, nodding at the specific points of his obvious errors. Afterward though, it was only a matter of a few litas before he had the main gates open and the shield generator off-line.

When that was done, he stood up and plunged his raven saber through the console before approaching the newest Hoondelli leader.

"Well, Assiendra, just like so many times before in my life, you and your people passed up the opportunity to kill me when you had it. You wished to flaunt your superiority in my face before the execution, realizing a bit too late your own error.

"Now you and those still alive will have to endure the results of that decision."

Ron regarded the woman a moment more, standing there in the midst of the horrible carnage.

"Remember one thing, Mistress," Ron said before striding from the room. "Karma is a bitch!"

He felt like he'd been hit by a truck, but she couldn't tell it as his movement was still as smooth and fluid as when she'd first met him. His left arm was blasting away at his brain with pulsing surges of fire, but he completely ignored it, preferring to keep his focus on what might manifest outside.

When Ron and Flash were barely twenty peors from the Council Hall, a rousing alert erupted from the broad courtyard and at least a hundred faces spun around in waves until all eyes were transfixed on the pair.

Four turrets mounted with plasma cannons whirled about swiftly, drawing down on the massive sight of the tracker. Those weapons were meant for incoming aircraft and had the power to destroy the creature in a single energy blast...but before they could even stop their turns, Ron had already sent a mental message.

"DANGER!"

Flash accelerated so fast that Ron's eyes widened at the sight, but then he too was forced to break into a run to try and avoid whatever firepower came his way.

He only made it about fifty peors before pulling up again however, his worry erased once more.

Even though the nearest turret was two hundred peors away, Flash had reached it and ripped it from its pedestal. The three others might possibly have gotten a shot off at him had they not suddenly spun about again and pointed to the sky, off to the east. They lit up the breathtaking blue with their energy bursts for a very brief moment before each exploded from the returning barrage, along with a sizeable chunk of the supporting wall.

Ron smiled a sinister grin at the destructive power unleashed against his enemies.

Flash rushed back to Ron's side and cut loose with another blasting challenge.

Fully half of those watching collapsed to the ground before scrambling for cover.

"STEP ASIDE OR DIE!" Ron bellowed at those still looking, his black sword sweeping across the courtyard menacingly. Then he began to walk again.

The path to the entry gate was almost a hoz away, but not a single person stood to bar the passage of the wounded man and his faithful companion, especially when the _Darlile_ swooped in and hovered ominously over that gateway.

Ron lay asleep in the medical station of the _Darlile_ half a billot later while Cache set off into space. One last thing before they left orbit though, was to initiate an alert on every open frequency they knew of.

"To anyone interested, the coordinates of the stronghold of the assassin clan known as the Hoondelli are as follows..."

By the time the alert reached halfway across the Triad, fifty ships were inbound to the planet. Three were the giant destroyers of the Kreete themselves.

### Chapter Twenty-six

### An Offer to Benoi

After three torjournes of interstellar travel, the _Darlile_ finally dropped out of faster-than-light mode and reentered the physical realm of space.

Ron was once more at the controls and he and Cache both sat facing backwards. He triggered the decel protocol and they were instantly pressed deep into their superbly constructed chairs, ready for the next sixteen billots of braking.

It was a tremendous inconvenience to them, being pinned down for such a long time, but they felt it was better to stay awake and alert than to slumber through it in their sleep-pods. By then they were well-seasoned travellers and therefore too aware of the dangers of space to simply ride along, oblivious to what might come to pass.

Ron had undergone reconstructive surgery to his left elbow and slept for three solid days in a Flarinca tank after leaving the Hoondelli. He'd awakened stiff and sore but had immediately begun stretching and rehabilitating his arm. Now he was as good as new and looked forward to the next step in his mission.

While Ron was still being repaired, Cache had tried to send Flash back to Caron, but he'd already caught a glimpse of their destination in Ron's thoughts and wanted to feel the gravity of a world equal to his species' natural structure. She'd fed him well and now he slept in the hold of the ship in a semi-hibernated state.

"Ron," Cache asked for the fifth time, "are you truly sure that you wish to go through with this? I mean, it is not like you and Draake were ever 'friends'."

Ron smiled again, having come to the same realization she had.

"Yeah, I know. Draake and I were at odds much of the time, but Al and Brome had seemed okay with me. I don't want to believe that the Benoits are all so stern and unyielding as to be a danger to me."

Cache deliberated that as she'd done before. Was she being too suspicious...too cautious...she wondered.

"Perhaps," she conceded in her mind, "but if they are, they could snap you in half before you could even defend yourself...especially on their world!"

She said nothing to Ron of course. He'd made his decision.

"I want you to stay in the ship though," Ron added emphatically. "If they aren't as appreciative as I'm hoping, you'll need to get the hell out of there fast!"

"I will not abandon you, Ron," Cache said flatly, "no matter what else happens. But I may not be able to keep you safe either. They are exceptionally quick."

Ron changed the subject after that, trying to break the building tension. They discussed more future plans for a while and enjoyed the views all around them. That section of the galaxy was densely packed compared with their own sectors, and the marvels were many and wondrous.

At a quarter VL-1, Ron released the decel program and took over flight manually. Cache arose and went to the hold to get Flash up and around.

Four billots later, she triggered the deactivation sequence that allowed them through the planetary defense barrier. That's when the butterflies really began.

Cache established a communication link with the current leadership group and soon received a set of landing coordinates that lured them to the northern hemisphere.

Six Benoi missile batteries were trained on her beloved ship when it touched down, and she prayed to the Creator that they would hold their fire long enough to have the meeting. The Benoi people had every reason and right to be skeptical of any foreigner, but she clung to the hope that her people giving them the protection of the Shotal Planetary Shield would buy her at least a small amount of good will.

She kept the engines spooled up and shields at maximum however...just in case.

When they'd settled to a stop, Ron grunted aloud, that act being mirrored by his partner.

"Holy cow!" he said. "No wonder the Kreete can't live here. I don't see how anyone could."

Cache had to concentrate on her body to keep her breaths regular and deep. It was tempting to try the easier way out and take shallow gulps, but she wanted to stay atop her game. Their lives might depend on it.

Ron struggled to his feet and went to the aft cabin to retrieve his offerings.

When the _Darlile's_ entry door opened, there were twenty armed Benoi warriors surrounding the black ship. They were just beyond the range of the shield's matrix.

Ron didn't falter, although he had to take care not to stumble as he exited the ship. Even that small step was immensely foreign under the pull of the massive planet. He was armed as usual, but held his hands up and open.

The leader of the Benoi entourage stepped forward, adjacent to a pair of gigantic (even for Benoits) soldiers carrying large, deadly looking weapons.

"I am Osar-Kan Diminias Argarian," the huge fellow said, "the current head of security for our leadership committee, and chosen spokesman."

He of course spoke Benoi, not much caring if the puny human man could understand him or not, but guessing he had some form of translator on his person. "How did you manage to enter the planet shield? We were informed that no ship could!"

Ron put the fellow's gruff manner aside, already accustomed to their kind, and introduced himself.

"I am Ron Allison, Ambassador of Rauld, the provider of the planetary defense shield that keeps your world safe. We came through the barrier using a secure code that only Rauld has access to. This is a one-time entry that I decided was necessary. From this point on, no ship will enter without your people's express permission."

Osar-Kan just stayed where he was, his misshapen eyes glaring down at Ron. Suspicion was on his mind, not daring to believe this tiny intruder had anything but his own people's agenda on his.

Ron tried his best to keep his breathing smooth and deep, but the strain of standing was enough to force him to hurry the meeting along.

"I don't know if your people were allowed to watch the most recent series of the Triad Games, but..."

"We know who you are, Itsu of Caron. What do you want?"

His speech was barely more than condescending growl.

Ron was again reminded of how the ultra-heavies viewed all lessor beings.

"I have come here to offer the Raulden people's help and friendship...that is all. We are trying to build a consortium of planets, outside the influence of the Kreete, which may benefit from commerce and social exchange."

Osar-Kan stood motionless for a full bort while he mulled over Ron's declaration. His warrior escorts stayed at the ready. At last, he decided to delve a bit further.

"These Rauldens are the ones who established the planet shield?"

"Yes."

"And you are one of them?"

"No, but I do represent them."

"Why should we trust a group who dare not even face us?"

"They have no way of surviving your world. They are physically much more fragile than I am, and even I must confess that I cannot stay here very long."

"These weaklings are not worthy of our friendship!" Osar-Kan snarled, the contempt clearly present in his voice.

"They are the best chance of defying the Kreete...maybe the only chance."

"Why should we believe you?"

"I worked beside one of your great kings...the mighty Draake Tarbold...and two of his allies, Bromethius Carennigy and Alistropolis Popenegrin! We fought together through the hazards and death of the Games side by side, each relying on the other."

"Yes," Osar-Kan said with a hiss in his speech. "But THEY are now dead while YOU remain alive! What are the Benoi people supposed to make of that?"

"Make what you will of it," Ron replied, his annoyance at their affront taking a leap.

At that time, the hold of the Darlile opened and Flash tore out of it, taking a few quick laps around the ship. He knew just how much space he had without even asking...sensing the energy field.

The Benoits all took a couple steps back, readying themselves against an attack.

Flash completed his investigation of the feel of the planet and cruised to a stop next to Ron like a trained canine...a massive, hideous one at that. Ron patted his snout and stroked his neck affectionately.

"What do you think?" Ron mentally asked his old companion.

"Strange," Flash replied.

Then, as if the beast could tell that the Benoits held little appreciation for his friend, Flash released a monstrous, blasting cry that forced the hair on the ultras to stand erect. That bonding show seemed to add a good deal of respect to Ron's overall presence.

"I have brought you a peace offering that might appease your mistrust," Ron then said to Osar-Kan. "Do you remember when Brome was lost during the trip from Aquaria to Jarhress?"

Osar-Kan nodded his massive head, his eyes still on the terrifying figure of the male tracker.

Ron turned and moved to the open hold of the _Darlile_. A moment later he hauled out a container on a hover-sled that he brought over to the edge of the shield. It was easily four peors long and two wide. He popped the seal of the container and stepped aside.

Inside the huge box was the body of a Kreete commander. It was Praetor Jocory Teel, commander of the _Brazen Eel_...a Kreete heavy cruiser. When Ron first mentioned his plan of contacting the Benoits, Cache had scoured the myriad layers of chatter throughout the empire until she'd found the brainchild behind that dastardly attack.

"This is the Kreete Lord who arranged the destruction of the ship."

"How do we know this is the truth? What proof do...?"

"Cache," Ron said calmly.

Instantly a holographic projection lit up at the section of the shield in front of Osar-Kan and the men closest to him. It played all the segments of recordings from the _Confarii_ that condemned the commander.

Osar-Kan seemed pleased with that.

"Good. We are in your debt."

"Also, I have one other gift."

Ron returned to the entry portal and stepped in for a moment, exiting again with Phealcy stumbling behind him. Her hands were bound.

"This is one of a clan of master assassins known as the Hoondelli. She is responsible for the snare that killed Alistropolis, and the poisoning death of Draake Tarbold."

Ron shoved Phealcy ahead of him and she dropped to her hands and knees. She glared back at Ron and spat at him.

"This tiny female killed our greatest warriors?" Osar-Kan asked in amazement. "How is this possible?"

"They are trained in the ways of death from an early age. They survive in the shadows and ply their trade by stealth and deceit. There are none finer."

Osar-Kan's lip began to vibrate with anger and his grip on his weapon creaked from the mounting pressure.

"You said you wouldn't kill me...that you wouldn't even harm me!" Phealcy moaned at Ron.

"I'm not, and I won't," Ron replied. Then he turned back to Osar-Kan. "I know that I have given you much to contemplate, so I will withdraw now and give you time to do so. If ever you wish to accept the Raulden's offer, just use the com. Good day and long life!"

With that, Ron Allison turned and climbed back into the black ship with Flash on his heels, leaving Phealcy on the ground where she fell. The _Darlile_ lifted slowly into the air and then moved off, heading for space.

Phealcy used what strength she had left to look into the glaring yellow eyes of Osar-Kan and a few of his men.

The assassin who'd been trained to focus on completing her assignment above all else...to ignore any and all forms of pity and compassion...found none staring back.

### Chapter Twenty-seven

### Ron finds a Malicart

The _Darlile_ sat as still and lifeless as one of the boulders beside her, on the surface of a proto-planet in the Eonizor Sector of the Kreete Empire. All her systems were off except for life support, a low-energy scattering field, and the central viewer. Stealth was key at the moment.

Ron Allison sat in the right seat of the cockpit, frustrated and bored nearly out of his mind. He'd been positioned there for the past four dactrais, waiting...and even though he'd performed longer stakeouts on other occasions, his patience was wearing thin. He'd sent Cache to Coriolus when they received a call from Fraidze. He was in desperate need of assistance with stabilizing and rebuilding his homeworld's society after the glorious, yet shocking removal of the Kreete from their lives.

"I do not feel it is right to leave you here all alone, Ron," she'd told him.

"Don't be ridiculous, Cache," Ron had countered. "This is probably the least dangerous mission I've been on...especially at this present time. There's no need for both of us to sit here with nothing to do but wait. Go. You're great at that kind of thing...organizing and getting people to work together. I'll be fine."

Cache hated to leave, but too, she despised the drag of time during those limbo periods, when everything was on hold. She needed to be doing something.

She'd now been gone two dactrais.

All around him were spinning and tumbling pieces of space rock...including the rather hefty one he'd landed on...and at first he'd been intrigued by it all, but now he was anxious to get on with the assignment.

The debris field had once been a planet, many thousands of cycles in the past. It had lived out its multi-billion-cycle life around the bright orange star that now lay eighty million hoz away, until it had died the way all planets eventually do; its core had cooled and solidified. Whatever life might have called its surface home at that time was extinguished when that spinning fluidic center could no longer create a magnetic field to protect that life. When that happened, it's atmosphere blasted into space and it became just another chunk of sterile interstellar stone.

Nearly three million cycles after its death, a random cosmic collision took place and the former center of some life's existence was pulverized into a gigantic trail of cosmic rubble. The one boon out of the whole mess was that when the planet was cracked open, its core was exposed. That offered up a veritable gold-mine of heavy metals and exotic minerals to any space-faring species who could collect it...and so in the more recent past, it had attracted the very worst type of beings.

At the midpoint of the field spanning more than six-hundred-thousand hoz, a space station hovered. It was the _Majet Emara_ (Crown Jewel). It too was spinning away, but that rotation was not naturally occurring. It was specifically designed to create a livable environment for its numerous inhabitants. Spanning more than five hoz across, it was a state-of-the-art mineral processing facility with the flow capacity of ten thousand ibetic tons (Kreete tons) per dactrai. Out of that immense intake, one hundred tons of purified gadorium (a hyper-strong alloy used for armor plating) was produced. It was a material rare enough to make everyone there rich beyond reason, even after their sponsor's cut of seventy-seven percent. The downside of that lucrative business...at least to the workers...was the fact that the station was also a slave colony.

Due to the unique nature of the primary components of the mining operation, Cnauts' sensors were all but useless, so up-close oversight and dexterous, hands-on guidance of the plasma diggers necessitated the use of humanoids. Furthermore, the space inside those particular machines was extremely limited, so the operators had to be quite small...thereby, the most practical solution was to employ either very small men, or women. The Kreete overseers decided on females, feeling their sex was decidedly more manageable than males...although the obvious side benefits of such an alluring cache were a definite plus as well.

The main drawback to the operation however, was that much of the ore the women had to work with was radioactive...sometimes highly so in fact...which caused the lifespans of the miners to be dramatically short. Most didn't live out even a single cycle. Such a waste of life wasn't a concern to the Lords though, having plenty of sources to replenish the workforce.

So, with a never-ending supply of slaves, the operation continued around the clock without hesitation. When a batch of workers became too sick or died, typically thirty to forty each torjourne, a new one was flown in to take their places. The restocking schedule was generally once every santari.

The entire operation was a human death machine.

That fact was the primary reason the Raulden Council had sent Ron there.

While Ron waited, he watched several small spacecrafts glide in and around the field, searching the pieces carefully. He guessed that they were the inspectors, marking each rock with a potential output value that was placed into a queue of some sort. Then, when one was selected for processing, large plate-like devices entered the scene. To move the chosen stones out of the proximity of their dangerous brothers, the plates would simply slide up next to them. Only moments later, those chunks would begin slowly drifting away.

A quick council with the _Darlile's_ avatar confirmed what Ron suspected. The 'plates'...septagonally shaped sections of thin material...somewhat akin to plywood sheeting but four times as large...were actually gravity-canceling generators operating similarly to those aboard the _Darlile_ that allowed for a smooth, vertical takeoff when planet-side. They would position themselves directly between the star and the rock, and when activated, the selected stone would simply begin drifting toward the outer edge of the band of debris by its own centrifugal force. If the chosen piece was too large for a single panel, several plates would 'link up' to create a larger canceling device.

Ron saw one such action where seventy plates joined to move a rock ten times the size of the _Darlile_. Once clear of the hazardous field, the miners would attack it for salvage dissection.

Unstable pockets in those chunks of debris also caused the work to be highly dangerous, but that concern too was overridden by the Lords. It was a necessary hazard, but a windfall of efficiency because separating the choicest parts of the asteroids out in open space saved valuable time and resources during final processing aboard the station.

The 'mine' had been in operation for only five cycles, and so calculating the mass of the twin planet debris field bore at least another fifty cycles of high yield material. Those running the facility were extremely confident in the security of their bright future...barring some tragedy or calamity popping up to disrupt their plans, of course.

Little did they know just how near that was.

Finally, almost halfway through the third dactrai after Cache's exit, the viewer gave Ron the news he'd been waiting for.

"Alert. Inbound spacecraft. The _Denartion Whale_ is approaching from grid 102.56 by 178.84."

"What is its cargo?" Ron inquired.

"132, 326 ibetic tons of supplies and equipment, and 1243 humanoids. Three hundred and fifty females are slated for offloading."

"What is the total capacity of the ship...specifically sleep pods?"

"Fifteen thousand."

"Good then. It's just as we'd hoped...and it's about dragen time!"

The freighter/transport still had more than twelve billots of decel time before docking, so Ron went aft, performed his usual daily workouts, showered, ate, and slept. When he awakened, the ship was just passing by his hiding place.

Another three and a half billots drifted by agonizingly slowly before the _Denartion Whale_ settled into its berth and began delivery of its goods. And that's when Ron let out a huge sigh of relief.

"Okay. Let's go!"

The _Darlile's_ twin engines were lit in another bort, and then off to the _Majet Emara_ Ron flew.

The facility had only a small military escort to protect it...fast fighters that could take care of the typical thieves and pirates that roamed the cosmos. They had impressive weapons and were extremely agile, easily capable of handling even the most well-armed pirates.

It was normally considered a very cushy assignment since stealing the kind of ore that the station produced took a huge ship that couldn't very well zip in and out before they could tear it to pieces. Also, those pilots could have their pick of the workers for whatever 'recreation' they were in the mood for.

That degree of inaction however, combined with the advanced stealth capabilities of the _Darlile_ , gave Ron a huge advantage because he was right on top of the facility before they could even react.

"Emergency alert!" screamed over the station's intercom, issued from the automated sensor grid that was spread across the entire field. It was a new system, and very good, but it was calibrated to search out those large space crafts that any raiding party needed, not a sleek and nimble, well-camouflaged attack ship like the _Darlile_.

The station appeared to be constructed out of an enormous ring of shining metal tubing with large bulges attached to it at regular intervals, but the tube was just the spine of the structure...the interconnecting walkway. Each of the 'bulges' was a module that served a particular function. And each module was matched with its twin at the exact opposite side of the ring. That was the only way to keep the assembly balanced, and therefore in smooth, fluid motion.

At the very center of the structure, connected to the outer ring by seventy thousand spokes made of conductive cable, was the power generator. It was a massive engine, twice the size of the _Darlile_ , and able to furnish all the energy needs of the advanced complex.

On one side of the huge wheel was a particular module that was designated as the control center of the station, where the commander sat and all his officers monitored the entire operation. They oversaw everything from the workings of the sanitation equipment, to the processing of ore, to the strength of the shields that protected them from solar radiation, to the firing of high energy plasma cannons.

Their duties were also extremely repetitive, mundane, and tedious...which inherently left the crew lackadaisical and lazy. So, with long cycles of monotony punctuated only by scheduled, seemingly useless drills, their response time was quite a bit slower than they would have preferred, especially at that particular moment.

Before the commander's team could even confirm the threat was real and create an emergency call to the Kreete military command posted three dactrais away, a series of flashing blue plasma bursts crushed the station's shields and vaporized the entire communication array.

That's when things became the exact opposite of dull.

Ron brought the dark ship around for another pass just in time to catch the Kreete fighters blasting off their docking berths. There were fourteen two-man fighters, and seven of them immediately spread out in a diamond formation to engage the aggressor. The other half stayed near the station, just in case the black ship wasn't alone.

Ron slapped the throttles to the halfway point and put the _Darlile_ in a tight barrel roll, his guns lighting up the darkness of space in a flashing, rhythmic cadence.

The fighters broke up their formation to evade the incoming fire, but two of them did not move fast enough to escape, taking full power blasts from the mystery ship. They did not stay intact.

The five other Kreete ships whirled around to give chase to the swift attacker, but Ron decided to change the dynamics of their move. Instead of keeping his speed up and turning in a wide, sweeping maneuver, he chopped the throttles, kicked the _Darlile_ into a quick flip, and then slapped the engines to full. His body was crushed into his seat hard enough to squeeze half the air out of his lungs, but it also got him face to face with three of the Kreete warcrafts at nearly point blank range. Ron felt a rumble in his body as their plasma bursts slammed into the _Darlile's_ shields, but it was hardly anything to concern him. He destroyed those as well.

From there the remaining two fighters called for the other seven in a frantic plea for help, but before they could all join up, Ron had chased them down and shredded them.

The second wave of Kreete weapons chose a tight formation that could better utilize their group shielding, but it proved to be a moot point when the _Darlile_ cut loose with her cannons. They lasted less time than their predecessors. The dogfight was over just that fast.

Next, the _Majet Emara_ engaged its own cannon turrets which instantly sought out the lithe black ship, but the _Darlile_ fouled the station's sensors with ingenious countermeasures tailored to fool that specific system. Ron destroyed the turrets without much trouble.

Ten borts later, Ron eased into a position that placed the _Darlile_ directly in front of the space station's control center...and then he triggered the com.

"Who was in command of the _Majet Emara_?"

Silence was all he received, even though he could see the crew clearly through the observation windows.

Ron charged the forward cannon.

"Respond or be destroyed!" Ron demanded.

The commandant stood up.

"I am Sherian Mooar...Reaver class warrior of the Kreete Triad. I am in charge of..."

"No, Slag! You're not! You 'WERE' in charge! Now, 'I' am!"

The gray-skinned face of Commander Mooar turned deep red at that rebuke, realizing how true Ron's statement was, but he still felt the need to show defiance.

"You have committed an act of war against the Triad! You will be hunted..."

"Shut up, Mooar!" Ron snapped, his patience on a short fuse. "I'm calling the shots now!"

"You have no authority here...whoever you are!" Mooar continued. "I do not yield to..."

"Stop talking!" Ron barked at him. "You will do as I command, or you will all die!"

Sherian again appeared to fume, yet that time he held his tongue.

"First, you will get all the prisoners of this facility loaded into the _Denartian Whale_! When that is done, you will move all the jailers into the command module! When the transport is away, I will go with it! You can then do what you wish. Do you understand?"

"I CONTROL THIS STATION!" Mooar bellowed, foam and spittle flying. He could not yield to the unknown threat, no matter his wish to survive. If he did, he'd be slowly tortured to death by his own superiors just as a demonstration. With that mindset, he decided to play the only leverage he thought he might have, considering the demands. "IF I GIVE ONE ORDER, EVERY PRISONER AT THIS FACILITY DIES! DO 'YOU' UNDERSTAND?"

Ron had already calibrated his weapons system, so he pressed the cannon only once. A ball of pure energy enveloped the command center before anyone inside could even blink. It was specifically dialed in for a single outcome, and it did not disappoint.

The seven clear panels that surrounded the control room were made of ultra-strong traveen acrylic, gracing Mooar and his crew with a breathtaking view of space (particularly the glorious kaleidoscope of the Pisalnic Nebulae). They also held in the station's atmosphere. That energy blast set the atoms of the transparent panels vibrating at a very specific frequency...one they could not sustain. In less than a full lita, they shattered into dust...and every Kreete in the room shot out into space.

"Then I guess I'll just do it my way!" Ron snarled.

Aboard the space station, the emergency systems sensed the rapid decompression and snapped into action, sealing the pod that contained the control center. In that one move, Ron had locked every other Kreete officer out of it, yet inside, the only change that occurred was the drop in temperature. All the primary operations of the station would continue on without disruption.

"Locate the remaining Kreete soldiers," Ron said to the _Darlile_.

"Done," came the reply, with each of the ninety-one other scouts clearly indicated on a virtual diagram of the station.

"Link me into the station's com system."

"Ready."

"Can you make me sound like Mooar?"

"Yes."

"Good. Do it."

"Ready."

"Attention crew of the _Majet Emara_ ," Ron began. "We are under attack and have experienced an atmosphere containment breach on the command deck. "Go to emergency stations at once! And get the workers secured immediately! Our com-link with the fleet is down, but we are working on it. I will contact you all soon."

Ron then watched quietly as the Kreete staff worked with remarkable proficiency.

Ron's primary target; the _Denartian_ _Whale,_ was indefensible once the station's shields were down because it had no weapons, and furthermore, since its engines were already shut down, its own shields were offline as well. The crew of that ship immediately evacuated it of all waking personnel...a total of seventeen...leaving those still in their sleeping pods to their fate.

That was heartless, yet practical since it would take too long to awaken the slaves, and the ship was too huge a target to think it wouldn't likely become a casualty in any kind of battle.

The captain and his men followed the Kreete crewmen into safer modules...each one heavily armored and well stocked with emergency supplies and hand-held weapons. Those areas doubled as escape pod/life boats as well.

The slave-labor workers found themselves instantly locked in whatever section they happened to be in during the attack, and so they all hunkered down and prayed to the Guardian.

The remainder of Kreete crewmen secured the valuable cargo...the refined gadorium...which was stashed in seven different containers, each equally spaced about the station. Those modules were also heavily armored...essentially independent vaults...that could be used as alternate fortification as well.

In less than twenty borts, the main hallways of the massive space station were completely empty, and only two Kreete soldiers remained at their posts...those men manning the digger recovery point (where the small space-crafts deployed and returned from the debris field). They kept watch over the only module that was intentionally left open to space, and therefore the easiest entry-point for marauders. They each manned a heavy plasma turret, capable of obliterating most shield matrices and tearing through any attacking vessel.

"Huh," Ron chuckled softly. "That was almost too easy.

"How many diggers are out?" Ron inquired.

"Five hundred and sixty-seven."

"And they've all been recalled?"

"They have now."

"Good."

Ron then backed the _Darlile_ away from the control station and flew swiftly toward the dock that held the only other ship...the _Denartian Whale_.

"How much time do we have before our next scheduled visitor?"

"In approximately six billots, thirty-six borts, and fifty-eight litas, a heavy freighter with cruiser and fighter escort is due to arrive."

"And how much time to recover all the diggers?"

"They are already headed back, but the furthest is four billots away."

"Very well then, I'll get started. Eject all the manned lifeboats, and the gadorium containers."

Each of the stations three-hundred-and-sixty-six modules were attached to the main ring via two dozen of the same type of hard-link bolts...explosive bolts. It was standard construction all across the Empire and allowed for an emergency ejection of any section that threatened the safety of the rest of the station, be it due to fire, or hull breach, or whatever.

The very next lita saw every Kreete-occupied emergency craft or cargo hold break loose from its moorings and begin rapidly moving away from the space station as if intentionally flung into the cosmos, which is exactly what had happened. All except the landing bay.

Ron then nudged the _Darlile_ up to one of the open berths alongside the huge transport ship and locked in. A flexible, vacuum-sealed gangway automatically attached to the black ship's hull and began filling with atmosphere.

Once the ship was secured, Ron went to his quarters and donned his armored suit. It was similar to the one he'd worn on Earth except that now it was specifically tailored for two things, zero atmosphere (just in case) and battle. It was a bit bulky to move in, like it was made of stiff leather, or thick foam rubber (think of a diver's wet-suit), but was constructed to meet whatever he might encounter.

He was six modules away from the dock where the returning workers would board, so he headed off at a fast walking speed in that direction taking in the new environment as he went.

The walkway was just like it looked from space...a large tube, nearly ten peors in diameter. The floor decking was eight feet wide metal grating painted dark gray in color, and beneath it were several various-sized tubes and pipes. Some were marked for water, both grey and potable, and the larger ones were identified as ventilation ducting. Wedged in alongside those were several small pipes that might have been wire conduits...or something altogether foreign to Ron since he knew practically nothing about such deep-space structures.

He also spotted breaks in the ventilation ducting, where larger diameter sections deformed the smooth, seamless appearance. At each end of those bulges were openings with what appeared to be filters covering them. Ron guessed they were the oxygen scrubbers. They lined up with where each of the external modules was attached, so it made sense that they kept the air exchange between the station and the modules at a controlled rate and quality.

The walls inside the tube were bright white, not in deference to the Kreete's need for cleanliness, but no doubt to maximize the artificial lights' effects. The walls themselves were lined with a continuous row of upper level cabinets placed at head height on Ron, chest high for a Kreete, and many were marked for their contents. They resembled the overhead compartments in an airplane, only they were very large. Most were filled with supplies to keep the station in good working order, but some were marked as emergency med units and water caches. They were all closed and locked.

Ron ignored them and sped up.

Almost immediately, Ron passed a cargo module that had a three-foot-square clear window in the wide door, and when he glanced in he saw six faces staring back. It was designed to hold a hundred palletized bins of the unprocessed ore, and it was about half full of that, but in their haste, the Kreete had filled the remainder of it with workers who normally managed the off-loading of the digger ships. When he saw the desperate expressions of those six, he felt compelled to take a moment to investigate. When he did, he found there were fifty more women inside.

Ron placed his gloved hand against the lock outside the door and waited. The suit broke the encryption in mere moments and the door slid up and away.

The women all cowered back against the full bins when his looming figure stood facing them with no barrier. Ron instantly knew why they cringed too, having examined his own appearance in a mirror before leaving the _Darlile_. The suit was basically a flexible copy of the _Darlile's_ appearance...completely black and menacing...and it covered him from head to toe.

"Stow faceplate," Ron said, and the pliable headwear split and retracted to leave his face exposed. "I'm Ronin Dangarth," he announced. "I represent the Raulden Alliance Federation, and I've come here to free you all and get you to a safe location, outside the Kreete's influence!"

The women all appeared dazed and confused...utterly dumbstruck.

"We need to work together to get everyone off this station and onto a transport as quickly as possible."

Ron waited a few litas for some sign that they comprehended what he was saying. He got nothing but wide-eyed stares.

"Will you help me?"

By that point, they'd begun glancing at one another questioningly. Ron didn't want to frighten them, but needed them to get moving just the same.

"Do any of you know where Dock 14 is?"

Another hasty glance about and one woman stepped forward.

"I-I-I do," she replied shakily.

"What's your name?" Ron asked, throwing a fleeting glance down the long hallway.

"Priva," the woman returned. She appeared about thirty cycles old (although under the circumstances, Ron had to admit that she could be much younger) and had a steadier gaze than the rest, even though she was still clearly frightened.

"Priva, there is a large transport ship moored at Dock 14 right now. It's called the _Denartian_ _Whale_."

Her eyes narrowed and her jaw clamped shut.

"I know it. In fact, most of us were brought here on it. It's a slave ship!"

Ron wanted to say many things to calm the women, but there simply wasn't time.

"My apologies for that, but your next trip on it will yield better results, I promise.

"I need you to gather whomever you can and begin loading all the prisoners from the station aboard that ship...and I need you to do it in a hurry! Get everyone into a sleep pod. We will be making a high-G exit. Do you understand?"

"But the Lords? They will..."

"I've already convinced the Kreete to abandon the station...all except a few, who I'm headed to deal with now...so you won't run into any opposition from them. But the station is large and we don't have much time."

"But all the cells are locked!"

"I don't want to start a panic by releasing all the cells at once with no direction, so you need someone to explain the plan to every group as you go, to keep order. Understand? When you reach a locked door, simply say... _Darlile_ , open. My partner is running the station now and will take care of any obstacles. Okay?"

"What about the rest of your army?" one of the other women questioned. "Can't they do it?"

Ron smiled grandly. "I 'am' the army!"

"O-o-one man?" Priva stammered. "You attacked a Kreete stronghold...by yourself?"

Ron then looked at the others in a sweeping gaze. "Any of you who're willing to help her, please do. Otherwise, make your way to the transport and find yourself a sleep pod!"

"How can you possibly think this will work? You...alone."

Ron just grinned and said; "Combat," restoring his protection.

He took a moment to reacquaint the feeling of it and then he pivoted quickly and rammed his armored fist through the wall, punching a huge hole back out into the connecting tubular walkway. He then turned back to the women.

"I don't foresee a problem," he said.

They were standing there, open-mouthed again, still huddled in the back of the room.

"GO!" Ron barked, and then he strode away.

The women all jumped at the eerie figure's order, but got moving just the same. Priva led the way.

Ron reached the loading platform a few borts later. It was a typical arrangement of docking berths spaced about two peors apart, each having its own pressure seal and cargo door. There were twenty-one doors arranged in a long concourse, running out each side of the main walkway, and all were governed by a central control booth. Inside that booth were two Kreete warriors. One sat in a large chair watching the incoming little spaceships to the right, and the other in a similar setup out the left. There were four humanoid assistants collecting the workers and ushering them down the hall to a nearby cargo hold...the only room large enough to accommodate the number of miners that would be arriving soon.

Ron waited until the humans were farthest from the central booth, and then he unlocked the sealed bulkhead. There was no way for him to keep from being heard entering due to the operation of the pressure doors between modules, but he didn't worry about it.

"It's about time we got some help down here," the Kreete scout said, turning slowly to greet who he assumed would be one of his brethren.

Ron dashed forward in a rush.

"What the dragen..." the scout uttered, his face clearly showing his surprise. But then his reaction was immediate. He leaped from his seat, drew his long knife, and charged.

Ron couldn't chance firing an energy pulse weapon inside the module, but decided not to pull his sword either. He just leaned his head forward and counted on the Rauldens' custom designed armor to protect him.

The two combatants slammed into one another like a fleet running-back against a gigantic linebacker, and the collision was bone-rattlingly violent. Ron's vision blurred for an instant, but he never stopped his charge. The Kreete tried to catch his much smaller aggressor, but found he was as solid as a stump, and so he folded over Ron's shoulder and felt his lungs release all their supply in a loud huff.

Ron continued onward until he rammed the next bulkhead with the Kreete's body, hearing several bones snap in the process. The huge warrior's head slapped back against the metal wall hard, and his entire frame went limp instantly.

Ron dropped him to the decking unceremoniously, shook his head to clear his own thoughts, and then bound the Kreete securely and left him, headed back toward the other booth.

When he got there, he found the door locked as he'd expected. Again he placed his palm against the device and heard the bolt slide back. When he entered, the fellow in the seat slowly spun about.

"What was that racket, Branvier?" he growled. "It sounded like two Gorvain rams butting hea..."

His eyes alighted on Ron at that point, and then his hand reached for his side-arm...a weapon his compadre had not carried. It made it halfway out before Ron's knife pierced his right eye socket.

The Kreete warrior slumped where he sat.

By then the miners were watching through their doors, and each stood flash-frozen, their mouths ajar and their minds whizzing.

Ron then approached the central chair, grabbed the Slayer-class warrior by his tunic, and yanked him onto the floor. Next, he took the seat and opened the doors.

The women had much the same reaction to his intimidating appearance as had the others. They stayed where they were, too frightened to move.

"Standby," Ron said, causing his entire suit to morph into less threatening garb.

When his chiseled, handsome face was revealed, the women all sighed at once.

Ron waved them forward with both hands. "Come in...come in."

As soon as they were clear of the doors, Ron closed them and opened the outer ones to allow the next group in. The little vessels they operated were carried away on a robotic conveyor system that stowed them like cars would be in an automated garage. Once there, Cnauts performed diagnostic checks and repairs to them, readying them for deployment again.

"Who are you?" one of the women asked...still hesitant to approach.

Ron repeated his introduction and explanation to the small group, and then he posed a question.

"Do any of you know how to operate this booth?"

They glanced questioningly at each other.

"We all do," one of them said.

"Excellent!" Ron returned. "Would you take over then? And make sure you explain to the other miners exactly what they are required to do? No one will be left behind, but time is of the essence!"

The women were exhausted from their long duties, and still almost too surprised to believe it, but the adrenaline in their systems quickly kicked in and they soon seemed as alert as teenagers on a forbidden field trip. As Ron exited the booth, he heard them assigning each other duties to choreograph the operation.

He then went to the cargo hold where the Kreete had been stashing the earlier arrivals and gave them the same speech. Soon, a hundred former prisoners were dashing to the transport with their first taste of hope in cycles firmly locked in their minds.

Ron stopped to monitor the evacuation from one of the other modules, but it looked like it was going far too slowly...and he knew why. The station was just too large. Its circumference was more than fifteen hoz!

" _Darlile_ , can you calculate the time for evac?"

"Yes. At the present rate, total evacuation of all miners will take approximately six billots, forty-seven borts to complete."

Ron looked at the clock that showed when his visitors would arrive and realized he had to change his tactics.

" _Darlile_ , create an emergency message and disperse it to the entire station. Make it calm and concise, and then release all the doors. We'll just have to hope for the best."

"Affirmative."

The announcement went out in a voice very much akin to Cache's.

"Inhabitants of the _Majet Emara_ , you are no longer prisoners of the Kreete Empire. The entire population of Kreete soldiers has been removed from the station. If you wish to leave this place, please make haste to Dock 14. You will find a transport...the _Denartian Whale_...awaiting your arrival. Locate a sleep pod and prepare it for use. Your destination is a planet beyond the reach of the empire."

Ron knew that keeping the destination secret would be bothersome to most of the women, but hoped escaping the station would be enough incentive to get them to comply. He just didn't want the possibility of that world being recorded in the station's memory files.

Ron watched the monitor for several more borts...until he saw that all the modules were emptying out much more quickly. Apparently he'd guessed correctly. They didn't care much where they were headed as long as it was away from there, and the opportunity for escape was a great motivator to hurry things along.

But then he spotted a certain section where half a dozen women were shown, but no movement was occurring at all. He zoomed in and saw it was unnamed.

Ron asked one of the miners who was moving through his section about it. She nervously approached, looking back over her shoulders at her friends hurrying past.

"I won't keep you long...I promise. I just want to know what this module is for...and why no one is leaving it."

The woman stared at the diagram for a few litas, and then counted the modules from the sleeping quarters to it, and from it to the docks.

"Oh," she said sadly, her eyes sliding downwards to stare at the deck. "That's the infirmary. That's where you're sent when you get seriously hurt, or are finally so sick you can't work anymore. We call it; Death Row."

"Why?" Ron asked, suddenly very concerned with it. "What happens th..." then it hit him. He was already familiar with the limited lifespan of the workers. That's why he was there after all. But he'd been too caught up with completing the mission to really think about it.

"I'm surprised their still aboard, to tell you the truth," the woman said frankly. "Your attack must have screwed up their schedule because they were set to be jettisoned at the beginning of this shift cycle."

"Jettisoned?"

"Yeah. The Lords gather up a group of dead and dying once every torjourne and jettison them to the central star. They say it's not worth wasting atmosphere on them."

Ron's chest rumbled with indignation at that, which made the woman step back nervously.

"Sorry," he told her, "Go ahead and get to the transport...and thanks."

She was gone in a flash and Ron too hurried away, only he wasn't headed to the ship.

It was a long jog to the infirmary, especially fighting upstream against the rush of the women. Finally though, Ron reached the particular module and stepped in.

The first thing to hit him was the smell. It was a horrid mixture of vomit, feces, urine, and decaying flesh. He had an almost tangible flashback of an earlier time...a time when he himself was a slave...when he himself spent every waking moment on the verge of death. It rattled him hard...shook him to the core...and pushed his anger to a full-on flash of rage.

In a mere fleck of time, he'd stepped back and drawn both his swords, assuming a position of absolute defiance. His vision had a deep, blood red hue to it, and he searched the long hallway left and right for someone who needed to die. That search went on for several litas before the circulation system pushed clean air across his nose and his brain reengaged his cognizant thoughts.

Ron then saw that twenty women had all came to a screeching halt at the upstream side of his position. Several of them had screamed in terror, thinking that they'd been herded into the clutches of a madman who would soon slice them up for sport. That sight brought Ron fully back.

He stowed his weapons immediately and held up his open hands.

"My apologies!" he announced to the group of terrified souls. "I was...startled. Continue on," he added with a strong wave, before turning his back on them and approaching the chamber again.

It was obvious that whoever was inside that module was in dire straits, but when he triggered the lights, his heart clenched tightly. Some sixty-plus women's bodies were strewn across the floor...in several places four deep. They were all naked, and most were frozen solid because the chamber was not environmentally operative. The others were rapidly approaching that state.

" _Darlile_ , are there any living in here?"

"I read only one. The others have perished in the last billot. She is close to the door...on the left."

Ron went over to a woman who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, had short brown, dirty hair and was maybe five feet tall. He placed his gloved palm to her chest, squarely between her small, athletic breasts. The suit took a reading instantly, reporting that the woman was hypothermic, dehydrated, malnourished, and dying of radiation poisoning.

Ron received that data audibly while he glanced about the room of death.

"Prognosis is expiration in less than twenty borts," said the suit version of the _Darlile's_ avatar.

Suddenly, the woman's eyes opened and she stared up at Ron with fierce intensity. She then grabbed his gloved hand as tightly as her depleted state could, and she spoke.

"Take me home!" she demanded, as if a commander speaking to a subordinate. "Heading, 128.307 by 237.116...past the twins!"

Then the life seemed to simply drain out of her and she fell as still as a corpse.

Ron's brow furrowed immediately, his surprise and curiosity both battling for attention, but the _Darlile_ broke his harried thoughts.

"That direction yields a formation of two nebulae so symmetrical in their separate formation as to appear to be twins," the avatar instantly informed Ron.

"How far?" Ron inquired.

"Twenty-thousand light cycles."

"Twenty thousand?" he pondered, his mind making fast calculations. "That's clear to the edge of Kreete space!"

"It is well beyond Kreete's reach. That is Malicart territory."

Ron's head snapped back down to the small woman, and the rest of him broke into instantaneous movement. He snatched her tiny frame into his arms and bolted forward in a mad dash for the black ship.

" _Darlile_ , open up the portal com and send what information you have about this girl to Rauld! I need a medical team prepped immediately! Do you copy?"

"Affirmative."

Ron made the two hoz run in twelve borts, dodging a hundred other people along the way, and flew into the Raulden spaceship without missing a step. Fortell and his team were there, in the ship, and had him place her on a floating gurney immediately. Ron's chest was heaving from the hectic run, so before he could even ask the physician a question, Fortell was hustling away through the portal and into the medical facility on Rauld.

"We will do what we can for her, Ron," he said over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

Ron took a moment to catch his breath and then he got a drink and went back to work.

By the time the _Darlile_ announced the incoming ships were within sensor range, the transport was powered up and pulling back from the station. Then, since the _Denartian_ _Whale_ was preprogramed to fly to Cache's secret planet without further input, Ron took his pilot's seat in the _Darlile_ and monitored its progress. As soon as it cleared the debris field, he began a slow pass over the entire structure of the deep-space mining colony. The _Darlile's_ cannons belched out pulse after pulse, until no one could have discerned the difference between the natural debris and the Kreete-made pieces. Then he set off in the wake of the transport.

The incoming ships watched it all unfold before them, but their inertial speed was simply too high to give chase at the angle of the pair's exit. And if they had, they knew the black mystery ship that had just snuffed out one of the Kreete's premier jewels would have been waiting.

### Chapter Twenty-eight

### The Malicarts

Ron crossed into unknown space barely five borts before warnings lit up across his screen.

"Unidentified craft!" sounded across the com. "You have entered the domain of the Malicarts! You have one bort to drop out of transoptic flight and begin braking procedures."

A countdown timer instantly appeared on the forward viewer...the _Darlile's_ avatar immediately jumping to assist its captain.

Ron had no idea how they could even tell the _Darlile_ was there. It wasn't technically in the physical universe. Even the Rauldens couldn't track a ship at faster than light speeds.

" _Darlile_ ," Ron said, "can you get a reading on any probes, sensors, or spacecraft nearby?"

"Negative. There are no such devices within sensor range....or they can escape detection."

Ron thought for a few litas, watching the timer quickly tick down. At thirty litas, he toggled the com.

"And if I refuse?" he queried to the unknown voice.

"Your ship will be obliterated!"

Ron wanted to ask many questions about how they could do what they claimed, but he kept his curiosity restrained for the time being.

He quickly decided not to press the issue by delaying to comply, so he stowed the NOVA drive and reentered 'real space'. Then he triggered the com once more.

"I have no intention of challenging the Malicart people in battle," he announced, "but I would be grateful if allowed the time to eat and prepare myself before being confined for braking."

"One har," came the response. "Point 8 of one of your billots."

"My thanks," Ron sent back before heading to the main cabin.

Ron ate, stretched, and showered, and then made his way back to the cockpit to begin the long decel period. Once he was at full reverse thrust...at least to the point that he could withstand for such a time...he collected his thoughts and considered his objectives.

He'd gone there with the hope of meeting a dignitary or delegation from their species and seeing if they might be open to some form of dialogue or treaty with Rauld. But with the small amount of information the Rauldens had gathered, it was more than likely they would slam the door in his face...or attack him straightaway. Everything Aanlis had sent him showed that the Kreete had met with 'less than cordial welcomes'. In fact, from the very first encounter, when the Malicarts denied them similar accord, the Kreete had simply been destroyed. Of course, Ron was hoping that the Kreete's lack of diplomacy had been the nexus of the rift, but with the initial threat he'd already received, he knew he'd have to tread very lightly to avoid provoking them.

He considered continuing their conversation over the com, but much preferred it to be in person, so that he might read their expressions and judge them more accurately. Although at the moment, he also had to admit that such a meeting might conclude with him speaking through the bars of some cage or cell. It was a gamble that he and Cache had discussed at length, and at times with some heated exchanges, but in the end Ron was willing to take the risk. Cache had wanted to accompany him too, but Ron and the other councilmen vehemently overruled her.

"To take a chance with both of you is simply out of the question," Hoaldniz had stated firmly. "Ron has proven himself to be extraordinarily adept at surviving the most harrowing circumstances..."

"With my help!" Cache had snapped.

"Yes, I would concede that point, Cache. However, he can endure more physical stress than you. He can defend himself better than anyone in the galaxy, and if he is alone, he would not be distracted by concerns for your safety.

"Also," Aanlis added, "Sheyah needs at least one of you to be her parent."

That point was the one that swayed Cache into acquiescence.

Seventeen billots later, the _Darlile_ stood completely still in space, alone and seemingly very vulnerable, and Ron couldn't help but wonder if this high-stakes venture would put an end his life. That lasted barely a bort though, because he was never one to wallow in doubt or second guess his decisions without clear cause to do so.

When no enemy ship rushed up to confront him however, he went to the aft cabin and ate some dinner, and then he showered and dressed in his ambassador uniform...the one the Raulden Council had requested he wear when greeting foreign leaders. They were incredibly adroit at calming the psyche of many humanoid species by the most insignificant details...the outward appearance, certain key phrases and gestures, and the like. He'd studied their mannerisms carefully during the long trip, and now he just hoped the Malicarts fell into that group.

Ron sat there at the helm of the black ship for nearly on entire billot more, waiting for the alien threat to appear...but when they did, he was not nearly as prepared as he'd thought.

The initial contact was from ninety degrees to the starboard side and was fifty million hoz away. It was moving at .5 VL-1. (Half the speed of light) The next was from directly aft, forty million hoz in the distance, at .6 VL-1. Then three more popped into view twenty million hoz forward of him. They were moving right at .4 VL-1.

Within the next fifteen litas, a total of twenty-two vessels were converging on Ron's position at blistering speeds. He saw no way that they could do anything but a hasty fly-by...but they did not.

Over the following thirty borts, every ship slowed to a stop until the Darlile was completely surrounded at nearly every point on the celestial compass.

"How could they have stopped so quickly?" Ron asked his mechanical ally.

"The known laws of physics versus the accepted norms of biological fragility forbid it," the ship replied.

Ron took the lull in action to examine the alien vessels, and the results were highly intriguing when he did.

The Malicart spacecraft were huge, at least twenty times the size of the _Darlile_ , yet much smaller than the giant ships the Kreete used for deep space travel. They were constructed in a very unique shape too, further separating them from any previously accepted hull configuration. They were perfectly round along the outer edge, and thin in cross-section...perhaps only four stories thick.

"They're actual 'flying saucers'!" Ron thought in total disbelief.

He even double-checked that the sensors weren't malfunctioning somehow...distorting the image...but the _Darlile_ assured him that the reproduction on the viewer was exact. His eyes were not playing tricks on him. That got him past the shape and on to the more specific aspects.

The material they were made of appeared similar to dull aluminum, and there wasn't a single break in their hulls...no windows or obvious doors, nor antennas or gun turrets. Those vessels' shells were as clean and unbroken as the skin of the Raulden super-ship itself.

After finally accepting their bizarre design, Ron moved on to deciphering how they worked. At first he guessed that they spun on their center axis to simulate gravity at the edges, but the _Darlile_ could detect no such rotation.

That alone was extremely interesting because without the constant pull of gravity or its centrifugal likeness, humanoid beings run the risks of severe physical and mental degradation during long duty cycles. Bone and muscle loss was a certainty, and the lack of orientation normally caused sleep deprivation and in many cases, insanity. Therefore he assumed they used a form of magnetic attraction, just like the _Darlile_...the inhabitants wearing clothing that kept them 'grounded' so to speak, but it was all pure conjecture.

Ron had to rein in his curiosity right there however, because the _Darlile_ 's sensors could not break through their shielding to add more information. So he just waited and watched the fleet now surrounding him.

Ron had the ebony ship's defenses running at 110%, and that advanced Raulden craft had never let him down, but he felt his lips and throat grow dry nonetheless.

"Intrusion!" the _Darlile_ suddenly stated.

"What?" Ron barked back, glancing around to the rear cabin. He half expected a raiding party to have 'beamed' aboard. "Where?"

"Another computer is trying to break through into my systems."

"Can you withstand it?"

"I...," then silence.

Ron felt his gut clench tightly at the mere thought that any other beings' technology could trump Rauld's. The pause dragged on for several litas.

"Yes," the _Darlile's_ avatar finally said.

"Wheeeeew!" Ron sighed heavily.

When all the alien crafts ceased their approach and were stationary, the _Darlile_ made another announcement.

"Incoming message...in video form."

"Allow it," Ron said, trying to gather himself in the manner the Rauldens had instructed.

A moment later the figure of a man flashed onto the _Darlile_ 's forward view screen. He appeared to be middle-aged by earthly standards, with a stern, intelligent, piercing gaze. He had long, flowing brown hair past his shoulders, and was broad across the chest. He sat upon a chair that looked comfortable, yet very sturdy and utilitarian.

"You have invaded the domain of the Malicarts. State your purpose!" the fellow said bluntly.

Ron gazed back at him with a calm, even demeanor, showing neither fear, nor submission...although he had to accept that he was very likely completely outmatched if it came down to a fight.

"I am Ron Allison, Ambassador for the Raulden people, and 'invasion' is not the term I would choose. I would prefer 'exploration'."

"Do not quibble over semantics, Foreigner! State your purpose!"

"I have come here seeking an audience with someone of your ruling authority to discuss an alliance of our two races."

"We need no such alliance. Turn your ship around and exit our space immediately or..."

"May I ask your name, sir?" Ron broke in.

The fellow took a brief moment to consider the request.

"I am Yovan Pearcen, Commander of this ship...the _Peiant Star_."

Ron nodded toward the screen, a small gesturing bow.

"It is an honor to make your acquaintance. Now, if I could be permitted, I..."

"Fire your weapons against my ship," Yovan then told Ron in an almost bored tone.

"What?" Ron retorted. "I have no reason to..."

"Here," the alien captain said quickly, giving a subtle nod to someone to his right. Instantly, targeting coordinates sprang onto Ron's view. "Fire your weapons."

"But I have no intention to..."

"INTRUSION!" the ship stated again, this time much more insistently.

"Stop it!" Ron ordered the machine, but he saw many of the systems all around him flash or flicker uncharacteristically. He instantly knew that was bad.

"I can...not."

The next moment saw the forward cannon release a full blast at the designated vessel.

Ron jerked his hands free of the controls in horror.

"I didn't..." he tried to say to the Malicart captain.

"I triggered the weapon myself," Yovan said, again sounding completely disinterested.

In a last ditch effort to stop the insurgence, Ron's reaction was desperate.

"Disconnect the core!" Ron shouted hastily, his previous fear fully realized. He had no control over his own ship!

The _Darlile_ then settled down again and the weapons' systems stayed quiet.

Cache had installed such a 'hardline disconnect' while Ron was a prisoner on Parkanick, fearing a repeat of his frightful interlude with the Nefradien ships on his trip to Earth. It was a shunt-isolation cut-off which separated each system from the central brain...the only outside entry point. It left only crude, manual control over the most vital systems...the engines, shields, weapons, and life support. It also vastly diminished the efficiency of those areas, but to lose control of them would leave the pilot at the mercy of an outside entity, which she knew could be catastrophic.

"Ten of the Malicart ships joined forces to overwhelm my firewalls," the _Darlile_ explained. "That is how they took control."

"As you can see, your weapons pose no threat to our shields," Yovan continued. "If I fired on your vessel, I would destroy it with little effort. Your ship is grossly outmatched. We have no use of your limited technology. We need nothing from you, so why would we ally ourselves with you and your people?"

"If you need no allies, then why did you join the Kreete Triad?"

Yovan immediately pursed his lips. Ron could tell he'd struck a nerve.

"We are not their allies! They tried to invade our space and we destroyed them. Ever since that encounter, they have boasted of our taking part in their pathetic empire for some reason we don't fully understand. We only communicate with them when they wish to make a new try at gaining our trust...which they will never attain! They have no honor. They're just a gang of thugs ruling over those who are weak."

"My apologies to you then," Ron said, finally understanding the Kreete's angle. It made them seem more advanced, having one of their figureheads so powerful. But it was all just a ruse.

"We were concerned that your allegiance to the Triad might have adverse effects on our plans to quell the Kreete's expansion.

"If your wish is to remain isolated, then that is your right and we will not challenge it. I'll withdraw and be on my way as soon as I return one of your people," Ron explained as he triggered the activation of the Kuar Starflex Portal.

"What did you say?" Yovan asked, his interest suddenly sharp.

"I found one of your species..."

"WARNING!" the viewer suddenly plastered across the forward screen. "ALIEN VESSELS ARE CHARGING THEIR WEAPONS!"

"FIRE!" Yovan growled, and a burst of yellowish-orange plasma arced out of the flagship and struck the _Darlile's_ shields. The Raulden designed...and normally invisible...safety layer sprang into perfect clarity as the alien energy surge clashed with it, highlighting the tightly shrouded hull of the Raulden super-ship in a blinding battle for ultimate supremacy. The fight lasted a good five full litas before the foreign weapon's energy was completely absorbed.

Ron saw a fifty percent drop in his protective shell and clearly felt the jolt of the energy blast. Still, it was not quite the prodigious, awe-inspiring, and destructive weapon the Malicart captain had boasted...and he saw it in Yovan's eyes as well. The man was plainly surprised that the tiny black ship remained shielded at all, but he held to his defiant attitude.

"You dare come here to demand ransom for one of our citizens?" Yovan barked.

That made Ron more angry than concerned for his imminent death, and his training in diplomacy went soaring out the window.

"HOLD ON A LITA!" he snapped back at the fleet that was preparing to vaporize him. "I asked for no ransom! I have made no demands whatsoever!

"I AM NOT YOUR ENEMY!" Ron finally roared in a deep, angry shout.

That startled Yovan enough to make him pause a moment, giving Ron an opening to explain.

"I found her lying in the infirmary of a space station that was a Kreete prison. She'd been forced to work in an environment that had doomed her to a horrible demise! She was only semi-conscious and near death so I transported her to Rauld where our doctors could give her the treatment she required. During her stay, my associates discovered she was of your race, so I decided this might be a good opportunity to make first contact with your people.

"Now, you have made it perfectly clear that you do not wish to collaborate with us. That's fine. That's your people's right, as I've already said. But either way, I just wanted to bring her home...so don't start threatening me when I'm trying to do you a huge dragen favor!"

He was growling by the end of that statement and his eyes were hard as steel and blazing with fury.

"Produce this person!" Yovan demanded, not being swayed by Ron's meager show of defiance. "And if this is some kind of attempt to infiltrate our people, I will blow your ship..."

"Father!" sounded a soft feminine voice from behind Ron's command seat, just before a lovely young woman slipped past his shoulder and slid into Cache's side of the cockpit. "Father! It's me! It's Yasmini!"

Yovan lurched forward in his chair at that, his expression strained and his attention now acutely focused.

Ron couldn't help it when he turned to her and his eyebrows showed his sheer surprise. He had no idea that she was the offspring of such a powerful man. They'd had little time to speak since her rescue.

"Please, Father...don't harm this man!" she begged, placing her dainty hand on Ron's forearm. "He is my savior!"

Yovan just stared at the screen for a long time in total silence...his eyes growing moist as he did so, obviously greatly moved at the sight of his daughter.

"Your mother and I thought you lost, little Mini," he finally said in a soft sigh. "Are you injured, my darling?"

"No...not anymore at least. But I was lucky compared to most because I managed to avoid the Kreete overlords' attention. Ron, here," she added, looking at him with adoring eyes and moving her hand to his large, rounded shoulder, "scooped me up from death's door...literally...and delivered me to a fantastic medical facility on Rauld where they saved me. All the Rauldens have been wonderful, and extremely gracious."

Her words caused a decided change in Yovan's expression. It morphed from stern and defiant to incredibly grateful in a flash, and the next move the Malicart officer made stowed the disruptors on every ship in the area.

He then sat back and took a deep breath, as if his distraught nerves had all suddenly been soothed at once.

"In that case, Ron Allison...please accept my apologies and my hospitality. If you would be so kind as to dock your ship in the port hangar bay, I would much appreciate it."

Instantly, the location of that position on the _Pieant Star_ popped up on Ron's screen.

Ron settled back into his command chair and took a moment to inform his Raulden friends that all was well, and that he'd made peaceful contact with the Malicarts. That helped ease the tension that they were feeling, as well as drain it from his own adrenaline-filled system. He was calm and steady before triggering the engines into life. A few borts later, the _Darlile_ was gliding along, heading straight for the alien vessel.

The Malicarts' flagship was enormous...the size of a city block...yet it was exceptionally sleek to look at. Just as with the Rauldens' construction, the doors on the alien ship were completely invisible and slipped aside as effortlessly as a gust of air.

Ron had no difficulty in entering the designated cargo hold either (one of ten) because it could have accommodated a much larger vessel. It was ray-shielded to contain its atmosphere...a new level of technology he'd not seen as of yet...and he watched with great curiosity when the _Darlile's_ hull lit up as it passed through that barrier.

When the ebony Raulden ship sat still on the deck of the alien craft, Ron rose to go aft, to open the door for his guest. At that point, a fantastic sensation occurred to him. He was expecting to feel the normal pull of the _Darlile's_ simulated gravity plating, but what he actually felt was gravity...real gravity! He tested the feeling for a couple of steps, and then even hopped a few times to verify it.

Having just traveled the circuit of the Triad games, experiencing multiple worlds and their environs, he was familiar with the difference...and he was now certain that he was standing on a class ten world.

"How the hell is that possible?" he wondered.

Yasmini was already at the exit though, so he hurried along to help her. The atmosphere showed green across the board, so Ron opened the hatch. Again, his senses took a jolt. Instead of the typical smell of a ship...the sterile, ultra clean scent of scrubbed and recycled air...the inside of the _Pieant Star_ smelled of flowers, evergreens, and salt air. It was as if he were standing in a forest at the edge of a bay or ocean.

Ron smiled broadly at that before he turned to his passenger and questioned her.

"Your people can create gravity aboard their space ships?"

"Of course. It's the only way to be truly comfortable whilst travelling the galaxy for decades at a time."

Ron just stared at her in open wonder.

"These people's technology made the Rauldens' appear antiquated at the very least," he thought, "and yet she'd mentioned nothing about it."

His expression must have been clear to her because she grinned back sweetly and added;

"We don't make a habit of boasting about our accomplishments, nor do we share their secrets."

"No," Ron agreed, "I suppose not...and I can certainly understand that."

Ron noted that every portal into the hangar had two armed guards stationed to protect it. That seemed to be merely a prudent and ordinary safeguard...and not a show of aggression...so he calmly shrugged off the long, armored overcoat he wore while they waited for the welcoming committee.

A few borts ticked away before any notable change occurred. Then, off to their right, one of the wide doors slid neatly aside. Yovan had at last reached the hangar. He scanned the expanse of metal decking in a quick glance and then broke into a run to his little girl. She did likewise and they met in the middle of the wide open space.

Ron stood back, allowing them their moment of reunion. A few litas later, a group of women entered the huge hangar and one of them separated from the clutch and also dashed forward, followed closely by the others. They were Yasmini's mother and sisters. It was truly a very touching scene.

That lasted several borts, but Ron did not move forward, sensing their need to bond as a family again. He stayed directly beside the _Darlile_ , patiently waiting.

After about ten borts, Yovan pried himself free of the group and started toward Ron. Ten large men flanked him, each wearing sleek body armor just like he was. It was dark blue in color, slightly padded at every joint, and had an insignia on the right side of his chest. Yovan's was different from the others' so Ron guessed it identified his rank. Even the uniform's boots appeared molded right to his body.

Ron couldn't shake the impression the suit exuded. "He looks like friggin Superman!" he thought. "All he needs is the red cape."

Ron stood his ground, letting them approach. He was completely unarmed...not even a small knife on his person. He wanted there to be no sign of hostility on his part.

Yovan stopped just over thirty peors from Ron and beckoned him forward with a wave of his hand. He was a large man...taller than Ron by a few inches...and was well-muscled. His dark brown hair was now pulled tight and braided behind his back...and his green eyes blazed in the bright lighting of the hangar.

Ron was keenly watching the fellow, and moved toward him and his men cautiously. What happened to the grateful man he'd just spoken with? Were they now going to arrest him? He vibrated at the possibility, yet on he walked. Yovan held his hand up to stop Ron when they stood three peors apart.

"He reads a 10.1," one of his men announced while gazing at a small electronic device. "I suggest level 4."

Yovan placed his hand against the insignia on his chest and gave it four light taps. His attendant then handed him a thin skull cap, which he donned. Afterward, Yovan dropped into a fighting stance and began to circle Ron.

"Defend yourself!" he said dryly.

Ron didn't even try to talk his way out of the challenge. He'd been in that situation too many times to even question it. Many warrior races felt the need to pit their knowledge and physical skills against any foreigner, be they foe or friend, just to see where they stood. This would obviously be such a clash.

Ron noted that Yovan held no weapons, his eyes were keen and alive with fire, and that his movements were agile and graceful.

"This man knows how to fight!" he immediately concluded while he matched his opponent's movements. It wasn't a duel to the death like back in the Hoondelli stronghold, so Ron had to adjust his outlook to match. He decided he would be patient and let Yovan take the initiative.

He didn't have to wait long.

Yovan darted in and struck with a flurry of sharp jabs that were a literal blur. A few got through Ron's guard, but they were light blows that were intended to test his reaction, not do damage, so he didn't flinch. Ron returned those testing jabs, finding that the Malicart was equally swift at defense, and supremely sturdy.

The next attack showed much more force and added a blazing kick to the assortment. Ron was up to speed by then though, his adrenaline already running high even before the bout, so he blocked Yovan's flying fists into glancing shots and deflected the kick with his own. He quickly recalled his skirmish with Roelantish, back on Caron, noting that with the aid of his armor, Yovan was even more solid than his friend...a class 10.3 being at least.

The speed and violence of the clash escalated incredibly swiftly, until the pair were a nonstop whirlwind of motion and slapping flesh...and that's when Ron began to understand Yovan's intentions. He blocked most of the Malicart's punches, took several solid blows from the man's knees and feet, and even landed a few of his own, but when he caught on...truly caught on to what was happening...he stopped holding back.

In an intentional release of restraint on Ron's part, he leaped to a totally new level...one typically reserved for fighting Kreete warriors, or in times of a life and death situation. The hangar turned immediately red in his eyes, and he burst forth with the full fury of the beast the alien commander was searching for.

With the snarl of a lion on his lips, Ron attacked his host in an unrelenting barrage of fists, elbows, spinning sweeps, and flying kicks. The blows fell in torrents, and it sounded like six men were brawling instead of only two. Ron drove the captain backward through his escorts swiftly, and to Yovan's great credit, he held his own against that horrendous onslaught...for a while.

Ron pounded the Malicart mercilessly, ignoring the fellows returning punishment, until he finally stood the taller man upright with a solid (and precisely timed) uppercut. At that instant, Ron spun, sweeping Yovan from his feet in a beautiful move that sent him horizontal in the air.

Ron then continued around and caught the fellow square in the chest with all his weight behind his dropping elbow.

The tremendous collision slammed Yovan to the metal deck with such force, Ron was certain the man was dead. Not even a Kreete warrior could have survived that.

Normally in such as state, Ron would have dropped his knee onto his adversary's unprotected throat to guarantee the fight was done, but his intellect overrode his urge that time. Instead, he just threw his face to the high ceiling and blasted out his victory cry into the hangar where it echoed about the voluminous space for the following twenty litas.

While that spine-tingling release of pent up energy bounced around and around, another mishap started to escalate.

Unknowingly, one of Yovan's escorts stepped up too close to Ron just then, worried over his fallen superior, and the hellion from the Triad Games whirled upon him. It happened so fast he couldn't even brace himself before a fist that felt like a twenty-pound bowling ball slammed into his chest and flung him five peors to the deck. Another roar immediately shook the entire hangar following that flying man, and the beast that issued it leaned forward at the remaining guards.

Ron was on the balls of his feet...balanced in a forward crouch and ready to launch a new attack...still spoiling for battle.

The other Malicart Captain's escorts jumped to attention at that and each drew some form of club-like weapon, taking up a stance to defend themselves. But that only lasted a moment or two.

Remarkably, their superior; Yovan, came to and stopped any more trouble by a single order.

"Stand down, men!" he grunted while waving his open hand. "Step away from him. Allow him time to restore his composure."

They all backed away from Ron slowly at his order, making their way circuitously over to Yovan where they helped him to his feet. He staggered a bit and rocked back and forth for a few litas before standing on his own once more. Then he smiled.

Ron cooled down and recovered his calm as well, and then he too grinned.

"Well done, Ron!" Yovan finally said cheerily. "That was one fine match!"

He turned to his lieutenant and said; "I should have used a level six!"

Then he chuckled softly. "It truly is you," he added, gazing bleary-eyed at Ron.

Then Yovan raised his arms and his eyes to an invisible crowd.

"Attention to you all...to everyone watching this historic moment. Itsu of Caron, the only human champion of the Kreete Triad Games ever in history, stands before us!"

Ron merely stood there, calmly gazing back...happy to have granted the fellow his show.

After another strong shake of his head, Yovan opened his arms to the strange wild-man and embraced him like a brother. From that moment on, Ron was no longer treated like an outsider.

Over the following torjourne, Ron quickly grew to like the Malicart people very much. They were truly remarkable in so many ways that it confounded his beliefs. First, they were immensely intelligent, and the proof of that surrounded him at all times in their technological marvels. Second, they were excellent at reading each other's intentions, emotions, and moods to the point that bordered on telepathy, so many verbal orders were simply not necessary. The ship functioned so smoothly that it was almost eerie. They seemed completely at peace and calm, yet took time out of every day to practice hand-to-hand combat and close-quarters weapons training.

They were fiercely competitive, yet not spiteful or petty. They were proud and confident, but not arrogant or vain. It was so foreign to what he'd experienced in everyday life that it baffled Ron.

To the man from two worlds, it appeared that they had managed to reach the pinnacle of what the Rauldens had set out to achieve when they'd created Cache...a perfect merge of mind and body.

He was given a tour of their flagship and found that there was no place designated as a jail. There had been no crime committed in the entire time the ship had been in service...one hundred and eighty-six Malicart years.

The crewmen were all completely honest and hard-working, and once Ron had been accepted into the group, no one shunned him or treated him with suspicion or contempt. In fact, the bout between Ron and Yovan had been broadcast across all the ships of the armada that had surrounded the _Darlile_. Everyone knew who he was and gave him respect simply because their leader did.

Now that's not to say that they allowed him access to their people's secrets. When he asked how they could imitate gravity, they simply told him that sharing such information was not allowed.

Ron did glean one huge bit of information though, and that was about the ships' mode of propulsion. He was allowed on the bridge as they set off on their patrol once again, so he witnessed the event firsthand. There was no sixteen billots of acceleration to endure, and no sleep pods either.

"Engage the TransVerse drive," Yovan said calmly.

As he watched, he followed the procedure on one of the six monitors set around the wide command center. That's when he found out the reason for the unique shape of their vessels. Through sensor data, Ron watched the creation of a powerful magnetic field that formed an invisible loop completely about the ship. It was generated by thousands of super-dense coils imbedded in the hull and it protruded a peor out from the skin. Next they introduced a few dozen atoms into the center of the tube-shaped force-field and began to speed them up. In mere litas, the particles were cruising around the vessel at VL-1.

"Holy smokes!" Ron thought...his grasp of what was 'impossible' taking a new and severe jolt. "Their ships were actually ringed by an ingenious array of particle accelerators!"

The excited particles performed a single, all important function that encompassed the entire craft. They simulated the ship moving at the speed of light. They then used that false sense of speed to trick the very fabric of space into seeing their resonance as its own, thus allowing them to instantly slip into what they called the Transitional Universe...a realm outside the plane of reality that governs physical actions and boundaries. Once that resonance was reached, they could simply vanish from the tangible universe and zip through space at any speed they wished. They could also move in any direction because the singularity they created (much like the one the Darlile used) could be repositioned to any heading with their configuration, unlike on typical ships where it was locked to a specific point, typically the bow.

Yovan called out a heading and they set off without so much as a surge or pitch.

Ron just stood there open-mouthed in astonishment.

"It's like a dream come true!" his mind acknowledged.

Ron let his eyes skip from station to station to see just how fast they were going, but those figures were nowhere within his range, so he turned to Yovan.

"Captain Yovan, just what rate are your ships capable of?"

The Malicart commander just smiled back. He didn't get the impression that Ron was really trying to steal their secrets, merely curious at the remarkable tech of their people, so he was not offended.

"Sorry, Ron, but that's not something we are willing to share. I'm sure you under..."

"No-no-no-no. I get it...really I do. We wouldn't share that kind of information with strangers either. Please forget I even asked."

Yovan just waved his hand in dismissal. "I know it's hard to merely watch. Men like us are naturally inquisitive about such things."

From there, Ron's time aboard the _Pieant Star_ was a real vacation.

### Chapter Twenty-nine

### Change is Difficult

While Ron soared across the cosmos with the Malicarts, Cache Kuar travelled the face of Coriolus, as she had been doing for the past four torjournes. She'd originally arrived via the portal transporter, but that device was a fixture in the operations complex in Arbeziar, the advanced city, and was presently thousands of hoz away.

Once the Shotal Energy Shield had initiated, sucking up every available gigawatt of power and forcing the Kreete to abandon the city, the probe had sat dormant until her recent return. From that secure location, she made her way to the only connection to the outside world...a two-thousand hoz long tunnel under the frozen landscape. That tunnel connected to four of the most prominent cities of the southern lands. One of those was where Fraidze Zanferi lived...Shevron.

Fraidze had volunteered to escort her around the planet, to the many celebrations in Rauld's honor for returning the world to its rightful inhabitants, and so in the name of spreading peace and joy, she'd agreed. Also, it gave them both an excellent platform to introduce new views and projects that would bring the far flung cities back together as a society...as it had once been before the Kreete.

However, just as with any modern civilization, not everyone had been so excited to praise their new saviors. Of the four main seats of government, two showed what one might consider as proper appreciation, but the others took the side of the skeptics.

After another torjourne of enduring parties and protests, Cache was ready to be on her way back to Rauld. The entire mission reminded her of the squabbling diplomats on Earth she and Ron had spent so much time trying to reason with. She had no patience for their narrow mindedness, and frankly wanted them to work it out on their own.

At her last stop before heading back, she gave the shouting audience a parting statement.

"If you ever decide you would rather be on your own, and prefer that we not have any further involvement with your world, just relay that sentiment to Rauld. I will be more than happy to shut down the generator and leave you to it! Then you may negotiate with the Kreete!"

Fraidze was terribly embarrassed by his citizens' display, and apologized to Cache repeatedly while they rode back to their shuttlecraft in a car-like transport. It was a wide, low-riding people hauler with six wheels and a clear, domed shell over the cabin.

Cache had commandeered one of the Kreete's abandoned scout vessels to move across the planet more efficiently, and didn't feel completely at ease until she was sitting in the pilot's seat. (Of course the original seat had been removed and a much smaller one installed)

"Do not worry about me, Fraidze," Cache told him lightly. "I know that most of your people are grateful for our 'interference'. I just grow tired of those who have no sense of hope or no view of a future beyond today. Greed, cynicism, and pessimism are sure fire ways to choke the life from a society, no matter how modern they might be."

They chatted about the terrain beneath them as they flew through the aqua-colored sky, and that helped divert their thoughts for a while. Fraidze pointed out many breathtaking sights of his homeworld during the three billot trip, and spoke at length about the elation of being rejoined with his old life.

By nightfall, Cache had delivered her friend back to his home and was sitting down to a lovely dinner with his family.

The next morning, Cache left Fraidze and boarded the shuttle once again, determined to be at the tunnel entrance by the afternoon, and hopefully back on Rauld by sundown. (They'd decided to keep the portal probe far from the native citizens, just for the time being...until the adjustment was more established. Too many differing opinions swirled about the population to allow any one particular group access to it.)

Her new copilot was a man by the name of Bardner Holms. He was to see her to her destination and then return the ship to the newly established military compound that kept order in Fraidze' home country of Meir.

The flight was quiet and routine for the first billot, with each of them lost in their own thoughts, but then...

Cache glanced over to her right as they flew, and saw Bardner's face flushed bright red. A moment later she could hear his labored breathing.

"Bardner? Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm good. I just feel a little warm...that's all."

They continued for another half billot before he began wheezing louder and sweating profusely. There was a large city drifting by beneath them, so Cache decided to make a short detour.

"Locate a hospital," she said to the computer.

The coordinates appeared on her screen immediately.

"I am taking you to seek medical care," she told Bardner.

"Don't worry...uuuuuuuuuuhhhh...about me...uuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh..." he tried to say, but his ability to inhale was growing more and more difficult by the lita.

Cache landed on the roof of a hospital and two orderlies met them there. By then, Bardner was unconscious.

"What's going on?" one of them inquired.

"I do not know," Cache replied, leaping from her seat to assist the medical team.

In less than five borts, Bardner was inside and the doctors were performing triage. Cache stayed with him and helped. She had her medical pack with her and so she outpaced the Coriolus physicians quickly.

"That does not make sense," she said when she studied the scans she'd just performed.

"What's that?" asked one of the doctors. He'd just manually checked the fellow for heart rate and respiratory sounds.

"This device can scan his body on numerous levels. His epidermis, musculature density, bone density, circulatory function, endocrine system, heart function, nervous system efficiency, and such."

"Holy Creator!" the doctor replied. "Where did you get that?"

Cache smiled a quick little smile and just continued.

"These readings show that he is in the advanced stages of pneumonia! But that cannot be true."

"Why?" the physician asked, looking down at the patient.

"Because he was fine when I met him just three billots ago."

"Three billots..." the doctor began, and then his eyes grew wide.

He rushed over to the wall beside the door and pressed a large yellow button. Instantly, alarms went off and the doors to the entire floor shut and locked, as did the windows.

Across the hall, the station where all medical personnel checked in began flashing bright lettering across every computer screen. The letters said: Quarantine.

"Oh no!" Cache hissed.

From that moment, and for the next two days, Cache stayed locked in that hospital, barely sleeping and rarely eating while scores and then hundreds of people began pouring into the building seeking help.

None of them left alive.

It was like some apocalyptic horror film. Every person she saw had contracted the same illness, but there was no obvious cause for it.

The initial symptom was fever, and it spread swiftly and drove their core temperature past the limit that someone could safely endure. The medical teams tried to counter that by chilling the patients down, but the heat spike was quickly followed by difficulty breathing due to fluid rushing from other parts of the body to the lungs.

The entire cycle of the odd disease was less than twelve billots...from start to death...and no one could beat it.

After the first few days, Cache had determined that it was an airborne virus, but she had no way of finding out where it had begun, or how to counteract it. She enlisted Rauld's help, but there was only so much even Fortell could do from a distance, and to bring her people there was out of the question due to the heavy gravity quotient of Coriolus. The last option was to shuttle the infected patients to Rauld, but Cache was afraid of exposing her world to some unknown pathogen.

As more and more deaths mounted however, she began to seriously consider that final alternative, especially when she failed to contract the illness. Her rationale was the possibility that Rauldens were immune to the disease. Unfortunately, that didn't last.

On the evening of day three, just a billot before she was due a mandatory check-in with Rauld, she leaned down to retrieve a sterile I.V. tube from a drawer but her fingers missed the mark. She squinted and tried again but the entire room listed badly and her focus went with it. She dropped to her knees suddenly, grabbing at the cabinet, but it was no use. A moment later, Cache was out.

### Chapter Thirty

### Will You Help Us?

Karne Gitove rode down the hard-packed dirt path that led to his home with a light heart. His son, Larson was with him and he would see his wife and daughter very soon. Everything was looking good for his family.

Josy would be married to Ron by the end of the cycle, and children were certain to follow...and the giant warrior was almost giddy about that. He adored his niece, Sheyah, and couldn't wait to grow his family again. His hideous, bestial face and enormous stature belied his want of the tender things in life so much that he wouldn't even speak of it other than to Mishea, his wife. No one else could possibly understand. To the outsiders, he was a Kreete warrior of the highest degree...a battle proven killing machine that knew nothing but strife and conflict.

As he and his son trotted their horses through the rolling ground of the orchards and buonta bean fields, a grin alighted on his massive face, as it did on Larson. Coming home was always a cause for joy and celebration.

With barely a hoz to go, their arrival was spotted by Mishea as she swept off the third story balcony of their home, and so a smile flashed across her countenance as well.

Off she flew to the wide stairway of their grand home, and down it she went.

"Josy," she called out as her dainty feet pattered along. "Josy, your father and brother are home!"

Josylinia heard her call, and so she gathered up Sheyah hurriedly.

"Come along, little one," she said to her future stepdaughter sweetly. "Uncle Karne and cousin Larson are home!"

Sheyah broke into laughter at that, clapping her hands and reaching up for Josy.

"Yeeaahhh!" she squealed.

They all headed out to greet the pair ambling along down the long drive toward the barn.

The giant men who were once soldiers for the Kreete Triad, stepped down from their steeds stiffly, having been in the saddle for several billots.

"Baushe`," Mishea said lovingly to the enormous brute who was her husband. "Welcome home, my love!"

Karne stooped over half his height and hugged the beautiful brunette tightly. "It is good to be back," he told her softly.

To an outsider, it would have been absolutely inconceivable that such a gorgeous human woman could find love with the gruesome-looking fellow, but to them it was just the way it should be.

"Welcome home, Larson," Josy said, reaching up to hug his looming figure while cradling Sheyah in her other arm.

"Thanks, little sister," he rumbled. Larson was quiet and aloof, so much like Karne that they got along marvelously. They read people and each other mostly by body language, so dialogue was kept to a minimum.

Mishea and Josy then switched before...

"Alright then," Karne said, his voice thundering across the grass like a heavily loaded wagon, "let me see my little niece!"

"Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" shrieked Sheyah as she was whisked up into the air by the nine-foot tall mass of bone and muscle.

"And just how are you, my tiny little angel?" he asked, holding her in his basket-sized hands.

"I am well, Uncle Karne," she replied easily, finding the ride in his grasp to be exhilarating. "How was your trip?"

Karne pulled her up close and kissed half of her entire head. "Well, we had a bit of an adventure this time out, Sheyah," he replied.

"Ooooooh...tell me...tell me!"

"Okay, you two," Mishea broke in first though, "Let's get them cleaned up from the road grit first...and I would bet you might be a bit hungry too?" she asked her men.

Grins splashed across their faces at that.

"You would win that bet, Mother," Larson agreed.

Karne lifted Sheyah up to the length of his arms just then, and she was laughing down at him when...

"Uh oh!" Sheyah uttered, her little face looking back over Karne's head, out across the wide meadow.

They all turned as one, curious about what the tiny tot had seen...but when they did, they froze where they stood. They couldn't have been more shocked if one of their horses had suddenly sprouted wings and flown away.

A quarter hoz away stood Cache's cottage. That was where she and Sheyah stayed when they were on Caron for any length of time. However, between that dwelling and the barn was a group of six individuals walking slowly toward the Gitoves.

It took a long few moments, but then the many cycles of training kicked in and the soldiers reacted. Karne and Larson's first motions were to make a fast sweep of the land all around, their hands already on the stocks of their crossbows strapped across their backs. The surrounding countryside was clear of any other threats however, so they focused on the interlopers.

As the group drew closer, Karne handed Sheyah back to Josy before he and his son took a stride forward, shielding the women. They stood there with their fingers gripping the hilts of their swords and their eyes flicking across the land intermittently.

When the group was only a hundred peors away, Karne deduced who they were, even though he'd never seen any of them before that day...and that's when he really began to worry.

Sheyah piped up at that time.

"It's the entire Raulden Council, Mishea...except for Mother."

By the time the group was merely five peors away, everyone could feel the cold grasp of dread creeping in. What could possibly have happened to force them off of their world?

The group was made up of three men and three women, all blonde haired with either blue or green eyes. One of the men took an additional step further, assuming the spokesman position. He was breathing hard and trembling...as they all were...from the exertion of the long march on a world far too heavy for them.

"You are the Reaper Class warrior of the Kreete Triad known as Karne Gitove?" the man asked in a deep, even tone. He was doing his very best to seem calm and firm.

Karne merely nodded.

At that confirmation, the entire group slowly lowered to their knees in the grass. They then placed their empty hands outstretched on the soft greenery with palms up and dropped their heads in reverence.

"I am Hoaldniz, of the Raulden people," the man said from his humble position. "This is the Raulden Council of Planetary Affairs...all the leaders of our people, save for Cache Kuar...and we have come to beg for your help."

Karne was utterly stunned. He had never met a native Raulden other than Cache, and had an image of them being similar to her...full of fight and vitality. These individuals before him were far from that, and in fact, they seemed too fragile and weak to even be of the same gene pool.

That incongruity made him pause longer than he meant to, which prompted Mishea to speak up.

"Please rise, friends," she urged them. "We are allies! You need not..."

She abruptly stopped her speech at a signal from her massive husband...an open hand the size of platter held up in front of her.

"They have addressed me, so your words will not sway them," he explained.

He was right too. No one had twitched a muscle.

"What my wife has said, Hoaldniz, is absolutely true. You need not show submission to address me or my family. I am not a Kreete Lord anymore. Here, I am just a man...a Caronian man."

Hoaldniz raised his head at that, and then bid his fellows do likewise.

"We had hoped that what Ron and Cache have told us about you was factual. And I must admit that I am immensely grateful that it is."

"I know the physical stresses of this planet must be very trying on you all," Karne added, "so I will ask you to accompany us inside where you may be more comfortable."

Mishea however, being the species she was, caught onto the fact that their new guests were a peculiar shade of coloring, even for a race alien to her, so she added an addendum.

"Perhaps, Baushe`," she interjected, "our guests might prefer the porch...possibly at the far corner of the house, away from the scent of our animal pens."

She saw the immediate relief on the faces of five of the six councilmen. They appeared on the verge of vomiting.

Karne was of course a brilliant man, (not being so would have seen him dead long ago) so he understood the true request his wife had made. The barn and the pens were nowhere near upwind of their location, the prevailing breeze always carrying such aromas away from the expansive home. No, she was suggesting that the smell of 'them'...her, Josy, Larson, and Karne...was causing the Rauldens such disquiet.

He might have been inclined to be insulted had he not recalled some of his own first encounters with dozens of alien races. Each had been repugnant to him after santaris inside the confines of the ultra-clean, sifted air of a spacecraft.

"Very well then," he said, altering his gesture to the shady overhang of the southern corner of the veranda.

A few borts later, they were all seated in cushioned chairs on the wooden decking, and Hoaldniz wasted no time getting to the business at hand.

"Reaper Karne," he began, but the giant stopped him.

"Karne is fine with me, sir," he corrected. "I wish no further affiliation with the Kreete."

"As you wish. Karne, we have received some extremely dire news that has pushed us to a critical juncture in our conflict with the Empire. And since both Cache and Ron Allison have yet to respond to our communications, we decided to come to you. What has been instigated is something we simply cannot stop without your help."

Karne just sat there like a monstrous statue, his silver eyes giving away nothing of his thoughts. Inside though, he could feel the old fire building. It had been a long while since battle had loomed in his future, and the sweet twinge of adrenaline began to seep into his system.

"We have come to the conclusion that the Lords are attempting to regain control of the planet!"

"I thought your planetary shield is impenetrable," Karne retorted. "That no amount of ships could make it yield."

"Of that, you are correct. The combined firepower of the entire Kreete galaxian war-fleet could not breach it...however...that is not how they are attacking."

"I do not follow."

"What they have planned is outside the normal scope of devastation and conquest that anyone has seen thus far. They are using one of the most massive asteroids from the solar system's debris field...one the size of the entire Gammone Mountain range...to destroy the moon nearest the planet. Such an impact will liquefy the satellite. The cast off will shower the parent world with trillions of tons of molten rock that will set fires world-wide. It will also most likely destabilize the other moon's orbit and will at the very least cause tremendous tidal disruption to the planet. Those on the planet's surface that manage to survive will be gravely affected for the next ten-thousand cycles. And most importantly, the collision will send out a shockwave that will overwhelm the planetary shield and leave it open to the fleet that is already moving into position. We have confirmed that with long-range telemetry."

Karne let the scenario play out in his mind for several long litas while Mishea trembled beside him considering the horrendous loss of life. Suddenly the giant stiffened pointedly and sat forward.

"But there is no moon over the planet Rauld," he grumbled, his fingers beginning to twitch.

"No, Karne," Hoaldniz responded. "Forgive me if I have misspoken, or misled you in any way. We are not here to ask you to save Rauld. We have come in the hope that you will save Caron!"

"What?" Mishea squealed. "Caron?"

"Yes, Mishea...Caron. You see, Aanlis here is our chief communications analyst," he explained, indicating the woman to his left. "She and her team constantly scour the empire's data streams for information about the inner workings of the Triad...to assist Cache and Ron with their duties and apprise them of any dangers. They have deciphered several messages imbedded in communiqués that have moved us to investigate certain claims...and we have done that. The conclusion is as I have stated."

"But if the asteroid is of the size you've described," Josy asked, her voice shaking as well, what could anyone possibly do to stop it?"

"We have prepared for this particular scenario, having already accepted that it could be done to Rauld, and so have a contingency plan. We actually took the idea from what the Rheckors did on Earth and constructed an enormous Pyre of our own. It will have to be delivered to the target however, across the great void of space, and it cannot miss. And unfortunately there is time for only a single attempt."

"But how can we help you deliver a space weapon when we cannot even leave this world?" Larson queried, his voice sounding equally as impressive as Karne's.

"We have been building a pair of fighter spacecraft in our Jametid facility ever since the battle over Rauld. They have just recently been completed."

"Are they as powerful as the _Darlile_?" Karne asked excitedly.

"Much more so. You see, they were not built to explore. They were designed for war."

"What about our size, Hoaldniz? We could never fit in the cockpit of a 'human' sized ship."

"These crafts are much larger than the Darlile, so there was ample room to accommodate your massive physiques."

"But certainly you had no way to foresee such a need as we have now...a circumstance that would require our personal participation."

"That was all Cache's doing, Karne. She instructed Ketlical to design the command station in such a way that it could expand to fit you or your son, Larson, with only the seats and their restraints needing to be replaced."

Karne Gitove was indubitably surprised.

"But...why?"

"She had the sagacity to realize that she and Ron might one day require help in their incredibly heroic and dangerous mission...and she could comprehend no other persons in all the known galaxy that she would trust with such devastating weapons."

Throughout Karne's long life, he'd been awarded nearly every commendation the Triad gave out. He'd been the heralded victor in innumerous contests of brain and brawn, as well as hundreds of fearsome battles. And in all that time he'd rarely sought out or cared for anyone else's opinion of him. Yet in that moment, when he considered what Hoaldniz had just told him, he felt immensely proud to be considered so highly placed in Cache Kuar's eyes.

He sat there silently for a long moment.

Mishea was right next to him and so she placed her hand on his enormous forearm, sensing exactly what he was feeling...and it made her smile.

"How much time is there?" he finally asked, bringing his mind back to the urgent topic.

"Not enough! If you are in agreement, we must leave now. The trip alone will take at least two torjournes."

Karne looked at his son and saw the fire in his eyes. The young warrior wanted this. He wanted to test himself...to push himself.

"We will join forces with you, Hoaldniz," the giant Reaper announced. "We will fight!"

"That is most gratifying," the leader said with clear relief in his tone.

The Rauldens rose, bowed deeply, and then headed slowly back towards Cache's little house while the Gitoves made some hasty goodbyes.

Mishea took the parting better than Josy because she was supremely confident her mighty husband could defeat any foe, and that he would look after their sole remaining son with supreme ferocity. Josy was much more distraught. She'd seen the Caronian war more up close than her mother and knew that nearly every single moment brought with it its own mini-battle that had to be won through cunning, stamina, viciousness, and even luck. It was far from certain that she would ever see her father and brother again.

"Take care of each other," Karne told them. "We will do what we must."

With one more round of hugs and well-wishes, the two Kreete warriors headed off in pursuit of their Raulden allies. They caught up quickly due to their overly long strides, and Karne broke into preparations immediately.

"If you can," he said to Hoaldniz in his thundering, grinding voice, "begin explaining the details of your plan.

Hoaldniz was struggling with the trek, but nevertheless responded as asked.

"One of you will need to go on ahead of the other...and verify the targeting calculations we have worked out," Hoaldniz instructed in broken, huffing surges of air. "The other will follow with the pyre...latched to his ship's underbelly. Only minute changes...will be achievable at the velocity necessary...so we will need...to get the exact location...and the exact dimensions...of the asteroid...as far in advance as possible. When that is done..."

### Chapter Thirty-one

### The Attack on Caron

Ron enjoyed Yovan's hospitality for the better part of a santari as they travelled along the borders of Malicart space. He learned that there were a great number of ships, sensor buoys, and space-based colonies constructed across the wide area of the cosmos his new friends called home. And that they were implacably dedicated to maintaining vigilance against any unwelcomed intrusion into their domain.

Ron had little trouble convincing the leaders of the Malicarts that there was no plot by the Rauldens to steal technology or in any way undermine their society...that it was equally rewarding just to find out that their people were not the conquering type.

Early on in Ron's extended visit...and with the help of the Starflex Transfer Portal...the two groups quickly formed a rapport of respect and admiration, one for the other. The seemingly unchallenged leader of technology...the Malicarts...were amazed by the portal, which added greatly to their acquiescence to the cooperation. Their best scientists had been working toward such a device for nearly a thousand years, but to them it was still just a theoretical dream. To have a working unit aboard one of their ships was almost too incredible to believe.

Since the _Darlile_ sat inside their flagship, they tried scanning the remarkable device...but the super-metal the hull was constructed of forbade their attempts to yield any useful data, so after several tries, they still had almost no clue as to how the portal worked. That led them to almost beg the Rauldens for more information.

The Raulden Council of Planetary Affairs knew well how the art of diplomacy worked though.

"I am afraid that we are hesitant in sharing this particular accomplishment," Hoaldniz had responded cautiously. "As your people particularly would understand, such a device could be misused rather easily...and would substantially shift the limits of power that now exist."

There was a good deal of political bantering about a large number of issues between the two species during Ron's stay, but it was at least cordial and calm. Neither side tried to unduly pressure the other about sharing information.

In the end, it was decided by both sides that they would stay in close contact with one another and let time help establish a basis of trust. The Rauldens did however take the first step toward that trust by sending over a 'receiver' portal station. It was very similar to the one in the Allisons' house on Earth, so it could initiate a message, but not move an object across space. That had to be handled from the Raulden side.

The gesture was an open-ended invitation to continue their dialogue in real time, and thusly was well received.

On the final day of Ron's visit, while he was preparing his belongings to return to the _Darlile_ and head home, he received an emergency transmission the moment the TransVerse drive was deactivated. He was still in his assigned quarters aboard the _Pieant_ _Star_ when his chrono burst into action, vibrating wildly and chiming.

"Emergency!" flashed across the small, watch-like screen. "Urgent communiqué from Rauld!"

Ron threw his things over his shoulder and set off in a fast jog down the long halls to the transporters. (They were much like the cubic transporters on Rauld as they moved in all directions)

His haste was noted by many of the crewmembers, especially when he exited the final leg and sprinted across the hangar floor toward the black ship, but no one tried to delay him.

Ron blitzed through the entry code and rushed to the portal station, slamming his hand down on the control console as his heart pounded heavily. He then waited impatiently for the news. It wasn't Aanlis's face that filled the screen however, it was Hoaldniz'.

"Ron, thank the Guardian!" he sighed, obviously relieved to see him. "We have been trying to reach you for dactrais."

"Really? Sorry, but we've been traveling at transoptic for the past torjourne. Why? What's up?"

"We have discovered some horrible news, and with Cache away from her com on Coriolus, and you out of contact too, we have been attempting to cope with things ourselves...things we really are not prepared for."

"Holy cow!" Ron thought instantly. "If it has those geniuses so worked up, it must really be bad."

"Such as what, exactly?" Ron questioned.

"It appears as if Caron is on the verge of being destroyed!"

Ron's first instinct was to laugh at such a ludicrous announcement, and if it had been anyone other than the leader of the Raulden people, he would have, but he knew without a doubt that Hoaldniz would never make such a statement in jest. Instead of a smile and a quick off-color retort, Ron's entire deeply tanned body turned white as a ghost. Instead of his normal response of a growl and a spike in his determination however, all he felt was utter panic.

"What?" he choked out. "How? From where?"

"As you are aware, when we established the Shotal Planetary Shield around Caron, we sent several sensor buoys out into space to monitor the surrounding area and give warning of any attempts to breach the shield. Three of those sensor probes have reported that an asteroid of sufficient mass...approximately two-hundred hoz in length, and fifty in diameter...is now on a collision course with Vorac."

"Two-hundred...holy shi...when? Why Vorac? And how much time do we have?"

"Well, as for a reason, we can only speculate. But, if Vorac was destroyed or even struck solidly, it would almost certainly eliminate the planet shield. We also estimate that easily 67% of the population would perish, but the Kreete could take control of the planet once again, causing a severe blow to our efforts of freeing other worlds."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, seeing the perspective of his enemy. "After something like that, who would even dream of trying to break free? The Kreete would have the ultimate leverage."

"Yes. At least, that is our opinion."

"And how much time until this happens?"

"One point five torjournes."

Ron already knew he was four torjournes away from Caron before that timetable was even spoken, and that forced his stomach to flop and his body to quiver. He would be sidelined for the duration of the outcome.

"Have you begun evacuating the...?" he started to say.

"We can rescue those closest to you, Ron...Josy and Mishea, but there is no time for many others. On their world it takes too long to gather even a moderate group. I am truly sorry."

"Is there nothing you can do, Hoaldniz...nothing your incredible, advanced technology can come up with?"

"Actually, we have enacted a plan, as I alluded to earlier, but it is a desperate, one shot maneuver that is fraught with uncertainty. I am afraid that it may come down to a simple, undeniable outcome...fate!"

"Fate? Seriously? It's that bad? You have to elaborate!"

Over the next half billot, Hoaldniz explained all that had occurred and what they'd set in motion. When he was finished, Ron was sitting there, stunned into a momentary stupor.

"Everything those poor people have gone through in the past seventy cycles," he thought about the Caronians, "Has it all been for nothing?"

Yovan received word of Ron's panicked state from his crewmen's observations, so he called the _Darlile_ on his ship's com.

That broke Ron's train of thought and got him back into animation.

"Thank you, Hoaldniz...for everything. I have to take care of a few more things here before I leave, but I'll call you again when I'm on my way."

Hoaldniz bowed deeply and the link shut down.

Ron shuffled over to the cockpit and slumped into his seat. He was stunned, shocked, panicked, and confused. When the chime of the com rang again, he triggered it out of habit, still too lost in a daze to realize he'd even done it.

"Ron," Yovan said cautiously, now witnessing the terribly distressed man's strained expression. "Is everything alright?"

Ron stared back at him blankly.

"My home! It's under attack! And it sounds like there's almost nothing that can stop it from being utterly destroyed!"

"But your people's shield!" Yovan returned, having become acquainted with the Raulden's planetary protection capabilities...another invention that they were yet to perfect.

"Here," Ron replied weakly. "Watch this."

Ron replayed the Raulden leader's recent explanation to the captain of the Malicart vessel.

Yovan was more objective than Ron had been, and so when the recording was through, he was already working on a plan.

"Show me the location of Caron," he said excitedly.

After peaceful interaction with the Malicarts had proved themselves, Ron had restored the central computer's authority over the ship's systems, so he gave the avatar permission to relay the information.

"What are you thinking, Yovan?" Ron asked, his intuition that the man was formulating a strategy of his own bubbling in his mind. "Do your people have a response for such an attack?"

The captain was gesturing to two of his officers, but turned to answer Ron.

"Yes, we do...but that would not work for you. Our countermeasures could never reach your world in time, but..."

Ron sat there leaning forward, hanging on the man's next words. He was beginning to recover from his torpor of helplessness and ready to try any proposal he heard, no matter how absurd.

Yovan suddenly vented his frustration in a long expletive before facing Ron again.

"We cannot contact our superiors in time!" he finally said, his eyes shifting back and forth rapidly. He really envied the Rauldens in that moment. Their ability to speak across the cosmos in real time was beyond incredible. Then his gaze locked on Ron's.

"I take it you would give all in our power to be there...yes? To do what you can to prevent this catastrophe?"

Ron leaned forward a bit more and his hands grasped the edge of the console with intense pressure.

"You bet your sweet ass I would!"

"Then this is how it will go," Yovan told him. "We are forbidden from entering Kreete space for any reason that is not explicitly sanctioned by our leaders."

Ron could see there was more, so he waited, his entire body frozen in space and time.

"I am certain that they would approve this mission if I could only present it to them...so...I am going to chance being stripped of my command and sent back to my homeworld in disgrace by what I am about to do."

The _Darlile_ cropped the image of the Malicart captain to offer an inset image that depicted the _Pieant Star_ ramping up its TransVerse drive once again.

"I'm going to set out on this 'mercy mission' without the proper authorization, in the hope of proving to the Rauldens that we are a compassionate people who would like to expand our relationship with a show of philanthropic goodwill."

Ron was hastily trying to catch up with his new friend's strategy, but his mind was still cluttered with too many worries to allow clear thinking.

"What exactly are you saying?" he asked of Yovan.

"We will transport you and your ship to the desired location so that you may at least have some input as to the outcome of the attack...if you so wish."

"What? Are you kidding? Yes-yes-yes...I do!"

Yovan's nod was already in mid stroke, and before his chin had dropped completely, the _Pieant Star_ was tearing through the galaxy at a rate that even the speedy _Darlile_ couldn't hope to achieve.

"Now, be aware, Ron," Yovan added quickly. "When we arrive, we cannot fire against any Kreete vessel...in any capacity! To do that would be an act of war. That, I will not do!"

"No-no-no...that's fine!" Ron responded quickly, his old tenacity suddenly restored. "I can deal with them!"

Then he recalled the distance to Caron, and how the _Darlile_ would only make half the trip before the attack was over.

"Yovan, can you truly reach it in time?"

Yovan merely smirked and set his eyes on the central viewer. "I would not risk my family's station, my command, and my crew just to come up short, Itsu of Caron. I suggest you examine your ship thoroughly and prepare it for battle. The dactrais will be gone before you know it."

Ron doubted that very much as his mind fretted over the impossible battle to come. Even if he could eliminate the Kreete escorts and leave the asteroid open to Karne and Larson's attack, so very much would depend on timing and sheer luck. Those were the acts of truly desperate souls, and only the Creator himself could guess at the outcome.

"I'll see you at dinner," Yovan finally said, cutting the com link.

Over the following ten dactrais, Ron went over every system in the black ship, just like he'd done with Cache on more than one occasion, and verified that all was as functional as he could make it. He even tweaked the weapons energy capacitor to run at a constant 130%. It was a gamble to be sure, but he knew he'd need every possible advantage he could get. In fact, Ron was still scouring the _Darlile_ for any more upgrades when he at last received the announcement he'd waited for.

"Ron Allison," Yovan's voice blasted over the _Darlile's_ intercom. (Ron had left it open to any incoming message from the _Pieant Star_ ) "One billot to target!"

Ron was never one to get unduly stressed or nervous over any coming conflict, but at that moment, his stomach twisted hard and his entire body quaked. He was already in his G-suit, knowing the time was rapidly approaching, and so he took a moment to breathe...to regain his normal composure. It would do no good to expend energy on unknown and unnecessary speculation. The real fight was just around the corner.

One last check to verify that the ship's interior was completely secure, and then he slid into the pilot's seat and strapped in. He went straight to the 'Battle' mode and felt the _Darlile_ wrap him in its tightest grip, every inch of his body cocooned in firm support. The only parts of his physique left to move even the tiniest bit were his fingers and hands...the throttle, the weapons, and the guidance inputs.

At ten borts to target, the central viewer suddenly sprang to life with a relayed sensor feed from the _Pieant Star_.

"Holy Guardian above us!" Yovan hissed as his operator expanded the view to encompass the scene they were so rapidly approaching.

Hearing the report from the Raulden Council had not prepared them for what was now physically right in front of them. The asteroid was more than immense, especially when compared with the fleet of Kreete warships that accompanied it. Those gigantic vessels were mere specs beside it. And the engines that were currently streaming superheated particles out the aft end at unfathomable rates were the size of a city...each. And there were six of them!

Ron needed to shut them down as quickly as possible. It meant almost nothing to the outcome of the asteroid's trajectory at that point, but a stagnant rate would give the incoming attack sortie one less thing to calculate.

Ron was no longer racked with uncertainty. He'd reverted back to his typical state of steadfast logic and determination, and so he took it all in with his usual pragmatic analysis. He noted the shielding around the engine area first since that would be his primary focus.

"Well," he mentally told the enemy, "I see you've made some improvements. "So have we. So I guess we'll just have to see who was better at it!"

"One bort to launch!" was the next announcement.

"Raise the deflector," Ron replied.

Instantly an energy wall formed directly aft of the _Darlile_ , which had already been moved to the edge of the cargo bay and pointed outward. Ron lit the engines of his sable craft and placed his hand firmly on the throttles. It would be a full power exit from his Malicart host's hangar bay.

"Point two-five VL-1, as discussed, in five...four...three...good hunting...one...launch!"

Ron slammed the _Darlile's_ power-plants forward with great anticipation, and exited the hangar at the maximum rate he felt he could still wage war.

The _Pieant Star_ showed on his aft sensor array for only a moment before they disappeared once again into the Transient Universe, completely separate from the physical one he now tore through.

Straight as an arrow, the _Darlile_ streaked toward her goal, and a few moments later the Kreete armada broke formation to converge on her.

### Chapter Thirty-two

### Caron's Last Chance

Karne had decided back on Rauld that since he had the most experience...and assuming that there would most certainly be a large escort surrounding the asteroid...then he should be the one to go first during the attack.

He dropped out of transoptic travel precisely where he should have and slapped the engines into reverse thrust immediately. Twelve billots later, his target flashed onto the screen at the very limit of his sensor's range and he began his scans.

Just as he'd expected, the monstrous mass of rock and ice was indeed escorted by a large group of ships. However, what he had not was the fact that they were already engaged with another adversary...a small black ship.

The identity of that tiny craft popped up on the screen immediately, being his own ship's precursor and little sister. When it was identified, the massive Reaper grinned broadly.

The battle looked like a single hornet attacking a bear, and the _Darlile_ was whipping around the much larger, yet slower cruisers easily, blue plasma charges streaking away from it in an almost constant pace while the red blasts from the colossal Kreete warships filled the area around it with their own intensity.

A moment later, a stream of data filled the right side of the viewer with every shred of information he and Larson would need to make their best shot at the asteroid.

"Thanks, little man," Karne said in his softest, yet still grating voice.

It was so tempting to race to Ron's side and assist in the incredible David and Goliath battle, but he could not...at least not yet. He had not been delivered by the vastly superior race as Ron had been, and so his present velocity necessitated two more billots of deceleration before he could possibly begin to dogfight. No matter how badly he wanted to, he was confined to his own mission.

Karne complied with his duties without further delay, dissecting the scans Ron had sent him. The enormous mass of cosmological stone spun about its length at a moderate rate, giving him an excellent view of every surface, plus the exact rotational speed. The scans he received were extremely thorough too, impressing the seasoned officer with Rauld's technological abilities that pinpointed the weakest areas. There were only two, but one was too close to the forward end to give the results they so desperately needed.

The composition was shown to a depth of a hundred peors...an extraordinary achievement through that much solid rock...and every hollow cavity or pocket of soft substrate was precisely categorized. Karne would have preferred a glimpse to the core of the mass of course, but such were the limits of even the advanced Rauldens.

In less than a billot, the target was set and he just needed to await his son's approach. He spent that time watching his future son-in-law wage war against a vastly superior force, and that made him smile all the more.

Forty more borts slid by before Larson's ship, the _Excelsior_ , dropped out of hyperspace, but when he did, he did not begin slowing.

He was a hundred million hoz from the asteroid, and ready for the final adjustments. Karne relayed his assessments through the portal station so Larson received them within litas. He'd worried that at such a speed, the calculations would be impossible to make, but Rauld had done a remarkable job on planning the undertaking and so only the slightest course correction needed to be made.

The inputs went in instantly. In order to strike at the precise point, he needed to drop his speed to .92 VL-1 and adjust his heading by .02 degrees...but he had only 10.45 borts to get it done. Those corrections may not appear to be much, but at such a velocity the inertial loads on his body threatened to crush him to death. Just like Ron and his father however, Larson merely suffered through it with his inexorable determination.

Another ten borts and it eased up again. The targeting reticle was locked. Then it was just a matter of time until the deed was done...and they all prayed to the Creator that it would work.

Of course, that couldn't possibly be the end of it, and when Karne reviewed the scans again, he realized that fact. He quickly noticed that the engines that had been constructed at the aft end of the space rock appeared undamaged. Also, they still had fuel in them, so even though they were presently dormant, they could be fired again to help counter the attack! And because even a miniscule change in speed or rotation would drastically alter the effect their weapon would have on the deadly mass, it was a heart-wrenching discovery. That's when Karne realized what Ron was so desperately attempting to do. They needed to destroy those engines!

The giant warrior wanted badly to contact Ron, to offer his support even if only in spirit, but he didn't. He'd been in similar skirmishes as Ron now faced and knew that focus was the key to survival. The little man in that shadow-ship did not need a sideline strategist to help him fight.

A full billot short of attaining a safe speed to maneuver, Karne had reached the limit of his patience. At that point, the Reaper class warrior put his own body to the test, slamming the throttles forward until even his gargantuan muscles could barely inflate his lungs. As fast as he possibly could, he headed for the scene of that fierce battle.

Ron had broken through the defenses mounted to the asteroid some three billots in the past, and had landed a good shot that had knocked them out for a while, but then the armada had swooped in once more and engaged him. They'd hammered the _Darlile_ with so much firepower that Ron's vision had blurred heavily and his shields had dropped to ten percent, forcing a brief retreat. Ever since that clash, he'd attempted to return to that spot to finish the job, but had run into much stiffer resistance than he'd counted on.

The attacking fleet had apparently done their homework very thoroughly because their shields held better, their gun turrets tracked much faster, and their plasma bursts were far more effective at draining the black ships' protection than any previous vessels had been.

By the time Ron first detected Karne's ship, the asteroid's engine cluster was heavily shielded once more, hundreds of Cnauts were scurrying to repair it, and the fleet providing cover was doing a stupendous job.

Ron gritted his teeth and held to the fight with the tenacity of a pit-bull for the following few billots, getting in dozens of good shots that kept the invading fleet quick-stepping with all they had just to stay alive. But their superior numbers were proving to be his undoing because he could not slip past them to get a clean shot at his primary targets...those enormous engines.

Ron nearly cheered when the _Darlile_ finally made the long waited announcement.

"The _Dragon Fire_ is closing fast."

There were still more than seventy small fighters swarming about the area, but they'd begun the battle with a hundred. Many times during the melee` they'd sacrificed their very lives to thwart Ron's success, and it had worked over and over. Every time Ron had managed to get close enough to deliver a killing blow, the defending squadrons converged on him and forced his retreat.

As Karne approached, he'd been flying the _Darlile_ at such extreme inputs for so many billots...the struggle battering him constantly and viciously...that his nearly inexhaustible determination was all but used up. The appearance of Rauld's cavalry though, gave him a much needed boost. He'd known that Cache and Gerdanz were building those new war-birds, but hadn't seen them in action...and he hoped they were all she'd claimed they would be.

"Good to..." Ron was interrupted by a barrage of intense plasma bursts, "see you, Karne!" he said when the Reaper broke from his initial heading.

Karne swung toward the fray just as Larson's ship reached launch range.

"Hold on, Ron!" the Reaper growled. "It is almost over!"

Karne was still moving at better than a quarter VL-1 when he sailed by, but the hail of plasma the _Dragon Fire_ laid down was devastating...and it took out a cruiser and ten fighters.

"YES!" Ron shouted, whipping the _Darlile_ into that area instantly.

The smallest of the Raulden vessels sliced through the tiny crease in the enemy's defenses like a surgeon's scalpel, diving in for the kill. He spiraled about that area in a frenzied terror, and managed to hammer the engines' shielding down to thirty percent before the inevitable happened...they burst into life!

That act nearly destroyed the _Darlile_.

Ron had been so focused on the outcome of his attack that he'd forgotten what being caught inside the plume of a superheated particle blast such as the engines could produce would do to his ship. As it was, the shielding around the ebony craft buckled straightaway and the ship itself was ejected in rapid fashion, tumbling harshly with warnings blasting away inside.

Ron blacked out for a few litas, until the Darlile was clear of the stream, and then his mind sprang back to life in a rush, but was scrambled badly. His animal instincts recovered faster than his thoughts luckily, which saved him from being vaporized by the nearest destroyer by slapping the throttles forward. A plasma burst larger than his entire ship barely grazed his right wing as he spun away in a brilliantly timed roll.

Larson had the countdown timer reading two...then one...and then he squeezed, releasing the pyre exactly on time...but just then the engines lit. In a blink he went from relieved and confident to absolutely horrified. His stomach lurched as if he'd been physically struck.

"Oh no!" he growled, already knowing there wasn't a single thing he could do to adjust it.

At .92 VL-1, the pyre was loose. It could not be slowed, nor hurried without drastically altering its heading. It was like firing a bullet from Saturn, and trying to hit a watermelon orbiting Mercury. So close to the speed of light, the timing had to be precise to a degree that an earth man simply could not fathom.

Instead of following his instructions and reengaging the NOVA-Drive to get him clear of the upcoming blast, Karnes youngest boy did the only thing he could think of. He forced his ship off his present course just enough to follow his father's lead and make a single pass by the tail end of that mountain of looming death.

His head swam from the intense pressure of the move, and for a moment, he even grayed out, but then, at the instant his vision returned, he shoved forward on his own power-plants.

The pyre was still six borts away from impact as he darted forward of it in a mad race against that death-device.

When he approached the edge of the _Excelsior_ 's weapons range he squeezed down on the fire trigger and held it there, his only target those engines that threatened to destroy their entire mission.

The weakened shields that had barely held Ron at bay simply could not withstand a third assailant and collapsed as Larson flashed by flying at full VL-1. He was gone so quickly that no one could have even seen his ship without sensors, but his job was done...the protection was gone.

In that same instant, Ron accepted a pummeling of plasma fire that rattled the _Darlile_ hard, but it didn't stop him from dashing in for the kill. With his own shields pounded down to two percent, he showered the giant engines with plasma, destroying them immediately...and then he ran!

The enormous spike of super-metal struck the tumbling rock dead center of the thickest point, but was a full hoz off the mark.

The energy the impact generated was inconceivable, such that it split the aft quarter of the asteroid completely off the main, and liquefied more than a third of it.

Half of the Kreete fleet that had so doggedly protected the enormous weapon was obliterated in a blast unequalled by a million hydrogen bombs. That collision also caused the forward section of the asteroid to begin a much faster tumble and altered its direction by almost a tenth of a degree, assuring it would fly well wide of its target. The aft section shifted two degrees and slowed nearly four percent, sending it out of sync with its original trajectory also.

As soon as the telemetry came in to the Raulden vessels, their pilots let out roars of joy and exultation. But that lasted barely a bort...until the advanced computers aboard their ships had recalculated and reported the pieces' new heading.

In an incomprehensibly small bit of dire misfortune, the new path of one of the remaining chunks placed it on a collision course with Caron itself!

It was projected to just clip the southern pole, where no human life existed, but it wouldn't matter. That particular section of the asteroid was still thirty hoz in diameter! At such a mass, and traveling at such a speed, it would decimate the planet. The collision would almost assuredly penetrate the crust and expose the mantle, and the projected castoff of molten and solid debris would shower down upon at least half the planet, so life on Caron would be greatly... horribly...affected, and possibly exterminated! After all, the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs on Earth had been barely six miles in diameter.

Karne and Ron got the news simultaneously, and neither hesitated, flipping open the coms to Rauld.

"Hoaldniz! Get a Cnaut out to the farm and evacuate everyone they can!"

As calmly as if he was half asleep, the Raulden leader replied.

"Rest assured, it has already begun. They will be safe well before the impact."

"Okay then," Ron sighed, but his mind was still racing with angst, even as he was bringing the _Darlile_ around to engage that deadly missile. "What about all the rest?" he groaned internally. "Our friends, those fortunate souls who miraculously survived the war, and all the millions of innocents across the globe will die!

"My God...is there no hope?""

Before another word could be spoken however, a new alteration in the dynamics of the moment sprang into being. As if from nowhere, ten Malicart ships dropped out of TransVerse propulsion mode directly adjacent to the tumbling asteroid, pacing it exactly...and then they showed Ron and Karne what real firepower was truly about. From a dozen separate areas on each vessel, orange energy bursts shot forth like a machine-gun spewing white-hot tracer bullets, and each of those blasts carved out a car-sized chunk of the asteroid.

They chewed into the sides of that rocky bludgeon for the following two billots, until five distinct gouges were cut completely around the stony, tumbling missile, and each was glowing red from the intense heat the bombardment had produced. At that point, the Malicarts swapped weapons, bringing their main guns into the battle. They exhibited extremely precise coordination too, when all ten cut loose with monstrous plasma bursts that fractured the giant cannonball into a cluster of sixty smaller chunks.

To Ron and Karne, the sight was breathtaking to see. Their home was saved!

And then, as if they'd just stopped by for a quick demonstration, the Malicart armada powered up their drives again and flashed into nothingness.

Not a word had been said while the bombardment was taking place, as all eyes had paused to take it in, but when the ships vanished, those watching with bated breath came alive once more.

"Who, in the Guardian's name, was that?" Karne asked over the com, his overly deep voice grinding like boulders being dragged across stone.

Ron felt the urge to keep his new allies a secret on an open frequency. "Angels," he said with a chuckle. "Absolute angels!" Then he flipped the com to the Malicart's unique bandwidth...one that had been personally installed by a Malicart technician. "Thank you, Yovan...my friend. I will forever be in your debt."

He had no idea where his new allies were by then, but a response came back quickly. The image of the _Pieant Star's_ captain filled the screen.

"You brought my family back to me," Yovan said easily, his daughter seated next to him, "so I figured I'd help save yours for you."

"How did you get your superiors to allow an entire fleet to cross into enemy space?" Ron asked, still overwhelmed at the generous and timely intervention.

"When we left our domain with you, the situation concerning Caron had been transmitted to our central command. They saw that the people of your new home planet were innocent of the galactic war raging around them. They are primitive and have no way to fight back or defend themselves. It is up to those of us who can, to protect and shelter such civilizations from outside influence. Our code of conduct demands that of our leaders, so they were compelled to act. And furthermore, extermination of an entire race is something we Malicarts do not condone and cannot stand idly by to witness."

Ron was incredibly thankful for his new benevolent friends. They were a true gift from the Creator.

"I think your help here will definitely convince the Rauldens that your intentions are in line with theirs, and I look forward to our mutual collaboration in the future."

"As do I, Ron."

"And Captain Yovan," Ron added. "Aside from whatever agreements our peoples derive, I want to pledge you this. Anytime and anywhere, if you or your people ever call for me...I will come! You have my word."

Although Yovan couldn't dream of a scenario where that might be necessary, considering their huge separation of technological abilities, he was grateful for the magnanimous offer. He tilted his head in respect.

"Safe journeys," Ron told him happily.

"And you as well," came the reply, and then the image vanished and the com went silent.

Ron and Karne wanted to give chase to the remaining ships of the attacking fleet and destroy those cowardly fiends, but there was still much more in store around their home, so they stayed put.

The remaining sections of the asteroid were quickly dispersing due to numerous collisions and explosions still taking place, but several good-sized chunks were undeniably going to rain down on Caron, so they went to work on them. However, the type of energy the Rauldens used was minimally effective on the space debris due to its metallurgic composition, so they ended up watching more than anything.

A billot later, the rain began.

The planet shield was remarkable. It ground up fifty percent of the incoming debris field that struck it. However, several of the larger sections did remain intact enough to burn through the atmosphere all the way to the ground.

Ron and Karne both held their breaths as two of the streaking rocks tore through the air and struck the southern end of the primary continental landmass. Fortunately by then, those pieces were barely a hundred meters across, but the destruction they wreaked was wide-spread nonetheless.

One other fragment exploded in midair, about a thousand peors above ground. The total results of the collisions and the explosion left the lower four hundred hoz of farmland and forest leveled and scorched, sealing the fate of any people or creatures that might have called that area home.

Ron hoped the region was at least minimally inhabited, but there was no way to tell by then because even the _Darlile's_ advanced sensors couldn't penetrate the shield's distortion field while it was being bombarded.

All he could do was make a note of the location and vow to explore that area one day...to pay homage to those who might have perished amidst the clash of interstellar forces they would never know of or understand.

Half a dactrai later, the _Excelsior_ joined the _Dragon Fire_ and the _Darlile_ in orbit over Caron, where Ron had taken up a position above the farm...and farmer's daughter...he so missed. Karne had felt equal need to be in that location, but neither had openly expressed it. By that time, they had all caught up with the news of the battle, and of the repercussions on the planet.

"What now, Ron?" Larson inquired as he eased his ship alongside the two.

While Larson had decelerated and made his way back to the planet, Ron and Karne had freed themselves from the safety restraints and tended to their physical needs with so many personal thoughts running through their minds that no one had spoken for a long while.

Now they were sitting in their captains' chairs pondering that very question, and it caught Ron at a point of deep introspection.

"I want to go home," he said frankly. He sounded totally exhausted...drained, body and soul.

Karne said nothing, sensing the intense emotion in his voice.

"I want to be rid of this war. I want to go home and live my life with Josy...to raise a family and experience that part of life I've longed for for so many years...one that's not filled with anger, and dread...death and violence."

Karne understood Ron's statement all too well, having made that exact decision many cycles ago, and so he still remained silent.

"I will finish this mission with Cache, the one to establish protection for all members of my former team. But then I'm done."

"What about the fleet that just tried to annihilate Caron?" the young warrior queried hotly. He was yet filled with the fire of revenge.

Karne wanted to explain to his son the need for a break in the battle...one that he felt and he knew Ron felt...a period of thankfulness and of reconnection with the loved ones they'd nearly lost. But he knew that Larson had not yet found the mate that they had...a person who was so much a part of them that to lose her would literally be a crippling blow...so he would not understand.

With that thought in mind, the Reaper stayed quiet.

Larson's question did bring Ron back to the reality of their ongoing conflict though, and so he shifted his focus to that very thing...retribution. The recollection of his harrowing skirmish with the now scattered fleet brought his own blood to a boil quickly, and soon he was feeling like his brother-in-law. He wanted payback!

Ron considered heading out immediately to take the fight to the attackers, but he realized that was a rash, impudent plan. Those ships would have reached transoptic speed by then and there was no way to track them beyond a general direction. And without knowing there final destination, or origin, where would they even begin to look for whoever had organized the attack?

Considering the vastness of the Triad's domain, Ron felt incredibly helpless.

"I understand your drive, Larson," Ron finally said, "but I'm stumped. The Rauldens could find no evidence that any single Kreete leader...or group...had instigated the attack, so I don't even know where to begin.

"If either of you have a recommendation, I'm open to it."

The coms remained silent for a few borts as they each considered the problem. Finally, it was the most experienced man of the three who spoke up.

"You have been attacking stations and outposts across the Empire, correct?" Karne questioned.

"Yes," Ron replied. "For the better part of three santaris...at least until I went into Malicart space."

"Well then, we should be seeking out the investigators."

"Investigators?" Ron asked, clearly puzzled. "Who are they?"

"Whenever there is a series of 'disturbances' in the realm of one of the three Empirical Lords, they always assign a senior commander...usually a Reaper Class soldier with a great deal of experience...one who is totally loyal...to investigate the scenes. This Captain uses whatever forensic evidence is left behind to build a profile of the perpetrators and/or their general technology. Most of the time, the tech can point to a specific species, or a certain ship, or even a particular model of engine because scans of every ship that enters a spaceport, or a Kreete controlled planetary environment, is recorded into the central database. Very sophisticated pirates or smugglers change ships often to avoid being traced as easily. They spread their 'footprints' out as widely as they can, or they don't survive long.

"At any rate, there is no doubt that a task force has been initiated to track down the _Darlile_. They'll wish to either find it, or figure out where it will appear next so they can set up some kind of trap. They will definitely have been to each and every place your ship has wreaked havoc...and the information they gathered will be in their reports back to their Kreete sponsor."

"So," Ron added, his mind speeding along that line of thought, "if we peruse the Kreete data streams, we should be able to either intercept those reports, or..."

"Or at least find out which vessel has visited all of your crime scenes."

"Right," Larson caught on. "We don't need to know what they reported...just who they are, and where they're..."

"Headed!" Karne said, completing his son's thought.

They each tasked their computers to work in conjunction with the others, and with Rauld's central data file, to comb through the Kreete information channels and find that information.

"This could take a while," Karne said when everything was running. "I suggest we take the opportunity to rest."

"Good idea," Ron agreed with a long sigh.

The many days of stress leading up to the battle, topped off with several billots of high-G fighting had sapped the indomitable man. And he knew that the two Kreete soldiers who'd just saved their planet had also undergone equal stress and long periods of decel, and had to be fatigued as well.

A few borts later, they put their ships in a geosynchronous orbit, set their avatars to watch for danger, and then all settled in for a long nap.

### Chapter Thirty-three

### The Coriolus Effect

Cache Kuar awakened more than a torjourne after falling victim to the virulent plague, so weak, drained, and dehydrated she could barely move. She was on a bed with an empty bottle of saline still plugged into her arm, but there was no one around...at least no one still living. She tried to call out, but her voice had no force behind it, so she listened for a while instead. Unfortunately the only sound that reached her ears was a continuous buzzing. Then the smell hit her and she immediately rolled over and wretched.

It was painful, feeling her insides trying so desperately to get out, but she was glad at that moment that there was nothing in there to expel. After a bort or two, the nausea subsided, although she still felt horribly sick.

Using all her strength, she managed to climb out of bed and reach a faucet where she gulped down as much water as she thought she could safely take in...and then she crumpled to the floor. That simple chore had drained her badly, to the point she felt as if she'd just run a hoz up a steep hill, so she merely sat there trying to catch her breath.

It took a few borts, but her brain slowly began to make sense of things from there, so she cautioned herself to wait a bit for the rehydration process to take effect before trying to investigate her surroundings further.

While she sat, she wrapped her face in thick towels to help shield her from the pests and the smell, but it was unnerving just the same with death so near, and so ubiquitous.

A billot later, with her body showing signs of reawakening, she crawled around the floor of the hospital until she found a new bag of saline buried in the back of a cabinet. She then returned to her bed and set it to running.

While she waited for that, she watched the video feeds over the hospital's monitors for a few billots, but soon figured out that the news she thought was streaming live was in fact a loop. She quickly deduced that everyone who maintained such things...be it there at the hospital, or all around the country...had most likely contracted the disease and succumbed to it, and so any pertinent information had stopped at some point in the past as well. She had no way of knowing when that was though.

Once that bag of fluid was inside her, she removed all the related paraphernalia and set out once more.

First she returned to the area where she'd been working when she fell ill and searched it thoroughly, hoping to find her personal possessions. However, the place was a disaster of scattered equipment, broken glass, and bloated bodies, so it was a real chore. After two solid billots of fighting the swarms of flying insects and sliding on the oozing remains of the deceased, she called an end to it.

Wearing nothing but a thin robe, Cache left the hospital with the objective to make her way to the tunnel to Arbeziar. It was a long way from her location though, so she needed to break her trip down into steps; the first being to find something to eat and drink, preferably far from the decay she still waded through.

Along midday, she came across a house at the edge of the city that was deserted, so she broke in and scrounged what she needed. The power was still active at least, so she was able to eat, shower, and dress herself in more appropriate attire, although it didn't fit her very well. She stayed there that night and the following two days before feeling strong enough to return to her goal.

The home had a computer system she made use of, which guided her to the nearest airfield, but getting to it was quite a challenge because all the roads were clogged with abandoned vehicles and more bodies.

Another long, grueling day passed before she reached that airport, but afterward it was smoother sailing.

The ship's radio reported that the plague had swept across the entire planet in just three weeks and only a tiny fraction of the population was still holding out.

Cache wanted to try and help, but saw the futility of that in the sheer scope of the outbreak, so she kept her sights set on the tunnel and headed straight there. When she arrived however, her plans were derailed immediately. The high-speed train which provided that thread of continuity with Arbeziar was lifeless, as was the entire facility that managed it. She considered trying to operate it on her own, but with no assurances that it wouldn't simply stop halfway, she decided to use the shuttle. At least with that, she had control...or so she thought.

The flight went well enough, but once she arrived at the city, Cache found the entire landing area already buried in ice and snow. Nature had quickly taking hold. It took another half day to dig her way down into the subterranean avenues the citizens had designed many decades in the past, when they first sought to battle the encroaching weather.

By the time she made it to the Starflex Transporter room and called Rauld for help, ninety percent of the population...five and a half billion people...were dead.

She desperately wanted to leave that planet filled with death, but before Cache would open the portal, she instructed Fortell to initiate the highest level of quarantine they had. The doctor and his staff completely sealed off the communication room and cleared the entire level. Then they sent over a decontamination pod.

When Cache was secured inside, a Cnaut hauled it across the threshold and straight into a larger vessel which was also completely sealed.

Over the following few billots, the entire contraption was moved to the isolation section of Gammone where the medical team began their work.

While Cache was stuck in that chamber, she gave them a report of everything she'd been through, and then Aanlis explained all she'd missed. She sat in there with her mouth hanging open much of the time, almost unable to believe the story.

Half a dactrai inside that unit left her free of any contagions, and so she was allowed back into the Raulden populace where she collaborated with their medical experts to determine what was happening on Coriolus. She'd brought samples of blood, tissue, air, and water from multiple victims and various other sources.

It took Fortell and his team barely three billots to figure out the pandemic.

"It is a weapon, Cache," Fortell informed her.

"A weapon?"

"Yes. It is a designed virus that uses DNA strand identifiers to target a specific species of humanoids and attack them aggressively. That is why it did not kill you. Your DNA was sufficiently different enough to withstand the attack...but just barely."

Cache was dumbfounded and repulsed.

"It tricks the host body into believing that there is not enough moisture in the lungs and sinus cavities...as if the air is so dry it is dehydrating those membranes. The body responds by flooding those tissues with every ounce of water it can find. The victims literally drown themselves in their own fluids."

"What kind of psychotic fiend would even imagine such a thing?"

Fortell shook his head and pursed his lips, but he could not deny his knowledge about those types of weapons.

"Although it pains me greatly, Cache...I have to admit that this is exactly the kind of thing our ancestors did to one another back before the great cataclysm that destroyed our society."

That statement brought her back in time...back to the history lessons she'd been taught in her youth...about the cycles preceding the greatest tragedy of her home planet. Those were very dark times, filled with hate, prejudice, war, and strife of a thousand sorts. She considered the factors that were paramount on Rauld in those dactrais, but they did not mirror what was happening on Coriolus.

"That does not make sense, Fortell," she told him. "Why would they be experimenting with poisons that could decimate their own population so soon after receiving their freedom from the Kreete?"

Fortell was a man of advanced age...five hundred and sixteen Raulden cycles...and even though he'd lived all his life in the peaceful comfort and safety of Rauld, he had wisdom far beyond his personal experiences. He just gazed solemnly at Cache and took a breath.

"You misunderstand the comparison, Cache," he told her. "I do not believe they did it to themselves."

"But if not them, then...?" she started to say before she caught on to his inference.

"NO!" she cried. "They would not...surely! Genocide? Why?"

Fortell shook his head sadly.

"For the same reason they made that horrific attack on Caron. We thwarted their supremacy...and they do not like to lose."

Cache sat there trembling with adrenaline. She was appalled, ashamed, furious, and sickened to think that any species could be so low...so spiteful...so petty. Her impression of Rauld's descendants quickly fell to an all-time low.

After another bort though, she pushed those feelings aside.

"What about Coriolus? Is there anything we can do to save them...those that yet remain?"

"Your samples of the air in the hospital and that of the atmosphere during your flight were nearly identical. The open air sample held less of the virus spores, but not enough to give us hope that the epidemic might be concentrated to a certain region or country. By now, the virus is undoubtedly worldwide, and unless we could catch an individual at the very onset of their symptoms, even our technology could not save someone.

"I am sorry, but that is the truth."

### Chapter Thirty-four

### Let's Go Hunting

Following a mere six billots of sleep, Ron was up and on the move again.

His first instincts were to check in with Rauld to see if any news about Cache had come through. That's when he received an update that she was back but still in isolation. Aanlis's staff connected the pair via com link where Ron and his partner exchanged experiences for the next billot and a half, finally calling an end to it when Ron's stomach roared out a loud protest.

Cache looked pitiful, having lost too much weight for her tiny frame, but she smiled brightly at the familiar sound.

"I think you had better take care of that bottomless pit of yours, Ron," she said with a light chuckle. "It will only get angrier."

"Yeah," he admitted sheepishly, "I guess so. You get some rest and we'll talk more later."

They signed off then and each began their day anew.

After his usual morning rituals, Ron was back in the pilot's seat filled with the desire to take the fight to the Kreete straight on. The attack on Caron was despicable enough, but it was at least a calculated military campaign...and had been foiled. What was done to Coriolus was pure cowardice and beyond contemptible. It gave Ron a new reason to hate the Triad, which was saying something.

He ran through the normal start-up procedures intending to contact his new partners and inform them of the recent update, but when he powered up the main viewer, he received a surprise. They were already at work.

Karne and Larson were dogfighting with one another, and the frenzy was quite entrancing.

"That's a good idea," Ron acknowledged to himself. "I'm sure at least Larson needs some refresher billots in such combat.

"All right then," he said to the empty vessel. " _Darlile,_ how's that search coming along?"

"We are still evaluating the problem, but have sifted through a vast amount of data so far and have found an eighty-seven percent likelihood that the desired ship in question has been identified.

"An Eigellen class cruiser by the designation; _Breva Narge_ ('bloody dagger' in the Mariuvian language) was dispatched to gather information at each scene. Its commander is Ryun Torbin, a Reaver Class warrior."

Ron's eyes narrowed. He remembered that vessel...and Cache's warning about it.

"Where might we find that ship?"

"Currently, it is in orbit above Besaliois, a class 9.8 world in the Vejian Sector."

Ron remembered that planet...or at least the space station that supported it. That's where he'd destroyed one of the Kreete's automated refueling depots.

"Plot a course."

"Done."

Ron toggled the com, ready to move out. But in that moment, he decided to take a different tact.

"You boys care if I join you?"

Larson was the first to respond. He was holding his own with his father and eagerly wanted to test himself further.

"Dive in...if you dare!" he growled.

Ron just grinned broadly and raced after the pair, setting his weapons to five percent capacity. That would let them know when contact was made, yet not do damage to the ships.

Over the following billot, Ron fought the two Kreete soldiers, first as every man for himself, and then just him against the both of them. It was tremendous fun...at least to Ron.

While Karne and his son were teamed up, they used a secure frequency to separate them from Ron so they might coordinate their strategy. After Ron had repeatedly beaten them though, Larson piped up, his frustration showing through.

"Father," he hissed with real anger. "How the sart can that man fly the way he does? It seems impossible!"

"I know, Son," Karne replied. He was equally as exasperated as his son, but his many cycles of battle had taught him to deal with it better...to remain calmer. "Even I begin to gray out when I follow him into some of those moves. Do not feel discouraged."

"How can I not be? He does not have our strength or your experience, yet he makes us look like amateurs."

"The separation of our talents is not quite that pronounced," Karne reassured him," but you must realize something, Son. That man has an ability I've never seen before in any sentient being. And I can only speculate that his long and terrible imprisonment is the key to it. Whatever the cause, I believe that he has somehow tapped into the most ancient parts of his body and brain...to the very essence of his being...like our earliest primeval ancestors."

"I do not understand."

"Think of it like this. Why is it that animals can be of lessor weight and smaller size, yet be much stronger than a man, or a Kreete?"

"I don't recall my lessons in evolution stating anything about that."

"Okay then. Let me explain it as best I can. It is believed that a wild beast is able to access one hundred percent of its physical make up to fight or to kill...to ensure its survival. As men have evolved, we have lost that ultimate, primordial ability. Even our best athletes can achieve barely eighty percent of that. It is a response to intelligence. Our subconscious keeps us from harming our bodies. A beast will do absolutely anything to survive a clash with its adversary. On the other hand, sentient beings don't wish to rip muscles, or tear tendons, or break bones just to eat or fight. However, in rare instances, I'm sure you have heard about someone doing miraculous things...things that could not be done by normal men. It is usually attributed to great surges of adrenaline during blind panic or utter rage. However, it is my belief that Ron has somehow found a way to turn that ability on or off at will. I saw it during his clashes to the death in the arena...then again during the war for Caron...and now in his flying. He even demonstrated it during the Triad Games, which I reviewed thoroughly during the trip from Rauld."

"Yes, so did I," Larson admitted. "And even though I knew he'd survived, I could hardly watch without fully expecting his death on multiple occasions."

"Exactly...yes...and I did too. At any rate, don't feel ashamed that he is more adept at this than are we. His abilities have baffled every Kreete soldier and commander for the past five cycles, and I don't expect I will ever fully comprehend them.

"Just take it from me, Son, you are an excellent pilot and have no reason to question your own instincts or skills."

"Karne and Larson," Ron said calmly just then. He was ready to get moving. "The results of our efforts have paid off and I'm heading out to try and get some answers about this attack. I would appreciate your company, but if you'd rather not..."

"What is the destination," they both replied simultaneously.

Ron sent the information.

"Lead on," Karne growled.

They quickly formed up into a tight delta pattern and streaked away.

Nine dactrais of transoptic flight brought them to the edge of Besaliois' solar system, where they dropped down into the physical universe once more. At that point Ron pulled ahead of the others, asking them to hang back until he'd investigated.

Just as it should be, the _Breva Narge_ was there...but so were four other Kreete vessels. Of the five, there was the new cruiser, two frigates, and two patrol ships. The _Breva Narge_ had frighteningly devastating weapons, according to Cache's intel, the two frigates carried powerful cannons as well but were much faster and more nimble, and the patrol ships were similar to the small, one man fighters, but were much larger, carried a crew of seven, and were immensely lethal in their own right.

Ron never slowed his approach.

"Reaver Torbin!" cried the sensor grid's operator aboard the _Brava Narge_.

His excitement immediately registered with the commander, and so Ryun Torbin swung his huge chair around to face the officer.

"What is it, Rivan?"

"There's a ship closing fast!" He then paused for a few litas to examine the readings more thoroughly. "I think it's 'the' ship!"

Torbin whipped back around.

"On the main viewer!" he ordered, sitting forward in his chair and straining hard to see it.

When Ron saw that they'd picked him up on their sensors, he pressed the com-link.

"I hear you've been looking for me," he said in a jovial manner.

The Kreete captain could hardly believe it. He pressed the com while adrenaline flooded through him.

"And so we have!" responded Ryun. He then cut the communication tether and bellowed orders to his crew. "Sound battle stations! All ships attack!"

The patrol ships dashed forward immediately, and into their teeth Ron flew.

At the first connecting blast, Ron snapped the _Darlile_ into a tight roll that got under the incoming fire for a split lita. That's when he fired back. The leading ship felt the powerful bursts of energy slam into it and the pilot veered away out of instinct, his vision blurred badly. The ship's shields were down by fifty percent.

Ron then whipped the Raulden fighter up hard, drawing the second patrol ship's fire, but he spun again in a move that made the weapons' technician shake his head. The Kreete officer had fired, but his plasma missed the black ship and hit his own ally.

"Sart!" he growled, whirling his guns around to track the _Darlile_.

Ron fired back immediately and that ship's rear shielding layer fell to barely thirty percent.

The commanders ordered their vessels around to give chase, but Ron had already moved on to his next victim.

There were three cannon operators aboard the frigates, and they ratcheted up their reflexes as the _Darlile_ streaked toward them. They'd all heard the stories, and now they'd seen the real thing, and their palms began to sweat.

Ron fired at the first one's bow, and then immediately dropped into a corkscrew maneuver that had the incoming cannon fire trailing his move by barely a peor. He was so focused though that his tactic never wavered, sliding right up next to the edge of the frigate's shielding where he unloaded a point-blank series of bursts.

They rocked the ship harshly, blew out half the power centers, and overloaded the generators that supplied the ship with energy. The nose of that frigate pitched up hard, and then it began drifting aimlessly.

Ron avoided the next frigate, swinging wide and looping tightly to the left to engage the heavy cruiser.

There it was...the ship Cache Kuar had warned him about a few santaris ago. It was huge compared with the _Darlile_ , yet was still very sleek. Ron got the feeling that it was much faster and more maneuverable than its size suggested, and he did not disregard Cache's warning, nor even take it lightly. Nonetheless, his outlook was such that when a new bully arrived on the block, someone had to stand up to him. He fully intended that someone to be him.

Ron shoved the throttles to the stops, bolting forward in a streak of blazing cannon fire, and raked the _Breva Narge_ down one side.

That move of insane aggression drew Ryun's attention, especially when he changed direction once again, concentrating on the engines of that massive ship.

"Bring us about!" Ryun ordered, and the cruiser snapped around like one of the much smaller frigates.

"Whoa!" Ron huffed through the inertial forces he was experiencing. "That's not bad!"

Ron kept up his attack, pounding away at the Eigellen class weapon with everything he had, but it wasn't long before he realized he'd barely made a dent.

"Son of a..." he cursed, watching the Kreete shields absorb his plasma bolts over and over again.

Ryun Torbin began to smile.

Ron flew like a mad man, yet still couldn't avoid all of the firepower that huge vessel spewed out, and so his teeth were rattled badly...along with the rest of him.

The _Darlile_ 's shield ratings dropped swiftly, but as usual, he just knuckled down and flew harder. Round and round he buzzed that enormous warcraft until it had turned completely about to face him, aligning itself with the rest of the little armada, and then Ron had them where he wanted them.

Just when Ryun thought he would crush that little ship that had been such a thorn in his empire's side, he found out why it had survived so long.

"Sir," called Rivan, gripping his console as tightly as he could to combat all the vibrations resonating through the ship. "I have a strange reading."

The _Darlile_ was right in front of the cruiser by then, dancing as nimbly as a hummingbird flits from flower to flower, yet its shields were down to just fourteen percent. The other ships were rapidly sweeping in from the sides as well, so to those on the bridge of the _Breva Narge_ , it appeared as if that ebony devil was at last cornered.

"Not now, Rivan," Ryun snapped.

"But sir, I think we might have...OH NO! SIR! TWO SHIPS INCOMING...DIRECTLY AFT!"

Ryun felt his heart lurch in his chest. He slapped his huge palm down on the console, bringing the aft viewer on line.

"Divert all power to the aft shiel..."

It was too late.

Karne and Larson were already firing, and as Ron Allison already knew, those ships had much more powerful weapons than the _Darlile_.

It was a blood bath.

Barely twenty borts later, the patrol boats were destroyed, as was one of the frigates. The other frigate was still adrift without power, so it was spared. However, the newest and mightiest weapon of the Kreete Triad's arsenal...the advanced Eigellen class cruiser...was chopped up until only the section containing the control bridge remained intact.

"Larson, you stand guard," Ron said calmly. "Karne, join me, won't you?"

Ron and Karne put their ships adjacent to the _Breva Narge_ and climbed aboard the small shuttles mounted in the cargo holds of each craft. Barely half a billot passed before they were striding through the cruiser with their weapons drawn...and this time they weren't swinging swords.

It was a hundred peors to the command center, through a dozen bulkheads and ten different floors, but they met only light resistance. Each time, the Kreete found that the armor the Rauldens had constructed was far better than their own...as was their weapons.

At last, Ron strolled up to the heavy blast door that protected the bridge. He placed a single explosive charge on the foot thick, multi-layered barrier and just stood back. It wasn't what the Kreete used, or any other race for that matter. It was a specially developed tool that was all Raulden.

The blast was barely heard, even where Ron and Karne stood, just a few steps away. What happened was the inner material...a gel...burst from its container and covered two thirds of the door. It was a blue substance that appeared like something one might spread on bread for a snack, but in fact it was a nanite binder material. Once the gel was dispersed, its interaction with the oxygen of the ship initiated the nanites...and they immediately began their work.

Their sole purpose was to disassemble molecules into their base atoms...any molecules...so the metal of the door simply began falling to the deck. In less than thirty borts, the massive, nearly impenetrable bulkhead door was gone. Ron triggered the 'kill' order that put the nanites into a dormant stage and walked right in. Karne covered the corridor.

Three officers remained on the bridge. Ryun Torbin was one of them.

They opened fire on Ron from a safe position behind their different consoles. Ron felt the blasts through his suit, but stood his ground. He fired twice, obliterating the consoles and the men behind them. After that, only Ryun remained.

The Kreete commander knew his weapon was useless, so he stepped forward and tossed it to the deck.

Ryun and Ron stared at one another for several long moments before...

"Why have you come here?" The Kreete commander asked. He was still armed with his short sword and two daggers.

"I have some questions," Ron said frankly.

"I will answer no questions."

"Standby," Ron said, and the suit morphed into a less ominous state. He then stared at the silver mirrors of the Reaver's eyes. "If you wish to live, you will."

"I have lost my ship, my crew, and the crews of those who followed me. Why would I want to live?"

"Because you wish to take some important information back to your superiors...don't you?"

"What information would be so valuable that I would bargain with you?"

"You desperately want to know who it is that continually baffles and defeats you...right? What species has developed weapons and space ships that can outmatch yours?"

"We already know it is our ancestors...the Rauldens."

"Really? Those pacifists? Are you sure? And how could the Rauldens...from a class eight planet...possibly manage to thwart the most powerful force in the galaxy?"

Ryun said nothing, but Ron could tell his mind was racing.

"Don't your superiors want to know who I am and where I came from...and why I'm fighting against you?

"Come on. How about it?" Ron coaxed. "You have no questions about our technology, or our capabilities?"

Ron's incredible knack for noting the tiniest indicators of another person's 'tell' was running full tilt. And he knew Ryun Torbin was chomping at the bit to get that information. It was one of the primary goals of his investigation.

"And just for good measure, I can help you prevent the deaths of possibly thousands of Kreete soldiers."

Torbin was of course skeptical, but...

"What is it that you want to know?" Ryun asked, wading into the negotiation just a bit.

"Why did your people try to destroy Caron?"

Ryun didn't reply, but his face twitched ever so slightly.

"We did not," the huge fellow replied hesitantly.

"He doesn't know a thing about it," Ron concluded instantly.

"Why would you even accuse us of such an act?"

Ron produced a small silver disk from his coat and placed it on a nearby console shelf. It sprang to life immediately.

"Replay the recording of the armada sent to destroy Caron," he said.

A perfect reproduction of the event began to play from the moment Ron left the Malicart ship. The collection of Kreete vessels was clear, as was the asteroid they guarded.

Ryun watched for a few borts before...

"I know nothing of this," he said.

Ron could again tell that he was being truthful.

"Who could arrange this kind of attack?" Ron inquired.

"Something on a scale such as that? Only one of the three Empirical Lords. But they would not destroy an entire planet!"

"Really? And why is that exactly?"

"It would be too costly, too risky, and serves no purpose."

"You're saying that the intimidation factor alone isn't justification for the act?"

Ryun threw his shoulders back an extra bit. "Kreete would not commit such an atrocity simply to intimidate a lesser being!" he pledged.

That of course did not appease Ron at all. He'd witnessed Kreete commanders fling human children from the high walls of Huinrag just to get Ron to comply with their orders.

"Who rules the region where Caron lies?"

"My Lord... Hrin Varse. But he did not authorize it. That I am certain of."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because he would have sent me."

"You flatter yourself," Ron smirked.

"Possibly, but I think not. I have been with him for a hundred cycles. He knows I am loyal, and I have never failed him."

"Until now."

"Yes. Until now."

"He speaks the truth," came a booming announcement from behind Ron. It was Karne.

"How do you know?" Ron asked, turning to face the giant.

Karne crouched down and stepped through the hole in the door, instantly towering over his smaller human partner. His armor was stowed as well.

"Because Ryun is Varse's son and heir."

Ron was incredibly surprised, but he knew better than to doubt Karne. The Reaper had been very highly placed at one time.

"You are Karne Gitove," Ryun said to the massive warrior.

Karne said nothing.

"Hrin Varse has always held your accomplishments in high regard, Reaper Karne," Torbin said. "Even after your betrayal, he would not speak ill of you."

"I served Hrin with honor for over a century, and so I do not consider my leaving his service a betrayal of my Lord," Karne replied. "I simply chose to live a different life. We should all have that right.

"As for what occurred on Caron, it had nothing to do with Lord Hrin. My grievance was with Gotliig Pigonta and his underling...Treage Vitrauge. There was a war and we won. It is as simple as that."

"You vowed to remain exiled to the planet, did you not?" Ryun pressed.

"I vowed to remain on Caron or risk death should I leave it," Karne corrected him. "Do 'you' wish to challenge me to conclude that vow?"

Ryun didn't pause even a moment, tilting his head out of pure esteem.

"Your life is your own, Reaper Karne. I leave you to live it as you wish."

Karne Gitove had been nearly as famous as Itsu in the elite circles of the Triad at one time not so long in the past. No sane warrior would challenge him to a fair fight.

The Reaver commander then looked back at the holographic images still running.

"What are the designations of those Kreete vessels?" he asked.

"Display the names," Ron said, and the information leaped out into written text at the top of the video. The language was adjusted to the current form of Kreete dialect, which had deviated away from Rauld's over the past six hundred plus cycles.

Ryun read them all before speaking again.

"Each of those ships was stolen from us," he said.

"That seems extremely convenient," Ron countered, his voice laced with skepticism.

"Computer," Ryun said to the console. "Display the events involving the theft of these ships," he ordered. Then he listed the spacecrafts.

Immediately, the information began displaying across the only still functioning viewer on the bridge.

It was as Ryun had stated.

"We assumed these robberies were your doing," Ryun told Ron flatly.

Ron watched the reports while his mind raced ahead to a new epiphany. If the Kreete weren't involved, then who would be so irate with either him or Rauld, or both, to make them go to that extreme...and to frame it all on the Triad?

"Are you Malicart?" Ryun asked suddenly, the excitement in his body language obvious.

Ron understood the reasoning behind his question. If not the Rauldens, then who else could create such wonders as the technology he so openly wielded?

"No, Ryun...I am not. However, I wish I were. They are a remarkable race...and their level of tech is truly mind-blowing."

"Then you have met them?" the Reaver queried, obvious surprise in his voice. "You know them?"

"Yes, I have. I lived among them for nearly a santari."

"As a spy?"

"No," Ron scoffed. "As their guest. We're friends."

That shocked Ryun even more...and impressed him beyond measure.

"What do you know about a bioweapon released on Coriolus?" Ron then asked, getting back to his own interrogation.

"Bioweapon?" Ryun asked. "Is that what happened? Our reports show a devastating plague has ravaged that world, but we just assumed it had occurred naturally, or might have been triggered by that new shield. Troyce Vallum...the Triad Lord who had ultimately ruled that world...even felt somewhat vindicated that his people had been forced to abandon the planet before the disease could be spread to our citizens."

Ron ground his teeth together at that, his fingers balling into fists. He was getting nowhere. His mind instantly set off on a new tangent with that information.

"If the Kreete didn't do that either...then who?" his psyche screamed.

With a low growl of frustration, he retrieved the holo-disk and headed for the doorway.

"What about the information you were to give me?" Ryun blurted...feeling cheated.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Ron said as he followed Karne out of the bridge. He stopped and faced the Kreete Reaver at the threshold.

"You were correct all along. The branch of descendants that your ancestors abandoned to a dead world have rebuilt their planet and their species, and they are the brains behind my actions. As for me...I am from a world far outside the scope of your empire. I was accidentally merged with a Caronian warrior you are familiar with. His name was Kaskle Dangarth.

"I fight against your domination because it is the right thing to do. Every planet should be in control of its own fate, not the puppet or slave of the Kreete."

Ryun gave that a quick thought, but went to the next subject.

"And the Kreete that are in danger?

"Eathanius Moon is now under Rauld's protection. If your next training session attempts to enter the atmosphere, they will be destroyed."

Ron then continued down the corridor behind Karne.

They were aboard their respective ships a half billot later.

"Okay," Ron said as he took his seat at the helm of the _Darlile_ again. "First thing; we have to let Rauld know what we do...little as that might be...so they can switch gears and start focusing on finding this new threat."

"Agreed," Karne replied. "Whoever they are, they are well organized, well-funded, and are absolutely ruthless. And since their attempt to destroy Caron failed, they no doubt will have moved on to their backup plan."

"All right then. Stand by while I open a link."

Ron initiated the portal and 'rang' the com station on Rauld. There was no response.

"Warning," said the _Darlile's_ avatar. "The communication bridge cannot be established through normal operating priorities."

"What the hell does that mean?" Ron asked, suddenly more concerned than he cared to admit.

"The com-link is being intentionally blocked."

"How? From where?"

"Rauld has locked the station on their end."

"Why?"

"Unknown."

"Well, that's bullshit! Is there any way around the lock?"

"Yes. Cache upgraded the portal probe built into this ship so that it could act as a terminus. It can remotely open any transporter station that is still functional. So even though the Raulden hub is locked on their side, we can still send to it. She called it her 'doomsday mode'.

"There is a very important limitation to its usage however, which is why it is primarily only an emergency system."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"To power the portal from here requires a tremendous amount of energy. That energy is taken from three power sources. The engines provide all the power for the ship's functions, so it pulls from that. Just that source will let you send information such as electronic data or vocal interaction. The second stage redirects the plasma energy straight from the weapons' capacitor. Those two combined will allow video transmission for extended periods...a few borts. Lastly, added to those avenues, the battery storage banks were given a high-capacity dump. With the total energy output of all three separate systems, you can open a portal window, but it will only last for a half lita."

"So you're saying that if I need to step through, I have a single shot at it, until the batteries are replenished."

"That is correct."

"And how long would that take?"

"If the ship was close to a bright star, approximately six billots. Out in the region where we are now...approximately three dactrais."

"Fine. Get it ready."

Ron took a moment to inform his partners about the problem.

"Guys, something's wrong on Rauld. The Starflex Transporter system is locked closed. I'm going to check it out. I'll let you know what's what in a few borts."

"Acknowledged," the two warriors replied.

He then jumped up and ran to the back of the cabin, taking up a position right in front of the portal aperture.

"Alright, _Darlile_ , let's see what's going on."

Ron could feel the hum through the ship as the engines spooled up. Then he could sense the energy capacitor for the weapons charging.

After a few litas, the screen sprang to life, showing a live feed from Rauld...although 'live' would not have been the term Ron would have used.

He could see at least four Rauldens around the room, but they were not at their stations. They were on the floor...and they were each sprawled in a pool of their own blood.

"OPEN THE FUCKING BRIDGE!" Ron shouted to the ship.

"Step back," said the calm avatar voice.

Ron was incensed and vibrating from the swelling adrenaline blasting through his body. It was a mixture of rage and disgust, but he focused enough to move back.

"Wait until the surrounding frame of the portal glows blue, or you will perish," said the smooth voice of the _Darlile_ 's computer brain.

"Understood. Just do it!" Ron ordered the ship.

"Done."

The instant the portal opened, it was banded by a bright red strip of light. The aperture was much smaller than the one that Rauld normally produced, but Ron merely assumed that was because the power was so restricted. He dropped into a crouch, like a runner at the starting line. Almost instantly, the strip turned blue.

Ron threw his usual distrust of the device out the window and dashed through, stopping immediately on Rauld's side to look around. The shadow-blade was naked when he straightened, and in his left hand was his short sword at the ready. It was unnecessary though, as not a thing was moving to threaten him, and no villain could be seen.

From his new vantage point, Ron had a much better view of the carnage that had been wrought, and it was truly heart-wrenching.

There were two more Rauldens lying on the far side of the room, other than the ones he already knew about, and warnings were being played on the intercom.

"Warning! Safety breach! Violence in the communications station!"

That announcement repeated over and over.

Ron scanned the room for alien involvement, searching for either Kreete warriors or Hoondelli assassins. He hurriedly swept the entire station, but saw no one. When he reached the control panel for the portal, he found Aanlis on the floor. Her throat had been slit, as had every other person's.

Ron slowly lowered himself until he knelt on the smooth stone floor beside her, tears dripping from his eyes. Aanlis had become very much a part of his Raulden family.

"You were so kind...so gentle," he thought about that lovely, slight woman. "They all were. What kind of monster could do this?" he growled...his teeth gnashing tightly together.

"Sooooo soooorrrrrrrrryyyy," reached his ears just then, and he whirled around instantly, the black sword already in the lead...but it was just Arsisi.

She was sitting against the back wall of a small alcove, under a desk. Her left arm was slit from elbow to wrist and she was surrounded by red fluid. A small dagger lay beside her.

Ron started toward her, but his eye for warfare stopped him. She was the only one in the room with a wound that screamed of suicide, not murder.

He knelt at the end of her outstretched feet...his sword still in his hand. It seemed obvious to him, just how it had all played out, yet he questioned her anyway.

"What happened," he demanded, his jaws still clenched. "What did you do?"

"Ron Allison," called a voice across the intercom. "Is the room secure?"

Ron kept his eyes on Arsisi, but replied to the voice.

"Yes! But everyone here is dead! Except Arsisi!"

Just then, the outer doors opened and a team of doctors rushed in and began inspecting the bodies for signs of life.

"I couldn't stop myself," Arsisi muttered. "I couldn't stop."

At that instant, her eyes lost their focus. She was dead.

Ron stood and stowed his sword, moving back to allow the team to work. He lumbered over to a corner and collapsed into it...too shocked to even think. It was nearly twenty borts before anyone approached him. When they did, it was Fortell.

"Ron," he said softly, keeping his distance. He was well aware of how quick Ron was, and how distraught he appeared.

Ron just looked up in a daze. It was almost like an out-of-body experience.

There were a dozen Cnauts already cleaning the room. It all seemed amazingly efficient.

"Ron. Your friends are calling you on the com."

That got Ron back moving once more, slowly reengaging his mind. He went to the portal and replied to Karne's insistent pleas.

"Sorry, Karne," he started. "I meant to c...I forgot about..." He took a deep breath and released it slowly out his nose. "There's been an incident over here on Rauld."

He quickly explained what he'd witnessed and told them that he would call them back when the story was clearer.

Ron then turned to the newest Raulden attendant in the room. It was a tall man, slim of build, with pale green eyes.

"Hello, Ron," he said softly. "My name is Biron."

Ron nodded as politely as he could.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Ron asked.

"Actually, no," he said. "I am just now getting involved. We can inspect the recording of the event together though, if you like."

"Yes, let's."

"Come with me," Biron told him.

Biron led Ron to a large room two levels down. It was thirty peors square and completely empty. Ron's escort stopped when they stood in the very center of the room.

"Lights to five percent," Biron said, and the room darkened. "Play the recording of the communications station starting from two borts before the initial violence ensued."

The room instantly alit with a perfect reproduction of the com station. Ron and Biron walked all around the area, searching for anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing.

Suddenly, the chime denoting a call sounded, so they moved to the portal control console.

Arsisi was manning the station while Aanlis worked beside her, casually keeping tabs on her trainee.

The call was from Cache. She was on Caron.

Ron instantly stiffened and grew even more attentive. He had not seen Cache anywhere.

He moved to a position where he could see Cache's image. She looked like she'd completely recovered from her illness. She was carrying Sheyah.

"Hello, Cache," Arsisi said pleasantly. "And hello, Sheyah."

"Hello," they each replied.

"Arsisi," Cache began, "Could you please open the portal? We are coming for a visit."

"Of course. One lita."

Arsisi then switched the parameters of the portal from 'communication' to 'transport', but when she did; she also pressed another point on the flat surface of the control panel. It was designated with Arsisi's personal identifier icon.

Aanlis saw the action too, and so she turned to Arsisi immediately.

"What was that?" she inquired tersely, which was completely out of character for her. "What did you just do?"

Ron glanced over to Cache, who was looking at her daughter. She didn't seem to notice anything happening...as if she couldn't hear the exchange. And that was totally out of character for her as well.

"Mother," Sheyah said curiously, "did you see that?"

"What, sweetie?" Cache asked, glancing up and looking right at Arsisi and Aanlis.

Arsisi suddenly lashed her hand out and across...and Aanlis froze. A moment later the console was covered in arterial spray.

"Holy shit!" Ron cried. Biron twitched hard and then ran from the room, spewing his latest meal all over the sparkling floor.

Ron's eyes went back to Cache. She was still smiling sweetly.

"She doesn't see it!" Ron said. Then his memory of when he was abducted came rushing back to him. "NO-NO-NO-NO-NO!" he screamed.

"The picture changed," Sheyah said, pointing to the scene in the com station.

Cache looked closer, but then turned to her daughter and smiled.

"Oh, your father's dislike for the portal is not getting to you too, is it?"

Sheyah shook her head to the negative, but Cache then said; "Thank you", and stepped forward, at which time the picture of them disappeared.

Next, Arsisi closed down the portal, locked it, and then went around the room, killing all the Rauldens. Finally, when she alone stood alive in the large room, she crumpled to the floor and slid under the desk. Ron watched her carefully. It was as if she'd just come out of a trance and discovered what she'd done. She was literally drenched in blood.

She looked over at the shocked expression still on Aanlis's lifeless face and drew the knife slowly along her arm.

Possibly a bort passed before the _Darlile_ overrode the portal and Ron saw himself step through.

"Stop the playback," Ron said to the room, and the scene vanished, leaving him in the dim space just thinking.

He wanted to be angry...to shout and curse and fume...but he didn't know who he should shout at. Arsisi was gone. But too, he'd seen her expression while her rampage had unfolded. It was as if she was being controlled...hypnotized somehow.

"I couldn't stop myself," she'd said.

He made his way back to the com station and sent a recall command to the _Darlile_ to have it return to Rauld, unwilling to trust the portal to get him safely back to the ship. He then spoke with Karne and Larson, telling them everything he'd learned, and everything that he hadn't. They throttled up their ships immediately and then they too headed for Rauld.

At that point, it hit Ron. Cache and Sheyah were gone. To where, he had no way of knowing. The Rauldens would eventually figure out exactly what Arsisi had done, but it would most likely take a while. Until then, he had to accept that his daughter and her mother had been captured.

"By who? And to what end?" he wondered with extremely dire responses already creeping into his mind.

### Chapter Thirty-five

### Welcome to Ordice

Cache Kuar stood there in the mockup of the Raulden communications station with absolute astonishment written across her face. Two things clued her in that she was not where she'd expected to be. One was that the gravity was much lighter than it should have been. The other was that ten Theranians surrounded her each holding a disruptor rifle pointed right at her and Sheyah.

Unlike Ron, who never went anywhere without his weapons, Cache carried nothing other than her mind, which would normally have been formidable enough. Here though, she was at a grave disadvantage.

Little Sheyah stayed completely quiet in her arms, but her eyes took in the scene just as her mother's did, and no one spoke for several litas.

Finally, an eleventh Theranian strolled into the false room, and she had plenty to say. It was Jazzimeridon.

"Welcome to Ordice, Cache. I see that you have made the trip without injury to either you or your daughter. That's excellent.

"Now, I'm sure that you have many questions, but perhaps are a bit hesitant about asking them. I shall attempt to answer them for you...to save time.

"We have brought you here to fulfill your commitment to us...the one you agreed to when Ron joined our cause."

Cache's expression instantly turned dark at that blatant lie, and her glare urged Jazz to amend her statement.

"All right. 'Join our cause' might be a little stretch, but you did say that your people would help us defend ourselves from the Kreete...did you not?"

Cache just glared back at her.

"No matter. Now that you have so graciously arrived, you will be expected to get to work immediately, and grant us the few favors we require of you. Afterward, you will be released to return to your previous life completely unharmed.

"Everyone wins!"

Cache was vibrating with rage.

"I can see in your eyes the defiant streak that has made you so challenging to your enemies, but as fate would have it, you have provided the perfect incentive with which we will gain your complete cooperation."

Jazz flicked her eyes from Cache's to the child in her arms.

Cache clung tighter to her daughter at that, but she knew instantly that Jazz was correct. She was trapped, and she had no leverage whatsoever.

"How did you do it?" Cache asked.

"Oh yes...sorry. That really was one of the best ideas we've ever come up with. "You see, Arsisi is ours."

Cache just stared back at her with mind-numbing disbelief.

Jazz couldn't help but let out a chortle of superiority at her bewildered expression.

"We secretly control the space station she was raised on...we have for more than a decade, in fact...and we had many young human children sent there for indoctrination. Once in our facility, we had complete control of every part of their lives, down to their very thoughts. After we'd identified her abilities...around the age of four cycles...we simply guided her education toward our goals...with a tiny bit of deep conditioning.

"She was only supposed to be our spy on the Confarii, but when she made contact with you...and you two became allies...well, we just couldn't have been happier."

"But she is the one who told us about..." Cache ventured, still unwilling to believe the alien woman's story.

"Yes...yes...I know. That would have come out in time anyway, as soon as your people began investigating us, so it really didn't matter. However, it did urge you to trust her, didn't it? And since she was so well versed in communications and technology, it was only natural that you would have her assigned to that environment.

"All we needed to do was wait until our facility here was ready, and then we sent her the code word, imbedded in the data stream we knew you were using. Once received, she would have no recourse other than to help us.

"After that, we merely had to wait until you were delivered...and here you are."

She smiled grandly at that.

"What did she do to my friends on Rauld?"

"Well, that's probably better left unknown...for your own peace of mind.

"Now, if you would kindly come with me...I will show you to your new accommodations."

Jazz turned to leave, but Cache remained where she was.

The tiny alien woman stopped and turned around.

"Please don't test us, Cache. We need you in good working order, but we don't need your offspring to remain so...how should I put it...intact?"

With that single statement, Cache felt herself crumble. She could face anything, be it pain, starvation, or worse. But she could not even imagine having them torment her child. Their plan was flawless.

She then followed Jazz out of the room peacefully. She was unreservedly defeated.

Jazz led her only a short distance to an elevator where they rode down to the 62th level of some unfamiliar, subterranean complex. They passed two fortified blast doors before reaching an expansive room where dozens of Theranians toiled industriously at their work stations.

The room was large in square-footage, but the ceiling was barely two inches above Cache's head, giving it a slightly claustrophobic feeling that was uncomfortable, but manageable. Obviously, it was plenty of room for the Theranians who stood barely higher than her waist.

"This is your laboratory. Your assistants will follow your instructions without question. However, they are also very well versed in your Raulden technology. In fact, they constructed the replica of your peoples' Starflex portal probe that brought you here. So, if you try to sabotage our work...or your work...they will inform their superiors, and little Sheyah there, will suffer the consequences.

"Do you understand your commitments?"

Cache hadn't felt that helpless since Graen had stood over her back on Caron. Her mind felt ready to explode. She wanted to fight so badly, but she knew she could not. It was enough to make her lightheaded.

Jazz was not a patient person though.

"Burn the spawn!" she ordered.

Two of the mini guards lunged forward with what appeared to be prods of some kind. The tips of them glowed white hot.

"NO!" Cache screamed, spinning away from them just fast enough to feel the weapons on her own body instead. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!" she wailed as those horrible devices seared her flesh.

"I UNDERSTAND!" she shouted, still shielding Sheyah from those vile creatures.

"Excellent!" Jazz retorted, a bright smile plastered across her face. "I truly hope this will be the last time we have to instruct you. After all, from here on out we are partners.

"Now, I will show you to your room, where your pup will remain under constant guard while you work. You do as you're expected and she will be with you each night, completely safe and unharmed. Fall short of those expectations and...well, you can imagine the rest."

Ten borts later, Cache was forced to leave her little girl with two Theranians, each wielding one of those torture prods. That separation was terribly heart-wrenching, but she bore it. She had no choice.

Jazz guided her straight back to the lab.

"We have studied your species for many cycles," Jazz told Cache when they arrived, "and we understand the bonds you have with your offspring, so...in the spirit of cooperation...you may see her at your meal breaks and at your rest periods. Beyond that, you will be locked in here, and she will be secured there.

"Do you understand me?"

Cache nodded at the vile creature.

Jazz's eyes flicked to one of the guards that flanked Cache at every moment. They each jabbed at her with their branding irons.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!" Cache screamed again, jerking away and falling to her knees at Jazz's feet.

"Do you understand me?" she hissed in Cache's face.

"YES!" Cache replied, loud and clear. "I UNDERSTAND YOU!"

Jazz instantly returned to her pleasant, smiling demeanor.

"Wonderful. Now, get to work!"

Jazz then turned away and strode out the door and down the hall. After a lita, the door slid neatly into place...and then Cache Kuar's life as a slave began.

Chapter Thirty-six

### Where Did She Go?

From the moment it was discovered that Cache was missing, the full attention of the Raulden authority went into deciphering where she'd gone and who was behind the abduction.

They knew Arsisi had worked for the Kreete, so they naturally concluded it was they who'd educated and brainwashed her. Of course that theory conflicted with her having helped Ron during the Games. They also knew it was the Theranians who'd thwarted them by hijacking the portal device when Ron was captured, but this time the intrusion had been made there, on Rauld. And that deception was conducted specifically by Arsisi who they were certain the Theranians had never met, and who those devious, conniving little people could not have known was even with the Rauldens.

The investigation team eventually found the footage of the last time Cache and Jazz spoke face to face (via interstellar com-link), and saw that Arsisi had been in the video's frame, but they still had no way to link them together.

Their logic was sound too. "How would Jazzimeridon have possibly known that she wasn't a native Raulden?" they'd queried.

They quickly shifted their focus to the more obvious, and dissected the space-waves for any clue about her capture, feeling that if it were the Kreete, which was the rational conclusion, they would be unable to keep it quiet. However, everything they tried...everywhere they searched...they came up empty.

"I am afraid that it is just like when you went missing, Ron," Hoaldniz told him three dactrais into the frantic search. "It was like you had simply vanished into the void of space.

"But this time we don't even have a ship to chase down for more evidence," he added absentmindedly.

"Is there truly nothing more to try?" Ron begged.

"If the information is available...anywhere out there...we will eventually find it. For now though, all we can do is keep digging...and wait."

"Yeah, well, I don't 'wait' very well," Ron replied dryly.

He'd spent almost every bort of those three dactrais either scanning the logs or building theories that he would eventually tear apart.

"Why do you not go to Caron, Ron? Spend time with Josylinia for a while. We will contact you the instant we have any information."

Ron could read between the lines of that clear enough. "Get out of here and let us work."

He knew his presence was distracting, and his obvious worry and aggravation just added tension to the entire group dynamic.

"That's a great idea, Hoaldniz, but the _Darlile_ hasn't made it back just yet...and I'll be damned if I'm going to trust that portal again!"

The Raulden leader wanted to tell him that there was no more threat of a mishap, but he was all too familiar with Ron's stubborn streak, so he had to let it go.

"I'll go outside for a while, and stay in Fraidze's...uh...I mean, the guest house."

Ron felt a sharp stab of embarrassment and remorse at having brought up Fraidze's name so flippantly. His untimely death had hit Cache hard after all.

"I'll see you," Ron added quickly, and then slipped away.

Once on the surface of Rauld, out in the incredibly clean air and bright sunshine, Ron felt a bit better. He opened up the small home and tried to get his mind off the obvious by taking a run. From there, he did everything he could possibly think of to distract himself.

A torjourne later, the _Darlile_ streaked overhead, and that was a huge boost.

When it landed, Ron raced over to it and climbed aboard with all haste.

He then inspected its systems for the remainder of the dactrai with the intention of prepping it for immediate departure. However, the battle with the _Breva Narge_ had left it in less than stellar shape; so instead, he began a long list of repairs.

Ron returned to the communications station the next morning, searching for Hoaldniz, and found the fellow working beside about twenty technicians. He'd taken Aanlis's place as head of the entire station.

"Hoaldniz, I'd like to inform you that I'll be leaving again as soon as I can, heading for Caron to take your advice."

"To spend time with your betrothed?" the placid leader inquired.

"Yeah. If anyone can help me through this, it's Josy."

"You are intending to fly to the planet?"

"Well...yeah...how else will I get there?"

"Have you forgotten that the planet shield will not allow the _Darlile_ to enter?"

Ron's face went totally blank. He had forgotten, and he didn't forget anything.

"Son of a b...!" he grumbled, his eyes flashing over to the portal's launch area.

Just then though, that station began to chime. A call was inbound.

Ron nearly leaped the ten peors between him and the com link, but then his eyes locked onto the signal and he sighed.

"It's Yovan," he said in a dejected tone. With a quick huff he gathered himself and triggered the link.

The Malicart commander immediately raised his brows at the sight of Ron.

"I didn't expect to see you on Rauld, Ron," he said.

"Yeah, I'm as surprised as you actually," Ron said, smiling a wry smile. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, of course. I'm just keeping my scheduled meeting with Hoaldniz and the rest of the Council."

Hoaldniz stepped up.

"Forgive me, Yovan," he said solemnly, "but we have been preoccupied here over the last few dactrais. The time has slipped by me, I am afraid. If you would permit me to..."

Yovan was a very intelligent man, and so could tell that something extremely important was happening on Rauld's side of the link.

"Ron," he said, cutting off Hoaldniz. He could see the stress in Ron's eyes, and after the way Ron had been so poised and calm upon their initial contact, he knew that meant a great deal. "Is something wrong? Has something new happened?"

Ron glanced to Hoaldniz, but then faced his new friend squarely and explained the situation.

Yovan sat very still, absorbing everything Ron said as if it had occurred to his own people. His face grew red with the heat of profound indignation.

"Those dragen Theranians!" Yovan finally growled. "They expand their grip like a cancerous plague...and they'll stop at nothing, the revolting little vermin!"

That statement took Ron by surprise.

"Theranians?" he replied. "What makes you think it's the Theranians?"

Yovan looked at Ron with a strange expression...one of confusion.

"After what they were willing to do to your new homeworld...Caron...and what they did to Coriolus...I just assumed you knew it was them."

Ron's mouth hung open with astonishment.

"WHAT?"

Yovan pulled back a bit, totally surprised.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "You didn't know it was the Theranians attacking Caron?"

"NO!" Ron said, suddenly feeling the heat in his own face. "How do you know it was them?"

"I scanned their ships when we entered Caron's system. They use a distinctive resonance in their fuel mixture that leaves a tell-tale signature. Plus, all the ships were operated remotely from the asteroid. They had a small command base built into it, right between the engine pods. You didn't see that?"

Ron's fingers were growing white as he listened; curling into two fists that desperately wanted to hit something. His nails dug into his palms hard and his knuckles popped audibly.

"No," he replied with his teeth clenched. "The ships were using a scattering field my sensors couldn't penetrate, and I never even glanced at the asteroid beyond blowing up those engines."

Yovan could read the emotion on Ron's face.

"And Coriolus?" Ron asked.

"Yes, it was them as well."

"How could you possibly...?"

"We have...let's say...information gatherers...scattered all across the Kreete Empire."

Ron read that as either physical spies, or some kind of spyware.

"As soon as the outbreak began, we analyzed the bio-toxin. It was engineered to target just the natives of Coriolus. That is why most of the foreigners survived. The Theranians have used that type of weapon many times in the past. It is the primary way they expand to new worlds because their species is so small and fragile. They annihilate a planet's indigenous people and then just move right in."

Ron was horrified. Then something triggered in his mind.

"Yovan! Do you know where they would have taken Cache?"

"No," the commander replied dejectedly. "I'm afraid not. You see, they are not like your people and mine, and their military commanders have complete autonomy over their respective undertakings. Most likely, this Jazz is one of those 'Queens' and has her own agenda.

"Do they have a homeworld?"

"Yes, but it is very far away...deep inside their own territory...easily six of your santaris away at the speed of your black ship."

Ron immediately assumed that Jazz was just as Yovan presumed. She was building her own empire and Cache had the knowledge and expertise to give her an enormous edge over any competition...especially the Kreete. Her insight of weapons, shielding, and engine design were just the beginning. She could give them the planet shield and the portal too.

"Holy sh..." Ron thought.

"Yovan," Ron began. "Jazz had me claim protection for a planet called Ordice. Do you know where that is?"

Yovan thought for a lita, and then asked one of his officers to check it with their records.

"No, my friend," he said a few moments later, "I'm sorry, but I don't. That's not surprising though, because every time they take over a new world, they rename it to suit them. You would need to know the original title to find it...or..." he said, thinking again.

Ron waited for him to complete his thought, but quickly ran out of patience.

"Or what?"

"You announced the name of the planet they wanted you to, right? At the end of the Games?"

"Yeah...that's right."

"Then someone in the Kreete hierarchy must know where that planet is. Otherwise, its protection would mean nothing."

"Yeah-yeah-yeah!" Ron said, tracking his line of reason. "So we just need to search for worlds the Kreete have abandoned since the end of the Games."

"Or, just ask one of the Kreete Empirical Lords," Yovan added, smiling broadly.

Ron grinned back as well, his expression changing dramatically.

"What?" Yovan asked, seeing the swift shift. "You're not going to tell me that you actually know one are you?"

"No," Ron chuckled, "No, not one of them...but the next best thing."

"Thank you, Yovan," Ron told the man. "Thank you again so very much! We have a lead now, and I think I know where to follow it!"

"You are most welcome, Ron. I'll let you all get to it. Hoaldniz, why don't we skip this meeting and we'll convene again in two santaris."

"Thank you, Yovan," the leader replied. "That would be perfect."

"Good luck to you all," Yovan said before cutting the link.

Ron turned to Hoaldniz and smiled.

"Well, at least we have something to go on."

From that moment on, the search narrowed. They had a trail.

### Chapter Thirty-seven

### Where in the Galaxy is Ordice?

Ron immediately cancelled his plans to return to Caron following that discussion, feeling the piercing desire to be there at the moment they found Cache and Sheyah...or at least the planet where they thought they'd be. Unfortunately however, even with Rauld's marvels of technological advancement at their fingertips, the search planed out from there...and then the dactrais began dragging on again.

A torjourne passed before Karne and Larson arrived, (their spacecrafts not being as swift as the smaller, sleeker Darlile) and they too were exasperated at the pace of the search. It wasn't until Karne had been thoroughly briefed that the Reaper began to understand just how daunting a task they'd gotten involved with.

That giant was used to having the entire Triad Empire at his disposal, and felt gravely impotent in helping find his adopted niece and her mother.

After another dactrai, he and Larson took Hoaldniz up on his offer to send them home. Ron wanted to accompany them very badly, feeling the need to see Josy with nearly overwhelming pressure, even willing to chance the portal to do it. But conversely, he felt if he left the search then, it would be like giving up on Cache and Sheyah, and he simply could not do it.

"Try to explain it to Josy, Karne," he said.

The giant Kreete officer merely nodded.

It took another agonizing torjourne before there was any success...and when it came, it wasn't from where they'd thought.

Ryun Torbin at last replied to a request that Ron had sent.

"Reaver Ryun," Ron had said in that audio message. "This is Itsu. I would like to offer a trade to you and your empire. If you provide me with the location of the Theranian controlled planet Ordice, then you can stop worrying over how to defeat me for the foreseeable future. I have reason to focus all of my energy and resources on retrieving something I lost to those tiny devils, and will no longer threaten Kreete outposts if given your aid.

"You have my word on that. And as a side benefit, should I be successful, you may be rid of those particular thorns in your side as well."

"To Itsu of Caron," the Kreete officer replied. "I accept your terms. Look in the Triosel Sector, grid 19034x31402x25971."

Ron just stared at the location, wondering if he could trust the Kreete. Hoaldniz immediately pulled up that grid.

"There is a planet there, Ron. A Class 8.1 world called Evo."

"What's the distance to Evo?" Ron asked excitedly.

The information jumped to the screen immediately.

"Oh my G..." Ron groaned. "A full santari?"

"I am afraid so," Hoaldniz said. "But if you send the _Darlile_ empty and use the portal, you can save..."

"I'll leave immediately!" Ron said, turning for the door and walking fast. He spun back at the hallway.

"Thank you all for your tireless work. I'll let you know what I find."

Then he set off for the cubic transporter.

Fifty Raulden dactrais later, Ron dropped out of transoptic mode and began to get nervous. He'd invested a tremendous amount of time and energy on that trip and wondered if he was about to find his former love and their daughter, or was flying into a Kreete ambush.

The _Darlile_ issued no warnings for the first eight billots of the decel, but then he began picking up strange readings at the fringe of the ship's long range sensors. There were no large Kreete juggernauts waiting to destroy him, but instead, something totally baffling.

It was so odd that Ron queried the ship's avatar.

" _Darlile_ , can you explain these readings?"

"They are consistent with similar analyses, encountered at a different location far from here. It is where Cache was sent for another rendezvous, when she found out about your alleged collaboration with the 'Ordiceans'."

Ron still had five more billots of decel, so he decided to investigate that occurrence.

"Play the recording of that event."

Ron spent the next few billots watching what Cache had faced during that meeting. When it was finished, Ron knew that he was flying into something much worse than a Kreete trap.

He did indeed find a planet, but that entire globe...including a small moon...was surrounded by orbiting stones the size of buildings, or larger, made of material that was impregnable to plasma fire. And they were no doubt outfitted with the same rail-guns that had decimated the Kreete attack force that had threatened Cache on that previous occasion.

Ron wasn't completely discouraged though, feeling confident he could somehow figure out a way to get around those floating sentries, but by the time he finished his deceleration, he was close enough to the planet to get a better reading. That's when his hopes dropped like a rock.

The planet was surrounded by an energy field...the Shotal Energy Shield!

"Holy Mother of..." he huffed. "Now what?"

At the first opportunity, Ron banked the black ship hard and began a wide orbit of Evo, scanning it with every sensor he had, and in every spectrum. Over the following dactrai, he found their communication stream blasting out in a direction away from Kreete occupied space and 'presumably' into their native realm.

"So that's where you come from, huh?" he growled.

He launched a small probe, about the size of a basketball, into the center of that stream, and the _Darlile_ began systematically breaking down the encryption the Theranians utilized. It took another two dactrais, but afterward Ron had complete access to whatever transpired between the Theranians and their people.

While he waited, Ron went over different scenarios of combat in his mind. His frustration mounted and that unrest fueled his anger, which turned his mood dark. Concurrently, so did his plans.

After another dactrai, he sent word for Hoaldniz to call Karne and Larson back. He had an idea.

From there, Ron Allison began a new campaign.

For the next two torjournes, Ron intercepted every supply ship sent to Ordice...basically cutting the planet off from any outside contact. He could tell the planet-dwellers were growing concerned by their increasingly urgent messages, so he just kept hitting them. They even began sending large escort fleets to ensure the deliveries, but Ron denied them even the chance to finish decel. He wanted Jazz to feel isolated...vulnerable...alone.

Finally though, the Theranians figured out exactly who it was that was decimating their supply lines and tried a new tact.

The portal com-link sprang into life one morning, just after Ron finished his breakfast, and he calmly opened the connection. When he did, it was the last calm thing he did.

The look on Hoaldniz' face sent a chill racing up his spine, and Ron's chest constricted so hard, he thought his lungs had turned to concrete.

"What has happened?" scorched through his brain like a blow torch.

Dread filled his soul as he gauged what horror that man would unleash upon him, and the meal he'd just taken in threatened to race back out.

The Raulden leader paused a long while, trying to come up with a way to tell Ron something, but Ron lost his patience at the delay.

"Just tell me," he said brusquely...and then he braced himself.

"We received a video message that you 'must' watch."

That was all the esteemed spokesman from the technologically gifted people could say, and even then his voice shook.

Ron gripped the edge of his console hard, his heart beginning to pound in a quickening, thundering pace.

"Play it," he said grimly.

Hoaldniz nodded and pressed a finger to his console.

Up popped an image of Sheyah, staring back at Ron. It nearly made his heart stop.

"Sheyah...sweetheart! Are you..."

Then the recording began to play.

"This message is for Ronald Allison," she said in her tiny girl's voice. But it wasn't her usual bubbly tone. He could tell she was concentrating as hard as she could. He immediately did the same.

"I have only four borts," she continued, but she held up her open right hand, "to pass along this plea.

"Mother is so very unsettled. She would beg you not to continue with your languishing on our behalf. Please end the meaningless campaign you are involved with, and take solace in knowing that we have found a new and satisfying life here. Our wonderful hosts provide everything we need and merely wish us to relish our time here while tackling some of their most aggressive challenges. They are not equal in power to the Kreete, and just want some instruction on ways to help limit the disparity between the Lords and themselves. Mother knows that the method which our hosts used to recruit us enticed you to believe some malice was involved. But just as you were drafted to liberate an entire planet, she labors now to ensure it withstand any future actions of evil belligerence from the same loathsome beings that you have openly chosen to contest and vilify at every turn. Mother expressly implores you to put your distrust aside and stop offensive attacks against the Ordicean underlings."

At that point, Sheyah stopped speaking and looked over to her right. Afterward, the image swapped to one showing Jazzimeridon sitting calmly behind a desk. It did not appear to be aboard any ship, so Ron assumed she was in some office on Evo.

"As you can see by this message, the child is unharmed. Her mother has chosen to keep to the agreement she promised when she bargained with us to help you during the Games. She would have spoken as well, but she has been working exhaustive billots and was sleeping. We did not wish to rob her of her rest, but wanted to get this message out as soon as possible to avoid any further loss of life and supplies. The provisions you have been intercepting are crucial to keeping 'all' of us alive and safe, so please be reasonable and desist further attacks.

"Thank you, Ron."

The viewer then changed once again to show Hoaldniz gazing at Ron. He appeared very stoic, but Ron guessed that he was just as concerned as was he.

"You know that message was complete lies," the Raulden leader told him.

Ron took a few moments to think, his eyes staring downward as if he were examining the console very carefully. Hoaldniz watched those steely gray orbs shifting left to right slowly.

"I'm not so sure about that," Ron finally said.

Hoaldniz was flabbergasted.

"How could you possibly think..."

"No-no-no," Ron cut him off, returning his focus to the Raulden. "The message was total bullshit, that's true enough...but I think the message was a message!"

"I...do...not follow."

"Hang on a lita, Hoaldniz. _Darlile_ , replay the message that Sheyah spoke, but in text only, with no sound."

Instantly, the entire speech the little tot had given was written across the viewer while Hoaldniz' image was shifted to a small section of the lower corner.

"Remove the first letter of every fifth word, starting from the word; Mother...and run them together."

The instant the ship complied, Ron began to growl. It was a low, rumbling release of air that came from deep within his body, seemingly from the most primal well of his animalistic soul.

"Unleash...Shartae...kill...them...all...we...love...you" it read.

Hoaldniz saw what Ron saw on Rauld's side of the link, and his face turned ashen.

"Oh, Creator above us!" he said in a distraught, frightened huff.

By then, Ron was absolutely seething with rage, his mind filling in everything those words both said and implied.

Directly behind Ron was the largest open area in the _Darlile_ , so naturally that was where the sparring equipment he utilized to keep himself sharp was secured. In the next tenth of a lita, Ron whirled about and attacked a Kreete-sized manikin like a madman.

He typically struck and kicked the device as someone would with a punching bag in a boxing gym, but in that moment, Ron needed to release much more than his typical energy.

He was a literal blur of motion. His hands, feet, knees, and elbows struck a hundred blows in the following ten litas, and all the while he belched out sounds likened of a crazed bear in the fight of his life.

When the outer shell of the dummy failed and the inner padding was shredded, Ron finally drew the raven super-blade and slammed in fully into the center of the device, right to the hand-guard. And then he spit out the time-honored call of the masters of battle from his beloved mountain clan.

That physical display had everyone on Rauld within eyesight of the viewer cringing where they stood, too shocked to even look away. But when the Aredanz war cry reverberated across the immense void and echoed around the room, they dropped to the floor in utter terror.

When it was over, and Ron had stopped his outburst, he stood there vibrating with fury. He then ripped his sword free and stepped aside, staring forward in the _Darlile_ 's cabin, as if looking right at his enemy out the front viewscreen.

"YOU WANT A DRAGEN WAR?" he bellowed, pointing out into the picture of open space. "YOU'VE GOT ONE NOW!"

Spittle flew from his lips during that short, yet furious declaration, showing a totally new side of his persona to his Raulden cohorts.

Hoaldniz was still standing on the other side of the connection, completely frozen. He had never seen anyone rant in his entire long life, and now he saw clearly why Ron Allison had survived the innumerable horrors and deadly misfortunes of his new life. He was a man who absolutely would not be swayed, and from the overwhelming realities of that history, could not be stopped. In those few moments, Hoaldniz was immensely grateful that he was not on the other end of that avowal.

"What is there to do?" the Raulden leader finally asked.

Ron turned back around as if in a daze, but he was not. His mind was already five steps along a path that he'd started down a few torjournes ago...only now he no longer hesitated.

"What?" he asked, trying to reel in his hate long enough to speak.

"They have Cache and Sheyah. You can do nothing without endangering them...or possibly getting them killed."

"Did you not see the recording and read the message?" Ron demanded harshly, no longer caring how he was perceived. His entire reality had just been shattered.

"Why yes, of course. But that only..."

"THEY'RE AS GOOD AS DEAD!" Ron snapped.

"But Sheyah said..."

"Sheyah said everything her captors wanted her to say," Ron barked as he paced back and forth, "and every word of it was lies...but Cache coached her on it so she could get me that hidden message. That's the only thing I'm focused on, and it's crystal clear.

"She said to 'unleash Shartae'. That's the same as telling me that she's exhausted every avenue available to her and has found no possible way to escape. It also means that she's imagined no way that I can get to her with any real hope that they'll survive the attempt. And 'that' means she doesn't see any way to help me locate her...which points to her most likely being held in some heavily shielded military compound...or deep underground. It's also likely that Sheyah and her are separated.

"Also, she said to 'kill them all', which means that whatever they're forcing her to do for them is so horrendous that she'd rather have her and our daughter die in the attack than have to continue. That in itself is what really worries me.

"And finally, she said, 'we love you' which means she fully expects that neither of them will ever see me again."

Hoaldniz was silent as he considered Ron's assessment, but it didn't take long.

"I see your point," he concluded. "So what are you going to do?"

Ron looked him right in the eyes. His gaze was as hard as the unbreakable sword he carried.

"I'm going to KILL THEM ALL!" he growled.

"But how? The planet is protected against every weapon known to us!"

Ron sneered at the gentle man in front of him.

"Not every weapon!" he hissed through gritted teeth. "Not me!"

Ron then turned and moved to the cockpit, strapping in immediately and transferring the portal link to the forward viewscreen.

"How many portal probes do you have on Rauld?" Ron asked while he pulled up a stellar map.

Hoaldniz stroked the flat console before him a few times and said, "Twelve of the small, 'personnel' size, and twenty of the 'cargo' model...for large applications."

"Excellent. If you are still willing to help me while knowing my intentions, send ten of the larger ones over to the _Darlile_ as soon as you can, and then build another ten of the same type."

"Of course we will continue to support you, Ron," Hoaldniz replied without hesitation. "We accept you and Cache's judgment on all matters of conflict. The probes will be loaded immediately."

"Thank you, Hoaldniz."

The tall, slim fellow merely nodded as his fingers flashed across his console. Ron could see his assistants in the background also ramping up their motions.

In less than ten borts, the Darlile's cargo hold was crowded with the large transporter devices

"And when Karne and Larson drop out of transoptic mode," Ron continued, "load each of their ships with ten probes as well, and have them contact me."

"We will see to it."

"Great! I'll be in touch."

"Very well. We will be awaiting your contact."

At the moment the screen went dark, the _Darlile_ slammed into forward motion at the crushing limit Ron could take. That was fine with him though. He needed to burn off some of the energy that was swirling around in his body, and fighting with the inertial loads was actually a comfort.

As the raven vessel surged forward into new dangers, Ron plotted the most expeditious route to deliver his payload. He knew it would take the better part of another santari, but saw no other hope of achieving his goal.

Ron hadn't completely abandoned all hope of retrieving his loved ones because giving up simply wasn't part of his nature...but too, he knew he would be risking everyone's lives in the attempt. He just prayed that Cache and his little girl would survive long enough to at least give him that slim chance.

### Chapter Thirty-eight

### The End of Kreete

At the most honored venue in the entire empire, the Grand Empirical Coliseum on Kreete, the Kreete High Council convened for the first time in a great while. They were there to celebrate the seventh centennial anniversary of their ancestors' total victory over the natives...and the founding of their namesake planet. (They calculated time in their new planet's orbital cycles, not Raulden cycles)

The event was an extravagant affair that promised to attract the greatest officers from around the empire, pay homage to the incredible visionaries of the early times, dole out new awards of conquest and wealth, and revisit all the usual bonds that tie highest ranking superiors with their envious underlings.

Many of the greatest achievers of the Kreete species would be on hand there, and all aggressive acts were strictly forbidden. It was one of the rare points in their society's history that truly was intended to be a peaceful gathering.

Toward the end of the santari long festival, at the culmination of the celebration, the coliseum was filled to capacity with four hundred thousand Kreete officers, planet lords, and even the Triad Councilmen, along with their closest family members. The triumphs of the top seventy ambassadors were being read to the gathering, and much hoopla and accolades were being tossed about with pageantry and vigor.

In the middle of that gala, a message was received at the central command center of the planet, and in turn, it was forwarded to the three Triad leaders sitting in that massive stadium.

It was delivered not by secret encrypted technology, but by broad-wave transmission so that everyone might witness the unprecedented event. And it came from a most surprising source.

The transmission came from the Kreete's newest enemy.

To show honor to the grand celebration, the Theranians had decided to finally concede that the space they presently occupied was not their own...that they wished to make amends...and that they were formally seeking open trade and commerce with the Kreete Empire. The message went on to declare a cessation to any and all contested claims they held against the Triad.

"We have sent an emissary group of unarmed spacecraft to rendezvous with the mighty Kreete armada at the edge of your planetary orbit. Feel free to scan them as closely as you wish."

The ships they sent were not military ones...only communication variants...but that did little to dissuade the mistrust the Triad naval officers felt. Nevertheless, after thoroughly examining the cluster of a hundred small Theranian vessels, the Kreete armada allowed the spacecrafts inside its normally heavily armored perimeter so that the signal could pass unimpeded.

The Theranian com ships immediately began to separate until they'd formed a perfect circle that rapidly expanded. Of course, the Kreete war machines stayed well within weapons' range of those crafts.

When they were each a third of a hoz apart, ten hoz across their diameter, an image burst into being, creating the largest viewscreen ever made...and yet it kept expanding. The military's space fleet followed each of those ships physically, as well as with their sensors, verifying every move they made was nonthreatening.

As soon as it alit, that gigantic image began a demonstration of the marvels of the Theranian people...specifically their technology...their abilities.

The events inside the coliseum all came to a stop at the collaborative insistence of the three most powerful men in the empire, and the video the Theranians had prepared suddenly appeared inside the giant stadium for everyone to witness. That same feed was soon opened across the planet so that all might bask in the success of their rulers' power. Yet another enemy had succumbed to the onslaught of their unwavering dominance.

The Theranian exhibition was impressive, and their discoveries and inventions were many and quite wondrous. Even the supreme leaders of the mighty Kreete Empire were captivated.

By the time the demonstration was underway for ten borts, the circle of ships had expanded to twenty hoz in diameter, and was still growing. At that point, the figure of Jazzimeridon filled the space between the constantly circling little ships.

Jazz introduced herself and spoke for a few borts about the newfound respect they now felt toward the awe-inspiring Kreete...a hard won, yet well-earned declaration, in her own words...and about how their two races might one day work together, each species benefiting from the other.

Those powerful leaders watching from the audience wanted very badly to cast the entire show aside as a stunt...a mask for some manipulative, ulterior motive...but their pride and ego were being stroked too profoundly for that decision to take hold. Jazz was saying all the right things in just the right way.

As a final note, Jazz asked everyone to watch closely to see the newest, most exciting technological marvel they'd developed specifically as a gift for the Kreete Lords, the masters of the galaxy.

The image of that tiny Theranian woman faded away slowly until it disappeared altogether, presumably allowing unfettered view of the closing display she'd promised.

The image offered was one of a glorious depiction of space with the Credanz Nebulae centered in the background. It was a beautiful sight to be sure, fourteen huge white stars spread out in almost perfect symmetry inside a bright blue halo of interstellar gas, with threads of green and red magnetic flux ribbons interconnecting them all. But after several litas passed with nothing else happening, the audience began to wonder what exactly was the marvel she'd promised.

As the litas dragged on to a full bort, the crowd's interest shifted from excited to bewildered, and then onward to irritated, and the Kreete Empirical Lords began to think the entire charade should have been terminated at the beginning. Their suspicions and distrust quickly grew once more, forcing each of them to reach out for the communications link with their armadas.

However, that's when the heralded 'miraculous' occurrence took place.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the expected video of a new, clever bit of technology meant to dazzle and impress. It was a micro-planet...and not a picture of one...an actual, physical lump of free-ranging cosmic matter left over from the formation of a solar system six hundred light cycles distant.

The device the Theranians had brought to the Kreete celebration was in fact an enormous Kuar Starflex Transporter!

As the audience of billions gazed on in clueless expectation, the massive rock that barely cleared inside the circling ships passed through the portal's threshold. And that circle had stopped expanding at more than thirty hoz diameter! It was barely eight-hundred-thousand hoz from Kreete, traveling at a velocity of .02 VL-1, and it was heading straight for the planet!

The first thing it contacted was the Kreete armada which had formed a defense shield directly in front of the portal. But before the order to take evasive maneuvers could even be given, sixty-three ships were utterly obliterated.

The one hundred fighters that stood guard next to each of the Theranian portal generators opened fire and promptly destroyed their targets, but the damage had already been done, and there was no way to put the genie back into the bottle.

It took only milli-litas for the tracking equipment on Kreete to detect the object, and when it did, alarms went off around the globe. Instantaneously an emergency evacuation was ordered, but at the range the deadly rock had entered their space, it defied any attempt at escape.

Two and a half borts later, that deadly projectile slammed into the bedrock of the planet, penetrating all the way down to its core. It spewed the innards of the Kreete homeworld out into space with such violence that some eventually even reached the central star. That relatively small (when compared to the planet) rock vaporized an entire ocean and completely liquefied a third of Kreete's land surface.

In a matter of litas, the entire population of the once populous sphere was dead! Twenty billion souls were lost. It was the most heinous act of war anyone had ever dreamed of.

In that single attack of ultimate viciousness, the Kreete Empire was crushed.

Not every Planet Lord had made the voyage to their homeworld for the celebration, and so many were spared, but the reaction to that unthinkable act immediately forced an entirely new perspective. Those who still lived across the immense expanse of the empire immediately began recalling their fleets from wherever they were stationed, rounding up their armadas to return to their sides to protect their worlds.

That of course brought on more fear because their logic was almost worthless. How could you defend yourself against such a weapon? The vile Theranians had just proved they could deliver a world-ending projectile right to the threshold of any planet they chose!

It was total chaos.

Ron Allison was just dropping out of transoptic space when it happened, and as soon as Rauld intercepted the news, they forwarded the information to him.

He watched the video feed that must have come straight from the planet of Kreete, because the last image was of the entire sky lighting up in a massive fireball. That clenched the path he'd set himself on with even more incentive.

He dropped his last payload as soon as he could and immediately set a course back to Evo.

### Chapter Thirty-nine

### All or Nothing

Ron reemerged in Evo's solar system almost three torjournes later, and there he met Karne Gitove. They were beyond the range of the sensors the planet used, mostly because the Theranians were still fine-tuning the frequencies of the new shield around the planet and so there ability to watch their realm was not what it normally would have been.

Larson arrived a few dactrais later, but still they waited. And what they waited for was a miracle all in itself.

When Ron was just approaching VL-1 after his last waypoint, he'd received a rather unexpected...and unprecedented...request. It came from Ryun Torbin, and it surprised Ron more than he ever thought he could be.

Ryun had not been at the grand celebration as he should have been due to his fall from grace with his father. And that had been caused by his failure to terminate Ron, getting his own fleet destroyed instead.

"I have spoken with a number of my fellow Kreete, Itsu of Caron," he'd begun, "and we have thereby come to a profound and previously unheard of decision. We have unanimously agreed to grant you and your Raulden associates complete amnesty for any and all past transgressions against the Empire."

Ron stared at the hideous face of his former enemy and wondered what the catch was.

"Thank you, Ryun, but may I ask what made you so generous?"

"I am sure you are aware of what transpired to our homeworld at the hands of the Theranians."

"Yes," Ron replied solemnly. "And even though I have been clear about my intentions toward your governance, I never imagined...and would never condone...a massacre of such scope. I am truly sorry for the loss of so many lives."

Ryun didn't respond to Ron's condolences other than to nod slightly.

"That being said, what is it that you'd like in return?"

"Is your campaign to wage open conflict those villainous fiends still operational?"

"Yes, Ryun," Ron answered, tingeing it with a gritty harshness. "It absolutely is!"

"Excellent. Then, in exchange for the afore mentioned amnesty, we would very much like to join forces with you and take part in dealing out retribution for that incongruous act. Toward that end, we would put our combined fleet at your disposal."

Upon hearing those words, Ron smiled a sly, vengeful smile.

"Exactly how many ships are you talking about, Ryun?"

"One hundred and forty."

Ron couldn't suppress his shock, nor his excitement, and immediately agreed and issued his orders.

Two dactrais after the three Raulden war ships gathered, the Kreete armada began to arrive, and he put them to work immediately.

From there it was an all-out blitzkrieg for the next five dactrais. Working round the clock, the Kreete ships spread out as widely as possible and rained firepower onto Evo's shield relentlessly, and Ron, Karne, and Larson were right there with them, working in shifts. The bombardment actually did nothing to threaten the Theranians on the surface, but it did produce a unique affect, one which served its only real purpose. That much highly charged energy pouring down against the planet shield blinded the sensors on the planet completely.

It was simply a smoke screen, but it was all part of the plan. Ron just needed to buy time.

As the schedule for their final push drew near, Ron, Karne, Larson, and the entire Kreete force continued their unrelenting barrage against the shield, as well as against the plethora of the asteroid-based particle cannon emplacements that the Theranians had arranged in orbit around the planet. Those mini-bases could not be destroyed by the typical arsenal that spacefaring ships maintained, so a workaround had been developed...oddly enough by the very person Ron was trying to save.

After Cache's earlier encounter with similar devices, she'd come up with some rather unique countermeasures. Those weapons were similar to the Kreete plasma grenades, but what they did was polarize anything they struck...and once even a section of the asteroids held a charge...either positive or negative...they could be destroyed.

Therefore, the trio of Raulden fighters systematically lit up one gun emplacement at a time with the grenades and then the Kreete heavy weapons pounded it with plasma energy. That strategy worked amazingly well, but there were literally trillions of the stations in orbit around Evo, so it was tedious to say the least.

To add to those skirmishes, every now and again drone fighter-crafts would surge forth from their mother-ships inside the shield and race out in thick waves. At first it appeared to be a total waste of time, but with each batch of fighters lost, the Theranians learned a little more about their enemy.

The Theranians didn't panic or hurry either, knowing that time was on their side. The planet shield would keep the fleet at bay as long as they wished, and they had already sent for reinforcements from their homeworld.

Jazz felt assured that in another torjourne, there would be enough firepower surging into Kreete space to decimate even that huge armada of advanced crafts. She'd coaxed a thousand heavy warships from her superiors with the promise of sharing her newly contrived weapons. And it wasn't difficult after the demonstration of how she'd destroyed Kreete reached them. However, down on the surface in the capitol city...

"Sir!" shouted one of the men monitoring the long range sensors. "You might want to look at this!"

Irliant Razk strolled over to that position calmly. He was the ranking commander over the planet's security and defense. He was also the person who kept sending out squadrons of fighters to engage the Kreete antagonists. And although it was true that their forces were being destroyed at an alarming rate, the data they were collecting during each skirmish was giving them good intel about the weapons and shields their enemies were utilizing. They had their best scientists working nonstop on methods to get around those key roadblocks, but at present had not achieved much success.

He showed no concern about the sluggish pace of developing those countermeasures because the new shield was impenetrable. No matter what the Kreete threw at them, they were totally safe.

"What is it, Preeim?" Irliant asked.

"What do you make of that?" Preeim inquired of his superior. "During the last sortie, one of the fighters' sensors detected an object in this region, so I have been trying to scan it from here, but I'm running into difficulty. The best we've been able to decipher has been from visual sighting though, and mathematical extrapolation."

Irliant studied the information quickly, and his face showed his confusion. "I don't know. I've never seen anything that size...never even imagined it. And look at the depth of it. The entire configuration is not even one peor thick."

"Yes," Preeim agreed, "but the area it covers appears to be...planetary!"

"Do you think this 'guess work' is accurate?" Irliant queried.

"To the best of our efforts...yes."

"Is it a weapon?" Irliant asked the operator.

"I have no idea, Sir. We are receiving no readings whatsoever. Whatever it is, it's emitting a scattering field that we cannot penetrate...at least, not through the planetary shield. As you know, we haven't completely compensated for it yet. In fact, in many regards, it is actually hampering us more than the enemy."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, with the battle waging above, the constant contact of debris against the shield is either distorting or blocking all our long-range scans and communications off-world."

Irliant furrowed his brow.

"You mean we're cut off?"

"Yes, Sir. That is exactly what I mean...and it's been like that for days."

"Days?"

"Yes, Sir. I thought you knew."

Irliant rushed over to his command station and slammed his hand down on its panel.

"Isolate!" he ordered.

Immediately, an energy field sprang up that encircled his chair to separate him from his underlings.

"Locate Queen Jazzimeridon!"

A few litas passed while his brain raced with impending threats of innumerous sorts. The shield was saving them from the Kreete, but what else was happening outside their little sanctuary?

"What is it, Commander?" Jazz replied. She'd been awakened during her rest period.

"The Raulden has tricked us! There is some kind of weapon approaching, and the shield she designed to protect us now has us totally cut-off from any help from our homeworld."

"Explain!" Jazz snapped back, suddenly fully awake.

Irliant quickly relayed everything he'd just learned. He then heard his superior hiss at him over the com, and he knew that sound. Someone was going to pay!

"I will take care of it!" Jazz growled.

She flew out of her quarters straight away and rode her personal transport to the laboratory complex across the city. The heavily guarded, hardened facility was a massive building, reaching up a hundred stories and down seventy.

Jazz was escorted directly to her destination by six armed sentries who had every door moving before she even approached them. No one wished to delay the Queen in the least because her patience was incredibly thin, and her wrath was renown across Ordice.

Once inside the science building, the magnetically controlled elevator lowered her sixty-two levels below the surface, to her 'special guests' area.

Cache was hunched over one of the work stations beside two of the Theranian scientists. She'd been at it for most of the dactrai. She was a gaunt, decimated shell of her previous, beautiful appearance, and her hands shook any time she wasn't focused on holding some tool or device...the direct outcome of exhaustion combined with exasperation and terror.

There was no end to the demands of her captors either. The dactrais that had passed were now merely a blur on her once perfectly managed mind. Twenty billots of work followed by a mere five billots of sleep was her normal schedule, and it had her at the brink of a breakdown every waking moment. The only thing that kept her upright at all was to protect Sheyah from their vindictive wrath.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Jazz shrieked the instant she entered the lab.

Cache jerked harshly, dropping the mechanical device she'd been working on. It was a new form of electrical suppressor that would incapacitate even a shielded satellite...if they could perfect it.

"What?" Cache replied, stumbling back away from that insidious little woman. Her coordination had taken a huge blow when they'd burned out her left eye, leaving her with badly stunted depth perception.

That event was now several santaris in the past...but it had happened thusly...

"TAKE THE SPAWN'S HANDS!" Jazz had screamed when Cache's first attempt at the enormous transporter array had failed.

Cache had nearly collapsed at that, finally begging for them to take out their anger on her and not her baby. Jazz had been in a particularly nasty mood that dactrai, so she smiled her icy grin and strapped Cache Kuar down to one of the tables. Then she'd personally used a small, handheld torch to boil out Cache's left eye. She'd laughed maniacally the entire time while Cache had screamed until her voice had literally failed her.

Currently Cache was covered with welts from lashings that every Theranian around her had inflicted just for the fun of it. They were truly malicious little fiends who enjoyed another's suffering even more than the Kreete, which she'd have thought impossible before being around them. Those stinging wounds weren't the whole of it either, laid atop dozens of burn scars that decorated her once flawless, fuzz-covered skin. She'd 'earned' those just for falling short of her daily taskmasters' demands. And nearly all those wounds were open to anyone's casual inspection because her Raulden clothing hadn't lasted even the first santari...shredded right off her body by the burning prods and frequent lashings. It had long since been replaced by a simple band of cloth to corral her breasts and another around her nether area. She stood barefoot as well because the little Theranian beasts loved to abuse her feet so that she could not even stand without being constantly reminded of their superiority.

Four santaris of captivity had taken an incredible toll on her.

"I did nothing!" Cache cried, still retreating into the nearest corner and shaking violently. "I DID WHAT I WAS TOLD!" she shrieked in open panic.

Jazzimeridon pulled up short at that. She had been under nonstop scrutiny her entire time with them. The Theranian commander went to the nearest computer terminal and her tiny fingers flew across the surface, finally pulling up a view of the encroaching device.

"What is that?"

Cache's head pounded intensely...as it did every waking moment...but she cautiously approached Jazz, rubbed her bloodshot good eye thoroughly, and stared closely at the screen.

Unfortunately, all the data they had to offer was a visually enhanced picture of thousands, possibly millions of machines floating through space in perfect synchronicity with one another. She took into consideration the shapes of each device, but none of it was familiar.

She turned back to Jazz then, wild trepidation clearly written on her face. That maniacal little female did not take bad news well.

"I have no idea! I have never seen anything like it."

"Gggggggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!" Jazz seethed, reaching out and snatching one of the guards' prods. She pressed the igniter and jabbed it at Cache several times...and the petite Raulden screamed anew, twisting away and retreating into the corner again.

"I DO NOT KNOW! I DO NOT KNOW! I DO NOT KNOW!"

After causing Cache to writhe on the cold floor in agony for several litas while all those around her laughed hysterically, Jazz's rant seemed to relent a bit, and she backed away.

"I do not know! I do not know!" Cache continued to say, her mind shattered form the constant torment of her predicament.

"Bring in the pup!" Jazz ordered, her eyes locked on Cache.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Cache squealed again. "I HAVE NEVER SEEN IT! I SWEAR! I HAVE NEVER SEEN IT!"

Five guards kept Cache pinned in a corner with their weapons while they waited for Sheyah's arrival.

"I CAN FIGURE IT OUT! I CAN! I KNOW I CAN!" she pleaded. "PLEASE! NOT SHEYAH! PLEASE!"

Two Theranians soon entered pushing a cart with Sheyah strapped in it. She was immobilized with restraints and wailing away like any child frightened out of her mind would be. Cache felt like her heart was being ripped in half.

"Not Sheyah!" she begged, now on her knees and sobbing hysterically. "I can figure it out! Please, do not hurt her again!"

Although Cache had pleaded every time they'd threatened the child...often times hysterically...her sweet little girl had not gone untouched.

Jazz was still fuming though.

"How are you going to figure it out, you traitorous bitch!" she hissed. "The shield you built dilutes our scans...and we have lost contact with our home!"

The guards kept their distance from her daughter though, and that allowed Cache's brain to focus again...albeit not at one hundred percent...possibly seventy.

"I told you that it would take some time and adjustment before your old equipment could be tuned to the shield resonance. Your own scientists can confirm that! Ask them! It was the same with my own world. It took us almost ten cycles to get it right. Yours has been up barely a santari! I did nothing wrong!"

Jazz was already aware of those drawbacks, having been thoroughly briefed at every stage of development. That didn't keep her anger at bay though. She was of the mind that fear was the finest motivator there was.

"What about the communications blackout?" Jazz demanded.

Cache looked back at her in total confusion.

"A blackout? But that is not possible. You should not be experiencing any com problems...unless..." she took a few litas to consider the possibilities.

"Unless what?" Jazz hissed.

"Unless the shield is being bombarded with excessive energy...or solid particles. Is Ordice experiencing a powerful solar flare...or moving through a meteor cluster?"

Jazz remained silent.

"Is it under attack?"

Jazz was vibrating with rage. She didn't want to say what was causing the problem, but that made her slave even more curious. The miniature queen turned about to pace a bit, as she was apt to do when frustrated about some issue, and Cache's eye returned to the viewscreen that Jazz still had in operation.

After a brief moment gazing at the picture, Cache caught a fleeting glimpse of a ship as it streaked by. It was a black blur...so dark she could only perceive it because it eclipsed part of a bright nebula in the star-laden sky.

In that instant of time, she felt something she hadn't felt in two hundred and sixteen dactrais...hope! She knew immediately who was out there, and even though she had no idea how he could, she was certain he would find a way to her. Ron Allison...Ronin Alsone...Shartae the Invincible...Itsu of Caron...were all the monikers of a single, unassailable man...a man who absolutely could not be stopped! She just needed to survive a while longer.

Cache kept herself in check though, even while her heart began to race.

"Stop whatever you're doing and get to work analyzing that weapon!" Jazz ordered to the supervisor. "We have less than a single dactrai before it is upon us!"

She then turned to the guards escorting Sheyah.

"Take the whelp back!" she snapped before stomping off the way she'd come. As incensed as she was, she still knew that the best control over Cache was the threat of harming that child.

Cache let out a shaking sigh of relief as they stowed their smoking, red-hot prods and left. She was trembling hard. The blistering areas of her newest wounds burned intensely, but that was not the cause this time at least. This time it was from more than just pain and blind fear.

High above the planet;

Ron had been completely open with Ryun Torbin and his officers about his desperate plan, so the vast armada of warriors swirling around Evo knew exactly what their reign of demolition was doing to those down below, and therefore they kept it up relentlessly. And when the operators on the planet tried to send more of those drone fighters to get a closer inspection of the grid, they made them pay dearly.

It was a long race finally coming down to the wire...one Ron did not plan on losing! After all, stamina was his forte`.

The billots turned into half a dactrai, and still the swarming fleet of ships swept up every spacecraft the Theranians threw at them while destroying another six thousand asteroid bases. And when there was a clear space large enough, the three black ships blasted away at the planet shield just to show they could.

After one extremely large explosion caused the defense shield to blaze in bright red luminescence for over a thousand hoz however, Ron suddenly broke off his partnership with the others and the _Darlile_ streaked away as fast as he could physically withstand.

To those down below, it appeared as if one of the attacking crafts had vanished, and they even cheered its destruction at their stations.

What had actually happened though was an enormous Theranian freighter...the _Kulchyra_...had finally dropped out of hyper-light-speed and begun decelerating at the outer edge of the solar system, and Ron had been awaiting that very thing.

The _Kulchyra_ was easily the size of a New York skyscraper and carried thousands of tons of food and supplies for the rising population on Ordice. (Theranians breed extremely quickly) They're efforts to grow their own specific types of plants and animals were still in the infant stages of development, so those supplies were badly needed. Toward that urgency, the freighter had six powerful robotic escort fighters beside it, but that hardly slowed Ron down.

The freighter's avatar radioed that it was under attack, but the communications disruption the fleet maintained kept anyone on Evo from receiving it.

Ron annihilated the drone escorts in under half a billot, and then he collapsed the freighter's aft shielding and docked with it, while still hurtling through space at .3 VL-1. Once aboard, his armored suit allowed him to withstand every internal defense system that the Theranians threw at him as he fought his way straight to the bridge.

The deceleration force was substantial, and caused him time and energy to overcome it, but he was determined to see his plan through, so he just fought on even harder.

The crewmen were still locked in their decel pods, so he ejected them all, instantly ridding himself of any further resistance. It would have seemed too harsh for him to do only a few santaris earlier, but since then he'd seen exactly what type of creatures the Theranians were, so when he toggled the function, he didn't even blink.

Once he stood...or rather crouched... at the ship's command station, he had the _Darlile_ break through the freighter's firewall to commandeer the ship. With all the experience the Raulden avatar had gained against Theranian technology, it took less than ten borts, and afterward Ron ordered the fully automated cargo handlers to begin dumping their load out into space.

As the Kulchyra drew to within a half-million hoz of Ordice, the sable Raulden warship detached and eased itself around to the massive opening of the cargo hold. Ten borts later it sat inside the belly of the enormous craft and the giant doors began to close once more.

Ron timed everything to perfection too.

While every available engineer and technician was frantically trying to decipher the purpose of the approaching space-grid, and every defense station was dealing with the ongoing nuisance of the Kreete barrage, Ron was slowing the freighter to a snail's pace on the opposite side of the planet.

With barely a billot left until Evo was in alignment with that looming array, the _Kulchyra_ stopped its approach at the very edge of the planet shield. Ron cranked up the power to the communications' array and narrowed its beam to as tight a pattern as it would produce...the only way to penetrate the shield's dispersion characteristics. Then he pressed down on the com.

He made use of his implanted translator and requested the shield be opened for his entrance.

The com operator that received the request was so surprised by any communication from off-world that he jumped in his seat.

At that exact moment, Karne broke off from Larson with five Kreete frigates in his wake, and streaked across the sky, heading straight for the freighter at maximum thrust. And he intentionally made his move close enough to the planet to allow the Theranians down below to see it.

On the surface of Ordice, a quick glance at his monitor told the communications' operator two things. First was that their long awaited supply ship had finally arrived. And second was that in about twenty borts, it would be within weapons' range of six of those alien fighter ships.

"Please send the appropriate code," the fellow ordered to the freighter, his voice strained from the tension.

The _Darlile_ already had the necessary information on the viewer in front of Ron. He read off the information smoothly...and waited.

"Where are your escorts?"

"We came under attack during decel," Ron replied. "They were destroyed."

The planet-side operator was well-trained and seasoned in his position, so he took a few moments to think about the situation.

Ron didn't wait. Confusion, surprise, and anxiety were the keys to his success. "What are you doing?" he demanded over the com.

"You have reported an attack," Neaster replied. "Protocol demands that we confirm your identity through coded DNA transfer and visual confirmation."

"Are you insane?" Ron yelled back at him. "Do you see those ships headed this way?"

All the while, Ron was trying to come up with an alternative plan.

"They'll be here in ten borts," he added, intentionally raising his voice to sound more panicked.

"Then I suggest you get started," Neaster said calmly.

The _Darlile_ instantly researched the crew's records, but there was a problem.

"Ron," the ship's avatar said, "That data for the two officers is encoded by their personal, biometrics locks. It is irretrievable."

"Shit!" Ron cursed, his mind spinning. "What about the next man in line?"

That person's statistics popped up on the screen.

"Send them that."

Below, Neaster frowned. "This is not acceptable. Who is this?"

By that point, Neaster's supervisor had noticed what was going on at his station, so he walked over to have a closer look.

"What's the problem," Irliant demanded. He knew how badly they needed that shipment, and he could see the closing attack craft. Too, the freighter would require a full two borts just to clear the shield once it was lowered.

"This is Beintse Garsse," Ron told them. "I'm the spatial navigator! The captain and his lieutenant are both dead! Open the shield!"

"What happened?" Irliant asked Neaster quickly, sensing the escalating urgency.

"He said that they were attacked during entry to the system, and that his superiors are dead. But we have no visual and I think it might be..."

"What's wrong with your vid-screen?" Irliant demanded hurriedly.

"Nothing," Ron replied in a confused tone. "Why?'

"We are not receiving your picture."

"What? Why? I see you both fine!"

The _Darlile_ was purposefully obliterating the outgoing image.

"Hurry up!" Ron urged again, trying to sound as desperate as he could. "Open the shield! That ship is only four borts away!"

Irliant reached for the command key, but hesitated.

"Sir!" Neaster interjected. "You mustn't! Protocol forbids you from allowing any ship into our atmosphere unless..."

Irliant was not a person who appreciated an underling giving him orders, or instructing him about his duties. That level of arrogance tipped the scale. He pressed the key. The shield immediately opened a section wide enough to allow the transport passage.

"Make your best speed to your assigned docking port!" he ordered back to the freighter.

"Track it!" he snapped at Neaster. "And if it deviates even on hoz, blow it out of the sky!"

That seemed to appease the operator somewhat, so Irliant went back to his pacing about the station.

Ron smiled a sinister smile, and set off back to the cargo bay...back to the _Darlile_.

"Throttle up the _Kulchyra_ 's engines!" he ordered to his beloved ship.

Under his flashing feet, he felt the massive freighter begin to move.

Jazzimeridon's feet were moving swiftly as well, until she reached the central command center. There, she scurried from station to station and evaluated the prolonged battle with the Kreete armada.

"Has there been any penetration of the planet shield?" she asked tersely.

"No, my queen," Irliant replied immediately. "That device seems to be working marvelously. Even debris from the destroyed ships and gun emplacements do not make it into our atmosphere intact. The matrix scatters their molecules with miraculous efficiency."

"Humph," Jazz grunted in her high-pitched voice.

She then began striding back and forth across the main station, barely fifty feet from Irliant. Her mind was trained on the newest wrinkle. For all her brilliance, she couldn't fathom what the approaching collection of panels was. It was extremely irksome to her.

"Has anyone come up with an answer about what that array is?" she suddenly shrieked.

"No, Commander!" replied Irliant. "But we have ruled out every kind of known weapon. It simply doesn't have enough mass to generate any type of energy beam that might harm the planet...even without the shield in operation."

Jazz detested the unknown. She'd contrived this entire operation from the onset...the capturing of the planet, the buildup of forces, and the procurement of her special guest...all with the focus of expanding her reach of power across the Kreete-held region. It had all gone perfectly to plan...so far...and she intended that course to stay true.

As the _Kulchyra_ slid past the asteroid sentries and entered the danger zone...the area of space where the planet shield could restore its matrix and destroy anything in its path...Ron tensed. He was still a good distance from the _Darlile_ , but it wouldn't matter where he was if they slammed the door on him. Even the hull of that super-ship wouldn't stand a chance.

Sweat beaded up on his brow as he raced along, watching the countdown on the head-up display of his armor. He reached the black ship with thirty litas to go.

"Okay," he said when he was back in the pressurized environment of the ship. "Cut the freighter's engines!"

The avatar shut down the massive powerplants instantly, and the surging feeling of acceleration evaporated. Twenty percent of the freighter was still in the danger zone.

"What are you doing?" Neaster inquired sharply, trying to reestablish communication with the _Kulchyra_.

The attack vessel piloted by Karne Gitove was closing fast!

"Freighter _Kulchyra_! You must get clear of the shield immediately!"

Karne was only litas away.

Irliant heard the frantic order and rushed back to his operator.

"What happened?"

"The _Kulchyra_ cut its engines before clearing the shield! And now, if we leave it open long enough for the freighter to drift clear, those attacking fighters could slip through as well! And if that happens..."

"Close it now!" screamed Jazzimeridon from across the small station.

Irliant lurched forward and slapped his hand back onto the screen, signaling for the shield to reform. In merely litas, the aft ten percent of the ship...the entire engine nacelle cluster...was disintegrated.

Ron smiled again. He was in! That sly sneer was joined by a similar one on Karne's hideous face as the Reaper rained plasma energy onto the shield in torrents, but that was all for show. He and his support crafts soon pulled up harshly and headed back to the main battle.

"Well done, Ron!" Karne grunted, once more impressed by the human's knack for circumventing his enemies' defenses.

The _Kulchyra_ lost its primary engines in the event, which sent it into an immediate dive, high in the outer fringes of the atmosphere.

"That was the last supply ship we had scheduled, Queen Jazz," Neaster told her. "Without it, we'll likely..."

He instantly clamped his mouth shut and bowed when Jazz spun around to glare at him.

Aboard the _Kulchyra_ Ron just sat there, still inside the main body of the gigantic ship, and waited.

The shield generators stayed in operation for a few more borts, until the ship struck the thicker air. At that time, the rapidly increasing drag was too much for them to protect the hull any further and the feedback burned them out.

"Open the cargo doors," Ron said to his own craft.

"The stress on the hull is too great," the _Darlile_ told him. "They will not comply."

"No problem."

The black ship had never powered down, so his plasma capacitors were fully charged. A slight squeeze of Ron's finger obliterated the doors in a blink.

"There," he said lightly. "That's better."

As the _Kulchyra_ continued to accelerate in its death plunge, Ron placed his own craft into a hover and slipped neatly out of the hulking mass and into the turbulent wind-stream tearing away at it.

" _Darlile_ , have you delivered our special gift?"

"It is uploading now."

"Great. Let me know when it's complete.

While Ron streaked downward in the cloaking wake of the dying freighter, the other side of the planet held its focus elsewhere.

Finally, Evo had orbited into position, and the "weapon" initiated.

It started with thrusters. Every floating machine fired simultaneously...all ten million.

"Sir!" called the tracking officer sitting directly in front of the quick-stepping little woman, Jazz.

She immediately rushed to gaze over his shoulder.

"What has happened?" she demanded.

"The strange array has shifted its position."

"To what?"

"It appears to be pacing Ordice."

When the enormous cluster was positioned precisely above the planet, a new phase began.

"There is a buildup of energy in the array!" the officer announced, his insides twisting in knots.

That is when those above, as well as those below, found out exactly what the purpose of those devices was.

They were gravity-cancelling generators!

The moment they commenced powering up, the single reason that Evo remained in a nice, stable orbit...the powerful draw of the central star...ceased. It was as if an invisible cable that had been keeping the planet secured to its life-source was cut.

The field of machines two-thirds the size of the planet's total area had to immediately alter their course to give chase, but that was all part of the plan too.

To those watching from the surface, nothing whatsoever was happening.

"What is it doing?" Jazz queried...completely oblivious.

Cache Kuar was watching closely as well, alongside her Theranian captors, and the instant she saw the energy readings spike, she knew what it was. She had seen it in hundreds of modes on Rauld. But here, it was amplified to a nearly unfathomable scale.

"Guardian above us!" she gasped.

"What is it?" the little engineer next to her queried, still not comprehending the data.

In that moment, when everyone was staring down at their screens, Cache Kuar...the real Cache Kuar...went into action!

All the time she'd been held, she'd been forced to allow those tiny humanoids...no bigger than a typical five-year-old Earth child...to do whatever they pleased to her simply because she had no recourse. That was over.

Like a lioness, she pounced at the two guards assigned to watch her (and torture her whenever they felt it was needed).

Cache was a small woman by human standards, yet she still towered over the vile Theranians and outweighed them by a good forty percent, and there were sharp instruments and tools all around her. It wasn't much of a fight.

In less than two borts, the laboratory was completely quiet...until she released her pent up rage in a feminine interpretation of Ron Allison's call to battle. Her petite figure quivered with surging adrenaline as she sought out more of the loathsome creatures to slaughter.

As that wild cry echoed down the hallway, the sentries to her quarters sprang to attention, each glancing at the other. Nonetheless, they were obedient to their duties and stayed at their station until Cache strolled out of the laboratory, headed their way. They then both reached for the disruptor pistol on their belts, but the alien woman approaching was far ahead of them. Their lives ended in a flash of energy from the twin guns she'd taken from the dead hands of her own guards.

Cache kicked their corpses away from her daughter's room with disgust, and entered.

For the first time in santaris, she went to her little girl without terror coursing through her, and that tiny tot knew it right away. She gazed lovingly down at Sheyah with her one eye glistening and bright.

"Daddy found us, didn't he?" Sheyah asked when she was crushed in Cache's arms.

"Yes, my little angel. Your daddy is coming."

She then scooped up Sheyah and went back to the lab.

"Baby," she said to her daughter. "Close your eyes for Mother...okay?"

Sheyah understood, and buried her face in Cache's shoulder.

It didn't take long for that brilliant Raulden woman to find what she was looking for, and soon she was walking back down the hall. It took a few trips, but in only ten borts, they had enough water for a couple of days, a small amount of food, and every disruptor pistol she could find.

She knew there was no possibility they could escape the fortress they were being held in without outside aid, so she did the next best thing.

"Cover your ears, Sheyah," Cache instructed...and then she began securing the only entrance to that level of the deep, underground bunker. In another five borts, she'd melted the hinges and locks to the heavy metal door that had kept her prisoner for so long. Now, instead of keeping her in, it would keep her enemies out. She just had to hope it would last long enough.

"Mother," Sheyah said when it was done, "won't that make it hard for Daddy to find us?"

Cache smiled lightly and then said with ultimate faith. "My darling, that little door will never even slow your father down."

Cache then went back into their room, closed the door, and set her daughter down. With the calm assurance of her old self, she smiled at Sheyah and stroked her hair.

"We will be safe here," she said, and then she went to the door and pulled out a portable plasma torch.

Thirty litas later, that door was welded shut as well, and so she sat on the floor with her little girl and began playing games.

The scalding pain of her ruined eye faded into the back of her mind, as did all the stinging and burning wounds still so fresh on her skin. Ron was coming! Everything was going to be fine soon.

Back in the command center;

The change was slight at first, but as time went on, the lack of centripetal force (the gravitational leash to Evo's sun) sent the Theranians' finest conquest soaring out into the cosmos, forever lost in the vastness of space...transformed into the newest rogue planet in the galaxy.

"SIR!" called Preeim again...his voice now frantic as the computer extrapolated its readings.

The scanning capabilities of their sensors were still fowled, but the visual link with the star was clear, and it was telling a catastrophic tale!

"What is it now?" Irliant asked with sharp irritation lacing his words.

He bent over the operator's screen for a few litas, and then his chest clenched tight.

"It can't be!"

### Chapter Forty

### You Wanted it? You Got it!

Ron kept the Darlile tucked away in the blazing wake of the Kulchyra until the massive cargo hauler began breaking up in large pieces. At that point, it was time to go.

"All right then," he muttered to himself. "Let's see where this whole charade gets me!"

In a sharp maneuver, he peeled away harshly from his hijacked mother-ship and streaked across the surface of the planet of Evo like a missile. The hide-and-seek game was over.

Instantly, those on the ground received an alert.

"Sir!" cried Esardic, the senior radar operator covering the airspace inside the planetary shield.

Irliant snapped to attention from his previously hunched position. He'd just comprehended what the computer had told him about the planet's orbital shift. "Not now!" he ordered at Esardic, his expression panicked. He then turned about and called for Jazz. "Queen Jazz!" he shouted, drawing an angry glare from her. "We need to evacuate the planet!"

The look on her face immediately morphed into a confused scowl.

"What?" she asked, only then giving him her full attention.

"We've figured out what that 'weapon' does! And now we have to get off this world!"

She heard the shaky, dire vibration in his voice and rushed over to have a look. After she saw what he'd seen, she snarled.

"That's impossible!" she hissed. "How could anyone...?"

"Sir!" called Esardic again, immediately receiving even more hostile stares, this time from his queen as well.

"What is it?" Irliant growled. "We have important..."

"You need to see this!" Esardic repeated. "Both of you!"

They then stormed over to his station and investigated what had him so excited.

"Noooooooooooooo!" Jazz whispered when she saw the sensor representation of the _Darlile_ sizzling across their skyline. "How?"

"It must have somehow followed the cargo ship into the..."

"I'm no fool, you idiot!" Jazz snapped.

Then she stood up and looked back at the other screen. Alerts began to chime at every station. The tectonic plates that formed the continents were all shifting at once due to the immense pressure shift of losing the central star's influence. Massive earthquakes were setting off a hundred different sensors, tsunamis were racing across every ocean, and a thousand volcanoes burst into life almost immediately.

It didn't take her long to realize that she was out of options. It was time to cut her losses.

"Begin evacuation protocols now!" she ordered across the large room. "Get everyone to any transport that can hold them and launch for our home space. And destroy that dragen ship!"

Ron was monitoring the effects of his plan's tactics as well, and knew he was on a short clock before the planet sloshed and shook itself hard enough to level every structure the Theranians had built. He needed to find Cache fast!

"Any word on the computer system?" he asked as he began to respond to heavier and heavier fire from the ground emplacements.

"Not as of yet," the ship replied calmly.

Ron darted about erratically, blasting away at any target he could find while he waited. He had no idea where Cache was being held at the moment and just hoped his friends on Rauld had worked their magic. Luckily, the Theranians hadn't expanded too far across the planet, keeping their primary city fairly centered in the process.

Ron felt certain that would be where he needed to look.

He smiled again as he rained destruction down upon his enemies, finding that they hadn't bothered to update their surface to air batteries to compensate for the effects of the shield to energy-based weapons. Of course, the _Darlile_ had.

"The insurgency is complete!" the avatar said a moment later. "We now have complete control of the planet's computer array."

"Yes!" Ron grunted. "Thank you! Now, find Cache and Sheyah!"

It only took the ship half a bort.

"They are in this building," it said, hi-lighting the structure, "on sub-level sixty-two."

"Shit!" Ron replied, but he'd been expecting something like that. He felt convinced they would keep them well insulated from any rescue mission. "Alrighty then. I guess I'll just have to go down and get them!"

It took barely another five borts before Ron had his ship at the proper coordinates...directly in the center of the largest Theranian city.

The _Darlile_ trembled and shook for the following few borts while Ron decimated a perimeter around the facility that no land craft could get through, and then he set the ship down in a wide, flat area beside it.

He left the engines running.

As he got into his specialized gear, he gave the ship some orders.

"While I'm gone, destroy anything that moves...especially if it's armed or looks like it's coming our way! Understood?"

"Affirmative."

"And if things get too dicey, take off and defend yourself...but come back for us when we get out!"

"Understood."

With that, Ron stepped to the exit door and paused.

"Combat!" he said as he ground his teeth together. His heart pounding like a bass drum.

The modified coat and helmet configuration quickly morphed around his body once more, sealing him away from the outside world absolutely. He held his position until all the lights on his head-up display showed blue, and then he triggered the door.

As soon as the opening presented itself, Ron leaped clear of the ship.

He took a few steps gingerly, acclimating himself to the pull of the world and the feel of the suit. His time in the Triad Games came in handy again just then, allowing his mind and coordination to make the adjustments almost instantaneously...and then he was off!

Ron trotted toward the looming building slowly, taking his time and preparing for the first wave of resistance he knew would be waiting. It popped up quickly in the form of twin gun turrets that used motion tracking tech to target him.

Ron started to have the _Darlile_ override their systems, but the ship used an alternative means to clear the way...two flashes of blue plasma energy. The turrets were obliterated.

"Thanks," Ron said as he continued onward.

The building itself was enormous, but he just followed the guiding directions on his faceplate, straight to the nearest entrance. It was sealed with a massive blast door.

"Damn!" he said, looking all about. Still no armed resistance had appeared. "How strong is that thing?" Ron asked the _Darlile_.

"The weapons you carry cannot breach it. Would you like for me to take care of it?"

Ron smiled at the thought of having such a powerful partner.

"Just a lita," he replied, his eyes scanning the area. "I have an idea."

Ron was carrying a large rifle. On most worlds it would have been equivalent to a level 40 pulse-cannon. However, thanks to Ketlical's team, it now delivered something more akin to a level 200!

Ron eyed the wall surrounding the heavy door and shouldered the gun. He fired four rounds at the supporting structure across the top of the doorway, and then one on each side. Each of the blasts shattered glass windows on the closest five stories. And when the final one struck, the door and its supporting wall ten feet around it fell forward.

"Nice!" he grinned.

Ron strode through the thick, billowing debris unimpeded due to his sensor screen. He had to hunch over though, because the ceiling was barely six feet from the floor...plenty of room for the tiny Theranians, but hardly ample for someone of Ron's stature.

Once inside, the internal security net jumped into action, initiating an impressive laser array, but that lasted barely a lita before the _Darlile_ shut it down. At that point, it was up to the building security team to stop him.

Before Ron could reach the elevators to the lower level, twenty armed soldiers burst out of three side doors and converged on him. Each was carrying a rifle. Their leader didn't waste time trying to order Ron to stop. He just spoke to his own men.

"Fire!"

Ten men sprayed explosive projectiles at Ron, five others used disruptor energy, and the remaining five showered him with flaming acid burning at two thousand degrees. Ron's readings remained in the blue.

"Fine," he said. "Let's play!"

With such limited space to maneuver, Ron dropped to one knee and swung his heavy weapon around to his back...to the 'stand by' station. Firing that thing inside would likely bring down the whole section of the building.

Instead, he raised his arms level with the floor.

"Gatling!" he said.

From Ron's forearms, two small barrels broke free of the armor barely a quarter inch...and then out spewed pure death! Micro-grenades the size of B-Bs ejected from those little weapons at a rate of a hundred per lita, and they destroyed the charging threat in a blink...along with most of the interior of the large room.

Ron then continued on.

He moved into the elevator hesitantly, dropping to his knees again. He couldn't help but feel a little claustrophobic.

"You're sure you have complete control?" he asked his mechanical partner?

"Yes," was all the _Darlile_ replied.

"Okay then...let's go."

Down he went.

The ride lasted almost fifteen litas, but half way along, he received another communiqué from the ship.

"Fifty armed men are waiting at the sixty-second level," the _Darlile_ announced. "Apparently they know why you are there. Also, they have some new weapons that I am not familiar with. I am searching."

Ron had no room to move in that tiny box, and he didn't like being so penned in.

"Stop me on the sixty-first level," he told the ship.

When he exited the small elevator, Ron brought the big rifle around again. He moved out into the corridor for about fifty feet and pointed it at the floor ten feet ahead of him.

"Cache and Sheyah are clear of this section?"

"Yes. They are another two hundred peors to the northeast."

"Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroooooooooooooooooooooooooom!" blasted the energy weapon.

Every man in the armed force below was thrown to the floor with the force of the blast, and by the time they could right themselves, Ron had tossed a plasmite grenade into their midst.

Ron rode out those powerful vibrations by wedging his body in the cramped corridor, but before the debris settled from the grenade, he'd dropped down into the hallway and sped off, rapidly closing on his quarry.

Still stooped over, Ron hastened to the next obstacle...the heavy pressure door that Cache had hastily welded shut.

Ron searched the virtual destination on his display again and saw he was too close to chance the blast hurting his loved ones, and so he swung the heavy gun to the left.

"Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroooooooooooooooooooooom!" it went again.

That got him into the sprawling laboratory that Cache had been confined to for all those santaris.

At first he thought he'd killed everyone with the energy blast, but then he inspected the Theranians closer and knew their injuries had come from another source...one up close and personal.

"Good girl!" he snarled, proud to see his partner hadn't totally given up.

Ron glanced about to get his bearings, and then made his way around to the door that led back to the hallway. That's when he stopped cold...ice surging through his veins.

His display clearly showed Cache's quarters barely fifty feet away, but that door was rigged with a powerful charge. A neatly cut access hole had been bored through the wall directly opposite it, bypassing the same pressure door Ron had.

"Damn it!" Ron growled.

The Theranians had circumvented it just like him.

The sensors of his suit showed that it would destroy the entire level for a hundred peors in every direction...and it had multiple fail-safes. There would be no way to override it!

"How much time is left?" Ron frantically asked the ship.

"Twenty two litas."

"Holy sh...!" he huffed, his mind whirling.

Without another instant of thought, Ron raised his right arm at the wall and triggered the Gatling gun again. The tiny pellets chewed through the concrete wall quickly, putting him into the room adjacent to Cache's cell, and out came the black sword.

With a growl that would have frightened a Kodiak bear, Ron lunged at the wall separating his and Cache's room and slammed the unbreakable tip into it.

He struck at a level even with his own shoulders, praying Cache would be clear on the other side, and just hoped for the best. There was no more time.

Cache had heard and felt the battle raging outside her door, but had no idea what the Theranians had planted out there, so she was in the farthest corner away from that portal with Sheyah wrapped tightly in her arms and a disruptor pistol leveled at it.

She nearly fainted when two feet of ebony blade sprouted out of the wall right above her seated head. She leaped to the other side of the small room before she even realized what it was, shielding her daughter behind her and bringing the pistol around.

Ron placed his hand firmly against the wall, under his sword.

"Megaphone!" he ordered before... "CACHE. MOVE NEXT TO THE DOOR!"

Cache was so startled that it took a brief moment before her senses put her body in motion. The sound of Ron's voice finally broke through her desperate thoughts however, and got her moving.

"Ready!" she shouted back, her shoulder now leaning against the explosive resting barely three inches away.

"Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!" howled the mini-gun again.

Cache spun about once more and shielded Sheyah from the flying concrete just before Ron's heavy boot blasted the remaining plug out of the wall and across the floor.

Into the room stepped Ron Allison, his huge, armored bulk filling fully half of the cramped space.

He saw Cache's horrid appearance hunched down across from him and his heart lurched terribly. Her tiny figure was so sallow and badly withered that his fists clenched automatically. Add to that the obvious signs of the burning prods' work literally covering her body and his fingers ached to feel his sword carving a swath through her tormentors. But then she turned and raised her face to him, the hope and relief clear on her once gorgeous countenance, and he saw the dark, blackened pit where her fabulous violet eye had previously been, and tears burst from his own eyes...tears of heartache, pity, remorse...and rage!

He had wanted to take a few moments to calm his little family and assure them they were safe, but could not. Time was their enemy. The bomb's countdown timer showed on the inside of his visor. It read ten litas...then nine.

"Can you move?" he bellowed through the speaker of the armored suit, sounding gruff and angry, which he absolutely was.

Cache also wanted to greet him in a more civilized fashion, but she sensed his urgency straightaway and knew there was good reason for it.

"Yes!" she cried out, squaring her shoulders to him.

Ron also wanted to take Sheyah into his protective layering, but the way he was forced to stay bent over to move in the shortened space, he felt it would hinder them all, so he just pointed at the hole he'd created.

"Run!"

Cache took off like a frightened hare, bolting through the openings as fast as she could with all the debris lying about, and when she entered the main hallway again, she glanced at her cell's door and understood Ron's haste.

Even with Sheyah clutched to her breast, she could at least stand erect and run unimpeded, so that's what she did. Ron could hear her labored breathing through his sensor array, and saw the wild state her heart was racing at, but there was nothing he could do beside direct her mad flight.

"Left!" he shouted when she was approaching a "T" intersection of halls. A few more litas passed and...

"Take the door to the right!"

They made it through that turn just before...

"Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmm!"

At that point, the ground shook hard enough to knock Cache to the smooth tile floor where she skidded for another five peors on her back, still shielding Sheyah from injury.

When she came to a stop, Ron's hulking figure was straddling her and their child, protecting them from any falling debris. His hands were wedged into the walls to the left and right, and his booted feet dug heavily into the corners where the floor and walls joined. He was like a pillar supporting a bridge, and not a piece of flying debris breached his shielding figure.

It took another few litas before the shaking stopped...at which time, Ron finally did too.

He swiftly moved back from his little family and crouched down.

"Stand by," he said softly, returning his apparel to the more modest finery of heavy coat, gloves, and hat.

"Cache," he said softly, her name sounding almost like a sigh of relief.

She was still on her back with Sheyah's face pressed to her, but she stared back at him wistfully, and then smiled.

"Hello, Ron."

He forced his face to return her smile, even though all he wanted to do was retch at the tortured sight of her. A flashing thought of how he must have looked to her when she first set eyes on him in the arena after his 'interrogation' period, blitzed through his mind. It was truly heartbreaking. He mentally pushed that image aside though and let out a nervous gust of a laugh, and then hugged them both hard.

"My God, I'm glad to see you two," he whispered.

But the reunion was still too hazardous to enjoy, so he quickly broke into motion once more.

Ron backed away and got onto his knees before swinging his large pack around and opening it with flying fingers.

"Here," he told Cache, hauling out a heavy coat custom fitted to her. Her eyes lit with fire when she saw it, and then she too moved with haste.

Cache set Sheyah on the floor and whipped the coat about her in a blur, her eyes darting all around as if expecting an army to come charging at them at any moment.

"Sheyah, sweetie," Ron said to his little girl. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head to the side. "No, not really." Then she glanced at Cache as she secured her armor. "Not like that at least."

Ron choked back a gasp of despair, but fought it off with one of relief. Cache had been able to shield her from those inhumane little creatures, at least for the most part.

"Good. I'm so glad. Now, do you mind climbing in here?" he asked softly, indicating the now empty pack. "You won't be able to see, but you'll be safe...okay?"

Sheyah walked right up to him and hugged his neck. She then kissed his cheek. "Okay, Daddy."

Without pause, she climbed inside the pack.

Ron hunched down until he was face to face with her, and smiled brightly, trying to give the appearance of calm assurance.

"I love you, Sheyah," he told her. "And I'm going to take you out of here."

"I love you too, Daddy!" she said back to him as if they were merely playing a game of hide and seek.

Ron winked at the little girl and sealed the pack, easing it to his back as gently as he could. By the time it was secured, Cache was ready as well.

"Combat!" he said, mirrored immediately by Cache.

Inside the backpack that held his daughter, the Raulden manufacturers had installed a feature specifically for that rescue mission. When activated into the fight mode, the pack inflated a dozen small airbags that both secured Sheyah from jostling about too much, and insulated her against any outside danger. It also had a small viewer that kept her from being completely in the dark. (Of course, the scene she saw was one that the peaceful Rauldens had manufactured instead of the real life-and-death battle her parents were in for.)

When that highly advanced cocoon of armored protection had her wrapped up, Cache finally began to breathe again, as if for the first time in santaris. And it was actually the first time she had the full pressure of atmosphere her body truly required. She almost cheered...but it was not the time.

"Which way," Cache asked, immediately answered when her own head-up display super-imposed the route back out on her retinal screen.

"Lead on as fast as you can, Cache," Ron told her.

She took a fleeting moment to activate her own weapons systems first, and then she set off at a fast trot. It was all she could manage at the time because she was undernourished, she hadn't had any exercise during her entire captivity, and the weight of the coat was substantial.

They arrived at an alternate set of elevators and headed upwards. That only lasted approximately ten floors however. As soon as the armed forced above saw movement on the lift, they blew open the doors and dropped an explosive charge down the shaft.

Luckily, the _Darlile_ was keeping tabs on the Theranians' movements through the security feed and warned Ron and Cache, so they dashed out of it before the small cube was vaporized.

After that, the ship's avatar kept every elevator in the enormous building running up and down to give the Theranians a false notion of their quarry's movements.

Ron and Cache climbed several flights of stairs, raced to a new set of lifts, and rode up until the tenth sub-level. That's when things really turned bad.

"Warning!" the _Darlile_ suddenly alerted them.

They both readied themselves for the hasty stop.

"The Theranians have ordered an air strike!" the ship informed them. "They will destroy the building in ten litas. Evacuate on this route!"

Instantly, the course changed to send them racing down a narrow maintenance tunnel connecting that building with one adjacent to it.

They both watched the count-down timer while they ran, and then stopped to brace themselves for the blast.

It felt like a 9.5 magnitude earthquake when it hit, and the tunnel swiftly filled with dust billowing down its length.

"Go!" Ron told Cache when the ground was still once more.

Ron followed Cache's smaller form into that building's elevators and then out the far side of the structure.

They exited into a street that was approximately thirty peors across to the next building, and the sky above them flashed like a lightning storm run amuck. It was alit as if a nonstop, colored strobe-light was running at full power.

The tail of the black ship could just be seen from their vantage point, and was wielding her firepower well. A few fast moving shapes streaked across the opening above, but they didn't last long against that mighty vessel. In that speck of time Ron knew the _Darlile_ was keeping an entire swarm of attacking drone fighters at bay with remarkable lethality.

Unfortunately it didn't account for what was happening on the ground.

When the pair of heroes broke out into the open in a harried dash to the cover of the adjoining structure, they witnessed the phenomenal preparations the Theranians had made...having fully expected a Kreete ground assault at some point in time. The corner of every building began to morph and change upon their movement. And every one of those sliding panels revealed some kind of assault weapon.

"Oh, shit!" Ron grunted. "SHIFT PROFILES TEN PEORS TO THE EAST!" Ron shouted frantically, calling on the advancements of the Rauldens to send a false echo of their position to those turrets.

In the next instant, a hail of explosions and plasma fire rained down at them in a deluge, and Ron immediately thanked his own foresight in that the safety shell around his daughter was all but sound-proof.

Even though the primary concentration of that barrage was a few steps away, the blasts were clearly felt by Ron and Cache no matter that they were locked inside their armored suits, and the ground vibrated so hard it was difficult to stay on their feet.

Then from three different directions, the Theranians sent a rolling arsenal tearing at them in the form of wide, squat armored vehicles...each bristling with multiple cannons. They were the size of panel vans (although only half the height), and their plasma cannons and conventional weapons could spray destruction in every direction.

The energy weapons belched red bolts of plasma that tore out thirty peors of the building's facade when they struck, and Cache hated to think about what would happen if it were to hit her or her partner. The solid projectile guns were designed a bit differently, to account for the same type of masking tech she and Ron were using, and so those barrels swung side to side, fanning the area with their payload at ten thousand rounds per bort.

Those bullets struck with enough power to blow Cache back against Ron who quickly took the lead position. His armor was much thicker than hers, but even then the pellets rattled his teeth when they hit.

Ron hunkered down instantly, bracing himself to return fire...and that he did. The heavy gun he carried was more powerful even than the rolling death machines coming at him, and he targeted the first one in a blink.

Firing that gun was a very odd sensation to Ron. He'd expected a huge kick, just like every Sci-fi action show he'd ever seen, but that was not the case at all. Instead, the feeling was more like a static discharge, as a thousand terawatts of condensed energy streaked away at half VL-1.

The results were far more exciting however. The blast hit the oncoming armored vehicle like a water balloon made of pure energy...and every point that it contacted accelerated away from the rest of the tank at the speed of light. In the time span of barely a hundredth of a lita, the entire front of the vehicle was gone in violent fashion, leaving the inertia of the rest of it to spin and cartwheel out of control.

Two more blasts sealed the roadway in that direction, and Ron was already covering the next.

"Cache...GO!" he ordered.

Cache was busy though, and so she hesitated, taking a moment to release a little payback on her captors to their right. The Gatling gun built into her suit was raining carnage in that direction, cutting through three of the gun turrets above. But then the aerial assault joined the fray.

Some kind of small attack crafts streaked in just above the downed rolling vehicles. They were shaped like beetles, even to the point of having forward facing pincers, but were flatter than a typical insect would be. They were also camouflaged by the smoke, flames, and falling debris, and they were remarkably nimble and quick.

Cache ducked down low, letting the nearest one flash over her head, but the one trailing it blew her off her feet with some light-arms missile. The flyers were not drones, so their pilots were using their eyes to sight their targets instead of the electronic displays. Obviously the Theranians were well prepared for a battle.

The vehicles were a little larger than a motorcycle, and there were dozens of them. Ron briefly wondered how they'd gotten past the Darlile, but they were flying low and fast between the buildings, so the dark lady couldn't get at them unless she leveled every building in the city. That of course would have been hazardous to the three humans.

Ron whirled about with his left hand held high, a spheroid gripped in his fingers.

"Arm!" he ordered, and then he tossed it high in the air.

The ball glowed bright green for a moment, and then flashed out of existence, but not before it had done its duty.

Instantaneously, all eight of the fast-moving aerial cycles lost power and slammed into either the ground, or the nearby buildings. The ball was a powerful electro-magnetic pulse.

Of course the Raulden-built armored suits were shielded from the blast, and it didn't have the range to harm the ships above the buildings, but it gave them a clear moment to make a dash for cover.

Into the next building Ron and Cache raced, and they tore through it with their guns shredding four different walls and twenty different soldiers.

Ron was immediately grateful that the Theranians hadn't changed that particular building too much when they took over, leaving the ceiling high enough so he didn't have to constantly stoop, but that was all he could enjoy about the place. More of the flying beetle-crafts followed them inside and trailed them closely.

They raced out the far side of that structure and onto a wide promenade that had once been a marvelously designed congregation point for the original Evo inhabitants to enjoy outdoor activities, celebrations, and such. The _Darlile_ was just then landing fifty peors away.

Ten peors out into the open however, Ron was blown from his feet by a powerful blast that ripped open the concrete surface of the place, and he rolled as quickly as he could and aimed at the origination of that blast, but the _Darlile_ was faster still than he. There was a burst of blue light from the black ship and a thousand cubic peors of the building erupted in a blinding explosion.

That explosion though, turned out to be either a perfectly orchestrated diversion or a remarkably excellent coincidence for the Theranians, because by the time Ron had turned from that blast to check on how Cache had faired, he was shocked into a statue.

From behind them, one of the Theranian flying beetles was barreling down on Cache's figure as she struggled back to her feet.

"Warning!" rang a message inside her visor, but the previous attack that had knocked her down had her rattled just enough to slow her reaction. "Behind you!" the warning was saying.

Cache spun on her heel with her personal cannon at the ready, but the cycle deployed some kind of netting that enveloped her instantly, and then yanked her from her feet with enough force to daze her again.

When she could focus once more, she was a hundred peors in the air.

Ron drew a bead on that rider, but with Cache dangling behind blocking the shot, he couldn't risk it. The _Darlile_ also had that cycle locked in, but couldn't take the shot either for the same reasons.

"CACHE!" Ron screamed at her retreating form. "Ice that guy!"

Cache would have if she'd have recovered just two litas earlier, and she almost did it anyway when she heard Ron's order, but her mind was sharp enough to stay her hand in that instant because the fall from that height, even inside her armor, would not have been survivable.

"I-I-I am too high, Ron," she told him, her words tinged with venom. "I will have to wait until we land."

"Right...okay," he replied, regaining his thoughts from the shock of her abduction. "I'll be right behind you!"

Ron then set off at a dead run, no longer concerned by anything going on around him because he was under the _Darlile's_ shield umbrella.

He leaped into the open door and went straight to the back of the ship.

" _Darlile_ ," he said as the ship sealed off the opening again. "Are you tracking Cache?"

"Affirmative," the ship's avatar responded evenly.

"Good. How are you holding up under the press of the enemy?"

"The ship is in no immediate danger."

"Then stay put if you can," he ordered.

"Affirmative."

Ron could still hear the energy bolts flying outside, and felt the return fire rumbling through the cabin, but assumed the Theranians had nothing lethal enough to threaten the sable craft, so he turned his attention elsewhere.

"Armor to standby," he said, and then waited for his cocoon of protection to morph back into a less imposing garb.

Ron pulled the large backpack around and set it down gently. Then he shed the heavy garment and tossed it aside. It was no longer needed. The ship was his armor now.

Ron knelt down and triggered the seal of the pack and it opened smoothly, revealing a wide-eyed little girl staring up at him. She was still secured rather well in the foam padding of the pack, so he reached out, gripped her under the arms, and pulled her free.

"Hey, little one," he said to her softly. "Are you alright?"

She was extremely intelligent, and advance far beyond her tiny appearance, but she was still a young child, and so she burst out crying.

"Okay, Sheyah," he said to her gently, pulling her in for a tight hug and rocking her back and forth. "It's okay, Baby. Shuh-shuh-shuh-shuh. It's okay. You're safe now. You're safe, Sweetie."

It took a few borts to get her calmed down, and Ron felt every lita ticking away, knowing Cache was in terrible danger, but he stayed composed and held his daughter to him. When she finally stopped crying and pulled back, he greeted her dampened face with his brightest grin...and that got her back under control.

"I knew you would come!" she told him with tears dripping off her chin but her own little grin shining away. "They kept telling us that there was no way anyone could ever find us...but I knew, and so did Mother. She kept telling me not to listen to them. She said you would never stop...not ever!"

"And I wouldn't have either."

Sheyah then glanced around the cabin quickly, and her eyes turned afraid once more.

"Where is Mother?"

Ron pulled her close again and said softly, "We got separated. But don't you worry, Sheyah. As soon as I get you safe, I'm going to get her."

"But I don't want to leave you, Daddy!" she told him nervously, gripping him hard around the neck.

Ron patted her back lightly and squeezed her.

"I don't want to leave you either, Baby," he told her. "We've been apart for way too long! But I have to get your mommy and bring her back to you. You understand, don't you?"

"Yes. I understand. But, Daddy...they were really mean to us. They hurt Mother all the time...and me too, sometimes."

Ron felt his skin turn hot at the innocent words of his precious little girl. They had tortured his baby and her mother! He could feel himself vibrating with fury.

"They will answer for that, Sweetie," he said, his deep voice rolling like thunder, "I assure you."

At that moment, his fingers ached for the feel of his sword again.

"Now, though...let's get you home."

Ron stood with Sheyah in his arms and placed his hand on the Portal's console.

"Rauld," he said.

"I don't want to go through there anymore, Daddy," Sheyah said, burying her face between his chin and his shoulder. "I don't want to get lost again!"

"Shuh-shuh-shuh, Sweetie," Ron comforted her. "It'll be fine this time. Aanl...I mean, Hoaldniz has placed special restrictions on the gateway now. No one will be able to divert it ever again. I promise."

"Will you go with me, Daddy...please?" Sheyah begged. "Mother says that nothing bad can happen to me when you're with me!"

"Of course, Baby. Daddy will walk you right through."

The _Darlile_ had already alerted Rauld to their situation, so the response was nearly immediate. The portal's focal projector began to hum, and then the opening appeared, showing a group of extremely anxious Raulden scientists waiting for them.

"Okay, Sheyah," Ron said. "Here we go."

Ron detested that portal...hated it with a passion...having already been hi-jacked twice by that ingenious bit of technology, but he showed no worry whatsoever to his daughter as he strolled through.

Hoaldniz was standing beside Fortell, who had his clutch of half a dozen assistants hovering at his side...and they all seemed startled that only Sheyah was with Ron.

Fortell stepped forward and held his hands out.

"Would you like to come with me, Sheyah?"

"I want to stay with Daddy!" she replied with all the honesty of the very young.

"And I want to stay with you too," Ron assured her. "But you know..."

"I know...I know. You have to go save Mother!"

Ron smiled at his little girl.

"And make them pay!" Sheyah told him fiercely. Ron could see the fiery temper in her little face, and he knew she would be just like Cache.

Ron kissed her cheek and hugged her one more time.

"You can count on that," he whispered into her ear. Then he handed her off to Fortell.

"Let me know what she's been through, Fortell. Understand?"

There was a slight rumble in his voice.

The Rauldens were all very passive and unbelievably restrained, but the doctor knew exactly what Ron wanted to know...and why he wanted to know it.

"Understood," Fortell replied.

Ron blew Sheyah a kiss and then stepped back through.

Even though Ron abhorred the Starflex Transporter, he had to admit that it was an incredible, unfathomable device. He'd just taken a single stride, yet he'd travelled across nearly twenty-thousand light-cycles of open space.

He just shook his head and continued to the cockpit.

When he reached his seat, he felt the sharp report of his sword still strapped to his back, so he felt for the harness clip.

"Status?" he queried the ship.

"Shields are holding at seventy percent, and no imminent threats are nearby. Cache was carried to the top of the tallest building in the city...northeast of here. There is a Theranian Starflex Transporter located there, in an aerial docking hangar.

"WHAT?" Ron shouted, his mind realizing immediately that she could be anywhere by then.

"Do not worry, Ron," the avatar told him. "According to the central computer, there is currently only one other transporter/receiver for the portal to develop. It is the primary unit, inside the cargo hold of the intergalaxian vessel called the _Hexitare_ ('Empirical Palace' in Theranian)."

Ron nodded at that, assuming Jazz would wish to keep that technology well in her grasp. It gave her too much power to share.

"That ship is at the edge of the solar system, already under full power, headed back toward Theranian space."

"That's where Jazz is!" Ron said angrily, his lips twisted into a contemptuous snarl.

He wedged the black sword between Cache's seat and the console, and strapped in.

"Let's go get her back!"

The _Darlile_ was still hammering the attacking fleet that swarmed about her, but when Ron pressed the throttles, all that quickly fell away. Into the upper atmosphere the shadow-ship streaked, headed for the blackness of space.

"What about the planet shield?" Ron queried the avatar as the view before him darkened.

"The panic on the surface has forced the Theranian people to cut power to the shield so their own ships might escape."

Ron toggled the com on the private Raulden frequency he used with Karne and Larson.

"I'm going after the Theranian flagship...the _Hexitare_ ," he announced hurriedly. "Jazzimeridon is making a run for home, and she has Cache!"

"Should we join you?" Karne returned while dipping and darting around the bombardment of threats that filled his proximity.

"No. I don't think that's necessary. Their defenses are not extremely formidable. You and Larson help the Kreete destroy every last ship that breaks ground. I don't want a single one of those despicable creatures slipping through our net!"

"Understood," came the reply from both of Ron's allies.

"Oh, there's just one other thing," Ron amended. "Vaporize the building with the Starflex Transporter." He then quickly relayed the location of that structure. "It's right there."

"Done," replied Larson, already pushing into a steep dive.

Cache fought for position while she watched the flying beetle-craft approaching the hangar bay of the building Ron had seen. She set herself to timing her next action for when she was safely within the structure, but with only one eye, her depth perception was off enough to make her hesitate an extra lita. That being the case, she passed through the open portal and was landing inside the cargo bay of the _Hexitare_ before she made her first move. At that point though, her personal arsenal shredded the flying machine and its pilot.

She tumbled to the deck of the enormous bay already clawing her way out of the netting material that had held her captive, but the crew of the _Hexitare_ was waiting.

That's when they put their own plan into motion.

At the flip of a switch, the power to the deck's artificial gravity jumped from that of a class seven world, to that of a class eleven, and it pinned her down where she was. In fact, if the armor hadn't instantly turned to a solid shell, it would undoubtedly have crushed her. As it was though, she was trapped. She could neither move, nor command the suit to release her. Her incredible intellect was all that kept her from going mad at the helplessness of her circumstances.

"Ron will come!" she announced to her newest captors...but it was really more to console herself. "And then we will destroy you all!"

The Theranians however, had another perspective. They knew if they could get their hands on that woman, they had Ron too.

While she lay there, they tried several tactics to get her out of her suit. They worked in groups that specialized with each method...one after the other...and they seemed to Cache a frenzy of movement. Jazz wanted her prize slave back very badly.

First; they tried gassing her with a neurotoxin, but the suit was impervious to that. Their scanners couldn't penetrate the armor however, so they sent a pair of Cnauts to check and see if she was unconscious. They received their answer when she sprayed their metal shells across the deck with her plasma gun.

Second; they tried a very aggressive blend of acids, shooting them at her from behind a thick pane of transparent steel. The acid merely ate away the pieces of webbing debris that still clung to her suit, and then sunk into the deck plating of the bay. Just as with Ron's armor, the Rauldens had used the same metal as the _Darlile_ 's skin.

Finally, they went out in exoskeleton armor and took shots at her with small-arms weapons, but when she returned fire and killed everyone within range, they decided to leave her to their superiors.

Those officers had their own problem though...and it was coming up fast from behind.

The _Darlile_ was gaining on them with such rapidity that Jazzimeridon stood on the command center's dais and rubbed her hands together quickly, her mind racing. The black ship would catch them in under a billot, but they still had sixteen billots to reach VL-1 and jump to transoptic velocity. Only then would they be safe.

"Open a com channel to the _Darlile_!" she ordered.

"Ready," called the com officer...Oerdine Pinox.

"Ron Allison!" Jazz said in a calm, superior tone. "You are heading into our space now, and we have a thousand warships already converging on this heading. They will drop out of faster-than-light mode at any moment. I suggest you break off your pursuit."

"Hah!" he scoffed back at the Theranian queen. "I wouldn't count on it, Jazz. You forget that you're not the only one capable of intercepting another's electronic messages."

Jazz felt herself tense at that proclamation.

"My Raulden friends have owned your coms for the past santari and a half, so I think you'll find it a bit of a wait if you're hoping for a rescue fleet."

Jazz couldn't stop a shiver from racing up her spine.

"Give up your pursuit or we will kill Cache Kuar!"

Ron didn't waver a moment.

"As far as I know, she's dead already. I'm coming for 'you', Jazz! I'm coming to avenge Cache, my daughter, Evo, Kreete, and all the souls from the hundred worlds you've annihilated!

"YOUR ASS IS MINE!"

Jazz turned away from the faces of her crew at that. She didn't want to let them see her panic.

"How can we possibly get away from that black ship of death?" she moaned. "We need a distraction...something that he will definitely..." she stood stock still for several litas, her brain calculating a multitude of variables. Then she smiled the grandest grin of ultimate supremacy she could.

Ron kept the engines of the _Darlile_ running hard, watching his quarry grow closer in the viewer and praying that Cache could endure until he got there.

On he chased, all the while mapping out the best possible attack plan to use in order to cripple the ship enough to stop them, yet allow Cache the best chance of living.

Finally, when the Darlile was almost within weapons' range, Ron wriggled himself into a comfortable position and triggered the extra restraints...his anticipation of the coming battle making him wet his lips. He would piece up that giant ship like a sadistic surgeon on a diabolical tirade.

But then...

"ALERT!" flashed across the _Darlile_ 's viewer in huge letters. "ALERT! CACHE KUAR HAS BEEN EJECTED FROM THE SHIP!"

Ron was jolted to the core.

"What?" he yelled, his entire psyche suddenly overwhelmed with worry and confusion. "What happened?"

"The Theranian commander has ejected Cache from the _Hexitare_!" the _Darlile_ explained in as anxious a voice as Ron had ever heard. "They decompressed the cargo bay and sent her blasting out into space perpendicular to our route."

Ron saw the depiction of Cache's figure whizzing off to the right and quickly falling behind, and so he broke into action. He immediately chopped the throttle and stopped accelerating. Then he began calculating how long it would take to slow down enough to turn and pick her up.

"Shit!" he cried, realizing that it would take more than a billot. " _Darlile_! How long can she last in that suit?"

He was frantic by then. The armor was never intended for extended deep space survival.

"If it is undamaged, the thermal elements will operate for approximately three billots at a level that will sustain her life. However, I am currently receiving status updates from her suit's processor and her oxygen supply will run out in forty-three point five borts."

"Son of a bi...!" Ron cursed, slamming the throttles into crushing amounts of reverse thrust.

"Also, I am detecting escalating temperature in her body. She is in some kind of physiological distress."

Ron's broad chest began to rumble again at that.

"What all had they done to her?" his mind wondered with a growing, onerous feeling.

"They hurt Mother all the time," Sheyah had said. The rumble became a clear growl.

From that moment on, Ron watched two timers. One was Cache's O2 level. The other was the projected time of him reaching her. He kept the throttles pinned at a setting that was dangerous for him, his vision blurring and his respiration coming in tiny gulps, but he held on.

Ever so slowly...painstakingly slowly in fact...Ron turned that Raulden spaceship against the inertia of his former route, and set off after his partner...the mother of his child.

It was exhausting work, and unbelievably tedious, watching those two figures begin to glide into sync. But at last they did, and at forty-two borts Ron was nudging the _Darlile_ up to Cache's floating form.

"Oxygen level is zero," the ship said when she was directly beside the door.

Ron was in a space suit by then, and had the cargo section of the _Darlile_ evacuated of air, so when he opened the loading door, Cache was barely twenty feet away, and he headed straight for her. With a gentle push, Ron exited the black ship and grabbed her a few litas later, immediately triggering the retractor reel attached to his suit.

Once inside the ship, Ron set Cache down and gave the order to restore the atmosphere. Then he went to work on getting her out of the coffin she was in.

He tried triggering the emergency release, but it wouldn't work. That got him frantic, and for a moment or two he nearly lost it, but then his phenomenal memory kicked in.

"The emergency release will only work for someone specifically authorized to invoke it," Cache had explained when they'd first constructed the suits. "You for me, and me for you. To activate it, just place your bare hand here, and state the appropriate phrase."

Ron slapped his own sealed space gear on the 'Depressurize' panel and then tore off his glove hurriedly. Barely an instant later he slammed his hand onto her breast-plate.

"Emergency protocol, Ron Allison zero-zero-zero!" he stated.

The suit immediately split at the designed seam, allowing oxygen to reach its prisoner...but she did not respond.

There was blood streaming from her eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, and her color was a putrid green.

The suit showed no serious damage, so Ron knew instantly that something was ravaging her systems from the inside. He also knew that the Theranians loved to employ a variety of poisons and biological agents as killers.

"Medical emergency!" Ron shouted to the ship's interior. He began CPR on Cache at that point. "Mednauts!" he called when he came up for air.

The mechanical assistants glided up silently and took over the work without pause.

Ron then dashed to the Starflex Transporter once again and initiated it.

"Medical emergency," he yelled when the transmitter showed 'active'. Then he rushed back toward Cache, stopping only a moment to snatch the litter from its stowage location.

"Not possible!" the _Darlile_ 's avatar responded. "Spacecraft is in motion. Transport cannot be accomplished."

Ron scooped her up and placed her in the floating stretcher in one smooth move, and then he shoved it toward the transporter. He already knew they were streaking through space at .4 VL-1.

"OPEN THE DRAGEN PORTAL NOW!" he roared.

Fortell's image suddenly sprang to life on the viewer. He was scanning the readings being passed along across the Starflex space-bridge.

He turned to his right and said; "We must get to work on her immediately or she has no chance. Her cells are losing their integrity."

"OPEN THE PORTAL!" Ron screamed again.

"We have to take the risk," the Raulden physician was telling someone.

"Do it!" ordered Hoaldniz from off to the left.

The power draw to the unit instantly jumped a hundred-fold.

The portal had barely opened when Ron pushed the unresponsive form of Cache through with great haste. That time though, Ron did not go through with her as he'd done with Sheyah. The high-speed transfer was an enormous gamble...one he would never have taken with Cache's life under any other circumstance...but there truly was no alternative. She desperately needed a real doctor...a team of doctors, in fact...so he was forced to take the risk that it would work.

He released the litter just shy of the portal and saw the Raulden medical team catch her on the other side, and then he began to breathe again. Even the ship's mednauts went with her.

"Take care of her," Ron called through the portal with a shaky voice. Adrenaline was flooding his body.

"We will, Ron," Fortell replied, and then the connection winked out.

Ron then turned back to the pilot's station and bolted for his seat.

### Chapter Forty-one

### His Fate is Sealed

Seven billots later, Ron looked a bit like Cache. His eyes, nose, and ears were bleeding from multiple burst blood vessels due to the constant pressure of acceleration he was never built to take. The _Darlile_ had tried repeatedly to lower that rate, but Ron had simply kept his hand glued to the throttle, fighting against every urge his sensory inputs could possibly give him.

He'd passed out half a dozen times, but fought out of the haze of each event by sheer willpower.

"They will not escape!" he repeated in his mind with such force that it literally kept him from succumbing to what would have stopped any normal man.

He'd received an update on Sheyah and on Cache during that long chase, and it had fueled his fury even further.

"It would appear that the Theranians regularly injected both Cache and Sheyah with some type of toxin. The counter agent was given to them in their food rations.

"The poison forces the bonds of cellular structure to dissolve," Fortell had explained, "virtually liquefying a person from the inside out."

That was one of the 'incentives' the Theranians had used against Cache to prevent her from even considering an escape plan. And when she and Sheyah were hiding, Cache had refused to eat any of the food so that her daughter might stay healthy for longer, further exacerbating her deteriorating condition.

"Ron," Fortell said sadly. "I am very much afraid that Cache will not survive. The damage is simply too widespread."

That news had turned Ron Allison into a machine running on pure rage. All he could focus on from that instant was revenge.

"They hurt her all the time," Sheyah had said. Those words now repeated in a nearly continuous loop in his mind.

The closure rate was horribly slow once again from Ron's perspective, but he simply ground his teeth together and battled through every moment...one lita to the next.

Fortunately, persistence proves that every arduous journey finally comes to an end, and as it did, Ron Allison licked his lips.

At long last, the _Hexitare_ drew within weapons' range ten borts prior to VL-1, and Ron began reaping his vengeance, opening fire on that huge cruiser-class warship immediately.

The Theranians fired back of course, but they were still too far away for their cannons to yield any real results against the Raulden fighter. Ron relentlessly chipped away at their rear shields while he continued to draw closer, watching that protective layer decay with ever-increasing rapidity.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Jazzimeridon screamed at her crew. "THAT SHIP WILL KILL US ALL!"

The officers working in the command center were already exhausted from battling their own ship's thrust for all those long billots, so they didn't even respond to their queen's badgering. They had pushed the _Hexitare_ well beyond what the engineers told them they should have, and knew that if they increased the output of their engines any further, they'd be dead anyway. It was merely borts until they were safe, so they simply prayed to their divine deity to see them through.

That of course did not keep Jazz from ranting and raving and threatening them all without relent.

With four borts to VL-1, the _Hexitare_ 's aft shields were down to ten percent, but the _Darlile_ was still closing fast, increasing its weapons' intensity with every passing lita.

In the wake of that massive Theranian vessel, Ron Allison rocked and pitched violently in his restraints, feeling the retaliation of the Theranians in the form of pretty impressive plasma bursts. There was no way to avoid the incoming fire as he could not maneuver at all at that speed, but he didn't care about that one iota.

The _Darlile_ 's shields held at forty percent, and it was difficult to even see under the constant battering from the larger ship, but he didn't need to see anymore. After that long chase he could sense his prey by instinct, and so he just kept hammering away.

When the _Hexitare_ reached one bort to VL-1, their aft safety net collapsed in a bright blue flash of plasma...and that's when Jazzimeridon finally sat back. Her face was ashen gray, almost as pale and ghastly as a Kreete's. Her left hand was pressing the sequencing protocol that would initiate their version of the NOVA-drive, but it could not begin until full VL-1 was reached.

When she saw her aft shields collapse, she knew that threshold would never come. She had overplayed her hand. She had matched her wits and will against Ron Allison...Shartae the Invincible...Itsu of Caron...and the Raulden people...and she had lost.

With one last ragged, quivering inhalation, she watched the scene unfold through the ship's aft viewer.

There was no time period of reprieve either. Ron did not savor the final moment in a buildup of suspense. There was no crescendo to the dénouement of the pursuit. He simply kept his finger squeezed down on the _Darlile_ 's forward cannon until he saw the eruption...and even a few litas afterward too.

The _Hexitare_ 's engines exploded with such violence that it split the ship into five distinct pieces, ripping through it from stem to stern as if the entire thing was filled with enriched fuel.

Every living being aboard that ship was killed instantly; their bodies crushed or shredded or completely vaporized. In the span of scarcely a blink of time, the war with the Theranians was over. Ron Allison had won.

Inside the _Darlile_ , Ron's Caronian glands flooded his eyes with the dark fluid designed to protect them under harsh attack, and that brought the scene back into view momentarily. At that point he released his grip on the throttles and allowed the ship to roll back the call for more thrust...quickly taking in his first deep breaths in the past many billots.

That felt almost as good as when he first saw the sky back on Caron after a santari in the dungeons of Huinrag. It also lasted barely a lita.

"Warning!" lit up across the _Darlile_ 's viewscreen. "Incoming debris! Take evasive maneuvers!"

Ron saw what the ship's sensors showed, and his eyes flashed open wide.

"OH, SHIT!" he huffed.

If the explosion of the Theranian warship hadn't been so violent, Ron and the _Darlile_ would have had little to worry about because the relative speed of the two crafts would have kept them separated. But as it turned out, that monumental blast sent enormous sections of the _Hexitare_ hurtling back at Ron at blinding speeds.

The _Darlile_ streaked through space at a velocity of .99 VL-1, so making any kind of aggressive, or even minor maneuvers, was impossible. At such velocities, the inertia of the ship's physical momentum was beyond astronomical. Deviating from its present course would be like trying to topple a spinning gyroscope the size of Mt. Everest.

"Fire at everything in our path!" Ron ordered, quickly releasing the weapons' control. He felt the ship itself could track, target, and destroy the vast array of shrapnel much more efficiently than he could.

The best Ron himself could do was to slam the engines into full reverse thrust and rotate the ship along its longitudinal axis...to snap roll it...and then pray that the slim dimensions of Cache's custom-built spacecraft would save him.

He grunted against the crushing decel he'd summoned from his own power-plants, but had to add to that with several severe right-left moves, so once more he was taxed to the limit. His vision blurred badly from the stress, but he managed it. However, he was fairly certain that if it hadn't been for the extraordinarily well designed restraints his body was cocooned in, he'd have likely broken his own neck, so extreme were his actions.

That got him through the smaller, faster chunks, but it was barely another three litas before the screen lit up again with a particular section highlighted. At that instant, a verbal warning sounded as well.

"WARNING! COLLISION IMMINANT!"

Ron saw what it was that was coming and his heart lurched once more. It was twice the size of the _Darlile_ and rotating madly. It was the central spine of the Theranian ship.

The engines of that massive war machine had been enormous, but to transfer the nearly inconceivable power of those mighty power-plants into the body of the city-sized vessel, the structure required an engineering marvel of metal lattice. Starting at the very mounts of the antimatter drives, that lattice was as thick as the pedestals of the Golden Gate Bridge, but as they spread out and down the length of the ship, they thinned considerably.

Now, one of those giant pieces was whipping toward Ron like a broken propeller slung from a gargantuan airplane.

The plasma cannon at the nose of the _Darlile_ fired right to the very end, but there were so many other chunks between the Raulden vessel and the deadly beam that it hardly mattered.

Ron had nowhere to go and no way to avoid its strike. He merely gritted his teeth in anger and let out a powerful snarl feeling his luck had finally failed him.

Even the super-metal the _Darlile_ was constructed of could not withstand the energy released when the two collided, and its entire right wing and half the fuselage separated in a violent explosion that raced forward instantly.

Ron felt the blast in two ways. First, the compression wave deafened him. Secondly, his vision blurred badly and his teeth clicked together hard. In a mere fraction of a lita, Ron Allison was unconscious. His formerly unassailable craft instantly split into three sections, and all of them went hurtling through the blackness of space, into oblivion.

Ron awakened several billots later and looked around. His vision was clouded badly and his head felt like it would split open at any moment. He reached up to feel for some injury and noticed that such movement was difficult...somehow slowed to a fraction of its normal speed...and the resistance to the shift in position was pointedly high.

It took a few borts before his cognitive centers diagnosed that he was actually surrounded in a thick gel of some kind.

"But then, how can I be breathing?" his mind queried.

He could clearly feel his lungs expanding and contracting as usual, but nonetheless, he knew he was submerged.

At that point, his sense of taste solved the riddle for him. The liquid surrounding him had the distinct flavor of kiwi!

"A Flarinca tank!" he then realized. "But how the hell...?"

Ron felt around himself as quickly as he could.

He was still strapped in his pilot's seat with the dimly lit control console right in front of him, but to the side and rear was a new wall that he'd never seen before. Somehow, the cockpit was now completely sealed off within a domed structure of unknown material.

" _Darlile_ ," he tried to say, but the liquid in his throat prevented his vocal cords from vibrating naturally and so no sound came out.

He reached forward and felt for the console, pressing his hand down upon its surface. It came to life immediately.

From santaris of training and familiarity, he placed his fingers on the flat keyboard there and began to type out a message.

" _Darlile_ , are you still functional?"

"Yes, but only partially," came the written...as well as the verbal...reply. The ship still communicated audibly through the helmet he wore.

"Can you update me on the situation?"

"Yes. Currently, the emergency escape capsule you are in is sealed and stable. The aft two-thirds of the ship have been destroyed and the pieces grow further from your position as time passes."

"Son of a bi...!" his mind exclaimed. He could hardly believe it. Never in his wildest dreams had he considered the _Darlile_ could be so ruined. It was invincible!

"I guess not," he corrected himself immediately.

"The enemy ship has met a likewise end, only none of its inhabitants have survived. The fuel cells obliterated them all. There are, however, several large sections moving parallel with us. Some are remarkably intact, but show no energy signatures."

"Where are we...am I?"

The capsule is travelling at .95 VL-1, heading into the Viliasnor Solar System. It is a planetary system comprised of twenty-three worlds and one hundred and six moons. The central star is a class twelve yellow sun, three hundred and fifty four million hoz away."

"What about help?" Ron typed. "Any chance of that?"

"I no longer have long range communication capabilities...other than a distress beacon...but that is limited to VL-1 speed. The portal com is completely gone. If we use the beacon however, it will be received by any ship within its range."

Ron considered that and quickly realized the folly of that option.

"What about the other two Raulden fighters? Are they nearby?"

"The scanning range of this pod is very limited, so I do not know. They were on their way toward your position though...but I estimate it will be several more billots before they will reach you. They were otherwise engaged when you left Evo, and did not follow immediately."

"How much oxygen does this thing hold? And why is it full of Flarinca fluid?"

"Two torjournes. The gel provides the best protection from radiation and cold for your body. Without it, you would only survive two dactrais at best, before irreparable damage ensued."

Ron sat there and thought for a while.

"What about food?" he questioned.

"Several ration tubes are stored in the wall of your right-hand console."

Ron felt around for that and then ate one, still getting used to the liquid environment. It was a very odd feeling. However, he also knew his flight suit was already set up to handle his bodily needs, so time was the unknown factor now. He would just have to be...

"Warning!" sounded the _Darlile_ 's avatar. "Collision imminent!"

"You've got to be kidding me!" Ron thought.

"What now?" he typed hastily.

"Sensors have plotted our trajectory and detected a problem. The capsule will enter the orbital path of the twelfth planet of this system in three billots."

Ron considered that for a brief moment before typing a new query, although he already knew the answer.

"What exactly does that mean?"

The _Darlile_ put its reply up on the monitor and Ron leaned forward to get a better view through the gel. The graphic showed the capsule highlighted, and its path toward the oncoming world. The planet was depicted in quotients Ron could understand...three comparative worlds shown above it with captions. One was Earth, which looked tiny. The next was Rauld, which appeared much larger, yet still miniscule. The third was Jupiter, which dwarfed those two, but was still less than half the size of the approaching giant. There was absolutely no chance it would miss.

"Shit!" Ron thought.

"How far out are Karne and Larson?" he typed.

"Their ships are still well beyond range to come to your aid in time. They no doubt have witnessed the destruction of the _Hexitare_...as well as the _Darlile_...and must be desperately trying to intercept you by now. Unfortunately, from our last known contact, that would calculate to be somewhere between four billots at best, and six at worst."

Ron was stunned, but still thinking.

"What about engines, or thrusters on this thing?" his fingers tapped out.

"All that remains of the Raulden spaceship...the _Darlile_...is one battery cell and this emergency compartment. It is designed to eject from the fuselage and can make a safe planetary entry and landing, but it has no ability to actually fly...in space or atmosphere."

Ron just stared forward.

"Are there any bases, or ships in this area we could call?"

"This system is completely barren in terms of sentient life. Most of the planets are frozen, dead worlds, or gaseous spheres. There are not even any mining colonies categorized for this area."

"Then that's it," his brain concluded. "I'm done. It's over."

He reached out and turned on the emergency beacon anyway. If Karne was truly on his way, at least he would be able to see exactly where Ron was lost and would not be left to wonder.

He considered making some type of statement or last minute message to tell his friends and loved ones how much they meant to him, but he was never that type of man. Each person involved in his life knew how he felt and where they stood in his eyes. More words wouldn't change a thing.

After that, Ron just settled into his seat and let his mind roll back in time. It seemed like a cycle ago that he was stepping from Rauld to Caron after putting the Triad Games behind him. He had his whole life ahead of him and grand plans on the horizon. Sheyah was in his arms, smiling away...excited to be going home and seeing Josy again. It was a wonderful memory, so he just stuck with it.

### Chapter Forty-two

### Into Legend

As the atmosphere of the giant gas planet enveloped the emergency capsule, the pressure inside it continued to mount until Ron could no longer inhale. He knew the Flarinca fluid in his lungs would continue providing oxygen for another few borts at least, but circulating his blood through collapsing arteries and veins was another story. And even though he'd managed to regulate his heart rate down to twelve beats per bort, he also knew that another bort of such building resistance would stop that pump in its tracks...permanently.

Time ticked away on the counter before him while his mind recalled the loves of his life, and the loss they would be compelled to deal with. But that line of thought didn't last long. In those last fleeting moments, he forcefully chose to focus on the good rather than the bad. Instantly, pictures of his parents, of Angela, of Cache, of Josylinia, and of Sheyah flashed across his mind, each involving a particularly wonderful recollection.

Two borts later, Ron Allison's heart could endure no more. It had fought as long and as hard as it could...and there, in the thick, deadly troposphere of a planet no one had ever heard of, at the end of one of the most epic battles of all time...it stopped.

At that instant in time, across the nearly unfathomable expanse of space, Josylinia Gitove suddenly jerked to a stop, mid stride, and then fell to the grass unconscious.

Her mother and she had been tending the animals for the past two billots...feeding them, cleaning out their pens, changing their water and such...and were strolling back to the house for their midday meal. One of the house-help ladies had just walked out onto the porch to call them in for lunch, and she was smiling as they approached. Their timing had been perfect.

Both Mishea and Essaria gasped at the sight of the angelic woman's feinting spell, and rushed to her. A quick check showed no outward signs to account for her fall, so Mishea sent Essaria in for some water and a rag.

"Josy, sweetie," Mishea was pleading with her, "wake up! Come on, baby...don't scare me like this!"

Josy was out for only a few borts, but when she came to, there was real panic in her eyes.

Mishea let out a huge sigh of relief, and then she smiled down at her daughter.

"Josy, honey, are you alright?"

Josy's eyes were out of focus, as if staring at some distant point in the wide open blue skies above.

"Josy!" Mishea repeated, quickly growing panicked again.

Essaria rushed back and grabbed her hand, feeling for her pulse. She was ice cold and her heart was racing.

"Miss Josy!" she added to Mishea's voice. "What's wrong?"

Josy turned first to Essaria and then to Mishea...her gorgeous blue and brown gems suddenly flooding with tears that gushed out and down her heavenly cheeks in torrents.

"It's Ron," she said in a quivering panic. "He's...gone!"

In another spacecraft, still five hundred million hoz away from the shattered remnants of the _Darlile_ , another mighty warrior fought against crushing pressures, just as Ron had. His were of a different sort however, not the life-robbing effects of the gas giant, but of the necessary kind that nearly all space-going beings were face with...deceleration.

Karne Gitove was pushing his own body to the breaking point as well, trying desperately to reach Ron before he was lost, but knowing full well that it was already too late.

As the _Dragon Fire_ slowed at the very threshold of inertial loading Karne could stay coherent with, easing down just past .98 light-speed, his eyes were locked on the viewer that was relaying data about Ron's situation, and his jaws tightened.

He knew the sensors were time-delayed at that distance, and so mentally computed the actual moment-to-moment occurrences of Ron's predicament...and it was deeply heart-wrenching. He had spent more than a hundred and fifty cycles jaunting across the galaxy at his superiors' requests and was all too familiar with the dramatic effects such a planet would have on a wounded vessel...and on a person.

He tracked the nose of the _Darlile_ amid the larger debris field, knowing Ron was locked in the lifeboat because he'd received the distress beacon's coded message. He was also aware that even though the spherical shell of the pod might be able to survive another few borts of the tremendous stress the planet was exerting, there was no conceivable way it was ever coming back out.

In an uncharacteristic release of emotion, the nearly nine-foot-tall mass of muscle and bone shuddered in his seat, racked with grief at the loss of one of only a handful of humans he truly trusted and respected. And he also knew that he would have to be the one to tell his daughter that the love of her young life...the father of her unborn children...had perished.

It was a terrible loss for the entire galaxy in his mind, and he even dreaded the thought of informing Cache Kuar that she would see her partner no more...that the indomitable warrior that everyone felt was absolutely unstoppable...was dead.

Another few borts drifted by as he contemplated his duty, and then something unexpected happened.

"Fuel cell overload in progress!" the avatar of his ship announced, bringing his attention back to the here and now.

Karne was well-versed in the physical dynamics of that sort of issue, and immediately braced himself for the outcome. He watched the viewer depict the position of the imminent explosion, and saw that it was almost directly adjacent to Ron's capsule.

"Oh, Creator above!" he grunted. "That will vaporize the pod!"

He considered that hypothesis a moment and had to allow that such an end would be more merciful than being slowly crushed alive, so he just watched.

Down into the thickening atmosphere of the gargantuan world the pod sped, only visible because of the ship's sensor interpretation. Four litas ticked away...then six...but at eight, instead of a blinding flash from the super-intense reaction between matter and anti-mater coming together, instead, a freakishly rare phenomenon occurred. Right there in the dense cloud-cover of hydrogen, helium, and methane, the fabric of the universe parted in the unique (and until that moment, never before witnessed) form of the total absence of everything...an artificial gravity void known as a singularity.

The _Darlile_ , as well as the other Raulden ships, used a variation of that elusive marvel as an integral part of their faster-than-light propulsion engine; the NOVA drive, but it created one barely the size of a tennis ball. This event was the size of a house.

It lasted barely three-quarters of a lita before it was gone, and if Karne hadn't been as close to the event as he was, with his sensors focused on that exact spot, it would have gone unnoticed entirely. As it was though, he actually saw the void open, envelop the escape pod, and then wink out of existence. It was both incredibly awesome, and horribly definitive.

Ron Allison was no more.

Following that incredibly brief event, Karne rolled the throttle back to a more comfortable setting. His race was over. He was too late. He had failed. With all the vast technology and incredible accomplishments of the modern age, nothing in the heavens could be done now. Ron was in the hands of the Creator.

He couldn't suppress a smile at that however, thinking about how the Guardian would welcome such a fierce warrior. It was believed that if a soldier had performed his duties with honor, courage, and dignity, then he would be rewarded in the next life. If that were truly the way of it, then Karne could conceive no limits to what awaited that incredible little man.

The ship's avatar then came to life again, diverting his attention to the present once more.

"The _Darlile_ has ejected its core memory for recovery," the calm voice said. "The location is noted...here."

A clear depiction of the small probe flashed onto the viewer at that point, so Karne plotted a heading to intercept it. Twenty borts later, when the _Excelsior_ popped up on his sensors, the former Reaper class soldier sent his son an explanation for his course correction.

Thirteen billots later, the information node was safely aboard the _Dragon Fire_ and Karne was once again joined by his son. They coordinated the remainder of their decel to a moderate rate and then the two Raulden war machines continued to brake, preparing for the one-hundred-and-thirty degree turn they would eventually have to make. They spoke together for a while, each voicing their grief about the terrible loss, but then went back to their duties like the highly disciplined warriors they were.

Karne linked his and Larson's coms to a single feed and then opened the Starflex video bridge. A lovely red-haired woman with large, light brown eyes answered with a pleasant smile.

"Hello Reaper Karne and Slayer Larson. May I help you?"

Hoaldniz rushed over to her station before Karne could even reply.

"Karne...Larson," the leader said excitedly...a real surprise to anyone who knew him, "what news do you have?"

Karne did all the talking, having actually witness much more of it than his son, and explained every strategic step they'd made from the moment they began the onslaught on Evo. He also uploaded the _Darlile_ 's information node to Gammone's central computer for further analysis.

It took nearly two billots to complete the debriefing, and neither side found any pleasure in it, other than the military victory over the Theranians of course. Their entire outpost on Ordice/Evo had been destroyed along with every single ship they'd launched.

"You both have our eternal thanks, Karne and Larson Gitove," Hoaldniz finally told them. "You have proven yourselves worthy of our trust and respect, and I hope we will remain allies from here forward."

"As do we, Hoaldniz."

The link then dropped Rauld from the trio and left the pair of ex-Kreete soldiers to their thoughts. Karne couldn't help but discuss the long battle...the strategies and cunning insights Ron, Larson, and he had developed and executed. It helped them pass the time while their ships dropped speed. Karne praised Ron a great deal, but his son as well, as Larson had proven himself an excellent pilot...fearless, competent, and cunning...during dozens of airborne clashes. It made him very proud.

When their velocities were at a manageable rate, the mighty Reaper switched his thoughts yet again.

"What say we go home?" Karne asked his son.

Larson nodded. "One billot for prep?"

"Good," his father replied.

They both took some time to stretch out, eat and see to their personal needs, but delaying their exit of that depressing place was not part of their agenda, so they were pointedly efficient. When the billot ticked off, the power-plants were back up to the highest sustainable acceleration quotient, and they were streaking toward Rauld.

It was a long journey, nearly an entire santari and a half at transoptic speed, but at last it came to an end, and Karne Gitove was more than ready for it. Even the thrilling abilities of that super-ship couldn't quell his wish to be landside again...to see his family once more. The only detriment was the news he would be forced to bring with him.

When he found out that Cache too had not survived, leaving little Sheyah orphaned, it was even more disheartening to the mighty Kreete commander. It also reinforced his certainty that he had made the right choice when he'd turned his back on the Kreete Empire. There, life was eternal war, and war brought nothing but misery.

As he landed the futuristic fighter, the former Reaper Class soldier was immensely grateful to be rid of it again. Larson said nothing, but Karne sensed the relief in his son as well.

The two Gitoves didn't dally long on Rauld either. After physically delivering the node and saying their farewells, they headed straight for the Starflex Transporter room. And when they felt the pull of Caron once again on their massive figures, they breathed a tremendous sigh of relief.

They were finished with space. Space was cold, sterile, and unforgiving. Caron was the opposite of all that. Caron was home.

Karne was out of the cottage in barely six steps, striding side-by-side with his youngest son across the wide open meadow of his farm. He did so with sharp conflict in his heart and great sadness on his mind. He was so happy to be home that he almost couldn't fathom it, but when he saw his daughter racing toward him, it nearly broke his heart.

When she was only peors away, the giant soldier dropped to his knees and opened his arms to her, still eye to eye with his little girl. He could see then that she was drizzling tears from her beautiful cheeks, but he didn't know if it was from the joy of seeing him again, or if it was for hope that he would have news of Ron.

Mishea had heard Josy cry out from the porch but was trailing her daughter by a good hundred peors, so she wasn't there when they met.

"Oh Father," Josy cried with overwhelming relief at his safe return. "I was so frightened when you left. The Rauldens had seemed so distraught, I knew it was dire."

"I am fine, baby girl," the giant soldier told her as gently as he could, his voice rumbling like a distant thunderclap.

Then Josy backed off to arms' length and stared at him with expectant urgency.

Karne took a few moments to gaze with pride at his stunning daughter, so full of life and hope and promise. It was such a wonderful sight that he hated terribly to ruin it, but he knew he must. Luckily, Mishea arrived just then and delayed the news a few more borts as she welcomed her men home.

Karne and his wife embraced for a while, her eyes also draining tears of joy and relief. She didn't know why because he'd been gone longer on many other occasions, but it had been an extremely difficult time for her and Josy while the men were at war.

At last nonetheless, the inevitable moment was upon him, and he simply could not avoid it.

"Josy, baby," Karne said slowly, watching her as the gravelly words escaped his wide mouth. "I truly wish I could give you news other than the truth, but I am afraid I cannot."

The flood in her eyes began in earnest at that instant, and she began to tremble.

The Reaper had studied the _Darlile's_ record of the battle a dozen times, so he was thoroughly versed in every aspect of the last moments of the ship.

"Ron gave chase to the escaping Theranian vessel, but they had a huge lead on him, so he pushed the _Darlile_ beyond what he should have to prevent them from escaping."

Josy's legs gave out and she eased down to her knees.

"No one could have caught them but him, Josy...and even he should have perished in the attempt, so I don't even know how he made it that far. The Gs he was pulling would surely have killed your brother or me, and that was confirmed by the bio readings stored on the ship's archive. They showed multiple areas of internal damage...not acutely life threatening, but very serious.

"Nevertheless, he accomplished that feat and unleashed all the energy the ship could muster, destroying that juggernaut of death and saving literally every other world that might have experienced peril at the hands of the despicable Theranians.

"But the problem came afterward, Baby-girl...when his closure rate was far too high to elude the exploding pieces of the enemy ship."

Mishea was kneeling next to her daughter by then, holding onto her as her shaking grew worse. She too was now feeling the escalating tension of the impending news.

"The _Darlile_ was hit by a huge section of the Theranian ship, and it could not withstand the collision. It broke apart. Yet Ron still lived, saved by the incredible ingenuity of the Rauldens.

"The escape pod remained operational for several billots, and would have done the trick until I reached him, but...I'm sorry to say...the Guardian had other plans.

"Traveling at great velocity, the lifeboat flew into the path of a super-gas-giant planet. I was still more than three billots away and so had to watch helplessly as it disappeared into the planet's dense atmosphere. Then, just as the pod went in, a fuel cell from the _Hexitare_ went critical right next to it. The result was a singularity...a tear in space-time...and it enveloped the pod. It lasted but an instant, but when it vanished, the lifeboat was gone."

Josy had known the truth for the past seventy-six dactrais, after that feinting spell she'd experienced. She'd known that the love of her life was no more. But the absolute fact of it had now been thrust upon her, and it felt very much different.

"Baby," Karne said as softly as he could. "I am truly...truly sorry."

Josy collapsed into her mother's lap, overcome with uncontrolled sobs. It felt like someone had burned her heart right out of her chest, and now she was just lying there waiting to die.

In all the global conflicts the mighty Reaper had partaken, he had sustained wounds of nearly every kind, and many had been grievous, but he would have sworn to anyone that seeing his little girl so utterly destroyed was the worst kind of pain he'd ever experienced.

After a while, Karne finally slipped his arms under his daughter and carried her to her room where he laid her down on her bed. He kissed her wet cheek, patted her hand, and then left her with her mother to grieve.

It took more than a torjourne of solitude and minimal contact with others before Josy could bring herself to be seen outside her bedroom again. Mishea and the house staff were very patient with her, but kept pressuring her enough to get her to eat. She tried to refuse, but mentioning the fertilized eggs inside her...Ron's remaining legacy of their planned life together...swayed her enough to compel her to submit.

Two torjournes later, she gathered herself enough to go to the cottage and contact Rauld. A woman named Priah answered the com with a warm smile. She was slight and elegant, with short-cropped hair as black as Josy's, and eyes of chocolate brown. Her cheeks were high and rosy, and when she grinned she looked like living doll.

"Hello, Josylinia," she said. "May I assist you?'

Josy had heard the story of the betrayal by Arsisi, and about how Aanlis and many others had perished, so she was a bit hesitant about trusting anyone she didn't know.

"Forgive me, Priah, but could I speak with Hoaldniz?"

"Of course," the lovely woman said sweetly.

It was but an instant before the head of the Raulden Council popped onto the viewer.

Hoaldniz smiled and nodded politely.

"Josylinia. It is a pleasure, my dear. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Well...yes...I would...that is, I...how can I...?"

Hoaldniz put up his hands to calm her.

"Please, Josy, do not be nervous. We are your friends just as Ron and Cache were, so let me chance a guess at your first query. You would like to know if the transporter is safe now...right? Is it secure?"

Josy blushed from embarrassment, but she still had her doubts. She nodded sheepishly.

"Very well. I can assure you that every step we can imagine has been put in place to prevent anyone from absconding with the signal...and every person in the control room is Raulden. If you would like, please ask me a question that only I would know...from our encounter on your world."

Josy took him up on that and they chatted for a few borts until she was certain he was the man she'd met.

"Thank you for your patience, Hoaldniz. You have been very kind, and extremely understanding."

"You are entirely welcome, Josylinia. And do not worry. Priah will take excellent care of you."

At that moment the screen switched back to the slim brunette. She repeated her smile and her question without a hint of annoyance or discontent.

"I would like to contact Ron Allison's world and arrange to meet with his parents, please."

"Very well. Let me see," Priah said softly as she stroked her fingers delicately across her console. "It is mid-evening on Earth. Shall I try and connect them for you?"

Josy nodded, feeling very jittery.

It took a few litas, but then Kurt answered the com-link.

Priah routed the signal so that Josy could look right at him.

"Josy!" Kurt said with a surprised expression. Then he smiled broadly. "Hi!"

"Hi, Kurt."

His eyes darted left and right, as if trying to see past her. "What's up?"

"Is Jessica home with you?" Josy inquired.

"Yeah...yes. Would you like to speak to her?"

"Yes...to both of you, actually. If you would stand by for a few moments, I will have Priah open the portal."

In less than five borts, Josylinia Gitove stood in the Allison living room, hugging Ron's folks. They began to exchange pleasantries, but that swiftly drew to a halt.

"I...I...I'm afraid I have come to your home bearing bad...terrible, in fact...news."

Jessica read her expression immediately. The trembling hands...the welling tears...the timid hesitancy. Whatever news it was...it was going to hurt. It was going to hurt very badly.

They all sat and she began her tale. Josy explained everything that had occurred since she'd last visited...at least everything she knew about...and spoke at length of Ron's commitment and heroism. She told them about how resourceful and brilliant he'd been to figure out a way around the impenetrable planet shield, and how he'd stormed into that heavily guarded military building and snatched Sheyah and Cache right out of the Theranians hands. And then came the part she dreaded so badly. However, she knew that Kurt and Jesse were expecting grim news because Ron was not there himself, so that eased the shock somewhat. When she was through, she sat there quietly, fresh tears draining from her exquisite chin, allowing the Allisons to absorb her story.

They hugged and leaned on one another while Jessica sobbed softly, but Kurt appeared more confused than heartbroken.

"So what exactly happened to him?" he finally asked, unable to reconcile her statement. "How can someone...just...disappear?"

Josy merely gazed back at him as sympathetically as she could.

Kurt though, wasn't letting it go that easily.

"I'm aware that your people are far more advanced than Earthlings, Josy, but I know a little bit about physics too. I know that matter or energy cannot simply vanish. It can be converted...one to the other...but to have the fuel cell erupt would create a great amount of energy...right?"

Josy nodded. "Yes, you are correct. However, some of the peculiar events that happen in deep space are still a mystery even to the most advanced beings we've encountered. This phenomenon...the 'singularity'...either natural or man-made...is yet very much an unknown event. In fact, this very occurrence has no previous action on record to compare it to. We simply don't know where the energy and matter went, or could have gone."

"Or when?" Kurt added off-handedly, recalling some of the more forward thinking theories of Earth's finest physicists.

Josy again nodded, although she wasn't a proponent of such concepts.

"It's as if the universe...or God himself...simply snatched Ron up," Jessica mused aloud, only half aware that she'd spoken.

They were taking the news much better than Josy had anticipated, but she said nothing about that. She knew that they'd been through the pain of Ron's death once already, and then his going missing for such a lengthy period, so she began to wonder if they truly even accepted what she was telling them.

"What about Cache?" Kurt suddenly asked, as if she'd just popped into his mind. His brows furrowed and his lips pursed before he continued. "I noticed that she wasn't with you when you arrived."

Josy had to clamp her jaws shut tightly to keep from bawling outright, but the Allisons saw the answer in her glistening eyes.

"Noooooooooo!" Jessica said, grabbing Kurt's hand again. "But I thought Ron had saved her!"

"I am so very sorry," Josy said, reaching out and clasping their hands in hers.

She then explained about the toxin the Theranians had used on her and her daughter, and made sure they knew the little girl was absolutely fine.

The mention of their granddaughter provided a nice change of topic, and so they visited along more upbeat matters after that, and Josy made promises to bring Sheyah to see her grandparents as often as was practical. (She'd purposely gone there alone to avoid having the tot relive the loss of both her parents.)

"I would also like to inform you that I will be giving you more grandchildren in about ten of your months."

"What/what?" they both said at once, each shocked thoroughly.

"Twin boys. I am a little over two weeks along."

"Oh my!" Jessica blurted out, her eyes springing back to life. "Why that's...that's...wonderful!"

Ron's folks then surged in for more hugs and congratulations.

That put a much more appealing twist to the visit and got the Allisons smiling again. Josy then explained the longevity and reproductive workings of her people so the earthling couple might fully understand her future plans. Those details were extremely surprising to Jessica and Kurt.

"Wow!" Jesse exclaimed when Josy had finished. "Three hundred years of life? Ten babies! That's...I'm...my word!"

She then turned to Kurt. "Wouldn't that be nice?"

That opened up a whole new round of discussion, with names for the boys and the girls thrown about, as well as what frequencies of delivery she had planned.

A few billots later, they hugged once more and then Josy made the trip back to Caron. It had been horrible, being the one to tell them, but when it was done, she was greatly relieved. And too, the Allisons were extremely excited at the thought of more grandchildren, so that had eased the strain quite well.

She went back to her daily routine as much as possible after that, trying to distract her longing and despondency, but it was very difficult. She felt she was just drifting along most of the time, with no focus or goal to look forward to...at least until the babies came.

Sheyah lived with the Gitoves permanently afterward, returning to Rauld only a few dactrais out of every santari to maintain her connection to her extended family there. Her presence kept Josy busy, but too, she was a constant reminder of all that they'd lost, so it was a very difficult transitional time.

Fortunately however, just like on any planet, time did heal almost all wounds.

After another santari she was better, and after two she was almost herself once again, getting excited to meet the little people moving about within who'd she'd already come to adore. Still however, even then Mishea would sometimes catch her at night, sitting out on her balcony, just staring up at the heavens and stroking her expanding belly.

It was painful to see her wonderful, loving, happy child so solemn and morose, but she could only imagine the feelings of loss Josy was enduring. Ron's fearful warnings had come true, as he was certain they eventually would, but just like she'd told him, she refused to be bitter or cheated at the brevity of their time together. She merely looked into her memory and relished it.

### Chapter Forty-three

### Just a Dream?

Josy slept less and less as the pregnancy progressed, which caused Mishea and Karne some worry, but she didn't complain of night terrors or any abnormal dreams to blame for the disturbance, just a restlessness she could not explain. As time passed, she began to suspect it was simply a side effect of becoming a new mother.

One night though, when she was nearing full-term, a totally unexplainable event rocked her reality anew.

Josylinia Gitove Allison...she'd taken on Ron's name at the behest of his parents...lay in her bed, her body swollen with the new life of Ron's twin sons growing in her womb. She was again restless in her slumbers until the middle of the dark night was upon her, and then she became as still as death.

She breathed in shallow sips of air, almost as if she were so focused on something happening in her mind that she could barely keep her autonomous functions working.

Dreams of healthy, normal people typically last in the range of ten seconds to half an hour. On occasion, some studies have recorded rare events as long as forty-five minutes. Josylinia had an event that dragged on for five full billots.

She was seeing through another's eyes, and feeling what they felt...and it was as real as if she were wide awake!

When it began, there was incredible pressure from every direction, and she struggled to breathe at all. The view was very distorted, as if she was under murky water...and what she saw was darkness, with just moments of dotted bits of light breaking through, like a cloudy night with intermittent peeks at the stars...and then even that went dark.

A few moments later, the intensity of the pressure let up dramatically and she felt a powerful jolt...like from static electricity, but a thousand times stronger. After that she could inhale much easier, but even then it was a very odd sensation when she did. Also, something told her that a substantial block of time had passed while she'd been unconscious...weeks, or perhaps santaris, but there was no chrono she could find, so she ignored that.

The view before her brightened radically just then, and soon she could make out a sharp division of darkness and daylight. She turned her head to the dark portion and noted the stars were incredibly vivid, as if she was in space, and then she understood.

She was in a ship, and that ship was entering the outer atmosphere of a planet bathed in sunlight. However, the point of focus of the image was almost completely away from the planet.

Although she did not recognize the type ship she was in, and therefore had no idea how to, she felt her arm reach out and change the viewer to face the world...as if she were experiencing some event through another's body...and then she watched the planet grow closer quickly. In the lower left corner of the screen she gazed at, there was an inset image of the planet's primary star. It was behind and to the left, and it was a white one, just like Caron's.

The intensity of the sun's rays rebounding from the globe's surface brightened the small space she was in greatly, so she glanced about herself. That's when she noticed that she was indeed surrounded by some kind of thick fluid which was translucent, but not transparent. That too was a very odd feeling.

The heat of entry did little to distort the image of the ground racing toward her, but that breathtaking vantage point provided no aid as to what world it was either. Warnings began displaying in the left-hand, lower corner of the screen, but they made no sense to her. All she could tell was that she was headed to the southern end of a massive continent, and that it was green with vegetation.

Josy knew she was in her bed, locked in a dream, and so was perfectly safe, but she felt profoundly distressed just the same, both mentally and physically. Her only conclusion was that those feelings were passed along to her from whomever the eyes belonged to. And that anguish wasn't caused from fear, she quickly surmised, but rather from abject weariness. She felt like she was exhausted to the point of collapsing, as if she'd given so much of herself that she just wanted to crumple and wither away. Even breathing took tremendous effort.

The picture of the approaching land continued to grow rapidly, until she could see hoz after hoz of cultivated fields with irrigation canals laid out in precise order. Whatever civilization lived there, they were intelligent and well organized.

A few more borts passed and then Josy felt another powerful jolt, but this time it wasn't a shock...it was more like a strong tug...as if the ship had suddenly snagged on something during the descent. Just then the antigravity drive kicked in full force, slowing the small ship even more, but also putting more demands on her emaciated energy reserves.

The ship finally came to a jarring rest in the middle of one of those large fields she'd seen, and afterward the only thing Josy could feel was the unnerving press of total quiet...of abject solitude. It was as if she were in a tomb.

The gravity of the planet seemed immense, but she was somewhat familiar with space travel and so understood the vast change from being confined in a zero G environment to returning to solid ground, so she guessed that was the problem. She needed time to acclimate.

That was apparently not an option however. In merely a handful of litas after touchdown, the seat she was in immediately released its secure hold on her, and at the same time, the wall just forward of her chair fell away, dumping the weird fluid that had been contained inside the ship. That action unfortunately forced her body to be pulled out with it, and so it deposited her unceremoniously onto the ground, face first.

She raised her head for a moment and saw a large group of people rushing toward her, but it was extremely difficult to even keep her head up, so tired was she. She felt her left hand reaching for something in the muck, but she didn't feel anything other than mud...and then she was out again.

The darkness lasted only a lita that time though, and the eyes opened once more.

It appeared as if she was lying on a cot under the cover of a fabric tent that billowed and settled in the breeze. She could hear voices all around, and could catch a single word or two here and there, but it was a strange language.

Josy soon felt hands on her body, but somehow she could tell they were not her real hands...and not her actual body. The owner of the eyes was examining herself. She noted that the fluid was gone from her person, as was any garment, so it reasoned that someone had washed her, or at least stripped her and rinsed her off. Also, she was not bound, which seemed to be a good sign that she was in no immediate danger...a profound relief in her fatigued condition.

One of the voices drew closer and the eyes turned to see an old woman approaching her with a cup made from a dried gourd. Josy felt herself sniffing the offering, and then she reached up and gripped the cup with both hands, gulping down the liquid eagerly.

In her bed, Josy neither tasted, nor smelled anything, but got a clear look at the hands that held the cup. That's when she realized they were not a woman's hands.

She was seeing through a man's eyes.

The old woman was talking then...asking him questions...but Josy didn't understand the language, other than a snippet, here and there. It was similar to Caronian, yet different enough to be unintelligible. The women's appearance was somewhat similar to Caronians as well...humanoid and of their general proportions...but her garb was strange...primitive, almost.

More people moved closer, and Josy saw only women in the gathering, which seemed very odd too. Many conversations abounded all around the growing throng, but most would have been too low to hear even if she could understand them.

The eyes Josy looked through moved from one stranger to the next, following the sound of their words, and soon more of the language made sense. In half a billot, she could understand much of it.

"Where did he come from?" they were asking.

"He fell from the sky in a big dark ball, early this morning," one replied.

"Who do you think he is?"

"One of the Gaurdians?"

"I don't know, but Gosherin will be here soon. He will figure this out."

"Gosherin is an overgrown buffoon. He couldn't figure out if it was daytime."

"Don't say that out loud, Marsii! He'll have you lashed for sure...or banished...or worse."

"I'd rather be banished than become part of his harem," Marsii replied with heavy contempt in her voice.

The eyes locked onto her for some reason, and that drew her to the man. She could sense he understood her.

"Who are you?" Marsii asked when she was barely arm's reach away.

The man sat up and tried to speak, but there was something wrong with his voice. It came out garbled and choppy, as if his throat was too dry to make the words.

Marsii turned and asked for more water to be brought to him.

"Are you hungry?" she asked while another refilled the cup.

The eyes nodded.

"Sansaii," Marsii said to a teenage girl off to the side. "Bring meat and bread...hurry!"

The man whose eyes Josy saw through drained the water bowl again, and when the solid food reached him, he practically inhaled it.

Josy could feel his jaw working furiously, and his throat swallowing, but she tasted nothing of the meal.

It didn't take long before the large platter of food was completely gone, and then the man sighed deeply and sat back, more relaxed. Josy could feel his energy rising too.

"Thank you," he told the women in their language. His voice was dry and gravelly.

They all smiled at him timidly, but kept their distance.

The eyes began taking in the surroundings more carefully at that point. They were in a wide valley, surrounded on every side by towering mountains off in the distance, perhaps three days' ride on horseback. The air was thin and dry, so it likely was a high altitude location. There were sprawling fields laden with three different crops to the south and east, a gentle river to the west, and a large village a few hoz to the north which was surrounded by a wall of sharpened poles.

"What land is this?" the man croaked.

Marsii took another step closer, dropping to her knees at the man's feet.

"This is Er..."

"They're here!" called an excited female voice from down the dirt path...the one that led to the village.

The eyes rose quickly as their owner sat up and then stood. After a few moments to adjust to being on two feet again, the man quickly moved out from under the tent. The owner of the eyes stepped smoothly, as if he'd merely brushed aside the period of acclimation Josy had felt he needed when he'd awakened.

When the blinding sunlight struck his face, Josy winced in her sleep, but then the glare dropped sharply and she could see again. Up the road, perhaps a hoz in the distance, a group of men were jogging swiftly toward them. They were all armed with either long bows, or spears and shields.

She could feel the man bristle as the group approached. He automatically began stretching his shoulders and arms, and then his legs...at which point he found a section of cloth wrapped about his privates. The eyes glanced down momentarily. The garment looked very peculiar to Josy, but the eyes didn't dwell on it even a lita, returning to the coming threat.

The man stood his ground squarely in the roadway while he waved the women to the side. "Step away," he told them in a deep, hoarse, grating tone.

Josy could feel his heart begin to pump faster, and he opened and closed his fingers, as if missing something he wished for badly. His right hand reached back, behind his head, but his fingers came up empty. Then he let out a low growl. The reverberation through her body was an odd sensation to Josylinia, but its release had a different effect on the man...as if it made him more relaxed...more settled.

She felt him test his balance, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. His breath was deep and forceful, filling his lungs with oxygen to clear his mind and allow him to focus.

The group of men slowed their approach at fifty peors distance, and their leader strode out in front a few steps.

"Who are you?" he barked, but the man remained silent. "I am Gosherin Eosin, First Commander of the Brakindi Wolves...the protectors of the Nevarian people, and I demand your name!"

The man said nothing.

The leader looked about and saw the water bowl and the food platter.

"Who tended this man?" he demanded of the crowd of women.

No one made a sound at first. They were obviously frightened of him.

Gosherin turned to the old woman who'd initially brought the water and lunged at her, gripping her simple garment and dragging her to him.

"Tell me, Usaii," he growled, "or I will gut you right here!"

The old woman was terrified, but through the man's eyes, Josy could clearly see defiance. She instantly knew that Usaii would not speak. Josy then felt her chest rumble again, this time in fury.

Gosherin pulled a long dagger from his belt and drew back. The eyes leaned forward as if the man would attack...but then his movement was halted by a new wrinkle.

"It was me!" Marsii screamed suddenly, stopping Gosherin's motion, as well as the eyes'. She then dropped to her knees and placed her head to the ground, her hands stretched out, palms down.

Gosherin shoved the old woman away from him hard enough to put her on her back, and then stepped over to Marsii.

"You stupid whore!" he roared, and then he kicked her hard in the side, flipping her over where she curled up into a ball, gasping for air.

"I should kill you, you..."

"STOOOOOOOOOOOP!" bellowed the interloping man in a voice that startled Gosherin enough to have him whip about, his spear at the ready.

The eyes dropped closer to the ground then; as if the mystery man were crouching...bracing himself...and Josy's heart began to run fast in her sleep. The newcomer watched the foreign leader and all of his men at the same time somehow.

Gosherin shot a look at one of his soldiers.

"Protarin," he called.

Gosherin raised his spear slightly, and then snapped his head at the stranger. The obedient soldier didn't pause an instant, his brawny arm whipping back and then shooting forward harshly.

The spear was thrown expertly, racing straight at the chest of the interloper with impressive speed.

Josy tried to flinch, but her own body had her frozen in place in the safety of her slumber.

The eyes she saw through however, merely narrowed a bit and locked onto that flying weapon instantly, tracking it like a major league baseball player watching an incoming pitch at the plate. He saw every detail of the spear as if he were holding it in his own hands.

It was well-crafted, perfectly straight, and held a long, steel tip that showed signs of years of use.

When that long, double-edged tip was near enough, the man's torso twisted quickly, allowing it to pass barely two inches from his chest...but he didn't allow that either. Instead of it sailing into the tented area behind him, the man's large hand flashed across his body and plucked it right out of the air. That hand was joined immediately with the other, and they whirled that deadly device rapidly about his body for the next several litas, until the spear suddenly came to a stop pointed directly at Gosherin.

Gosherin's eyes widened instantaneously...as did everyone else's. No one moved for almost half a bort, so stunned were they all.

Finally though, murmuring within the clutch of soldiers began to grow, and several of them shifted their feet nervously.

That subdued commotion was followed up by many gasps and squeals among the onlooking women, who were more than a little impressed by the stranger. Their chatter gained momentum too, as quickly as the wind gusting across the open ground.

Gosherin soon collected himself and pointed at four of his men, snapping his head at the stranger just as before.

"Kill him!" he ordered.

Marsii was watching from the ground, still on her side and trying to inflate her lungs. She was horror stricken.

The men dashed in quickly, releasing a valiant war cry, but they abruptly checked their charge when the stranger turned the spear he held into a literal blur of motion. The newcomer lunged so quickly, two of them barely had time to get their own weapons up enough to guard them, but it didn't matter.

The stranger swept both their spears aside in a single swipe, driving one up with the tip end, and one down with the butt end. His feet did the rest in a beautiful spinning maneuver that brought a foot into solid contact with the upper edge of the first man's shield. That blow packed enough force to slam it into his face, felling him hard...and then the second fellow felt the sting of that still spinning shaft of wood. His right collarbone snapped with a sharp report, and then his left tibia followed it, placing him next to his unconscious comrade.

That...to the painful detriment of the attackers...was not the end of the barrage the stranger unleashed upon them either. Before that second man had fallen to the dirt, the newcomer had already focused on his next victim.

Bringing the hardened shaft around again, he grabbed one thrusting spear with his left hand, and slammed the butt end of his own into the other's shield...dead center...with his right. The shielded fellow was thrown from his feet, flew backward two peors, and landed flat on his back, his spear clattering across the hard-packed turf.

The intruder then yanked firmly enough to expose the fourth attacker's arm, and skewered it with his own weapon, right through the bicep. He then kicked the man's shield and sent him tumbling back to his remaining friends before scooping up one of the dropped spears.

He then turned and faced Gosherin.

The leader locked eyes with four more of his troops, and then pointed at the stranger.

"Put him down!"

The four men Gosherin had indicated were the soldiers with longbows. As one, they knocked and drew their arrows, and then launched them.

Josy gasped in her bed as the eyes suddenly fell toward the ground, the man's body dropping horizontally. Yet even in that prone position, he still moved with incredible swiftness, sending four blades (which Josy never even saw him strip from the initial four attackers) back at those bowmen with far better accuracy than their own missiles. Each blade struck its target in the torso at a point that didn't kill them, yet prevented them from using their weapons again.

By the time those knives had struck, the stranger was back on his feet and gripping the spear once more.

Josy could feel the pounding of his powerful heart, but it was not racing as hers was. There was no fear in him. He was in complete control.

Gosherin tossed his spear aside and drew a sword. The eyes Josy was looking through watched that weapon closely as the big man swung it in fine display. She couldn't tell the quality of the metal, but saw that it was well crafted, balanced nicely, and the leader handled it like a veteran.

"All of you, now!" he cried. "Kill him!"

At that point, Marsii had recovered enough to find her feet again, and she rushed forward.

"Please, Lord Gosherin...stop!" she begged, but he was in no mood to listen to some stupid woman who'd helped his enemy.

Gosherin used his shield and slapped Marsii as hard as he could, knocking her out and throwing her ten feet to the side. She fell as limp as a rag doll. Then he faced the stranger again.

The interloper paid no attention to the remaining other men. His right arm reached back as a snarl escaped his lips, and then it snapped forward.

Gosherin almost smiled. His shield was four layers thick of tanned leather that had stopped a dozen other men's throws in his many years as the city's champion. He held it at the optimum angle too, just the way he'd been taught by his father, all the way back to when he was a child. He was a valiant, seasoned, professional warrior. This new upstart was about to be unarmed, and then he would cut him to pieces.

Before Gosherin could complete that thought however, the 'upstart's' steel spear tip had completely pierced his shield, his chest plate, and his body.

Gosherin's feet stumbled to a faltering stop while his mind scrambled to interpret the cascading avalanche of bewilderment, surprise...and pain.

The charging men all stopped as well, their expressions plain to any watching. Never had a man seen such a throw, much less made one. They froze where they stood, just staring at Gosherin as he took one more step...and then fell to the hard ground, stone dead.

A moment later, when their attention refocused on the man who'd just done the impossible, that very same man gave them an ultimatum they could not ignore.

"Throw your weapons on the ground and stand down," he ordered gruffly. To everyone watching, his command sounded more like a growl than words.

The eyes Josy peered through were markedly glaring at them as if they were a pack of unruly children.

The order seemed completely absurd at first glance. He was, after all, currently weaponless.

"I am not your enemy!" the stranger said to the men, still trying to diffuse the situation.

Their hesitation drew a deep, rumbling snarl from the newcomer, and that sound was clearly horrifying to the men, yet they held their ground.

The eyes suddenly dropped lower, as the foreigner again took a more crouching stance, and then they moved toward the seven remaining soldiers.

The man furthest from the eyes threw his spear down hard, and then his shield followed.

"I have no quarrel with you!" he shouted as his hands shot up into the air and he quickly backed away ten paces.

The eyes stopped their advance just an instant, to give the rest time to rethink their positions.

A moment later they each copied the first one's actions and retreated.

The eyes turned to the women at that point. There were easily twenty ladies huddled about, and they seemed terrified.

"You women, collect these weapons and place them under the tent...there," the stranger told them, pointing to the far corner of the covered area.

When that was underway, and the men had put even more space between them and the stranger, the eyes turned to the motionless form of Marsii, and then they rushed to her.

The stranger scooped her up gently and carried her back to the shade of the tent, where he laid her down on a long table and examined her. It was clear that he had at least some training because he checked her pulse, then her breath, and then, finding both, began a systematic check of her extremities. He found no obviously broken bones, so he started drizzling cool water on her neck and forehead.

Marsii came around shortly afterward; having only been knocked out and not seriously damaged, and looked up into the eyes Josy was gazing through.

Her own eyes grew very large the instant she saw who hovered above her, and she tried to shrink away until the hands that had been gently stroking her with the wet bit of cloth pulled back, and then the eyes did also.

"I will not harm you," the deep haggard voice told her. "I only wanted to make sure you were not badly hurt."

Marsii quickly recovered herself and stopped looking afraid right away, and then she sat up and gazed about. She saw Gosherin lying in the dirt, clearly dead, and the nine other men that had clashed with the stranger moaning on the ground, battered and broken.

She then stared at the stranger long and hard, looking him up and down.

"They didn't even touch you, did they?" she asked.

The eyes glanced at the group of men, and then returned to her.

"They were no real threat," he said plainly.

Her expression spoke volumes. She was utterly astonished.

"Those men are Gosherin's personal host...his best fighters...the finest warriors in all Erthania!"

Josy felt a definite shudder run through her entire body, but she wasn't certain if it was her reaction to that legendary name or his. Almost as an answer though, the eyes widened for an instant, slowly panning the land all about him before returning to Marsii.

"What did you say this place is called?"

She appeared confused for a moment, but answered.

"This is the province of Erthania," she repeated. "Our city is called Nevari, and is the most northern outpost of the Kingdom. Our warriors are the northern guard."

"Kingdom?" the newcomer inquired. "And what is the name of 'it'?"

Marsii was extremely intrigued at the ignorance of the man before her. How could he be so uninformed?"

"Why, the ruling capital is the grandest city in the known world; Heraitey."

"No!" the stranger whispered as if she'd just told him something absolutely absurd.

The eyes fell back as the man retreated from Marsii, and then they settled on the firm soil at his feet. Josy could feel the bewilderment he felt...the undeniable astonishment.

"What is it?" Marsii asked, quickly realizing that something was terribly amiss with the mighty stranger.

"It can't be!"

"What's wrong?" she pleaded, turning frightened.

Suddenly, the eyes moved forward again and his two large hands reached out and grabbed Marsii by the shoulders, pulling her in close.

"Who is the ruler of Heraitey?" he asked urgently, trying not to squeeze her too hard. "Is it Renni Deaton?"

Marsii was frightened nonetheless, and stuttered her response.

"N-n-no. H-H-Heraitey is ruled by Queen Arethnii."

Josy saw the eyes return to normal with that answer, and felt the intense relief he was feeling.

"Okay then," the stranger exhaled. He then release Marsii and gazed at the mountains to the south. There was a long road that led in that direction, presumably toward that mighty city.

"Prince Rennin won't become king until he reaches his sixteenth birthday," Marsii added, still bemused at the question.

Josy watched the eyes snap back around as if the stranger was about to be attacked...and then she felt the quaking in his body. The eyes then stared at Marsii for nearly an entire bort. Josy could tell that something was happening inside the man. She could feel the anxiety building in a rush.

"The pod!" he shouted suddenly. "Where is the life-pod?"

The women all looked at one another, not comprehending the query.

"The-the-the round container I arrived in!" he corrected. "Where is it?"

The old woman then understood and pointed to the west.

The stranger took a moment to gather two of the spears and point at the warriors who still remained close by.

"Take care of your wounded, but do not follow me!"

Then the eyes were sprinting straight into the late afternoon sun.

Just over a small rise lay the black sphere that had delivered the man, and he didn't slow until he'd reached it...but it was to no avail. Every surface on the inside had already returned to its base material. There was nothing in it but powder.

The eyes suddenly dropped close to the ground, as if the man had fallen to his knees, and then they closed. Josy was left staring at the orange glow of sunlight filtering in through his lids.

"What was the last reading?" his voice said, forcing his mind to recall the data.

It took a few moments of concentration before he answered his own question.

"Chronographic incompatibility," he recited.

"Error in star alignment! Recalculating!

"Oxygen depletion warning...level at critical!

"Landing successful!

"Adjusted date: 357.7 PreCat.

"Initiating emergency evacuation!"

"357 PreCat?" the man whispered while his eyes slowly opened again. "That's...no way! It's...just...not...possible!"

In her slumbering state, Josy's mind went into overdrive. She had heard that historical designation as well, having investigated the Raulden people...the pure-bloods...after becoming romantically bonded to Ron and hearing his story. She'd been curious about how he'd come to represent them and exactly who they were.

"PreCat!" she deciphered. "The time before the Great Catastrophe that nearly exterminated the entire Raulden population!

"Am I seeing something that actually happened more than twelve hundred cycles in the past?" she thought.

Josy's mind began to spin.

"But wait!" she suddenly thought. "No. It can't be. That was well before even the Rauldens had travelled the stars."

Then a wild thought slammed firmly into her frontal lobe. "The black sphere! That was the pod from...

"Holy Guardian above me! The explosion that Father spoke about! The singularity! A rip in space-time!"

Several of the women had followed behind the stranger, still trying to understand what was happening. They approached, but stood a few steps behind him. One inquisitive young girl broke free from her mother however and edged closer.

"Who are you?" the ten-year-old child asked.

The eyes slowly rose and turned to face her, and then glanced about at the group of women.

Josy could feel the overwhelming sense of confusion and disbelief, as if it were literally a tangible thing. The man was dazed beyond words.

Instead of replying to the girl's question however, the eyes slowly looked skyward to the deep blue of the heavens. His large, callused hands moved into view just then, reaching upward and spread apart in a pleading, desperate manner.

"I think," Marsii interjected shyly, "he said his name was...Ron-in Al-sone."

"JOOOOOOOOOOOOOSYLIIIIIIIIIIIIIINIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" the man roared to the open sky above him.

"RON!" Josy screamed, jerking upright in her bed with a cold sweat soaking her thoroughly.

The End
