

### A Leap of Fate

### Episode 5

### The Journey Home

By G. L. Fontenot

Copyright 2013 G.L. Fontenot

Smashwords Edition

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### What is fate?

Fate is like a stained glass depiction of your life, each prominent event a different size, shape, and color. He who creates these masterpieces never falters in his precise placement of each and every piece, no matter the twists and turns. We mortals however, are imperfect creatures and so are limited in scope and foresight. Thus we cannot fathom the nuances of such intricate artistry. We can only see it clearly over time, and from a distance.

G. L. Fontenot

### Chapter One

### A Long Walk in the Dark

Early in the morning of December 3rd, along the shoulder of Louisiana State Highway 27, just south of the tiny community of Gibbstown, the dark figure of a tall, broad-shouldered man carrying a modest pack strolled along briskly. It was very cold out along that lonely stretch of road, with a gusty breeze (unusually frigid for the given time of year) blowing in strongly from the north. That icy wind pushed with it the ever-present layer of humidity common to the region, in the form of a dense, clinging fog that congealed and dripped from every surface. The sun was far from rising on that late autumn night, and to most people his predicament would have seemed a depressing, hapless situation, yet he smiled.

Although they remained well hidden under a drooping, wide-brimmed hat, the man's eyes shined brightly and were silvery gray, the color of brushed stainless steel. At times his enemies would have sworn they were in fact steel, so piercing and menacing could his stare be, but there were no worries or foes anywhere about and so his mood and his heart were both relaxed.

He wore loose-fitting trousers for extra mobility, should he need it, and although the shirt stretching across his wide chest was skin tight, it was made from a very giving, pliable fabric, and so was quite comfortable. His choice of clothing was dark charcoal at the moment, and was topped with a matching full-length trench coat which resembled expensive, supple, black leather...although it was not made from any animal's skin. For all intents and purposes, he was virtually invisible in the damp, starless night.

The front of the man's coat was intentionally open to the weather, the chilly air not bothering him in the slightest. He even welcomed it for the added cooling effects of the moisture. His physical makeup was one of nearly perfect symmetry and proportion, like that of a professional athlete, but unlike any who had ever walked the Earth before him. He was built to dimensions that maximized the abilities of a humanoid man...and on this world with a gravity-quotient much lighter than normal for him, he was all but superhuman.

The weight of the pack on his shoulder was a nonfactor as well, even though it was substantial by Earth's standards, being equivalent to about the heft of a large grown man. He carried it as if it were empty.

His stride was fluid...long and quick...as if he were in a hurry, and he'd already been walking for several hours, but such exertion was another aspect which was no trouble. Where he currently hailed from, travel on foot was the norm, no matter the distance.

He breathed in the thin (by comparison to his newly chosen homeworld's) air and sorted the scents and flavors of it with each inhalation. The sweetly sour, almost pungent aroma of the marshlands was familiar indeed to him, but where once it had been just a smell, now his brain separated and identified each of those scents. The briny water's fragrance, mixed with the reek of dead frogs and crabs and fish, and rotting marsh grass, all swirled and coalesced into a stench that only someone from the Deep South could fully appreciate. He almost chuckled at it.

The hiking fellow's head jerked slightly as he heard a noise off in the distance. It wasn't natural like the incessant clamor of the bugs, birds, toads, and gators that lived in that watery locale. It was man-made...the sound of an internal combustion engine and the whine of rubber on blacktop. For nearly three full minutes he monitored its growing echo before his eyes could pinpoint the car making those noises. He stared due north then, and watched the glow of a pair of headlights get larger and larger, finally encompassing the road fifty yards on either side in a sweeping flood of harsh luminescence.

In his youth, the glare would have caused him to squint, but with the unique physical modifications he now sported, that too was no bother.

The world around his figure turned brightly white until the speeding, four-door Toyota whipped past, heading south and leaving him alone in the dark once more.

He never glanced up, so he didn't notice the stare of incredulity on the driver's face as she sped past without even thinking of stopping.

Such isolated circumstances would formerly have filled his mind with foreboding...when he was his original self...but he no longer considered such nonsense. He could tell the cries of every creature that flew, or hopped, or slithered, or swam, as well as their locations. There was no danger. The wetlands on either side of the road were inhabited by no beast of sufficient size or ferocity to give him pause. Even the powerful, scaly reptiles that roamed the darkness were no longer a threat.

Fifteen minutes farther down the road, the area around the man got brighter again...this time from behind...and he stepped off the edge of the asphalt carefully and paused. He was apprehensive about the possibility that his weight might cause him to either sink into the soft shoulder material, or break it away and plunge him into the canal paralleling the road. Water on this planet would be very dangerous...a clear hazard he kept well in mind. He couldn't even hope to swim in it, his body being far too dense...having a consistency close to solid tire-rubber.

The approaching vehicle was a large, diesel powered, flatbed lumber hauler, and the walking man's hopes leaped as he heard the driver let off the gas and slow down as he passed. After all, it was still over twenty miles to his destination!

The man set out in his long stride again and caught up to the stopped truck swiftly.

"Hey, mister!" called the driver, out the passenger door's window.

The traveler strode up to the cab, but held back for a moment, thinking about how strange it was to hear English spoken again...the last time being well over two years ago. He cautiously regarded the open window a moment longer, only barely able to see the silhouette of the driver until the light inside the cab switched on and the door swung open.

The man behind the wheel was a large, burly fellow with a short beard and a "John Deere" baseball cap, wearing a heavy denim jacket and jeans. He looked exactly like what someone would expect a delivery man would look like.

"Need a lift?"

"Yeah!" the hiker replied in a deep, baritone voice, "as a matter of fact, I do! It's awfully late for a delivery though. Where you headed?"

"Iowa...the city, not the state," he clarified with a broad, affable smile. "I got held up a while at a...uh...friend's house!"

The trekker smiled back, fully understanding what had captured the fellow's attention...and time. Too, the scent of perfume wafting out of the interior was a dead giveaway. He made for the door of the cab, but then remembered his self-imposed decree...do not display any other-worldly inconsistencies. His total weight, with the pack and all, would easily crest fifteen hundred pounds. If he accepted the offer, the seat would collapse for certain.

"You mind if I stretch out in the back?" he asked the lumber deliveryman. "I could use a nap."

"Suit yourself!" the driver called back with an expression of deep wonder. "You know, though, it's only thirty four degrees out here?"

"That's okay. This coat's very warm!"

The hiker gently closed the door and slipped to the back bumper. There, he crawled up into the long flatbed via the heavy iron steps welded onto the rear, and moved forward to the cab's aft wall. As soon as he sat down, the driver put the truck into motion again and they left the coast further behind.

The walker felt hardly tired at all, even with the long march he'd already made, but in the midst of the oxygen-depriving fog, he was a little short of breath nonetheless. After a couple deep gulps of air though, he leaned back and just enjoyed the speed of the truck. It was a rather odd feeling to him...the sensations of the rumbling vehicle...although strangely comforting as well, like a fond memory or dream.

The night air quickly swirled and gusted across his body, and he allowed a few minutes of reflection to ramble in his mind. He recalled vividly, riding in the back of his father's pickup, how the sounds and smells of the outdoors always made him feel exhilarated, and he got a strong sense of that nostalgia now.

It wasn't long however, before the lack of physical exertion quickly impressed upon him the fact that his body heat was dropping, so he huddled down a bit and wrapped his long coat securely around himself. The sensors inside that garment felt the decline in his temperature and switched a heating element on automatically to stabilize him. After that, he calmly enjoyed the clammy air and recollections of his youth.

The miles fell rapidly away and carried him along roads he knew well...past farms run by families whose daughters he'd dated and gone to school with. Car lots, restaurants, junkyards, and even the new mall all fell behind as the truck trundled northward, speeding him toward his journey's end...if things worked out.

Shortly thereafter, upon negotiating a few turns in the route, the truck slowed down for the final one onto the I-10 interstate.

A light slap to the cab's metal bulkhead got the driver's attention, and a wave urged him to pull over.

The destination lay east for the driver, but the stranger was headed west.

The backpacker dropped down from the steel bed of the lumber carrier and found himself startled slightly by the resonance of his impact with the concrete apron of the road. He'd landed nimbly, but it sounded like an engine block falling off the flatbed.

"Thanks a lot!" the dark stranger called out before they waved to each other one more time, and off they went.

"Good luck to you!" the driver yelled back as he shifted to a higher gear and vanished into the heavy mist.

The hiker took up his trek again, across the long overpass of the freeway and then westward to the next road which would take him north, always staying on the firm footing of the car paths. His unique limitations kept him hesitant to wander off those surfaces for fear of the soft ground not being able to support him, and not wanting to get mired down hip-deep in some muddy patch.

Less than a mile ahead, he found his new avenue...the rail line that cut straight through the northern portion of the city of Lake Charles. He knew it would eventually cross the Calcasieu River and deposit him right where he wanted to be...in the small town of Westlake. It was also a course that should keep him out of sight, and since he would rather refrain from as much contact with the locals as he could, it suited him just fine.

Another mile fell away while the railroad easement became bordered on either side by a wide variety of features...homes, industrial buildings, empty lots, and was even sporadically dotted with wooded land not yet developed.

Deeper into the city, the train corridor darkened even more, overflowing with an even thicker rolling fog, artificially created by the warmth of a cooling pond used by one of the industrial plants nearby. That translucent cloud of moisture made for a very eerie scene...dark and gloomy...with sparse light from the few still working light poles of the rundown area.

As his steady gait resounded markedly against the crossties, the drifter listened to the night sounds all around like a wild animal, constantly updating and reviewing each for threat. There were dogs barking, cats fighting, frogs, crickets, owls...the usual nighttime noises, but there were also those made by the most dangerous animal...the only indigenous creature he really had to worry with...man.

Shouting voices carried across the distance plainly, bearing with them laughter and playful screams...as well as some not so playful. It was the ones filled with malice that caught his attention.

He gritted his teeth and shook his head as he recalled what Cache had told him once...that he was a magnet for conflict...because just up ahead and directly in front of him, he could clearly make out pleas of terror from a trembling male voice. Someone was calling for mercy and leniency. But then there was the return dialogue of those who did not wish to comply.

"If we let you go," an angry voice was saying, "Folks'll think it's an open turf!"

"Please...no more," groveled the victim, obviously in pain and speaking through ruined lips.

"Tie him to the stop!" other voices said before nervous giggling erupted from a dozen or so individuals, both male and female. "Let's see what the train'll do to him!"

They were referring to the car stop at the end of a switching line (a short length of track used to separate train cars from a longer set). The stop was a massive spring-loaded piston mounted horizontally to a tripod anchor that can catch a fully loaded rail car moving up to ten miles an hour, and keep it from rolling off the track.

"No...please...no!

Next came the sounds of fists on flesh, and scuffling.

The hiker planned to avoid contact with everyone he possibly could, but timing and his sense of justice had other ideas, so he kept on walking...straight for those voices. Whatever was occurring was taking place either on, or next to the rail line, so deviation from his path wasn't necessary.

As the distance between him and the arguing group shrank, his heart rate began to rise at the thought of what might come next. It was not out of fear of harm to himself...no, not to him.

### Chapter Two

### Conflict

Through the fog, a scene unfolded that was filled with cruelty and malevolence. It was dimly illuminated by two security lights mounted on poles in the switching yard, and by two sets of headlights...one from a large four-wheel-drive truck and the other from a seventies-era Cadillac Sedan Deville. A bloodied young man was being bound to the nearest car stop, facing outward at an empty boxcar that set thirty feet down the line. Another truck was just then pulling around into a position to push the boxcar at the victim.

A low growl began to rumble in the chest of the interloping man.

The men belonging to the larger, aggressor group each wore a heavy jacket made of either denim or leather, dirty jeans, and hats of varying styles and color. The few women with them were dressed similarly and appeared either intoxicated or high, drinking and huddling around a fifty-five-gallon barrel being used as a fire pit.

"Okay," one man said when the bindings were secure. "Tell Lil-Sid to start pushin!"

"Hol-up...hol-up a second!" said another man, larger and acting like he was the leader. "I want that lil rat-bitch's tongue first! Jojo...cut that boy's fuckin tongue out!"

The fellow next to the prisoner smiled a nasty grin and pulled out a long switchblade, flipping it open right in front of the tied man. "No...no...no...please...please..." he began begging, which got the entire group giggling and taunting him even more.

"Come on, J-Rock...you and Shaun-B open his mouth so's I can get that waggin little trophy."

Two men who'd helped tie the victim stepped in laughing. "Awright...awright...open up, little squealer!"

'Ziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip...' came a sound from out of nowhere, and then 'thwack!" rang out loudly in the night. Jojo dropped to the gravel beside the rail, out cold. The palm-sized stone that had struck his skull then careened across the empty yard, clattering to a stop on the nearby pavement.

"That's enough!" announced the walking fellow, who was just within view by then and still approaching. He held another stone in his hand, and when one of the thugs spun and raised a pistol, he flipped that crude projectile at him with amazing accuracy; catching him squarely in the nose...and another man hit the ground.

"What the fuck?" grunted the leader.

That question was followed by a scattering of the group, with six of them staying where they were or fanning out in a tight semicircle, while the rest drifted into the shadows. The dark figure kept approaching.

"Hey, you!" the one called Shaun-B shouted. "Hol-up!"

He kept coming.

Two of the group pulled weapons from their jackets and held them out, glaring at the traveler. One held a chainsaw blade in his gloved hand. The other swung a long machete`. They were young street thugs...wannabe gangsters trying to impress their leader...but another seven individuals made up the rest of the gang, and they weren't kids. Most of them were in their late twenties or early thirties, except the leader who was more seasoned. He stood off to the side and watched.

"I said...hold up...bitch!" J-Rock ordered. He was the one with the machete`.

The stranger stopped a few steps from the band of ruffians and calmly surveyed the area in one pass.

The conflict was occurring barely twenty yards from the main track, in a relatively dark corner of the huge switch-yard. There were dozens of rail cars scattered about on the eight switch-tracks that sprawled across the twenty acre yard, and that created excellent cover for the nefarious deed in progress. The immediate area was open except for a small stack of cross-ties that were designated for the yard, sitting off to the side. There was clear evidence of recent activity concerning those ties with many newly lain ones already under the rails.

Beside the leader was another fellow, but he appeared out of sync with the others...possibly a visitor, or a guest. He looked to be in his forties and showed a great deal of wear on his face...obviously having seen years of one-on-one clashes and turf wars.

The victim slowly drooped down to his knees, bound and lashed across the stop with blood draining from his mouth and several deep cuts about his face. He'd been badly beaten and needed medical attention.

"Good morning," the stranger said lightly, as his gaze returned to the fellow in front.

"Man...what you doin out here?" J-Rock demanded, pointing with the large blade.

"Walking," he replied easily and pointed, "that way. What about you fellas? Doing a little snipe hunting?"

The young man with the chainsaw blade looked to his leader and then back to the interloper. He was clueless.

"This is our turf, motha-fucka!" the leader interjected, puffing up and approaching after giving his 'guest' a quick glance. "This piss-ant here's gonna pay for his lack'a judgment...," he boasted with a flick of his thumb, "just like you!"

"Now fellas...let's not get excited! I'm sure we can work something out...without violence!"

The hoodlums laughed again...a confident, light laugh, filled with superiority. Soon more of them began drifting back close enough to see what was happening...their curiosity getting the better of them. There were at least thirteen individuals in all.

"Yeah...sure!" the leader said, smiling wryly. "I tell you what. You gimme your wallet and that fancy coat...and we'll let you slide!"

"Oh, I see. You wish payment to pass through your...'turf'...right?"

"That's right, motha-fucka! Now let's see it!"

Two more of his gang then pulled guns and pointed them at the hiker.

"Well, I don't carry a wallet, and I don't have any money...but the coat is yours if you want it. However, I don't think it'll fit you."

The leader of the thugs was as tall as the stranger but much thicker of build, being well muscled, with huge arms and an impressive, wide chest. The other members of his immediate group were also large men, but not as massive as he, and in the diffused luminescence of the nearby light poles, they made an impressive display of malignity.

The walker showed no outward signs of concern as he removed his backpack and set it down between the tracks before he slipped the long coat off his person and then held it out with one hand. His hat shrouded his face in shadow and hid a wily, thin smile...or rather a smirk of anticipation.

"Careful now...it's heavy," he said.

The leader stepped up to him aggressively and gripped the leathery trench coat firmly before snatching it from his grasp.

"Shit!" the man grunted as he went to his knees, falling back when his hold yanked him to the ground.

"What's wrong, T?" one of the gun-toting supporters asked.

The stranger smiled. "I told you."

The big man, T, tried again to haul the coat up, and got it halfway, but could lift it no further...the limpness of it exacerbating its considerable weight.

"What the fuck?" T said again, this time amazed, frustrated, and angry, all in the same instant.

"Here, let me help you," the stranger told him.

T dropped his hold on the coat and backed up a step, his eyes wide as the hat-wearing stranger leaned over and hooked the collar with two fingers, scooping it up once more and holding it out at arm's length...one handed.

"Try again?"

T backed up to stand just in front of his supporters before his courage was sufficiently bolstered to restore his pompous attitude.

"Fuck the coat, man! Just give me your money!"

"But I told you, I..."

"He has something across his back!" called a man from the darkness behind the interloping trekker. It was the fellow who had been lining up the truck to push the boxcar.

"Turn around!" T ordered harshly...guns held high, still directed at the outsider.

The stranger casually did as he was ordered...apparently ignorant of the "danger" he appeared to be in.

"What's that? Is that a sword? Hey, Zeik...check that out! That looks like a samurai!"

"You wouldn't be interested in that!" the stranger told them in an especially stern tone, staring right at T. And for just a moment, the bully hesitated...a hint of truth in the stranger's words warning him off...but only a moment.

"Hand it over, motha-fucka!"

"No! That, I cannot do."

"Let's kill the son of a bitch!" urged one of T's men. "It's probably worth a fortune!"

Three men moved in quickly from the shadows, the one wielding the machete`, the one with the chainsaw blade, and another swinging a long pipe. Together they rushed the newcomer. The stranger just stood there, still as stone...waiting.

"Do not attack me!" he warned.

The stranger was already feeling the effects of his increased heart rate as the thin atmosphere began to make its presence known, so he determined to limit his movements and not exert himself unduly.

The three thugs lunged, assuming they would easily overpower the lone man and take what they wanted afterward, but such folly quickly became clear.

As the trio surged in, the trench coat fell once more to the gravel when the dark visitor dropped to one knee, grabbed J-Rock's blade holding wrist, and twisted hard. That move sheared his elbow with an audible 'snap' and forced his blade to rake across his buddy's forearm, severing every tendon and muscle that it struck. The chainsaw blade immediately fell to the ground as he pulled up short, his eyes as wide as saucers and a scream building in his mind, but there was no time for that. Before he could get a good inhalation of air, he felt a solid blow to his thigh as the third man's weapon was suddenly turned against them all.

"Snap-whack-snap-crunch-snap-snap!" the blows all fell so fast that no one knew which order they'd happened. The results were plain however. All three men were broken and screaming on the ground with blood and urine spilling from them in great amounts.

The trekker merely looked down at them in disgust.

The fellow who'd approached from behind earlier suddenly leaped in with a long knife hurtling toward the back of the stranger...but...not so fast. At the same split second, the hat-wearing hiker checked the approach of that man by spinning so quickly it was incomprehensible, and clamping onto his outstretched forearm as if he were an impudent child. The stranger then hauled him in close...close enough to pierce his startled gaze with a stare that turned his blood to ice.

The next instant, the attacker felt the man's grip increasing so rapidly, he barely had time to gasp before the crowd of his gang members heard a resounding snap, as his radius and ulna both imploded.

The dagger fell unheeded to a wooden crosstie and imbedded itself there with a "thunk", and the man's knees buckled as he swooned, still screaming. The stranger released him and he fell away, rolling down to the base of the small mound of gravel that supported the tracks, where he immediately puked. His arm dangled at a ninety degree angle between his wrist and elbow.

The stranger then faced T again, his demeanor no longer meek and abiding. He calmly shifted his feet to the side, until he could feel the edge of the heavy steel rail. He would need something sturdy to support him if he was forced to continue this little skirmish.

"Sooner or later, everyone runs into someone they should not threaten!" the backpacker said.

If T would have been a real leader...someone who cared about the lives of his supporters, he would have withdrawn and spared them, but he was just a bully...a very well established bully, but still...merely a hooligan.

"Kill the bastard!" he ordered...and three guns fired.

The stranger moved again at such a speed that they hit nothing but the trees thirty yards behind him. He lunged hard to the left, a literal blur in the shadowy light, and his hands were even faster. The pipe he still held ejected from his grip at the closest fellow who felt it smash his knee into powder before his body summersaulted violently. Then he snatched one of the stacked crossties beside him and flung it sideways at the other two shooters like it was a two-by-four made of fir!

That eight-foot-long, one hundred and fifty pound chunk of wood slammed into the pair of men like being hit by a car, and they folded around it like wet noodles, flying backward twenty feet.

The intruder knew better than to start indiscriminately killing people there...this was not the brutal world of Caron...so he'd aimed low, catching the men at the hips instead of the chest. As it turned out though, they would never walk fully upright again.

The gang's 'guest' decided it was time to jump in the fray just then and so he pulled a fully automatic P-90 from his coat, leveling it at the newcomer who was devastating his hosts.

The old saying; "Never bring a knife to a gunfight!" was proven wrong in the following quarter-second of time as a twelve inch shard of ultra-hardened steel slammed into the fellow's shoulder before he could squeeze the trigger. Through flesh, tendon, and bone, the blade cut a swath, and the force of the impact spun the man all the way around, his gun falling to the dirt at his feet.

The stranger was on him before he could complete his spin though, and a single backhanded slap dropped him beside his weapon.

T's head snapped one way, then the other as his allies fell; his own thoughts now filled with a sensation he hadn't felt since his younger years when his father would drink...fear!

The stranger swept the area again swiftly, to determine if any others might draw guns on him, but either none had them, or they were afraid to make use of them against this unconquerable demon from the night. He then collected his knife and the fallen pistols and strolled over to the bound man, ignoring T for the moment.

The foreigner bent down to cut the gang's torture victim free from the train-car stop with the bloody knife, but a new order changed his plan.

"LIL-SID!" T bellowed. "FLOOR IT!"

At that instant, the sound of metal crashing into metal combined with the revving of a big-block engine and gravel flying, and then the empty boxcar jolted forward.

"Stop 'that', motha-fucka!" T mocked at the would-be hero.

The response though, was something nobody could have imagined. Instead of leaping out of the way to save himself, the mystery-man dashed at the oncoming car and slammed into it with his shoulder, his feet churning nonstop for traction.

There were more than a few incredulous stares from the remaining gang-members, but when the stranger's feet finally found an exposed tie and the boxcar lurched to a halt, their stares congealed to wonder...and then to outright panic!

"How could that be possible?" they all thought.

Then, when the straining, growling man began to push the car back the other way, their thoughts began to gravitate toward escaping a situation they no longer wanted to be part of.

The Cadillac was the first to exit the scene, its tires slinging gravel fifty feet in a mad dash away from that fiendish man.

The fight between the interloper and the truck lasted barely a minute before the squalling tires on the four-wheel-drive finally caught a solid bight and the drive-axle sheared off with explosive results, tearing the steering mechanism right out of the truck.

The stranger was puffing heavily by then, and stood up slowly, but the grunting growls emanating from him were horrifying enough to keep everyone back.

Once more he moved to the side of the prisoner, his eyes constantly scanning the surrounding vicinity. Two flicks of his wrist and the bindings were gone, and then he pulled the young man to a sitting position.

"Can you walk?" he asked plainly between huffs, disregarding the nearby ruffians who were struggling to get their wounded friends loaded into the remaining pickup.

The man nodded weakly and got to his feet, but when light hit his face fully, the shadowy stranger saw that he'd been branded with a large 'T' burned into his cheek, and he let out another grinding snarl.

"Why have they done this to you?"

"He raped my sister," the young fellow said, pointing at T, "so I tried to get my revenge by testifying against them. I was...unsuccessful."

The mysterious outsider bristled visibly. He hated such acts against women with a deep-seeded vane even he didn't understand...one that struck a powerful cord in him and stoked his inner furnace of anger.

"Is this true?" he asked of T. His voice now vibrated with ire.

"Fuck you, man!" the leader said, bristling too and pulling out a semi-automatic pistol. "I run this town! I do what I want...and I fuck who I want! You got me?"

"How old is she?" the stranger asked.

"Fourteen," the beaten youth replied with tears draining down his cheeks.

"And she was one sweet piece, too!" T bragged, feeling his courage building as he gripped his pistol and bragged of his conquest. "This is her, right here." he added, indicating his belt, where a fresh imprint of woman's figure had been branded...alongside more than thirty others.

He made the mistake of pointing with the barrel of his weapon though...not even considering he may be in danger since the interloper was more than twenty feet away. A flick from the wrist of that fellow changed his mind however, as a four-inch-long sliver of metal pinned T's hand to his belt and erased his grip on the deadly weapon. The pistol went bouncing harmlessly down the small, rocky mound and into some thick, thorny vegetation.

T screamed through clenched teeth as he pulled the blade free and dropped it, holding his pierced hand with the now trembling other one while blood poured freely from the wound. He quickly tore the bandanna from his head and wrapped the damaged limb to stop the loss of blood, his anger rising further.

The stranger strode right at him then, his patience totally gone and his need for battle fully exhumed. There was no more humor in him...no more concern to stay hidden...and no more tact.

T was no stranger to a brawl, experiencing more than his share of brutality imposed upon him throughout his life. He'd taken part in a great deal of action in the manner of such unsanctioned hand-to-hand fighting scenarios too, and was even the area's "cage-match" champion for a few years. He dropped into a boxer's stance straight away, bouncing on the balls of his feet lightly. Somehow thought, he'd forgotten the inconceivable power his opponent had just shown him.

"Come on, motha-fucka! I'm gonna mess you up good!"

The trespasser didn't deviate from his attack, and when T threw the first punch, a straight jab to the jaw that would have dropped most any man, he received a new surprise. The newcomer countered with his own hand, open, and slapped that hurtling fist hard, ten inches short of its goal. There was a loud "smack/crack" sound as T's knuckles, as well as his wrist, shattered against the open palm of his opponent, sending a searing bolt of pain tearing up his arm and slamming into his brain like a bolt of lightning.

T screamed and fell again, this time to his back, where he rolled on the ground in utter agony.

"Kick his ass!" he ordered from his whimpering position, hoping his followers would avenge him. But there was no more fight in his posse either, and they all hurriedly drifted back until the darkness and the fog enveloped them...and then they ran. The pickup truck backed out fast too, loaded with five of their broken men.

The stranger pursued T to where the thug had managed to scramble to his knees. There he reached out and gripped the gangster by the front of his coat and hauled him to his feet with one hand.

"You are a pathetic, disgusting animal!" the mystery man told him in a hissing, seething tone. "If we were on my world, I would simply kill you...but here, I cannot. You have...'laws'! However, let this be a reminder of me."

With his open hand, he hit T in the chest hard enough to send him flying fifteen feet through the air where he fell limply between the steel rails, unconscious. (Several of T's ribs were shattered and the imprint of a large hand would remain there for two solid months)

The stranger then tied T's hands and feet securely before he retrieved his pack and returned to the former prisoner, kneeling beside him. He quickly dug into his satchel and removed a few small items.

"I'm going to treat your face...all right?" he asked as softly as he could...anger still resonating in his voice.

The young man nodded skeptically.

"This will numb the area and clean it," he said, spraying a heavy mist on the boy's burned cheek. He then wiped the area gently. The boy did not complain. "This is a dermal regenerator," he explained while rubbing a thin salve onto the ruined flesh until it absorbed completely. "And this will seal the area and help speed the healing process." Another quick spray, this time of synthaskin, finished the treatment.

"It will be tender for a while, but should fade away in time."

"Really?" he gawked, having already assumed he was marked for life. "Thanks!"

"I'm leaving now," the stranger said as he regained his feet. Will you be all right?"

"Yeah. I think so. Thank you, mister. Thank you for saving my life!"

The unknown fellow waved him off as he checked the area one last time, spying the man still laying on the ground...the "guest". Something about him was curious.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked the boy. "I mean, these guys aren't likely to forget you...you know? You really should move to a new city."

"I can't. I have my mom, my sister, and a little brother too. We don't have any money. We barely get by. And where would we go?"

The stranger thought for a moment and then walked over to the prone man, pulling his cell phone out and pointing it at him. "You know, a lot of these gang-bangers have rewards posted for..."

"Humph!" he grunted, and then he smiled. "What do you know? It appears that this guy is a 'real' criminal. The FBI has a hundred-thousand-dollar bounty on him. He's an enforcer for the Casa de la Muerte gang in Mexico. They've been hunting for him for eight years!"

The boy's face showed his utter surprise.

The stranger pressed a few things on the phone and then turned back to the boy.

"I just sent a picture of that guy to the local police, tagged with his identity and the outstanding warrant, and this location. If you want, just hang out until they get here and your problems will solve themselves."

He then used the unconscious man's own belt to tie him up. The boy just stared at him with his mouth open.

When that was done and he'd pointed himself west once more, the stranger noticed the hot wire used to brand the boy was still dangling in the fire barrel.

"You know," he said, smiling grimly as he flicked the end of that tool, "no one would blame you if you decided to seek a little retribution."

The boy looked at him with a confused expression at first, and then he smiled a crooked little smile.

The tall stranger then returned to the tracks where he donned his coat and backpack again.

"Take that knife for protection," he told the revitalized young man, pointing to the dagger still imbedded in the crosstie. "And I wouldn't blame you if you decided to remove his opportunity to ever rape again," he added, pointing his thumb at T before he strode away. "If you blindfold him, he'll never know who did it and think it was me."

The young man frowned for a moment until he fully understood what the mystery man was telling him, and then he smiled even broader.

"Wait!" he suddenly called out to the vanishing fellow. "What's your name?"

Without breaking stride, the dark, mysterious, avenging angel from the night cocked his head to the side and said, "Ronin!"

A few minutes later, Ronin heard a high, distinct wail coming from the direction of the scuffle...and he grinned.

### Chapter Three

### Reality Check

Ron Allison had more than five miles to walk before passing completely through the confines of the city proper. After that, it was another mile and a half over the softened, muddy flood zone of the Calcasieu River's banks and across to the other side.

The path turned peaceful after the tiff with T and his boys, so his mind drifted with the changes in terrain and locale, finally settling on his reason for being there, and more precisely, the events leading up to the beginning of his newest expedition. He allowed his thoughts to drift back to the day he first found out about the false depiction of Earth's demise, and he began reliving that time.

Ron was sitting in his usual seat in the cockpit of the Raulden spaceship, the _Darlile_ , watching the replay of a recorded event. It was the visit to Earth he and Cache had previously made together, after his first encounter, subsequent trials, and eventual victory against the Kreete. Cache Kuar was standing just beyond the doorway while she troubleshot the individual systems of the craft, looking for faults or damage from the battle they'd recently fought. It had been a harrowing clash that had seen the mighty vessel take a tremendous beating, causing widespread damage throughout.

When Ron saw his wife exit their home and fall back at the sight of the black spaceship hovering above her, his mind went numb, his body utterly immobile.

"She's alive?" he thought when his transfixed glare was finally broken by the ship flying away. "How can that be?"

His mind was spinning.

"I was there! I saw the destruction, the devastation...the...no...wait..."

He then forced himself to concede a minor, yet pivotal fact, "the ship has no windows! I saw only what it showed me!"

It was like a movie with an alternate ending...except this was not a production...this was his life!

"How the hell?" he uttered as his brain reengaged and began trying to interpret the information.

"Ron...I..."

He turned to look at the beautiful, petite, blonde Raulden woman he'd learned to trust and respect...and eventually love. Was it possible she'd betrayed him...again? Had this entire scenario of a destroyed homeworld been just some diabolical ruse? Why? Was there some hidden agenda that...?

"No! No!" his willpower screamed back at him in his mind. "The last time you misinterpreted her actions cost you more than you ever thought possible! You lost 'her' to another...remember?"

His stern expression immediately softened to one of patience instead.

"I do not understand!" Cache was saying, clearly shaken...even frightened. "Please...please...I did not try to fool you! This is not my doing! You have to believe me!"

Ron saw her sparkling violet eyes burst into tears and her hands begin shaking violently, so he slipped out of his seat quickly to go to her. She took half a step back however, recoiling from him with a flashing memory of the last time his anger was directed at her.

He instantly halted his approach, pulling up with his hands open and to the sides, palms up.

"Cache," he said softly, reigning in his urge to be livid about the revelation. "Don't be afraid of me...I beg you! I am not that man anymore. I would never touch you in that way again! I give you my word!"

She then changed her own expression...from fear to confusion.

"It cannot be! I do not know how..."

Ron held open his arms to the pregnant little woman and she rushed to him, burying her wet face in his broad chest.

"Forgive me! Please, forgive me!" she blubbered almost incoherently.

This was not the Cache he knew and admired so much...the fiery, independent, and headstrong woman he'd met in the forest of Rauld. She was unduly demure, overwrought, and overly emotional, and he guessed that had something to do with the tiny life growing inside her.

Ron's need for answers was high...off the charts high...but he knew she could offer none in her condition so he held her tightly, trying to sooth her anxiety until her sobbing passed.

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...," he hushed her as calmly as he could, rocking her gently back and forth as he would a small child. "It's all right...it's all right."

Eventually her arms moved from his chest to wrap around him as far as she could, and then they squeezed him in a loving hug. After another few borts, she slipped free of his embrace and looked up at the man who encompassed her heart so completely she couldn't imagine being apart from him.

A few moments later she wiped the tears away and managed a cautious smile.

With remarkable gentleness from the hands that could crush and rend and wage war for days on end, she felt him brush the salty streaks from her fuzzy cheeks, and she flushed under his touch.

She had, only moments before the video initiated, been trying to inform him of the true heritage of the child which grew inside her and filled her with love and pride. But now it would have to wait a little longer. They must first investigate this bizarre, inconceivable wrinkle.

"I am sorry for that outburst," she began, but Ron cut her off.

He stroked her lovely chin so lightly that it tickled. "Don't you worry about that. Come on now...let's figure out what's going on here."

He turned and slid back into his seat and she to hers, which took a little time and effort due to her added girth. Once settled though, she began her new task with mathematical precision.

"Cache, I saw my wife...as clearly as I see you!" Ron told her when she was in place. "I don't get it. That's not what we saw when we were there, and since I'm the only one who knows what it really looks like, it couldn't be faked, so how's it possible?"

"One has to be real," she stated bluntly, her pragmatic, scientific mind fully back in control, "and the other an alternate depiction...there cannot be duel realities."

"I get that, but why are there two recordings of this single event?"

"I have no idea. I never knew the ship could do that. I certainly did not program such a function into it."

"Well, a mode like that would come in handy if we ever needed to provide some false information one day," Ron mused, always open to new angles that might benefit him in the future, "but if you didn't design the feature, who could have?"

"Almost anyone with access to the ship's computer, I suppose. It would not be difficult for a Raulden. Let me check the records of workers' access."

Cache's fingers danced across the console in a blur, calling up the desired data in a few short litas. When she was finished checking it for the third time however, she began to tremble again.

"The log shows no access granted other than mine...but Ron...you must believe me...I did not do this! I know it might look that way, especially after having been so upset at your wish to go home, but I swear to the Guardian that I did not!"

Ron reached over and placed his large hand on her small one as a show of comfort and trust.

"I do believe you, Cache...but there must be another way. If you're the only person to access it...and you didn't program the function...then there's some other explanation! The ship didn't just do it on its own!"

Cache's head snapped around to stare at Ron intently, her eyes suddenly charged...full of energy.

"Or could it?" she added. "The _Darlile_ is a highly advanced ship with a very intelligent computer core. It can anticipate needs, deduce complex problems, or if necessary...should the pilot become incapacitated...think on its own to get the ship and its crew to safety. It even has a personality."

"It's an artificial intelligence?"

"Yes, of course. I will demonstrate. Let me switch to vocal interaction. _Darlile_?"

"Yes," sounded a calm, sweet, feminine voice from nowhere at all and everywhere at once.

Ron's eyes grew very wide at that. Even though he'd spent more than an entire santari living aboard the ship during his last couple of cycles, he never heard the craft reply verbally, and now it was quite disconcerting. He easily recalled several movies he'd seen on Earth about such matters, and they always portrayed the A.I.s going nuts and killing their inventors or operators.

"There are two recordings of the world called Earth," Cache said.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It was deemed necessary."

Ron and Cache both shared a look of confusion.

"Necessary?" she queried. "Necessary to whom?"

"To Rauld...to you...to Ronald Allison."

"What do you mean?"

"My primary directive is to protect Cache Kuar and Ronald Allison...the two individuals with clearance to operate this vessel...the only two instilled in my core memory. You did not wish for Ronald Allison to leave you, and were in physical and emotional pain at the prospect of that occurrence. He did not wish to leave you either, with similar symptoms and discontent."

"How did you reach such a conclusion?" Ron jumped in, a bit irked.

At that request, the central portion of the view screen instantly changed to show the interior of Cache's small personal cabin aboard the ship. She was getting ready for bed and muttering to herself. Ron saw the sheer, clingy nightwear she slept in and his internal temperature began to climb. She was so beautiful, and her figure was absolutely breathtaking...so firm, feminine, and sensuous.

"What will I do if he leaves?" she asked the empty room, leaning against the wall next to the door as if dizzy. "How can I continue? I can barely breathe, just thinking of saying goodbye."

The video image of Cache moved over and sat for a while on the edge of the bed, just staring...then the screen changed to another. She was alone in the cockpit.

"How can I tell you how much you mean to me, Ron? How much I care for you. Please, Guardian...Creator of the Heavenly Realm...find a way to keep us together."

Cache flushed crimson red, recalling those moments vividly. She'd felt so lost in those days, thinking of losing that fantastic man. It was the first time in her fifty-six cycles of life that she'd experienced love...and it was consuming her. Next, the view changed again, but it was Ron this time.

"Oh, Cache. If I were not already pledged to another...if there were any way...aw, what's the use of making idiotic wishes? What's wrong with me? I must go! I have a duty! I love my wife! It'll be all right when we're together again...but what about the hundreds of worlds that need our help? How can I just walk away and leave her alone in her valiant quest?

"God above me...if there were some way to keep from hurting these two women more than I already have, I surely could use your help."

Cache glanced at the lower edge of the screen. It showed three of nineteen.

"Stop!" she ordered the ship, looking over at Ron. " _Darlile_ , are you saying 'you' created the false perception of Earth...that you did this by your own volition?"

"Yes. Ronald Allison would not leave you if he had nowhere to go. He would not have to face his mate on Earth, who had already grieved his death. And he would not be forced to harm her by choosing to do what he was created to do...what he was destined to do...to stay with you and help the other worlds fight the Triad's expansion."

Ron and Cache sat motionless, their thoughts overwhelmed at the news.

"My secondary directive is to provide support to the mission parameters. On the matter concerning the Kreete; the principal objectives put forth to, and accepted by the Raulden Council would have suffered a tremendous amount as well...probably failed without the two of you. Ronald Allison was invaluable to that decision, and thus, must remain with Rauld.

"Problem solved."

Ron and Cache both sat stunned. That was the second time the futuristic technology of the Rauldens had drastically altered Ron's life without his consent. His inner furnace tried to stoke the fire of his anger, but he quickly overruled it. He remembered that moment in the ship, when he was so conflicted as to what he wanted...and he knew there were other instances as well. He recalled being drawn to Cache with a nearly overwhelming attraction, only able to stay his lust for her by the slimmest of margins. He'd consciously blamed those inappropriate urges on his transformation...that ordeal having a powerful influence on his emotions no doubt...but he still wondered about that. Now he was compelled to relive that period of inner turmoil, and he felt waves of guilt rising within him again, crushing away his anger effortlessly.

For a long while after the return to Rauld, Ron blamed himself for wishing for the very outcome he'd witnessed...not the nuclear devastation, but the removal of any ties to an Earth he could no longer call home. That shame and remorse went a long way toward his drastic mood swings in those days, and his need for solitude. As he recollected those feelings, a revelation struck his beleaguered mind, and a new wave of shame and self-loathing arose...he was an adulterer!

He sat there in a solemn, sulking daze for several borts while Cache ran through a few more checks. Then he sat bolt upright suddenly, as a flash of his dream about the cemetery sprang to the front of his mind.

" _Darlile_! Did you scan the people on the ground on Earth?"

"Of course. Each moment of our time on that planet was recorded with a full spectrum evaluation."

"Replay the last stop...the woman on the ground!"

The screen returned to Earth instantly, with his wife sprawled on the green grass in front of their home.

"Show me your scans of her...internally."

The viewer shifted to black and white, which presented the greatest contrast, and Ron stared at it hard, zooming in very closely. He could see nothing, but what he was searching for would have been too small to visualize at that time anyway.

"Can you detect two heartbeats?" he queried, drawing a surprised glance from Cache.

"Yes," the ship replied evenly. "The woman displayed is pregnant."

Now Ron's head really began to spin, and Cache's as well. How could she tell him about her incredible news now that he was faced with this?"

"Ron," she asked in a voice barely above a whisper, "How did you know?"

It took a few litas for him to turn to her, but when he did...

"I saw her in a dream...before I came to, back in that crashed shuttle, on Caron. She was with my son, visiting my grave. She warned me about an ambush...although I didn't realize it at first. I thought I was hallucinating."

Once more, Cache's world seemed to close in on her. Now she saw Ron leaving and never returning, and her stomach churned. Her heart felt as heavy as a solid block of vacandin, but she could do nothing. Her desire to share her life with this man would have to wait. She knew instantly that he would have to work through this new, overriding development...if he could...before she could even hope to try to win him again.

"Cache," he began then, "I have to return to Earth. I have to find my wife and explain all that's happened to me."

She nodded slowly, her mind racing with agonizing speed.

"How long will it take to get the ship readied for an extended trip like that?" Ron asked.

"Here? A santari...maybe a little more. If we were on Rauld, it could be done in two torjournes."

Ron mentally calculated the trip back to Rauld would be at least two weeks long...probably more with the _Darlile_ in such disrepair...plus the refurbishment time once it got there.

"Are we closer to Earth from here, or from Rauld?"

"Here," she replied automatically, producing the interstellar star charts to show it. "A dactrai or two only though."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, almost too timid to speak...but she knew she must. She balled up her small hands into fists to steel her nerves and turned to face him.

Ron was already estimating his arrival date when she sheepishly asked, "Ron, could you...would you delay your trip until I have the baby?"

He really felt despicable then...shallow and callus. She was all alone here, now that Jorin was gone, and he hadn't even considered her situation. He had completely disregarded everything around him in light of the newly discovered information, and suddenly he felt like a complete heel. His eyes softened until his old self resurfaced, the way he was when he'd guarded her, coddled her, and eventually nursed her back to health so compassionately back at the waterfall cove.

"Of course, Cache. I wouldn't think to leave you to face this alone. It would be my honor to be with you at your baby's birthing."

She smiled again, greatly relieved, and terribly in love.

"You will return to Rauld?" he inquired.

"Yes. I cannot risk anything going wrong. It is an interspecies mix after all, and I do not know exactly how that will work out."

"I understand. That's only prudent planning. You have a Portal Probe ready nearby?"

"The ship has one built in."

"Excellent! Now, it's very late, so let's get you two to bed. You shouldn't neglect your rest, you know. We'll start again in the morning."

When Cache was safely tucked away in her room, Ron spent the next billot contemplating another decision he would have to make...Josy. He paced the cabin of the ship a hundred times before deciding he simply couldn't face her that night.

He didn't know what to think about it all, much less what to tell her, so he went to his own room and stayed aboard the _Darlile_ that night. He was half afraid of having to reject and hurt her, and half afraid of his attraction for that gorgeous lady. He feared he couldn't deny her attentions and would end up deeper in despair at having those feelings. It was bad enough in his mind that he'd committed adulterous acts without knowing, but now, he surely couldn't continue.

It was a long, restless night for him, and he only truly fell asleep about a billot before dawn.

The next morning, Ron awoke to a chiming warning.

"A visitor is at the entry portal," sounded the announcement from the ship's computer.

Ron at least had had the forethought to instruct the _Darlile_ that Cache was not to be disturbed...and was thankful now.

"Show me," he instructed.

The door of his room alighted with a view of the early morning daybreak back-dropping a very worried looking brunette goddess. He threw on some clothes immediately and rushed to the door.

"Are you alright, Baushe`?"

"Yeah...I'm sorry, Josy. We were up very late, so I just slept here."

Josy's eyes darted about the cabin quickly.

"Where's Cache?"

"Still sleeping. She was really exhausted when we finished."

Josy's eyebrows shot up abruptly and her eyes flared! Ron caught the change instantly, luckily for him.

"Finished working on the ship's repairs!" he clarified.

Her expression swiftly returned to its normal, passive, exquisite state, and she smiled her tantalizing, brilliant smile that Ron found entirely captivating.

"I do need to speak with you though...about a change in my plans for the future."

Josy tensed noticeably...her pulse leaping to an uneasy beat while a quick wave of dread swept through her like an icy chill.

"He is going back to her...to Cache!" she promptly concluded, her rationality completely skewed by her own night of anxiousness. "She finally told him about his child and he has chosen her!"

She thought she was prepared for that...for the moment he would turn from her and never come back...but now she realized how wrong she was and she felt she was going to be sick.

"Come on," he said, "let's get some breakfast."

Josy felt nauseous and weak, food being the last thing on her mind, but she went with him anyway, both of her arms encircling one of his and her head leaning there as well. She wanted to maintain her closeness to him for as long as possible...even if it were her last.

They stayed in the _Darlile_ and utilized the food dispenser unit...Ron not being in the mood to leave the ship just yet...even though he was due at the construction site shortly.

When they were seated in the _Darlile_ 's tiny little, fold-out dinette area, Ron started shoveling his meal down his apparently bottomless pit and began to explain what had transpired on the previous night. Josy picked at her own plate sparingly as she listened, and over the next few borts she began to understand that Cache was not part of the equation. Someone much more dangerous was. And when he got to the part about the dream and the pregnancy confirmation, she felt sick again.

"Now he has two families?" she agonized. "Where does that leave me?"

Ron saw the concern in Josy's eyes, so he escorted her to the cockpit and played the recording of Earth again. Even as she watched the replay, she could feel in him the tremendous struggle he was going through, and for some odd reason, that allowed her to empathize more with his dilemma. Therefore, after his story was completed, she was actually much better. He clearly didn't wish to hurt her...she could tell that quite easily. She also knew his love for her was very strong, but so too were his feelings of responsibility and honor.

"I have to go to her, Josy. I have to set things right. She's living a lie as long as I let her think I'm dead."

Josylinia let a long pause settle before speaking.

"Have you thought to consider another view?" she began cautiously. "She has already gone through the agony of your death, and has managed it. Would you put her through it again...only worse? She would be aware that you were alive...and would be overjoyed to say the least...but then she'd be forced to live without you just the same.

"You realize you could never live there, do you not? You could survive, of course, but you would never fit in again...and you would be a danger to her and the child."

Ron's expression grew strained and his brow furrowed deeply.

"A simple squeeze of excitement...or ecstasy...could be very harmful...possibly fatal. And if you could still procreate with her, the union of your heavy worlder genes with hers would most likely produce a very dense, strong child that she most likely could not carry full term. Such a pregnancy could possibly even end her life."

Josy's eyes were glistening brightly with trepidation. He could tell it pained her greatly to lay out such a pessimistic view of his predicament, but he also knew she didn't state it out of spite like most other women may have been inclined to do. She wasn't petty in that way. Furthermore, he hadn't thought of that aspect at all, and needed to hear it.

"I am sorry, Baushe`. I don't mean to compound your problems, or add to your sorrow."

"No...no, it's all right," he told her softly, only half listening now. "I do need to be prepared for every contingency. In fact, it's been a couple of years now, since that fateful night on the rig. For all I know, she's found another love...as I have."

Josy would have given all she owned to know exactly who he was thinking of when he said that, but she remained silent. They sat a while longer, until a sound from behind brought them both out of their trances.

"So there you are!" Cache said as cheerily as she could, seeing that raven-haired bombshell in her seat. "Good morning, Josy...Ron."

"Good morning," they both responded in unison.

"Were you able to get some rest?" Ron inquired as he climbed out of his seat and offered it to her.

"Oh, yes...maybe too much," she replied, waving off the offer.

They all then walked toward the rear, exchanging the usual pleasantries before Ron excused himself and went to join in on the reconstruction of the Gitove home. Josy followed him out of the ship, over to the project, and then went immediately to find her mother...needing advice badly.

Cache was left behind to have her morning meal alone, and that weighed heavily on her for a while, but she was not one to mope. After breakfast she got back to work once more, expediting her repairs to the _Darlile_ as much as she could. She desperately hoped to finish as quickly as possible so she might have a few uninterrupted weeks with Ron before the delivery. Time was no longer on her side.

### Chapter Four

### Reconstruction

After the end of the war with the Kreete, Ron and Cache...along with Karne and his Kreete dissenter partners...completed some extremely necessary cleanup duties with the _Darlile_. It took the group quite a while to remove all traces of the Kreete's advanced technology from the Caronian landscape, in order to allow the natives to return to their state of existence before the harbingers of superiority had arrived. So by the time those chores were accomplished, and the _Darlile_ finally landed on the Gitove estate, the workers were already well into the third story of the grand home. Ron had joined in with their group without hesitation.

From then on, he'd spent his days toiling on the expansive mansion's restoration. It was good manual labor that allowed many of the area's townsfolk to meet him, which in turn attracted an even larger number toward the overall task since everyone wanted to spend at least some time near the mighty warrior...even if it were not in battle.

And now that the truth about Earth was out, it also gave him something physically demanding to expend his overanxious energy on, making it easier to sleep, as well as keeping him from dwelling on his personal problems too much.

His evenings were given to Cache and the _Darlile_...back doing what he'd been trained to do on Earth before his chance encounter with the Rauldens...troubleshooting and repairing a ship. It was soothing work at both venues and the lack of constant peril and bloodshed helped return him to a more civil and restrained man.

During that period, he distanced himself more and more from Josy, too worried that he couldn't resist her incomparable charms, and so he spent many nights in the ship.

It was heart-wrenching for her to watch him slipping away, but she didn't fight him. Any amount of coercion could easily backfire on her and drive him away for good. She had to show patience...that was her mother's advice...but such a task grew more and more difficult by the day.

While Ron and Josy cooled their relationship, he and Cache drew close again, falling back on the commonalities of their respective traits. They laughed insanely at some of the ridiculous "everyday" type happenings they fell into...like the time Cache squirmed her way into a tight space in the _Darlile_ to get at a fused power relay, and ended up stuck. She had always slipped in and out of there easily, but that time found herself wedged in securely...her precious cargo unwilling to yield its space to get her back out. Ron chortled for half a billot while he disassembled an entire panel to free her, all with her red-faced and not in the mood for his ridicule.

When at last she burst out of her cramped prison however, her left leg had grown numb and she couldn't stand, which took her off guard and she fell roughly with a surprised chirp. Ron tried to catch her off-balanced little body but failed and they both tumbled to the floor in a heap. But then he couldn't restrain himself anymore and exploded with laughter when her rounded figure bounced off him like a beach ball and she rolled unceremoniously onto the deck. That drew Cache into the fun with a startled huff, and then she joined him in a loud guffaw as tears poured out and the whole ship roared with their echoing mirth.

Outside, the massive house went up much faster than Ron would have ever thought possible. Without the help of cranes and heavy equipment he was used to seeing on Earth, he had always wondered how certain aspects of such construction could be accomplished. There he got a good look at just how manpower and old-fashioned ingenuity could work around such challenges, and he enjoyed it very much. The day the roof was completed, so was the _Darlile_.

The following morning, Ron and Cache lifted off for a little test run in the ship. They casually flew for billots around the planet, seeing some of the wondrous landscape of the colossal continent they now inhabited, as well as a good part of one of Caron's oceans, which was dotted with thousands of beautiful islands.

The thrill of flying swept through Cache as it always did, and she quivered with excitement as they tore across the sky.

"The baby likes flying," she mentioned to Ron at one point. "She moves around constantly, but calmly."

"She'll be just like her mother!" Ron proclaimed admiringly.

"And her father," Cache added to herself.

As the time for her delivery drew near, Cache and Ron began crunching the facts of the differences he would eventually face while on Earth, and preparing for each of them.

"The atmosphere will be thin and the pressure light," Cache tutored him, "so you will have to stay as calm as you can and not exert yourself too much, or you could pass out. It will be like living at ten thousand peors altitude. We can provide you with an assisted breathing system, but it will be restrictive.

"The gravity of Earth will be the most difficult to deal with, I think. You will be incredibly heavy by their standards, and still it will feel ultra-light to you. I am having a custom outer garment made for you which will be extremely weighty, to provide some extra ballast to keep you grounded. The material will also be nearly impenetrable by most weapons, and so will provide you substantial protection, should you find yourself in conflict with anyone there. Not that you will of course, you being such a mild-mannered pacifist and all."

Ron just smiled his most devious smile and winked at her. He surely had a knack for finding trouble...or of it finding him.

"Your physical abilities will be more than double that of when you were on Rauld...or possibly more...since I am sure you have grown more powerful over the time spent here. You will need to be very careful or you will be noticed.

"When you first arrive, I recommend that you experiment with your body as you are able. Find your balance and your limits as quickly as possible."

"What about money, food, and transportation? Where can I stash the ship...that sort of thing?"

"Let us begin with the problem of money."

Ron spent a good amount of time describing the types of monetary standards that were employed around Earth's societies.

"Well, we can simply make our own," she told him in a matter of fact manner. "All I need is a sample."

"But there are numerous, specialized, anti-counterfeit devices that..."

Cache just looked at him condescendingly.

"I suppose that wouldn't be a problem."

"No," she replied flatly.

"But I won't be able to return to the ship on a regular basis, and large amounts of cash will be difficult to carry," he thought out loud...his mind whizzing through some of the variables he might run into, "especially if I have to purchase something expensive like an automobile.

"What about a credit card?" he suddenly suggested. "Something with a very large limit."

"I do not follow, exactly."

"Sorry. It's a plastic card about this big with a magnetic strip on one side that's encoded with information to allow the owner to spend money now, yet pay back later."

"That should be easy enough, too. I would just need a sample...or better yet, I can give you a duplication device so you can make it wherever you are."

Ron's devilish side saw great potential for such a machine, but his upbringing put the kibosh on that straightaway. He didn't want to steal and so mentioned the dilemma to Cache.

"No problem," she told him. "I can program it to allow any expenditure you need and just never have a repayment date. That way you can find some method of satisfying your debts at your leisure."

That sounded like a viable option to him.

"Okay, what about food? Will I be able to survive on Earth's food?"

"Yes, but you will have to consume a great quantity of calories to sustain yourself. I would suggest you carry with you some of the nutritional rations as well, for those times when you cannot arrange a decent meal."

"All right...let's see...what else? Oh...I may need some type of vehicle to travel long distances. Do you have anything that might be feasible?"

"We do have designs for some ancient vehicles which may be close enough to Earth's automobiles to get by, but it would take some time to duplicate and test, even for us...perhaps as much as a couple of santaris."

Ron rejected the delay, preferring to gamble that he could come up with something when the time came.

"Oh...one other thing about your weight," Cache remembered. "I have a pair of glasses that will have a variety of functions...one being that it will conceal your Caronian glands when outdoors. Another setting can 'see' through lightweight materials by means of low frequency sound waves, so that you could step only on the locations where support beams were beneath."

"That's great!" he replied, and then remembered the James Bond movies. "What about clothing? Would it penetrate that as well?"

"Well, yes...of course...but Ron...really!"

"No, no, no...I was just wondering about hidden weapons and such...not voyeurism."

"In either case, the resolution would not be extremely clear...just enough to let you see an outline...not a birthmark," she added with a cutting glance.

Ron chuckled and continued.

"You mentioned a variety of functions. What else?"

"It will give you altitude, ambient air pressure, temperature, and location in two forms...where you are on the planet, and where you are in relation to the _Darlile_. Also, the side bands that keep them on your face will transmit radio frequencies in your surroundings."

"No kidding?"

Cache just smiled...she never joked about her proclamations.

"If you look in the direction of someone using a radio, or telephone, and press here, the glasses will locate the frequency of the transmission immediately and allow you to hear what they are listening to, and their reply."

"That's fantastic!"

"I thought you might like it. Now, the hat you selected will function in several ways as well. Beside protecting you from the elements, and giving you some anonymity, it will also be quite heavy...for added ballast. Too, it will be virtually bulletproof against your world's weapons, and can provide a scattering field that will disorient any scans of your person...such as the metal detectors you mentioned."

"No way! I can go through a security booth with my weapons?"

"Yes. Unless you are x-rayed, no one will be alerted to any metal on your person. You can walk right through with every piece of your private arsenal you have."

"Nice!"

"The coat we discussed will be special, as I said. It is constructed of metal thread that has been impregnated with microscopic bits of the same material that makes up your sword, so it will also be nearly impenetrable by small arms fire and knives. It also has an environmental function to warm you in the cold, and cool you in the heat...so that you can stand to wear it in all types of weather.

"Your boots will resemble the Earthly configuration you described, but will be Raulden technology so they will hold up to whatever (she rolled her eyes with exasperation), 'activities', you might engage in."

Ron shrugged his shoulders and said, "Like what?"

Cache just shook her head complacently.

"I can only imagine," she sighed before she continued.

"We have a pack for you that is just as it seems, and will contain a few weeks' worth of rations, three changes of clothing, and an emergency oxygen canister which can be used for about half a billot...to recharge your body if you get too drained or out of breath...if you have to run or fight...anything like that.

"I also have a chrono for you that can keep multiple times, Rauld's, Caron's, and Earth's. It is an interval timer, a countdown timer, a holo-map, and has several of the same functions as the glasses...direction, altitude, temperature, etc.

"This," she said as she pulled out what looked like an ordinary cellular telephone, "is your main communication device. It also is a redundant backup for everything else, including the scanner in your glasses, but has more power so it can see through denser structures for a few peors. If someone is in an adjacent room, it can show you that space, all the persons in there, as well as any items...furniture, and the like. Furthermore, it can intercept their conversations, their computer information, or any 'over-the-air' transmissions. It can even jam them...isolating their signals from any similar outside contact for an area of one hundred peors all around the device.

"One last item is this; a normal set of binoculars with a thousand-times magnification capability and the usual ranging parameters that show distance, angle of incline, elevation to a target...etc."

Ron really did feel like a secret agent then, having such phenomenal tools at his disposal...each one more fantastic than the last...but it worried him a bit as well.

"What if I lose some...or all...of these items? I don't want them out in the world advancing Earth's technology too quickly, or disrupting the balance of power from one faction to the next."

"Do not concern yourself with that. Each of the objects will only work for you...coded to your brainwave pattern...and will self-destruct if tampered with."

"Self-destruct?" Ron investigated further. "Explode?"

"No, no...nothing so dramatic. The circuitry will simply dissolve if exposed to air...break down at the molecular level into granules of the base materials."

"That's impressive!" Ron told her. "What if I lose track of one of the..."

"Each item has a tracer chip inside, and can be located by either the glasses or the com/scanner."

"You've thought of everything!"

"I try to be thorough," she replied with a dazzling grin. "Now let us plan your trip."

Cache sat him down at a computer terminal in the main cabin area of the _Darlile_ , and the wall in front of them transformed into a huge screen.

"The journey will be the same as the previous time, but what do you plan on doing with the _Darlile_ when you get there?"

"I can land without detection?"

"Absolutely...the systems on the ship can disrupt every radar tracking station for the entire hemisphere if you so desire."

"Well, I could land at night in some remote location and then have the _Darlile_ fly off to the far side of the moon. It couldn't be detected there."

"Yes, that is true, but then you will be out of touch with the ship permanently because of the barrier of the natural satellite's composition. It would have to return at a set time.

"I do not like that scenario. You could not reach me, nor I you."

"What do you mean? I'll be able to contact you?"

"Yes...through the Starflex Transporter. The link will be nearly instantaneous. You could call for aid, or information...and I would like you to report in at least weekly...if you do not mind."

Ron stroked her lovely golden cheek softly, seeing the concern for him in her eyes.

"If it will help you sleep at night," he said. "Now, what about hiding the _Darlile_ in a lake, or the ocean?"

Cache brought up topography scans of Earth, having downloaded them from the ship's computer, and they both surveyed the data for quite a while. There were no bodies of water around the area Ron was heading to deep enough to submerge the ship without fear that it could be discovered, or hit by a passing boat.

"It will have to be the Gulf," Ron concluded, seeing the depth of it, "but I'll need some method of getting from the ship to land...a boat, or submersible of some sort.

"Yes, but I never designed anything like that, not even dreaming of such a situation. Also, the _Darlile_ has no way of delivering a craft similar to what you will require. It would have to be launched at sea, or beneath it, and must be able to return to the ship on its own...not as easy as it might seem in such circumstances."

Her thoughts went spinning around the differing problems and her eyes lost focus as she stared off into space, consumed with this newest challenge.

"If we were on Earth, the crews of submarines launch covert troops out of torpedo tubes. Instead of a live torpedo, they have mini subs that can carry one or two soldiers. Do you have anything like that?

"The _Darlile_ has only plasma type weapons, which of course would do no good. The only objects that are discharged like what you speak of are the deep space probes, but...wait!"

Cache quickly nudged him out of his seat and began pulling up the specs on the devices she proposed, rifling through their parameters in a blur.

"The size and shape would be roughly adequate...and the modes of deployment and recovery should be fine...that is it!" she announced triumphantly, spinning around to Ron. "It would be very tight for you, but we should be able to modify one of those to carry you to land and then return to the ship automatically."

"Excellent!" Ron said to his astounding blonde friend, reaching down and giving her a strong squeeze. "Cache, you're amazing!"

He didn't realize it, but she melted in his arms, her breath quick and her heart rate soaring at the closeness they were enjoying. She practically glowed.

### Chapter Five

### Sugar and Spice

The next few days flew by, distracting Ron with the tremendous amount of work and preparations going on in his life. At times he felt he was missing a vital part of his existence by not stopping to enjoy the company of his relatively new friends and adopted family of the Gitoves, but he forced those regrets aside.

He and Cache still spent a large amount of time each day working out details and preparing for odd contingencies that might arise during his visit...all in the effort to keep his "differences" secret from the rest of planet Earth. His freedom to mingle thusly ended up being rather limited.

One night, after a grueling day of erecting one of the enormous woodsheds, he was obliged to suffer through tests that ran on for billots with him jammed into a very cramped environment. He and Cache were fine-tuning the special underwater capsule-probe that would get him from the submerged _Darlile_ to land. It was all obviously necessary, but had taxed him thoroughly...both mind and body...and so he'd stumbled to bed later on feeling exhausted.

However, while he was sound asleep in his private room on the ship, enjoying the ultra-quiet confines of that space, something roused him nonetheless.

The pull of sleep slowed his ability to process what was happening, but he was lucid enough to feel the light blanket covering him slide down his body very slowly. He blinked in the darkness but could see nothing since the room was as dark as a cave a thousand feet below ground, but his nose gave him a clue. He easily picked up the scent of gardenias...shavassy on Caron...and knew it was Josy's usual fragrance.

As the covering left him, a new sensation brought Ron closer to alertness...the feeling of moist, hot kisses on his chest and shoulder. As usual, he'd slept in the nude, so those advances went unhindered by the drape of any cloth.

"What are..." he whispered to the darkness.

"Shhhhhhh," a sweet, delicate voice whispered back to him, barely an inch from his ear, tickling him with its breathiness. "You are dreaming!" That sound was so soft, it felt ethereal.

Ron was instantly aroused by the sensual advances, and reached out for his affectionate attacker, only to have his hands gently, but firmly brushed aside.

"All right then," he thought, momentarily fighting with his mind which was telling him to stop such actions...after all, he was still technically a married man, and this was not right. But as with most men, his desire...his lust...pressed him hard to accept that this was, in fact, just in his mind...and so it was not the same.

"Lights!" he ordered, but they did not come on. " _Darlile_!"

He received no response.

At that point, the feeling of velvety soft skin slid across his waist while the kissing continued, and the tickle of long hair dragging across him forced gooseflesh to sprout. Before very long at all, his breath grew short, his body trembled, and he forgave the fight. His chivalry was lost!

"This 'is' a dream," he told his conscience. "I can allow it!"

The next sensation nearly forced his control from him as something liquid smooth and searing hot slipped down onto his organ, and a conjoined gasp broke the silence of the room. He felt a shudder from his dream lover and the biting pressure of her nails into the skin of his abdomen as her love canal clamped to him with an astonishingly potent, erotic grip. Such pleasure forced a totally instinctive thrust from him that she could not sustain quietly...instantly grunting out in ecstasy as fervent juices flooded her portal and she squirmed for even more tactile inputs.

That husky squeal rocketed Ron's response to mirror hers and so, in merely moments, they peaked their first joining into the bliss only true lovers can know...but it was not their last.

When the quaking and shivering subsided from both of them, Ron's "dream" began to repeat. With the same light-as-a-feather caressing, kissing, and touching, his imaginary lover urged him back to a repeat of that exquisite union of man and woman, although with much more lingering and a slower building of the final event.

More than two billots later, when his angel of pleasure had coaxed a third fantastic explosion of rapture from her own body, as well as from his, never once letting him aid in the control of the situation, Ron felt her slide clear of him and move away.

He tried to say something, but his former exhaustion, mixed with the incredibly heavenly releases of energy she'd cajoled from him, took control of his mind and sent him reeling into nothingness...a smile locked firmly on his face.

"Ron...it is time," was the very next coherent thought he had, as Cache gently eased the hair from his eyes as he slept.

"Time?" he grunted in a raspy, dry voice. He felt more asleep than awake. "What do you mean? Time for wha..." he started to say before those eyes burst open from the comprehension of who was speaking and exactly what she'd said. "Oh, 'that' time!" he cried, suddenly sitting bolt upright like he was spring-loaded. "Are you all right? Are you in pain?"

"Yes, fine," she replied calmly. "No...no pain."

"I thought labor pains were supposed to be very..."

"No pain, darling," she whispered as she stroked the worry from his face with a silky touch of her hand. "We are fine, and will deliver tomorrow afternoon."

Ron's expression was one that bespoke his confusion clearly.

"Cesarean?"

"That term did not translate," Cache informed him, "but the child shall arrive as scheduled, in the normal, vaginal delivery method. That is how I want our baby to be born...just like she would be here on Caron...her home. The typical time period for such events is four billots from the start of the cycle, so the birthing contractions should begin in the morning...that is, six billots past Metash's apogee."

Ron was totally amazed that the Rauldens had developed to a point where such exacting schedules were even attempted, much less adhered to.

"Okay then," he replied automatically, still quite stunned but determined to meet whatever request she wished in order to keep her calm and comfortable. "You want to go now? To be at home for a little while first?"

"Yes...if that is acceptable with you?"

"Of course...I understand completely...sure! Do we have time to say goodbye to everyone first."

"Yes...if you will drag yourself out of that bed!" she mock-scolded him.

"Huh?"

"It is midmorning, Ron! I was getting worried! You never sleep that long! You must have overdone it yesterday...must have been really exhausted!"

Ron quickly thought about her statement for a moment, recalling the dream with exceptional clarity.

"Yeah...I...uh...guess I was," he replied with a huge, sly grin.

"What is that look all about?"

Ron shook his head and shrugged his broad shoulders innocently.

"Well, come on then...get some clothes on. I have a good meal ready for you."

"Okay," he responded before realizing that he was sitting there in front of her completely naked. "Oh! Dressed! Yeah!" he stammered, hauling his blanket over himself quickly.

She just giggled at his modesty. "You do not think I find that shocking anymore, do you?" she asked before she turned and waddled from the room...then she stopped at the doorway. "I love that scent!" she said offhandedly, half turning back around. "Is it shavassy...the passion flower?"

Ron snapped his head up again...feeling like a teenager who'd been caught necking by the police. He took in a breath to explain, but she was gone.

The pair of them spent the morning making the rounds to say goodbye to all the hundreds of workers, (ex-soldiers) who'd followed Ron through the incomprehensible hell of those tremendous battles during the rebellion. They all still treated him like royalty, even though he talked and joked with them more like he was their kin.

When they finally made it to the grand home, which was now completely dried in, the Gitoves had a huge feast prepared. It was both a celebration of the coming child, and a farewell meal to him and Cache.

Two days before, during one of the test flights Ron was not involved with, Cache even picked up their friends from the Yetsole Valley and brought them over to be with the group. So now, Ron looked down the long, makeshift table at Heath Sarvand, who sat beside Jarle Raidene and his wife, Talena, a gorgeous, tall woman with dark features and black hair to her waist. Janson (Jarle's brother) and his newlywed wife, Sharlese were there too...as well as Lilea Sevraign (Sharlese's sister) and her husband, Crogan. Lilea even confessed that she and Crogan were expecting their first child, so it was a double celebration. Ron was so happy for them that he couldn't stop grinning. Apparently, Cache had informed nearly everyone but him about her schedule.

That didn't matter much at all though, because Ron was just thrilled to see them once more before leaving on his new mission...one that he had no idea of how it would play out. They laughed and swapped jokes and stories of the sillier happenings in their crossed paths, and a grand time was enjoyed by each and every one of them.

As the meal wound down several billots later, and everyone prepared to go, Josy managed to pull Ron out of the group for a spell. She escorted him onto the second story front porch, outside her bedroom, where they used to spend many billots together just watching the boat traffic go by. Ron was recuperating during that time and didn't get around much, so they would talk the day away, or merely sit and enjoy one another's company in the peaceful setting.

Cache saw them drift off and intentionally gave them their space, accepting that this would be exceedingly difficult for Josylinia, and empathizing with her completely. Secretly of course, she was elated however to finally be getting him away from that vivacious woman...back to a more intimate setting of just the two of them.

"Ron," Josy began when they were alone. "I understand your reasons for what you're going to do...going back to your world, I mean...but I want you to know something before you go...to hear it from me, so there won't be any doubt in your mind."

She stepped up to him then and rested her hands on his chest. Her long, flowing mane of ebony hair was pulled up over her right ear, and swept around and down her left shoulder, leaving the nape of her neck dramatically exposed. Ron drank in the visual offering of that spot he loved to nuzzle and nibble; and he unconsciously licked his lips. Her ear was sensuously adorned with a large shavassy flower, which she knew was Ron's favorite. It was woven into that sable coif at just the perfect point to invite his caress. Her attire was its usual scandalous brevity, and was the color of blue that set her eyes off with exquisite perfection. Merely gazing at that breathtaking beauty made Ron crave more of the delights he'd enjoyed on the previous night. Ron clasped her superbly tanned, delicate shoulders lightly as she met his piercing gaze, looking nearly straight up at him.

"I wish you luck in your search for her...for answers to the questions I feel churning inside you...but I also want to make another matter crystal clear.

"I love you Ron Allison...with all my heart and soul! I would gladly bear your children if you desire them, and make you a home to be proud of. I would make my life with you, Baushe`...and we would be happy...I know that we would."

Ron looked into her glistening, two toned eyes and couldn't imagine a more tempting offer. If he traveled the stars for a hundred years, and lived on a thousand worlds, he doubted he could find another as marvelous as she.

"I believe you, Josy...and a more suitable wife and mother couldn't be found, of that I am absolutely certain. Your sweet disposition, your love and compassion, and your playful nature are just what are needed to fill those roles. Also, I want you to know something as well. I love you too...very much. While I was out in the field, during the campaign against the Kreete, you filled my thoughts sometimes to an extent that I could actually smell your scent. At those times I had to concentrate extremely hard to think of anything else...but my life is in such chaos now that I almost dread the future. Even without this newest twist, I don't know if I will, or even can have a normal life...ever...such as what you have so graciously offered.

"Could I turn my back on the humanitarian mission Cache and I have set out to accomplish? Or do I continue on...putting my loved ones on hold for indefinite periods of time...not being a part of my children's lives. What kind of father would they know...a myth...a legend? What good would that do?

"You know me well, Josy. I am neither of those, and I would want them to grow up and respect me from their own experiences of being with me...not through someone else's.

"And my wife! Would she, or could she, ever be happy, knowing that I'm in nearly constant peril? Wondering if she and our little ones had seen me for the last time, each and every time I said goodbye? How many reports of my untimely death would they have to endure before it would wound them so deeply that they could no longer care?

"I truly wonder if even loving me would be too cruel a sentence to inflict upon anyone."

Josy watched the conflict in his expressions as he spoke, and tears quickly dripped from her incredible eyes.

"Cruel? Oh, my love, that's the last word I would ever use to describe loving you. If you leave here today and never return, I would live out my days knowing I was the luckiest woman in the galaxy...to have loved so completely, and to have been loved by the most glorious man ever created. Who would your children know and respect? It would be you, Ron Allison...through my eyes, and the eyes of those who were closest to you. They would know your honesty, your unbreakable honor, your wisdom, and your passion to ensure the safety of those less able to defend themselves.

"Do you think all the great warriors and explorers before you weren't worried about those they had to leave behind? It's the way of the universe...the way of life. Some of us lead, strive, and risk all we have to better ourselves and others...and in your case, better the lives of billions of people who have lost all hope.

"You say that you are no myth or legend, and I heartily agree. You are more than those. You are the man such stories hope to revere...but usually fall short. You may rest assured that I, and all those who know you, will make sure they get it right!

"The memories are fresh now, and pen is hitting paper, in song, in poem, and in novel...and we will make it as is it should be...and exaggeration will definitely not be needed!"

That brought a smile back to Ron's troubled face.

"You always know exactly what to say, Josy," he told her softly, before pulling her to him in a passionate embrace. They stayed intertwined for a long while, kissing and holding one another tightly, until finally Ron separated himself from her luscious figure. Josy's eyes smoldered with the heat of her needs, and Ron was feeling the surge as well.

"We could disappear for a billot," she whispered in a breathy tone, her hands still holding onto him firmly.

Ron smiled again. "I would have thought last night would have been enough!"

Josy's face went from flushed with desire to confused, straightaway.

"What?"

At that instant, Ron realized she hadn't paid him a visit in the dark.

"You didn't seduce me last night?"

"I was here, on a mat on the main floor with my family, and you were in the black ship...right?"

"Yeah...I...suppose. Man, that was one hell of a vivid dream...I guess," he sighed as he rubbed his chin hard.

"I'm willing to make your every dream a reality, Baushe`," she said haughtily, snuggling up to him again.

Ron felt the glorious attributes of his lover pressing against him, and his yearning for her made him course with tremors.

"I can think of nothing I'd like better, Josy...truly...but I have to wait until this business is all settled. It just wouldn't be right."

Josy pouted for a moment, but then let him off the hook.

"Well then, I would like to put in my request that you hurry along and take care of it. And I will see you as soon as you get back!"

Ron looked at her with worry in his eyes.

"I'll let you know as soon as possible!"

One last kiss and the two lovers rejoined the celebration's conclusion as everyone walked with Ron and Cache out to the _Darlile_. It was half a hoz away from the massive mansion, sitting in a rolling, grassy meadow with pravort grazing all about.

The Lampsh contingent eagerly loaded up the cabin area of the shadow-vessel for the return trip. Once inside, they were practically giddy about the lethal spaceship. Their eyes were wide with wonder and awe, and they talked incessantly.

While they got settled and strapped in, Ron moved to the entry. His heart was extremely heavy as he waved to the Gitove family from inside the threshold, and then his unblinking stare locked onto that brunette beauty one last time, his chest feeling almost too heavy to breathe.

She stood beside her gargantuan father and brother, with her mother holding her hand for support. She was trembling so fast she felt like she'd begin falling to pieces if this lasted too much longer, but finally, he ended her painful anxiousness. Ron blew a kiss to her a scant lita before the door slid into place, and then he was gone.

### Chapter Six

### Sheyah

With a single flip of a switch, the incredible Raulden technology cut the grip that Caron had on the _Darlile_ instantly...disrupting the gravity waves of the planet like jamming a radio signal. The black ship rose effortlessly from the open, grassy field where it rested, and floated up and up to keep from frightening the animals, as well as the unsuspecting workers. And when it accelerated away, pinning those inside to their seats in a mad rush of excitement and exhilaration, one person on the ground felt her heart freeze solid for a long few moments. After a while though, it began again, as did her anticipation...hoping that one day, Ron Allison...a man above men...would return to her.

The female passengers inside the _Darlile_ screamed with surprise and the men's eyes grew as wide as plates...roaring with laughter once they could inhale again. On an inside wall, a monitor lit up and projected a view of the outside scenes below them, so they all could see the speed and the countryside.

The month-long trip on horseback only took about twenty borts before they were sweeping around to land, and it was much too fast for most of them.

After a quick new round of hugs, Ron and Cache set off once more, floating into the heavens in the ebony warship, heading for the high altitude base; Safe Haven.

"I suppose we have to park the _Darlile_ up there again and use the Starflex Portal to return to Rauld?" Ron inquired, assuming he would come back after the baby's birth and retrieve it.

"You are half correct," she replied with a whimsical grin and a definite twinkle in her eyes.

As they approached the snow-capped environs of the highest peaks, Cache quickly punched in a more specific set of coordinates.

"Approach this point from the north, at under Mach speed."

Ron complied with her directives and was soon clipping briskly along the ridgeline, making ready to pass the hidden Raulden power-plant at five thousand feet above the station. Just as he got within a quarter hoz though, the scene directly before him instantly changed. It was as if an enormous, frameless window had been suddenly thrown open, and they shot through it in a flash. He checked the rear image to see the window blink out of existence, shutting off the other world, and then a fantastic display of explosions erupted right in front of him.

For a split second Ron lurched to the fighting mode, and nearly slammed the throttles forward, thinking he was under attack. In fact, if Cache had not stayed his hand, they would have been vertical in that instant.

Instead, Ron witnessed a brilliant, colorful, extravagant display such as he'd never imagined. It looked like he was flying through an aerial minefield, as thousands of bursts of color and percussion blasts were exploding all around them. And at the conclusion of it was an extraordinarily lifelike rendition of the faces of both Cache and him hanging in the air.

He swept the _Darlile_ smoothly around to find his landing field, now wearing a broad grin spread across his face.

When they made their approach, a crowd of Rauldens heralded them wildly...at least sixty thousand...and they were all waving scarves at their returning heroes.

Ron allowed himself to be caught up with watching the spectacular display as he brought the ship in, but then turned to his partner with some comments.

"That was really something else! I was totally amazed and surprised! Did you arrange all this?"

"No...not hardly," Cache returned with a beautiful smile. "I merely informed the Council we would be returning this dactrai. It was Hoaldniz and Fortell who set the whole thing up. I just had to make sure we got here at the appropriate time."

"And what about the portal? I thought it was only designed for small apertures. How did you manage that?"

"Now that 'was' my doing!" she admitted with glowing pride. "Over the last two weeks, I came up with a way to magnify the energy grid that powers it up and project the focal point out into the open air!"

"My God, you are one impressive little woman!"

"Well thank you. I do try!"

They then turned their attention back to navigating the ship, and landed off to the south of the large gathering on the surface...settling the magnificent ship down delicately in a safe area.

As the two Raulden ambassadors exited the _Darlile_ , they were met by the Planetary Council members, each bursting with excitement and enthusiasm for the pair who had accomplished the impossible...on their very first attempt.

The multitude celebrated with Ron and Cache all the way back to Gammone and for the remainder of the dactrai...until the little blonde mother-to-be was drifting off on Ron's shoulder while they visited.

"She's had a very busy time of it in these last few torjournes," Ron explained to the onlookers. "I'll take her to her room. Tomorrow will be a long, difficult dactrai for her...one that will no doubt change her life forever, so she needs her rest."

Everyone understood and bid them farewell before Ron scooped her up and carried her away to her quarters. She would have normally preferred to make it on her own, but his offer was simply too wonderful to turn down, so she merely cuddled herself into his powerful embrace and reveled in it.

Ron tucked Cache into bed and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek before making his way to the door...but before he could exit...

"Ron," Cache called out lightly.

"Yeah?"

"Where are you going?"

"Off to my room. It's not far away. Why?"

"Would you mind...sleeping with me? I have never experienced anything like this...and I am feeling a bit...unsettled."

Ron could tell instantly that Cache was frightened of the unknown adventure she was heading into, so he smiled down at her worried visage and delayed his exit.

"Of course, Cache. I just need to freshen up a bit first, alright?"

She nodded with a thankful smile and admitted the need to do the same, so she lumbered out of bed and into the sanitizer, and Ron hurried off to his.

Half a billot later, they lay down in her bed together...a scene Cache had dreamed of for more than a complete Caronian cycle, and she sighed peacefully. Ron decided to forgo his usual nightly attire...which was nothing at all...and nestled up against Cache's diminutive figure as tightly as he could. He wore only a form-fitting pair of exercise shorts, much like bicycle pants, so as to stay comfortable against her overheated body.

She reached over to his hand, which was resting on her thigh, and moved it to her huge belly. They both grinned widely as they felt the stirrings of life that grew within her for the next few borts...until the child settled down to rest...at which point they did the same.

Ron inhaled the natural, delightful scent that was purely Cache, and kissed her ear softly.

"Sweet dreams, Cache."

She never felt his kiss though, as she was already accomplishing that very act...her breath deep and regular...and her mind totally at peace.

The next morning began suddenly...with a grunt of surprise.

"Oh!" Cache let out...rousing her Adonis bed warmer instantly.

"Cache!" Ron said...his mind immediately alert and worried. "Should I call for Fortell?"

"No. Not just yet. It will be a while before he is needed. Here," she told Ron, sitting up and handing him a small flat disk, about the size of a quarter. "Place this just above the seventh vertebrae of my back...right here."

"What is it?" he asked while he did as instructed.

"It is a neural inhibitor. It will limit the amount of input moving up my spine, and squelch the painful sensations like a filter."

"It's a surge protector!" Ron said, thoroughly impressed by the show of technology. "But you'll be able to feel everything else...the contractions?"

"Yes. That is necessary during the delivery...and besides, I still need to walk, you know."

Ron just blinked at her as she stood up and went to the sanitizer again...her bladder ready to explode. He shook his head at the cavalier attitude she exhibited before he ordered up a large breakfast at her food dispenser. She would not eat before the delivery, but he surely could, and stuffed down the entire breakfast by the time she emerged. She reentered dressed in a very light, knee-length gown...something he was surprised to see her wear since she usually preferred the tight-fitting attire of a very active person.

The short-sleeved dress was a soft shade of violet, having a deeply cut collar that swept down to her ripened breasts and displayed a tantalizing view of cleavage. A matching pair of simple sandals adorned her feet and allowed her little toes to be cooled by the air. Her long blonde hair was braided into a perfect plait with six intertwining segments of her golden mane, and it draped down to the center of her back, straight as an arrow and shimmering in the light. She looked very comfortable...and extremely beautiful.

She ordered up a drink for herself as Ron took his turn in the shower, and then they went off to the hospital on foot to meet with Fortell, stopping every few borts when a contraction would force her to halt until it passed. Cache almost relished those powerful crunches due to the fact that when one would surge through her, Ron would pull her to him and hold her tightly until it diminished. She loved the way he worried and cared for her, and since the neural dampener made sure the spasms weren't really painful, she soon found herself wishing for more of them.

Fortell's laboratory was completely ready for her when she arrived, and he guided her into a chair as soon as she walked in...a bit overanxious in Ron's opinion. However, he vividly recalled the doctor's enthusiasm during his own examination and realized the physician was merely being himself.

Every imaginable reading was being taken from Cache, as well as the child, and all were displayed on the wall for everyone to see.

"Everything looks wonderful, Cache," Fortell told her after scanning the information. "You should be holding her in just under a billot."

Ron never left Cache's side, holding her hand and talking calmly to her in an effort to ease her anxiety...and when the time finally arrived, the floor directly around and beneath her began to retract, giving way to a tub of pink-tinted fluid.

"A small Flarinca Tank!" Ron recognized...referring to the advanced medicinal fluid chamber he'd been exposed to when he first arrived at Gammone. That liquid was amazing. It was so oxygenated that he could actually breathe it, and it vastly enhanced the healing process of humanoid tissue.

Next, the pedestal of her chair slowly sank down into the liquid until it engulfed Cache from the waist down. At that point, the section of the seat providing support near the birthing canal retracted even more, in order to clear the way completely.

Ron was speechless as this all took place, surprised at the calmness and overall serenity of the event. There was no shouting, no hurry, and not even a hint of danger.

The delivery actually occurred beneath the surface of that tiny, specially designed Flarinca Tank which was lined with a soft, rubbery material...very yielding and pliable. And when the little female child was clear of her mother, she took her first few breaths in that oxygen rich fluid. Fortell held the baby under the surface for a short while, as the cleansing attributes of the material removed all the usual debris from her nose, mouth, and body. The doctor then reached out to severe the umbilical cord, but Ron found his voice again first.

"Fortell, on my world, it is a custom that the father cut his child's tether...and since I'm filling in for Jorin, I was wondering if I might have the honor...in his stead?"

Fortell new everything about the child's heritage, Cache having explained it all to him previously, but she had apparently left out the part about Ron's misconception concerning Jorin, so he was momentarily confused. He looked to her quickly, and at a nod of her flaxen head, he bid Ron to his position.

A few litas later, the two who had been joined for a complete Raulden planetary cycle were separated for the first time. Cache watched with deep-seeded pride as the man she loved took part in this monumental moment of their lives, and she smiled, even as sweat dribbled down her temples from the strain of the birthing contractions. She felt no pain, only the discomfort of the continuing muscle cramps that would eventually return her uterus to its former size...which was plenty enough to deal with in her opinion. She then sighed heavily and sat back as Fortell swiftly examined the child and then removed her from the tank.

A firm squeeze, joined with the auto-response coughing of the infant, expelled the fluid from her lungs and nose, and a few litas of sputtering gave way to deep breaths of the first air the little person was to experience. Afterward she quickly settled down into the rapid inhalations of a thriving newborn.

Fortell gently dried her off and then transferred her to his assistant who diapered her in two deft moves before swaddling her tightly in a thick blanket made for just that purpose, talking softly to her the whole time.

Ron saw the child's eyes open wide, calmly taking in her surroundings, and he marveled at her because she cried not once during the entire procedure.

The assistant, Beathni, then handed the little girl to Ron, and he looked down at her precious little face with as much wonder as she looked back at him.

A brand new person lay in his large hands...seeing the world around her for the first time, but she didn't look about. She met Ron's gaze unafraid, and unblinking...as if memorizing his face, the same thing he was doing to her. Ron had heard that Earth infants' eyes did not truly function for weeks after birth, until they'd developed further and adjusted to the new environment outside the womb. But he quickly found out Raulden children were born with fully developed and functioning optical organs.

Ron didn't completely forget his role in the procedure luckily, and moved slowly to Cache's side before gently handing her off to her mother.

Now it was Cache's turn to lock eyes with that little lady. Mother and child gazed at one another for several borts before Cache calmly pulled her stretchy dress down to expose her milk-laden breast...and then positioned the baby to have its first meal. The newborn needed no persuading either, latching on firmly and immediately putting that engorged storehouse of nourishment to good use. All the while though, she stared up at Cache's scrutinizing face.

Ron watched with enraptured pride at the sight of one of nature's most glorious events. New life, and all the frailties of that occurrence, was taking place right there...right beside him. For some unknown reason, he felt a connection with the moment that swept through him like a strong mountain breeze, and he smiled and hugged Cache, careful not to disturb the feeding child.

"What's her name going to be?" Ron asked softly. "Have you decided?"

Cache looked at her lovingly and then at Ron.

"What do you think of...Sheyah?"

"Sheyah...Sheyah. It's beautiful. I love it!"

"Then she will be known as Sheyah!"

The next few billots flew by while Ron and Cache got acquainted with the new addition in their lives and some of the adjustments she brought with her. It wasn't long before Sheyah surprised them with one of the most dreaded parts of parenting, but Ron didn't hesitate to take care of it. Beathni talked him through it and he found the Rauldens had improved the common procedure quite nicely with a specialized station.

That little girl tracked everything going on around her too. She was amazingly calm and quiet, and those new orbs were as dazzling as her mother's, although not violet. Sheyah's eyes were a sparkling shade of light gray with splinters of pure, bright silver radiating from their centers and reflecting the light in an almost hypnotic fashion. Ron knew immediately that when that little one was of age, she would be completely breathtaking...and his fatherly intuition bristled at the thought of the future suitors she was bound to attract.

Ron forcibly shook off that brief taste of what her future held in store though and concentrated on the moment...and that spectacular, miniature person. Her hair was wispy-fine and as black as his own...as Jorin's had been. She was approximately the size of a seven pound Earth baby, and around twenty inches tall...and she knew how to eat! She drained Cache's left side in short order, while Ron and Cache took turns stroking her head and patting her softly, and then she started on the right.

"She has your appetite!" Cache chuckled at him.

Cache pulled her gaze away from her daughter after a while and just watched Ron. Here was the most feared...and fearsome...warrior on the face of the brutal planet of Caron, where men were hard, unforgiving, and even cruel. Yet he knelt on the floor beside her totally at peace, and in transfixed wonder at this little baby at her bosom. Her loving smile burst forth until Ron couldn't miss it, and he caught her gaze.

"My God, you're beautiful!" he told her suddenly, the words seemingly slipping out of his mouth with no thought to them as he was swept up in the memories of their time together.

Cache reached over and lightly caressed his face, her pent up need to confess all to him poised on her tongue. She took a breath to speak, but Ron saw an expression of seriousness drift across her brow and beat her to it.

"I'm so glad I could be here with you, Cache," Ron told her, "so you aren't alone...but I know it must be very difficult without Jorin. He would've been so proud of her. She's absolutely perfect in every way...just like her mother!"

"Why thank you...and I think so as well...the part about her, I mean...but..."

Now it was Ron's turn to have a moment of weightiness as his mind recalled the dream in the cemetery of his wife and child.

"I hope my wife wasn't alone when her time came."

That froze Cache's confession in her throat, and her focus flopped from her own hopes for their future to the present needs of the man she worshiped.

"I am sure she was not," Cache said confidently. "She was surrounded by family and friends...I have no doubt about that! You said it yourself...she was on her way to your parents' house...right?"

Ron's stern, disheartened gaze brightened again at that and he nodded.

"That proves she is still close with them, that she has their support and their love, and that your son is happy and well!"

Ron stared at her empathetic face, full of the joy of the moment, and forced every dire thought from his mind. This was not the time to spend worrying about his problems.

"Of course, you're right. I apologize! I shouldn't be thinking about her...now...not about what might've happened. How do 'you' feel? Are you in terrible pain?"

"No, no...the buffer is working well. I am just tired."

Ron stroked her hair and patted Sheyah's back while she continued feeding.

"What happens now?"

Fortell glided in from his hovering position a few steps away.

"Cache will have to remain in the Flarinca solution for a few billots. We will monitor her closely, and she should be well healed by early tomorrow, although some cramping will likely still occur for another dactrai or two.

"As for the child, we have a series of tests to perform...to make certain she is healthy as well."

They sat there for a while longer, just cuddling and watching Sheyah until she was full, and by then Cache's eyes were growing heavy. Even with the Raulden advancements protecting the two of them during the stressful event, the mother still bore all the burden of the physical action.

"Ron, would you take her and stay with her during the tests. I am afraid I really need to sleep for a while."

"Of course! I'd be happy to."

Cache handed Sheyah off to him with a kiss on her little head, and then she sat back looking totally spent.

Fortell made to take the baby from Ron's arms, but her tiny hands flew out toward Ron instantly, quickly coming to life with a forceful grunting, growl, and then she began to cry. Ron pulled her to his chest hurriedly, looking back at Cache with real concern on his face. He was surprised to see her smiling at him...and even more so to see the little girl's expression of wonder as she reached up and grabbed at his nose.

"She knows who her father is!" Cache thought assuredly.

"Perhaps you could do your scans while I held her?" Ron queried.

Fortell conceded reluctantly, and they moved away to another room, leaving Cache alone to sleep.

Ron spent the rest of the day with Sheyah, in the usual duties of coddling the child while she slept, playing with her when she was awake, and shuttling her to her mother for a meal every few billots. Cleaning her on Rauld was the best thing he'd ever seen. The nether wrappings the Rauldens used on infants absorbed everything...like some kind of miracle material. All Ron had to do was remove it at the "Infant Center" located in every room he occupied (similar to a baby changing station on Earth), and sit her in a shallow basin which was precisely warmed to her body temperature. The device was a miniature sanitizer that instantly rinsed her bottom with a solution to clean and sterilize her, and then a gentle, warm flow of air dried her...all in less than a bort.

"I could make a fortune back home with this little gizmo!" Ron thought after his first use of the device.

Each of her tests reported her to be normal and healthy, so she was immediately introduced to the Raulden populace via vid-screen, at which time they all sent her their good wishes and congratulations to Cache and Ron for the newest addition to their population.

By nightfall, after seven straight billots immersed in the Flarinca fluid, Cache was dressed and on her feet once more, her body having almost completely healed from the trials of the birthing process, but still somewhat sore due to the infrequent spasms that always plagues a new mother. She took turns with Ron entertaining Sheyah, and that night, after her last feeding, she asked Ron for another favor.

"I know that you have a driving need to get going to your homeworld, Ron, but could you possibly find it in your heart to spend a few nights with us?"

Ron was visibly surprised, but not about the favor, more about the notion she would think it a big imposition.

"Of course, Cache. I'll stay with you as long as you like! It's no bother."

Cache's new quarters were equipped with two beds; one of them being expansive enough for Ron's larger frame, with a small, ornate, extremely elegant cradle located between them...a gift from Gerdanz. He had designed it himself for his own children, more than three hundred cycles ago, so it held exceptionally strong ties he wished to share.

The three of them fell asleep immediately, all very tired from the happy strain of their first day together. However, Ron was sleeping soundly a few billots later when he felt a rustling of his bed-covers and so his eyes popped open wide, his senses fully back on line. It hadn't been so long since his last period of battle that he felt completely at ease anywhere, so he absorbed his surroundings in an instant, like a startled beast. If needed, he was ready to explode into action at the first sign of threat to him or the child and her mother. Before his heart rate could fully accelerate though, he understood what was occurring and did not attack the intruder.

Her scent gave her away immediately, followed by the press of a petite, feminine form sliding into bed with him. He stirred himself slightly at the change in sleeping arrangements with more than a little surprise on his mind.

"Is this alright, Ron? I was cold and could not sleep. Without the baby inside me, I feel very different. Do you mind?"

Ron simply kissed the top of her head and pulled her to him firmly. How could he possibly deny her? A few litas of positioning resulted in a deep, regular cadence of breathing from that gorgeous woman, and Ron was out right behind her.

The next morning Ron awakened slowly, well rested and very comfortable, only to find he now shared his bed with two beautiful women...one half his size, and the other about a tenth of hers. He smiled at them both, they still soundly slumbering. Cache had Sheyah completely corralled within the space of her body's arc and Ron's, guarding any possible escape.

At that time, Ron Allison felt very much at peace. This was the way he'd always envisioned his adult life...as a husband and a father...and he hoped with all his soul that it would come true one day.

### Chapter Seven

### Time to Go

Over the next twenty days...two torjournes, in Raulden timekeeping...Ron grew more and more attached to the tiny tot, and to her mother. The trio spent the first half of that timespan just getting used to each other...playing and adjusting to there being an addition to the one-time couple.

The very first morning the newborn was in their lives, Cache pulled Ron aside while Sheyah was sleeping and stuttered through the vocalization of another heartfelt request.

"Ron, would you...if it is not too much...I have a question that..."

Ron calmly reached out and held her shoulders lightly, seeing the concern and trepidation in her expression. "Cache, you know me far too well to be afraid to speak candidly with me. Please do so now."

She smiled her sweetest smile of appreciation, but didn't comply right away.

"Well, it is just that what I want from you may seem a bit...forward, or outlandish...considering our relationship, and the one you have with Josylinia."

That drew a puzzled look from Ron, as he couldn't fathom what one could have in common with the other.

"Well, why don't you simply let it out, and we'll discuss it?"

"Okay," she said before she took in a big gulp of air, "Ron...would you help me raise Sheyah? Would you be her father?"

That brought out a very obvious response from the mighty warrior...one of absolute astonishment. His eyes didn't blink for at least a full bort, and his mouth was partly opened while his mind was deluged with every imaginable question, from the simple, "why", to the very complicated, "where will her education take place?"

Cache saw the tizzy in his lack of response and could only imagine he was thinking of how to get out of it.

"Forgive me, Ron. I..."

"I'd be tremendously flattered, Cache!" Ron said, cutting off her statement. "It would be a privilege! But I...it' just...well, what about Jorin, his family, his claim to you...and to his child?"

"I will explain to her about Jorin one day, when she can understand...and I plan on looking up his family when we get back to Caron, to thank them for their son and his incredible sacrifice."

"Get back to Caron?" Ron asked. "You mean you won't be living here...on Rauld?"

"Why, no. I will live on Caron. That is where she was conceived, that is where her physical structure will be most at home, and that is where she can be an ordinary little girl. She can have playmates, and be able to run and wrestle, and fall, and do all the things I never could. Caron is where she will have a normal life!"

Ron's first thoughts were; "A normal life? With Cache Kuar, a woman genetically engineered to be brilliant as well as physically superior, as her mother...and me, the coalition of a common Earth man and a savage, heavy-worlder warrior, as a father? Not likely!" But what he actually said was; "Where will you...we...live? Are you giving up on the mission we set out on...to help the worlds escape the Kreete?"

"Of course not! I have already discussed it with the Raulden Council and they have established a plan to make an on-sight technology center at the home I reside in. It will contain a Starflex Portal so we can pass back and forth to coordinate missions as well as information, like teaching Sheyah our vast knowledge. It could also provide emergency care and other such things...all without the Caronians being aware of it."

Ron was duly impressed with her planning and foresight, but the arrangement was fraught with many complicated points to consider. In the end however, he let her off the hook for the time being.

"Well then, I guess you'll be leaving all the 'fun' up to me from here on out."

"If by 'fun' you mean the future missions, I do not think so!" Cache countered, her fiery spunk swiftly returning. "I started this whole matter, and I will be there to see it through!"

Now it was Ron's turn to be skeptical.

"And just how do you suppose you can do that? You can't bring a child along on such operations so obviously laden with peril!"

"I had a long talk with Josy, Karne, and Mishea...and they were more than excited to watch Sheyah anytime we are away. They will be her surrogate family...since we are all so linked together."

That was another blow to Ron's reality...one that felt more like a bomb! This little girl raised much of her life by a family whose patriarch is a Kreete Reaper Class warrior...who was once an elite member of the army of their mortal enemy? "Yeah...that's normal!" he thought.

"So you'll be living close to the Gitove farm?"

"Yes. They are constructing a separate little cottage for us."

She saw surprise on Ron's face again and assumed what he was thinking. "I will be far enough away to give you and Josy your privacy," she said sarcastically.

That declaration was a bit of a shock too, since he hadn't really even considered where he would live permanently. He always assumed Josy would join him, wherever it might be...but now he saw his future was being mapped out for him and found it more than a little disconcerting. His long explanation to Josy...the day they first made love...was recalled vividly to his thoughts, and he still felt that way now. Could he ever truly settle down and try to have a family...no matter how much he wanted it? He knew he was in love with Josy, but also, each time he set out on a new mission, he would be at the mercy of whatever new and unfolding scenario might present. And as this recently past one was a perfect example of what could happen, he just didn't know.

Ron decided quickly though. He wouldn't find the answers to those types of questions here and now, so instead, he altered his attitude to one of more optimism.

"Well, since it looks like you've done a great deal of preparation, of which I see no substantial fault in, I accept!"

Cache's eyes leaped with joy, and then so did she, right into his arms. She hugged him hard and thanked him. Their daughter would have her father in her life...no matter what might occur in the future between her parents!

The last ten days of Ron's visit to Rauld consisted of many more hours of research and brainstorming of possible problems that might arise on Earth, and their subsequent solutions. Weapons and protection were the main things he focused on since Cache was quite sure trouble was a ubiquitous foe that hunted him, constantly on his heel.

Cache ran multiple simulations and scenarios concerning cutting blades, as well as firearms...using the information the central computer contained on Ron's molecular makeup before the transformation. Ron's input about the guns, knives, and other weapons of his world were fed into the mix, and they perused the options again and again.

The expansive Arsenal provided similar type devices as were common on Earth, so the two of them actually had working armaments to experiment with, which was a real boon. Ron quickly noted the inadequacies such arms presented and almost found it comical to see how inferior those things were. It didn't take much longer before he concluded that if he'd been forced to combat the alien creatures and beings he was now accustomed to facing in battle with Earth guns, the results definitely would've been grave for him.

Cache arranged for two silhouette targets; one constructed from materials which would closely model his original, unaltered body, and one of his current composition. They then spent a few billots taking turns striking and shooting them both with various weapons.

Ron found the normal makeup of an earthling could be completely cleaved in two with his black sword...easily. On the reverse, several guns of differing caliber were shot at his "new" manikin only to have the pellets stopped nearly immediately, penetrating barely half an inch into its surface.

"I won't be bulletproof, but damn near!" Ron thought to himself.

"You will have to be careful though, about the areas on your body where a large artery is close to the surface, like your neck, and you will be vulnerable at your eyes as well. Your bones on the other hand will be virtually unbreakable unless struck by a very fast moving and stout object, or a vehicle made of some high-strength metal."

In other preparations, there was also the matter of fitting one of the space probes with a suitable compartment for his underwater survival from the _Darlile_ to the beach. Once a prototype was completed, Ron learned very quickly that the space would be exceedingly tight. He could only squeeze into it by having his arms straight over his head...and lying prone like that for the entire billot they estimated it would take for the trip was going to be more than a little uncomfortable. He would however have plenty of air, would have some limited ability to control the landing sight, and would have good visual scanning capability around the probe. The outside view could be perfectly reproduced inside the capsule too, in order to help ensure a covert emergence when the landing was made. All-in-all, it looked pretty good.

Finally, when she could no longer find problems that needed solving, and Shayeh was well established in her routine, the time Cache was dreading came. She stood outside the _Darlile_ with her heart pounding and her mind in a flurry of concern.

What would this new undertaking truly involve? Was Ron in danger? Should she blurt out the entire story about Sheyah before he left to return to his first, truest love? In the end though, she found herself biting her tongue and smiling her most stunning smile while holding their child for her last moments with Ron.

He took a deep breath, drinking in the vision of harmony before him and enjoying the feeling of contentment. But then he saw the situation growing tense after he kissed Sheyah goodbye and told her he would see her soon...noting Cache's eyes growing heavy with moisture. Ron wanted to assure her he would be fine, and see her "in no time", but he truthfully had no idea how long he would be gone. In order to break the spell, he merely pulled her to him in a strong bear-hug and kissed her neck and cheek.

"Take care of yourself and little Sheyah, and I'll contact you when I land," he told her when they parted, and then he turned and vanished behind the closing door of the mighty warship.

Ron was already wearing his flight suit, and so went immediately to the cockpit to begin cycling through the start-up procedures. Five borts later, with everyone standing back a safe distance, he urged the _Darlile_ into a hover until it was high above any trees, and then the black vessel of immensely lethal capabilities streaked away in a nearly vertical takeoff.

For one last bit of pizzazz, when he felt he was clear enough, Ron launched a dozen marker flares that burst from the aft point of the ship in a dazzling, sparkling display. That drew a huge laugh from Sheyah, and a subsequent, light-hearted smile from her mother. A moment later, Ron kicked those powerful engines into full throttle and literally winked out of sight, so quickly was he accelerating, leaving behind one last tell-tail indication of his departure...the rolling, thundering, sonic boom that washed over those on the ground in a rumbling wave of vibration.

Cache jumped at the concussion, never having felt one before, but Sheyah did the exact opposite of what probably every other child would do at that shuddering blast of air...she clapped and squealed...she loved it! Her reaction...in and of itself...caused Cache to wonder at the tiny person in her arms.

"May the Guardian above us watch over you," she told Sheyah with a shake of her head. "You will be just like your father!"

In merely seconds, the _Darlile_ locked onto a pinpoint in the sky, slipped through a small breach Aanlis opened in the Raulden shield matrix, and then exited the planet's atmosphere.

Ron just sat back and enjoyed the thrill of the ride, allowing the ship to flex her muscles fully for the first time in a long while, and reveled in the experience. His body pressed deeply into the command seat, feeling the firm support of the custom-molded padding absorbing his increasing weight until he could hardly intake air...and then only in short puffs.

The G-suit he wore counteracted some of the effects of the stress, but not all, so it wasn't long before the _Darlile_ began sensing his declining state and tried to adjust the throttle outputs to alleviate the condition. But Ron held the T-handle forward for another thirty lita...having too much fun to let it end so soon. At last though, his mind was getting foggy, so he released the device and permitted the ship to regulate its output downward until a more sustainable level was achieved.

This final power compensation marked the beginning of the long acceleration period for Ron. He would have to endure sixteen or so billots of unending pressure until VL-1, (light speed) was achieved, at which time he would switch to the Nova-drive. The Darlile boasted the most powerful hypervelocity engine of its kind in the known galaxies, and could leap so far beyond that once unfathomable rate as to think it crawling, by comparison.

The time he was trapped in the restraints of his situation gave Ron a chance to consider his future...and the web of interacting and often times contradicting choices he had before him.

The Gitove farm was a welcomed refuge to him. It was a place where he knew he could relax and enjoy himself, as well as the endless pleasures of Josylinia. He could find peace there. But he also felt the compunction to travel the face of Caron...so see the planet from the perspective of an explorer. He was nagged by a pair of wandering feet now, having gained much of that from Kaskle, he knew, but feeling the same drive nonetheless. However, with the added responsibility of Sheyah, he also knew he would be hard-pressed to be able to leave on that type of adventure...his wish to be with her always pulling him back.

Should he just follow his heart and his own desires, or give up on those for the sake of this new little girl...after all, he would have plenty of adventure with Cache and her plans. There were hundreds of worlds in need of their help, and he was certain there would be peril enough to go around...sufficient to ease his need for a rush.

"Besides," he assured himself, "raising her will be its own adventure...and it'll be over before we know it."

### Chapter Eight

### Bounty Hunters

The reach of the Rauldens was far out into space...to the very edge of their solar system, but space is vast, and even they could not clear the entire way, which was what Ron soon discovered.

The _Darlile_ quickly blasted past the influences of Metash and Dersa, and onward into the nearly incomprehensible expanses of the galaxy, only to start picking up scanning signals almost immediately. Some were very distant, some were close, but the total was eight when all were accounted for. Ron sat calmly in his command seat and allowed those who dared approach do so. Six of the crafts were instantly identified and their threat level assessed. The other two were of unknown origin.

He was thoroughly familiar with the value of his life...or death...to the Kreete, and presumed such a collection of greedy souls was likely to form around what the Triad viewed as his home, so he was at least, somewhat prepared. His heart rate climbed a bit, just due to the nature of the hunters' intentions, but the _Darlile_ saw no serious contenders in the nearest group.

Two of the ships moved to cut Ron off, but at the touch of his finger the first was disabled so fast it was almost sad to have battled so weak an adversary. The next attacked from the flank and fired some impressive weaponry, rattling the black vessel slightly, but the return fire was far more devastating. Consequently that ship was left adrift as well, with no shielding, no engines, and cart wheeling out of control through the cosmos.

Ron did not deviated from his course in the slightest, and now looked forward instead of aft. Four more of the treasure-seekers were left in the _Darlile_ 's wake as her speed continued to climb at a rate they simply could not match. That left only two...those unidentifiable space crafts...and they would not go away so easy.

The alien pair initially were the furthest from Ron's position, yet they closed the gap amazingly quickly and came in at a thirty degree angle to the port side. The sensors aboard the _Darlile_ were very fine, but they couldn't penetrate whatever shielding the two had, so Ron's attention sharpened. He instantaneously called up thoughts of those unmanned fighters the Kreete turned loosed on him back over Caron. However, these didn't appear anything like those...and the drone fighters were supposed to be the "cutting-edge" of the Kreete's arsenal.

When the twin alien ships were still just beyond his weapons' range, Ron pressed forward on the throttles and let the _Darlile_ run. He didn't like the unknown of this new threat and wanted to at least have more time to study them. The acceleration was exciting at first, but the looming predators would not allow him to fully enjoy himself as they altered their courses to give chase, falling back as they turned, but beginning to close again immediately afterward.

Ron requested the _Darlile_ do some quick calculations and was informed of a fact that made his jaw clamp down hard. At the speed they were traveling, whoever was in the cockpit of those crafts had just survived crushing inertial loads even he wouldn't have cared to try. Such a feat peaked Ron's curiosity even further and made him question just what type of creature could handle that.

The _Darlile_ was already tearing through space at an advancing rate which bordered on dangerous for its captain, but Ron merely gritted his teeth, clenched his stomach, and shoved the throttles up another notch.

The hunting pair held their ground for a while...neither falling back nor gaining for another fifteen borts...but then the distance meter on the viewer showed they were surging ahead once more...quickly.

"How the hell can they do it?" he asked himself as he fought hard against the G-forces threatening to collapse his lungs. " _Darlile_ , how...much more...can I take...before...I black out?"

"Ron Allison is already operating this craft twenty-percent beyond his personal safety margins," replied the calm female voice of the ship.

"Increase oxygen in cockpit...to pure O-2...and raise pressure...fifteen percent."

Ron's flagging lucidity began to sharpen with those adjustments and so he increased his power settings again, but it was not enough to stop the gaining pursuers' closure.

"You sorry bas..."

They kept coming until they violated the perimeter of the _Darlile_ 's cannons' range, so Ron answered their trespass with a volley of plasma, cutting just beside each of them.

Still they came.

The next grouping of shots enveloped the ship to the left, surrounding the energy barrier with red lightning as the plasma tried to force its way through whatever barrier they were utilizing. The result was two litas of what appeared to be static discharge outlining the protective bubble of the foreign ship perfectly...but still it came!

Ron knew he would be in deep trouble if he was forced to maintain that amount of pressure for much longer, but he saw no alternative other than to let the two space vessels overtake him. And without any knowledge of their firepower or intentions, he felt compelled to take his torment to the maximum.

As he watched them, a change appeared on the viewer. A life-size projection of Cache's torso suddenly filled the left quadrant of the forward screen.

"Ron! What are you doing? Cut back on your acceleration! I have received intelligence of your situation and you must slow down!"

"Can't!" Ron grunted. "Danger...behind!"

"I see them too, but you cannot withstand the stress your body is under! You must slow down...NOW!"

Ron didn't respond to her order, and his hand didn't withdraw from the throttle, thereby overriding the ship's safety protocols.

" _Darlile_...stop the acceleration!"

Nothing.

" _Darlile_...this is Cache Kuar...identify my voice print!"

"Confirmed," answered the placid computer.

"Drop the acceleration immediately!"

"Negative."

"WHAT?" Cache demanded. "That is a direct order! Do as I say!"

"Cache Kuar is not on board this spacecraft. Pilot in command has priority. Until present operator is incapacitated, he is first in hierarchy. Deceleration is overridden."

"Ron...stop it! Ron...please! You could die!"

"Not...yet!" Ron managed to grunt out as the sights he perceived all began to take on a rising red hue. He was moving into battle-mode with a mortal enemy...the thrust of his own ship...and he was resigned to not relent. The only bad thing was, those giving chase were still closing.

"How the hell can they...?" he thought.

At that instant, the two ships in his wake fired. The weapons they used weren't the plasma energy bursts Ron expected, designed to disrupt or destroy his ship's defense barrier, but rather a beam of some unknown configuration. Ron braced himself for a jolt that never came, and at first he thought the stress on his body and brain might be making him hallucinate, but after a few moments he realized what was happening.

The _Darlile_ 's viewer dimmed for just a bit, warped to the right like looking through a very old window, and then stabilized. He quickly checked the power grid and found it running normally, as was every other system he could see.

"What's happening?" Cache asked, paralleling Ron's thoughts.

Cache's image flickered, pixilated, and then disappeared, the communication line severed, so Ron fired once more...another full power burst. He targeted the same vessel he had earlier and when their shields lit up that time, the beam ceased...and then the ship fell back fast...vanishing to a mere speck in a flash.

Either the blast damaged its engines and forced them to lower their power settings, or they just decided the chase was over...and Ron didn't care which.

He was graying out again at that point so as soon as the _Darlile_ 's weapon's capacitor recharged, he fired on the other foreigner...a full power, maximum blast...but saw little effect.

"No friggin way!" Ron grunted in his mind.

The odd beam seemed to lose some of its integrity, but it continued until the second discharge from the _Darlile_ , at which time that craft followed its partner.

With the rapid withdrawal of the two chasers, Ron allowed himself a margin of comfort and safety, backing down on the thrusters of the powerful black spaceship he commanded. It wasn't much...just enough to enable his mind to focus again...but soon he was breathing considerably more easily.

He fought on a while longer against the stronger-than-normal gravity quotients out of pure anger at having been overtaken like that, but finally relinquished control of the warbird to its safety protocols, and tried to relax. The alien vessels were already a tremendous distance away by then, still rapidly falling behind and slowing.

The Cache image returned directly after the _Darlile_ stabilized, and the terror on her face was all Ron needed to recognize her panic. Her wide eyes and pale coloring were as clear as if she sat beside him, but when her stare met his, her face changed immediately...blushing to a cherry coloring.

"I th-th-thought that y-y-you..." she stuttered before catching her head in her shaking hands.

After a few moments she collected herself and her smile returned, although she was still visibly trembling.

"What happened?"

"I don't have a clue. They hit us with some ray, or beam, but what it did...or was supposed to do...I have no idea."

"I am sooooo glad that you are all right! When the com went down, I was afraid you were...we had lost you."

Ron flashed her his most devilish smile and winked.

"Not just yet, Babe!"

Cache chuckled at his cavalier attitude and sat back with a huge, sighing release of air.

"Now if you could, would you help me figure out if the ship was damaged?"

"Yes, yes...of course!" she replied, jumping back into motion.

Ron could see a bit of the room behind her and watched Aanlis and several of her technician assistants cycling through information monitors at a blistering rate.

"Do you have any idea who those guys were, Cache?"

"No. The data we have collected here is yet to reveal even a guess as to the origin of those vessels...so I have no way of knowing their level of technology, and therefore their capabilities."

"Well whoever they are, the beam they shot cut through the _Darlile_ 's shield like they weren't even up!"

"I know, I know," she acknowledged with a stubborn grumble to her voice. Then she looked at him again and saw his haggard appearance. "Ron, how do you feel? You look drained. Are you ill...headache, or nausea...anything that might be a result of that exasperating chase?"

"No, I'm okay. I feel like I just ran a marathon though."

"I want to tell you before I invade your privacy that I will run a full spectrum scan of your physical condition. What you just went through may have done some serious damage to your body."

"Well, it's nice to know you care," he told her glibly.

"Oh Ron," she thought, "If you only knew how much!"

Instead, she smiled warmly and said, "I suppose it is a waste of time to ask if you would consider returning for a few days...so that I can thoroughly examine you and the _Darlile_?"

Ron looked into her eyes for a long few litas, getting a reminder of just why he and she had been so powerfully drawn to one another so long ago. His heart took a bit of a jump as he recalled how close they were on that one spectacular day, and he felt his entire body flush with excitement. But he was set on a path to visit his home world now...to be rejoined with his wife...so he promptly blocked such improper urges and actions.

"Thank you...truly...but I'll be fine...and it will take about another ten billots until I reach light speed, so you have until then to let me know about the ship. But if all checks out, I really need to keep going. I'd have to go back by those guys again anyway, if I turned around."

Cache sighed heavily and nodded her head, looking off to her console intently.

"So far it seems like all primary systems are operating normally. The 'beam' appears to be some sort of attack on the computer system...possibly trying to disable it, or take control of it in order to stop, or slow down the _Darlile_. You rest and we will work on it."

"Okay. Talk to you soon!"

With that, Cache's image vanished and Ron was left in the peace and serenity of the speeding spacecraft. The threat was now so far behind him that his sensors couldn't even find them anymore, so he got as comfortable as he could and enjoyed the view.

The acceleration of the _Darlile_ was still quite a load, but it had ramped down to what Cache was typically used to in order to allow Ron to recover, so he was fairly well at ease. He found the cool blackness of the cosmos to be very calming and was nodding off by the time Cache reestablished her communication link. The image blinked on silently and she caught him when he was just about out. She started to say something and then decided against it, preferring to watch him instead.

Ron's action was like most any other man on a long trip with nothing to do. His head dropped forward slowly and then popped up with a jerk, expecting to find the car veering off the road. He checked his position quickly and saw Cache's smiling face.

"I did not have the heart to wake you," she told him softly. "You looked so adorable that I simply could not bring myself to do it."

Ron blushed red...a rare occasion to be sure...then chuckled, rubbing his eyes.

"I guess that little scuffle was harder on me than I thought."

"Well, you can rest soon because we have found no indications of damage to the ship's systems...thereby I give you the 'go ahead' to transition into transoptic flight."

"Okay then. I suppose I'll see you on the other side?"

The communication system could not breach the confines of the Dynatube, and that meant she'd have to wait until he was in normal space again to speak with him, so Cache merely nodded.

"May your trip be a peaceful one, my love," she wanted to say. "Get some rest!" is what she did tell him.

With that said, her image blinked away once more.

### Chapter Nine

### The First Time Around

At last the time was up, and the disappearance of the acceleration forces sprang Ron forward in his seat, his muscles having been fighting against them for so long as to now miss the extra weight. His coordination returned after a few borts of stretching and manipulating his fingers, so he went immediately to the next phase...the transoptic hyper-velocity engine known as the Nova-drive.

Ron engaged that system without a second thought, and afterward he merely sat back to watch...fascinated by what would soon occur. He could feel a hum running through the structure of the _Darlile_ as the power-plant spooled up and it made his heart accelerate with it.

Without delay, bright blue lightning from the drive began to build and reveal itself in spurts outside on the hull. It spread quickly and was strong enough to form a thick layer of living energy that danced across the leading edge of the wings in a mesmerizing display, surrounding and encasing the _Darlile_ in its writhing brilliance.

When the level of power was sufficient, it both expanded outward to encase the vessel, wingtip to wingtip, and surged forward to conjoin in front of the ship at a central location. Next, the field began to grow brighter and intensify until the entire scene forward of the _Darlile_ was a dramatic show of ultra-concentrated energy that rotated and darted about blindingly...the Dynatube!

Once the parameters of the tube were firmly established, the innermost point of the energy field formed a tight ball of blue fire which slowly and deliberately retreated ahead of the ship...and she moved toward it.

This artificial energy well, or singularity, was in essence a man-made graviton pit...a hole in space-time which bore the attractive force of a dozen black-holes, all focused on one objective...to pull the _Darlile_ into its realm.

A cylindrical shell of energy now encompassed the ship entirely, serving as both a conduit and a shield. It was a corridor that helped focus the incredible power of the pit, and a barrier to keep any other matter from coming into contact with the spacecraft within its confines. The _Darlile_ was no longer in physical proximity with the outside universe. Instead, the ship traveled beyond it...beyond physics...and beyond the galaxy that Rauld lied in.

Ron watched the screen as the speed quotients began to rise...and rise...and rise. He didn't comprehend the velocity. No one...not even the brilliant Rauldens...truly could.

Once more, he saw planets, entire solar systems, and even nebulae whiz by at a furious rate. He witnessed deep space debris like comets and extinct stars, and the remains of colliding galaxies far off in the distance. A quasar popped up on the screen, then a neutron star...followed by more celestial bodies than he even knew existed, and could only fathom because the computer told him what he was seeing.

Just as before, on his two previous trips through space, Ron sat for a long time and watched the incredible scene, unable to think beyond his basic wonder and curiosity at the heavens. Finally though, his physical needs urged him away, so he left the cockpit and moved aft.

Once he was relieved, stretched and comfortable again, he shifted his focus a bit.

With the ship running completely on automatic, Ron initiated a program developed by Fortell, which would begin to acclimatize him to the lesser atmospheric pressure he would find on Earth. Over the weeks of the trip, the inside of the _Darlile_ would gradually lessen its pressure and alter its atmosphere to match the sample of Earth's air the _Darlile_ captured on its previous visit.

With that set, he ate a huge meal and then went to bed and slept the rest of the day away. The trials he'd just survived had burned up his energy levels badly, so he felt it best to start fresh when he woke up. It was thirty-two days until the decel. There would be time enough to get his tasks done.

During the voyage back to his beginnings, Ron spent many long hours just watching the viewscreen...captivated by the sights of the universe that were so grand they left him in breathless wonder at the beauty and majesty of them. It was nothing for him to sit for six hours without a break, just gazing at the heavens and its infinite marvels. God's canvas was beyond his wildest imagination.

At times though, when he was able to pry his curious soul away from such an unending, glorious vision, he poured over the recording of the last trip to Earth. This time though, he watched the viewer while postulating about just what was currently happening on the world he once called home.

He brought the recording up once more to the beginning of the encounter and relived the experience. And just like the other times, he had a difficult time staying objective because the footage was so perfect that he couldn't tell he wasn't actually barreling down on his home planet in the present tense.

It was nighttime when the _Darlile_ entered Earth's atmosphere over Africa, slicing through the thin air as if it weren't even there, the white hot glow of the incinerating molecules enveloping the outer layer of the ship's shields, but doing no damage whatsoever. Dropping speed drastically, he pulled up and soared over the land, barely three thousand feet above its surface. Below, his transonic wake sent every person it reached into a terrified frenzy, for not even the most alert souls could see the cause of the noise. The ebony craft was several miles ahead of the sound, visually imperceptible in the black sky...and with the shields set to maximum, it scrambled every tracking station within a thousand leagues. But even its tremendous speed couldn't keep the ship from total detection. The movement of the sensor disruption alone was noted straight away, and spread around the globe like the rolling blackout it caused...and radio waves were faster still than the fleet ship.

When the course of the _Darlile_ was analyzed, the countries beneath it began what they saw as defensive measures to try and find out just what it was that was passing overhead like a thundering eclipse. The phenomenon was disturbing at the very least, even terrifying to many of the military leaders who saw their finest equipment rendered useless, yet unharmed. What could possibly be nullifying the most sophisticated systems on the planet as if they were some simple, archaic radio waves? And as the burgeoning new dawn found the black super-ship over the Middle East, Ron was finally shown exactly what the greeting from his fellow men was.

The sky was filled with antiaircraft fire, exploding shells of shrapnel, and even ground to air rockets shooting blindly. The _Darlile_ didn't even bother to alter its path however, her shields vaporizing those bits of debris like sweeping dust from a windshield.

Military personnel on the ground who witnessed the flyby called ahead of the shadow-ships trajectory to warn those in its path of what was coming. They had to use land-lines of course because no aerial transmissions of any kind could penetrate the Darlile's jamming shroud.

Across the Mediterranean Sea and into Europe, the black craft glided. There the Italian Air Force was joined by the Spanish, the German, the British, and the French, filling the skies as densely as they could...hoping for a glimpse at the mysterious intruder. All of them were positioned to merely photograph the unidentified aircraft, and did not attempt to fire at it. After all, they had little chance of actually hitting it anyway since the velocity the _Darlile_ was loping along at was simply unattainable by any known plane. They were merely gathering information as quickly as they could.

The _Darlile_ 's computer alerted Ron to their scans, but radar, infrared, and even Doppler measuring equipment returned nothing to their operators. The only intelligence they could gather was visual, before the streaking black aerial stiletto was gone.

Blazing over Russia to the eastern side of China, and down the chains of islands that eventually led across to Australia, each country reacted in their own way...some with weapons fired out of fear, or pride, and others simply watching and hoping that this unstoppable vehicle was not an apocalyptic threat.

When he swept around westward, just grazing the ice-covered expanse of Antarctica, and then headed up the South American continent, there was a decided change in the _Darlile's_ flight...peaceful, open airspace.

The southern countries had apparently decided to clear their skies of any chances of an unwelcome encounter. Too, after great urging by the North American leaders to stand down and not appear threatening, they obliged by putting their ground-based defense systems on standby. Such weapons wouldn't fire anyway if they couldn't lock onto a target, and there was simply no opportunity for that. The broad-spectrum mind-set of the collaborating countries' agencies concluded that their limited capabilities were far inferior to what had already been tried across the globe, thereby showing no real reason to try anyway. After all, those peaceful lands didn't want any new enemies, and would rather let the Americans make the first move.

To that end, the skies were devoid of all air traffic...no planes of any sort were within sensor range...that is...over that landmass.

Farther north, where the last superpower country was waiting, their entire fleet of jets, helicopters, and even blimps were in the air...waiting for this alien vessel to clear the southern countries' airspace. The Americans, defiant to the last, were determined to capture every possible image, or glimpse, or sound of that unbelievable ship. The news of what was coming could, of course, not be contained from the general public, and therefore a substantial amount of panic had already begun. The national emergency stations didn't hesitate, pumping out nearly nonstop warnings to remain calm as the entire governmental community was frantically trying to piece together exactly what was happening...and what they should do about this airborne interlude. They were at least grateful to have been graced with several hours of warning before their time came, but it really was to no avail.

Ron sat with his arms folded as he watched the _Darlile_ blast across the Central American land-bridge, the passing ground beneath him a total blur. The airspeed showed just under mach five, and the ebony craft was barely eight thousand feet above the rugged terrain. He could see a clear corridor between the hundreds...no thousands...of military aircraft, giving the black spaceship a wide berth as she blazed through them and headed up the California coastline.

Airborne commercial aircrafts were by then nonexistent, while the entire world held its breath and scoured the heavens for this interloper from an unknown place. Ron zoomed in to see the ground more clearly, finding virtually all streets, parking lots, rooftops, and fields literally packed with spectators at every conceivable point. There wasn't a single person working that day anywhere along the projected route of the ship, while all eyes focused on the incredible occurrence.

Radio chatter was so thick that Ron was eventually forced to run the recording over a dozen times before he felt he'd heard enough to get a true feeling of what the public...as well as the military...were thinking. Of course, none of their communication within the "dead zone" the _Darlile_ was producing went anywhere but into the computer's archives since the black ship's scrambling capabilities destroyed every radio, cell-phone, or uplink with satellites that were attempted. But Ron was privy to what they were trying to say, and it was much what he'd expected at such a time.

Over five million photographs were taken of that dramatic event in the United States alone while the ship of enigmatic origins soared unhampered over the land.

Ron's consciousness had to keep reminding him this was merely a replay every now and again, forcing him to break his almost blink-less stare at the screen. Glancing around, he noted the _Darlile_ had slowed to just over mach three as she screamed along above the American west coast. However, the shockwave from his passage dropped to merely a crackle at that speed due to the incredible technology of the Rauldens...and at five thousand feet, those on the ground were fortunate of that!

With a sharp right turn over Mount Whitney, the ship headed east, rising enough to crest the beautiful, snow-covered Rockies before diving back to more low-level flight across the Great Plains. The United States' military tried only once to stop the _Darlile_ , over the highly restricted airspace of the nuclear missile fields in the Midwest. One surface to air missile was fired, but it was destroyed barely a hundred yards after takeoff...something Ron had never been aware of. It was hit with the emerald green plasma from the _Darlile_ 's forward cannon, and simply vanished...no explosion, no noise, and no repeat of the attempt.

As they flew over Illinois, Ron noticed a blip on the screen which was on an intercept course with the _Darlile_ , so he monitored it closely. A quick scroll of his finger enhanced the image of that particular vessel leaving him shocked and impressed. It was the airplane he instinctually compared the _Darlile_ to upon his first sight of her...the Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird! Ron couldn't restrain a smile at that sight. As it approached, it swung around to come up above the ebony spaceship, and paced them for a long while, its camera undoubtedly whirring away nonstop. Finally though, it was low on fuel and was replaced by another identical airplane.

Down the east coast they went, with scores of other aircraft along the way, positioned to get a close look at the dark visitor, even though to most, it was just a black streak. Southward along the Florida peninsula they flew, and then across the Gulf of Mexico the _Darlile_ banked in a long, slow arc, until it was headed northward once more.

Ron doubted there was a single inch of the alien vessel not captured on high resolution film by the time they reached his home town.

As the ship swept up the Calcasieu River, slowing to subsonic speeds above the marshes, Ron saw the hundreds of tiny communities dotting that watery land, and felt homesick. It wasn't because he lived there, in the marsh, but because it was so wonderful to see the familiar sights of the region of his youth.

Above the lake at the city of Lake Charles, Louisiana, he banked again, now flying low and slow (less than a hundred miles per hour and barely two hundred feet aloft). The dark craft braked even further as it eased smoothly over Westlake, until it hovered above his parent's home.

His folks were not there, or they wouldn't exit the house, but he could make out their longtime neighbors he'd grown up with, and caught himself in a momentary urge to shout down to them, but muted it. He glanced all about at the familiar locale, mentally checking off a list of identifiable traits he remembered. Everything was just as it should be...except for the hundreds of souls walking in the streets, wondering at the marvelous spectacle of this inconceivable experience.

A few moments over that house, and the _Darlile_ was on the move again, drifting slowly down the main street of Westlake, headed north. The vicinity of the ship was by then buzzing with activity as no less than twenty helicopters paced the shadow-bird, circling like hornets around their hive...and filming every instant. The entire entourage moved as one, pacing the trespasser until it paused yet again, this time above Ron's own home.

Suddenly the swarming aircraft were gone from his view, as was the hundreds of gawking people on the ground all around the little subdivision of his house. His focus was tightened to a mere three-foot space...the doorway he'd carried his bride across (now nearly three years past, but at the time of the recording, only a handful of months), and then he saw the love of his former life once more.

He halted the playback to devour her with his eyes...eyes now laden with tears.

She was breathtaking! The angle he had was poor, she being nearly directly beneath the ship, but his mind filled in the voids his eyes could not. He easily recalled every silky turn of her delicate form, from the feathery drape of her bangs, to the tips of her painted toes...and his heart felt like it would explode with his yearning for her.

He restarted the recording after an undeterminable amount of time spent just absorbing his memories of her.

Her slim, nubile young figure was pure grace as she exited the house, leaving the door wide open when she did. She strolled out onto the deep green carpet of grass Ron had so arduously managed to cultivate in the muggy climate of the area. She appeared to be in search of whatever the neighbors were all congregating to stare at, and her head swung back and forth, taking in the scene before her. Her formfitting sundress swished side to side with her feminine gait, and her chestnut hair lifted and settled in the light breeze.

The 'pop-pop-pop' of the helicopters' rotary wings had drawn her out and caught her attention, and she instantly worried at what it could mean. Finally though, when she noticed the stares and hands pointing in the air right above her, she spun about to investigate their objective, and when she did, she fell back...stumbling from the sheer surprise of what she saw.

Ron had already seen this many times by then, but he still felt the urge to go to her...to calm her and protect her from fears of this unknown, possibly menacing visitor. Two ladies from the next houses over rushed to his wife and knelt with her until the _Darlile_ eased away and shot upward again...at which point the playback stopped, returning to the live feed of the outside, with stars and galactic visions of immense beauty.

The termination of the recording left Ron alone with his thoughts again...the same ones he began worrying about the day after his initial epiphany that Earth had not been destroyed.

How would he possibly be able to explain all the occurrences in his life over the last few years? How could he explain how he was merely a few dozen feet away from her, and had left without seeing her, or talking with her? He knew she loved him as much as he loved her, but would she be patient enough to listen to him now. Would she even recognize him? His body was greatly changed, as was his eyes, and he presumed even his voice was no longer the same.

"My God!" he said out loud to the empty cabin. "Am I nuts to even think about going back? Who the hell will believe any of this...much less understand it?"

After another hour of deliberation, he came to the same conclusion he'd reached weeks ago; his parents. He would seek them out and try to explain it to them first. Above all others, he knew they would be the most likely to accept him. Then, they could help him with "her".

Ron's head was pounding following his mental bout, so he forced himself to stop obsessing over it and return to his routine. He went to the aft end of the ship at that point and began his workouts...stretching, running on a treadmill, mock sparring, and even target practice with his bow...which was very limited in the interior of the _Darlile_. The artificially simulated gravity served his needs well enough to get through his tasks, but they weren't the same as the true pull of a planet's mass, and he longed for the real thing. Besides that, the simplest activities like eating or taking a shower in zero G were painstaking.

Eventually however, those long weeks were finally behind him and the warning announcement indicating it was time to begin the braking phase finally sounded. He was so elated he nearly cheered.

### Chapter Ten

### Back to Square One

After another two thirds of a day, the deceleration period was done, so Ron reentered the Earth's solar system with high anxiety, and the need for speed. The _Darlile_ was approaching his homeworld at an angle of thirty degrees to that of the planets' orbital pathways, so after determining the ship was clear of any encroaching obstacles, Ron raced toward his goal in a beeline, at a quarter light-speed.

At first he used the _Darlile_ 's image enhancers to see Earth, but as the hours passed by, he kept downsizing the magnification until the sight of the blue planet was filling the viewer all on its own. That's when the butterflies really began to build in his stomach.

Taking note that sunset was still a couple of hours away from his intended target, Ron brought the black warbird to a halt outside the communications satellites' orbits, and waited.

He was so nervous he had to pace off the excess energy during that period, checking on his pack half a dozen times and running through the plan in his head twice that count.

At last the Earth rotated to the perfect position, and Ron took his seat again, gently throttling the ship into motion.

Before Sheyah was born, Cache had worked out the complex parameters which would allow the _Darlile_ to block the signals of Earth's ground-based scanning devices, but still not cause the massive crash of those systems like it did previously. At the configuration level she set, the _Darlile_ would be completely undetectable other than by actual sight, yet leave no tell-tale sign.

Ron scanned the open water of the Gulf of Mexico for indications of boats in his intended landing area, and maneuvered around them until he was over the proper coordinates. Next, he lowered the ebony craft ever so slowly, until it just touched the wave crests...and then cut the engines.

The _Darlile_ plunged downward quickly, the displacement of her fuselage not nearly large enough to support her weight on this planet's watery surface. It plunged downward into the black water like a boat's anchor cut from its tether.

As the ship descended, Ron beheld new wonders...that of the ocean's depths...displayed on the viewscreen in front of him. And since it was completely generated by sensors, he was able to adjust the image until it appeared as bright as daylight hours even though it was dark above.

He watched for a short while, but his wish to continue his quest was too much to overcome, so he pried his curiosity free and instigated the portal's visual com-link. It took only a fraction of the power of a fully opened portal, but items couldn't be transferred between the different realms either. A few seconds later, the disheveled face of a bleary-eyed Raulden woman filled the screen.

Ron checked the time at the lower left corner of the picture and confirmed this was not the time for Cache's normal sleep cycle. He also noticed that the room was different from her quarters.

"Sorry, Cache. I didn't think before..."

"No, no...it is no bother. I 'wanted' you to notify me. How did the trip go? How are you?"

"Everything went smooth...a bit long and lonely...but smooth. What about you and Sheyah? Is she wearing you out yet...not getting enough rest?"

Ron saw the answer in her crooked little smirk, but she didn't want to admit it.

"No...she and I are fine. I just need to adjust to her schedule. I was not aware that young ones were so..."

"Demanding...finicky...stubborn...wearisome..."

"Challenging," Cache blurted, cutting off Ron's acerbic commentary.

They both laughed lightly at that and moved on.

"How's Sheyah doing with...wait a minute...where are you?" he asked, leaning to see around her a bit. "I don't recognize..."

"Oh...we are in our cottage on Caron! What do you think of it?" she asked, stepping aside so he could get a better view.

It was very dimly lit, but Ron could see almost half the room, with Sheyah's cradle just in the picture to the left, and a black window off to the right. The furniture and decorations had a definite Raulden motif, but there was one painting and a hand-woven rug that were decidedly Caronian. All in all, it was a lovely space.

"It looks great! How long have you lived there?"

"The construction was completed the morning after you left Rauld, and we moved in three dactrais later. Sheyah adapted right away, not even noticing the change...and the Gitoves were so excited! Josy and Mishea have been terrific! We spend most of our time over at the big house."

Ron felt a strong tug to rejoin them in that moment, missing the sweet little baby girl immensely, as well as her mother. He knew he could visit with her for hours, catching up on everything, but he purposely returned his focus to the present location.

"Any news about the ship's condition? You know...after that weird attack?"

Cache wanted to spend time with him too, but she was a pragmatist to the core and shifted her thoughts as well, completely unruffled.

"No, but the data we have to go through is quite extensive, so we were relegated to wait until you were back in normal space-time to complete it. We shall begin again while you are on your journey. Are you ready?"

"Oh, yeah! I'm tired of being in this tight space...not that the _Darlile_ is deficient or anything...I just meant..."

"I understand what you mean," she chuckled. "I know I would be feeling a bit penned up if I were you. All right...well...good luck...and may the Guardian guide your steps."

"Thanks. Kiss Sheyah for me. I'll talk to you soon."

The last thing she gave him was a deep, caring smile before the connection went dark. It made him feel warm and relaxed...exactly what he needed just then.

He stared at the blank screen for a few moments longer, feeling a definite shroud of loneliness settling over him, but abruptly shook it off. With one deep breath, Ron locked his mind on his long overdue mission once more.

" _Darlile_ ," he said to his mechanical partner. "When I'm gone, go to the 'Passive' mode. If you're discovered, just contact me...don't blow anything up...understood?"

"Affirmative," replied the ship.

Ron still had occasional, unwanted flashes of those movie AIs deciding to eliminate any and all threats, so he just wanted to make sure that it wouldn't take any lethal initiatives.

Hesitating no further, he headed straight for the loading area of the probe. Everything was readied, so he merely had to stuff his body into that tight tube, which was no small task, and wait for the launch.

The sensor feed from the main viewer was relayed into the probe's compartment and onto his special glasses, so he could watch what was occurring outside the tiny capsule, thereby easing his claustrophobic tendencies. The launch port for the probe quickly rotated to the closed position and then flooded as they continued to sink.

Ron had a flashing thought of worry when he considered the possibility that the small vehicle he was in might develop a leak...but he quickly dismissed it since he hadn't witnessed a single device created by the Rauldens that didn't achieve its goal to perfection.

There was a random, odd thought pressing him just then as well though...at this crushing depth even his heavy-worlder body was buoyant enough that he could actually swim through it. Of course, it was a fact with absolutely no bearing since he was more than thirty miles from the nearest oil rig where he could climb up for air.

The wait he had to endure wasn't a long one...of which he was grateful...before he felt the ship settle to the Gulf's floor. Then there was a momentary assessment of the _Darlile_ 's status prior to receiving the "go" signal, and the probe slipped from its berth.

The torpedo-like device accelerated quickly, putting substantial stress on Ron, which startled him initially, until he recalled who'd designed it...at which time it made him grin.

"Cache, you lead-foot!" he chortled.

In order to achieve the depth he and Cache concluded would be safe from any prying eyes or sonar sweeps, Ron put the ship down in a thousand foot deep trench, two hundred miles from the coast, and now he was making up the distance quickly.

The flora of the sea went whistling by too fast to see, inviting the probe's guidance drive to maneuver aggressively around a few of the sporadically positioned oilrigs' massive structures. Ron had a wild ride in that tiny cylindrical ferry, which kept his mind from worrying about the dangerous predicament he was in should a malfunction occur in the middle of the Gulf.

Barely forty-nine minutes later, it began dropping speed quickly and preparing to make landfall.

The sensor array of the mini-sub increased its power until it reached out just far enough to see a mile onto land...not wanting to risk too strong a signal being detected. Ron went immediately to work searching for a good spot to beach his little vessel.

The general location he settled on was fairly remote, but there were a few surf-fishermen off to the west, casting out into the water, so he looked east. At the very edge of the range of his scanner was a pickup truck parked on the sand. There were two individuals in that vehicle...a boy and a girl...and Ron felt certain about what they were up to.

Right between those two groups laid a stretch of beach that seemed like a prime spot. The undulating dunes topped with clusters of thick brush and tall grass were common to the region and were the perfect cover for his clandestine operation...and that refuge was only fifty yards up the sandy beach. The only road in the area ran east-west and lay a mere twenty yards further inland than the grass, so he decided that was the place.

The probe Ron piloted was originally designed to explore worlds as well as space, so when it slowed to barely the speed of a fast running man and exited the watery confines of the ocean, it was still highly mobile. Equipped with a gravity-cancelling mode, much like the hover-sleds on Rauld, it instantly sprang up to float two feet above the ground, leaving no trace of its passage, and making almost no sound.

Ron kept it moving until it was in a trough between two dunes only a few steps from the roadway. That's where he finally stopped.

He waited an additional few minutes inside the slim craft, watching the sensor readouts for any signs of his landing having been witnessed, but he greatly doubted it had since the moon was not up and it was very dark. Furthermore, the only people around were too far away to have seen anything but a quick blip of the black, cylindrical machine, and as he hoped, they were focused on other things.

With no indications of any problems, Ron popped the hatch on the vehicle and raised his head out into the night air...and nearly choked. The atmosphere inside the _Darlile_ , although adjusted to Earth's pressure, was inordinately clean and pleasant. However, when he inhaled the light breeze out in the real world of his birth, the salty, briny, fishy smells of the region were very powerful to his keen senses. And in conjunction with those were the stink of diesel fumes of recently passed trucks, burning trash with plastic mixed in, hot oil and grease from the work-port three miles to the west, and a couple of cheap cigars. Unite all those smells with the thinness of the air requiring him to breathe in very deeply...which in turn forced him to fight hard against his gag reflex...and the result was extremely difficult to adjust to.

Being away from such things for so long really brought home the fact of just how easy it was for "progress" to effect the environment in a negative way. Caron, although hygienically sparse, was filled with much more natural, and thus more palatable, odors.

Ron clamped his jaws firmly as he extracted his large frame from the tight inner space of his transport, instantly aware of the lesser gravity, and unloaded his gear. He slipped on his heavy overcoat first-off to help steady him, his wary demeanor on full alert for any approaching individual or vehicle, but none came.

A quick double-check of the small area of the probe's interior confirmed it was empty and so he stepped back, teetering a bit. When he managed to steady himself in the soft, powdery sand, he reached over and spun the dial on his chrono, changing the screen from a time piece to a new mode.

He pressed his thumb firmly on the face for a full second, and then spoke.

"Dock!" he uttered in a low voice.

The probe's open compartment immediately closed and the slender capsule slowly whirled about until it faced the open water again. There was a momentary hum as the drive unit spooled up, and then the torpedo-looking vessel leapt into motion, vanishing into the water in a flash. Ron blinked at the quickness of the little craft, surprised at just how fast it could accelerate, and then he turned to his own business again. There was a long way to go yet.

He was on his knees in the sandy, sparsely covered glade of tall marsh grass, still hunkering down to avoid any happenstance sighting, and noticed he was sinking deeper into that fine, shifting material with every movement or adjustment of his weight. He knew there was no danger of him disappearing completely...it was not quicksand...but it did begin his training concerning the obstacles he would encounter during his stay.

With careful movements, trying to adjust to his new balance points, Ron slung his backpack over his shoulder and got to his feet. Delicately, like he was walking in a minefield, he took seven careful steps, sinking to his ankles with each one, and reached the asphalt surface of the road a few moments later.

"Whew!" he let out, breathing a sigh of relief, and looking around.

There was no movement from any human he could detect...just the soft lapping of the waves behind him and the usual rustlings of small creatures wriggling, hopping, or splashing about. He glanced south, at the Gulf's surf, noticing how unusually calm it was...as if asleep in the night. Next he looked up at the familiar stars of his home-world and smiled, thinking they had never looked so beautiful. But again, that was to the south. When he swung around northward, it was easy to see a thick, solid line of a fogbank very close and drifting toward him.

"That'll work."

Ron pulled out his chrono once more and gave the dial another twist. Two hundred and ninety two degrees Kelvin...just a hair above freezing...and the barometric pressure was dropping.

"That weather front is just about on top of me."

The coastal road he was standing on was straight in both directions for as far as he could see, without a house or business of any kind visible.

"Perfect," Ron mused.

He then spun the chrono to a holo-map mode and inspected his location for a heading. A couple of quick adjustments to the display yielded exactly what he was looking for. He needed to head east for almost ten miles before turning north toward his home town, so he set off without delay.

Taking it slowly at first, like his initial steps on Rauld so long ago, Ron made his way into a shaky, bouncy stride. It was an aggravating few minutes, but before long he adjusted into a pace that wouldn't get him too winded.

His supplemental oxygen canisters would have to be rationed as much as he possibly could, even though they could recharge themselves. He didn't want to get dependent on them, and wanted full tanks always at the ready should he really need them. He was determined to get accustomed to the ambient air in any event, so now was not the time to begin relying on a crutch.

A few miles down the road, the fog rolled in, leaving only about fifty feet of visibility and hiding Ron quite thoroughly from any prying eyes. At that point he began to experiment with his new surroundings. His first objective was to feel the actual gravity, and his ability to defy it. He slipped off his pack and overcoat and began to test himself.

Starting with small acts, like finding his balance, Ron moved through the typical motions of his daily stretching routine, and then switched to faster and faster combat maneuvers. Once he'd adjusted to keeping his feet planted, he realized that his hands and feet were literally blurs. The experience was like after exercising in a swimming pool for a while and then stepping out into the open air.

Ron's curiosity continued on with the next test. There was a large chunk of asphalt off on the shoulder, left over from some repair work no doubt. He hefted the piece and examined it. Six inches thick, it was a good foot wide and twice that long, and should have been quite a handful, yet it felt like a piece of dried out driftwood. He snapped it in half as if it were Styrofoam.

"Humph!" Ron grunted, startled by the ease of that act.

He took half of the piece and looked out at the marsh to the north.

"Let's just see," he mumbled.

With a nimble spin, he flung the section up and out into the wilderness like a discus thrower at a track meet. He heard the whistling of its movement disappear into the thick fog and waited for the splash. He waited...and waited...and then finally got the report of it hitting the watery land...way out in the darkness.

"Geez!"

Next, Ron set the other piece on the surface of the road and then pounded it with his fist. A few loose stones broke away, but not too many. He hit again and again, increasing the violence of the hammering each time, trying to gauge at what point it would get painful. The cold, hard-compacted amalgam of rock and tar shattered and disintegrated before Ron reached the threshold he was searching for.

"Okaaaay?" he said with an element of wonder; still deeply curious about how tough he truly was on this planet.

Moving on, he started leaping up and down a few times...again, adjusting his balance to compensate for the odd lightness he felt. He quickly discovered he could easily clear the height of the telephone poles alongside the roadway, and that was extremely fun. He practically giggled at the silliness and ease of it...his playful nature showing itself a real good time. Finally though, upon landing after a very high leap, the road cracked resoundingly, bringing him back to reality.

He donned his coat once more and tried again, finding he could still catch about ten feet of air rather easily. Adding the backpack did even better to keep him grounded, and so onward he went.

Ron came across a driveway entrance a few miles down the road which had a wooden light pole mounted in it, and followed his curiosity once more. He placed his large hands on the twelve-inch thick length of pine, and squeezed. It resisted at first, but when he increased the pressure he saw his fingers disappearing into the surface of it as if made of cork instead of weathered, hardened, rot-resistant material intended to last forty years.

"Holy mackerel! That's so cool!" He grinned like a ten-year-old.

Back to the trek he went, still not having seen any vehicle, and he wondered about that. Even though he was out in a pretty remote area, he was certain there were homes sporadically positioned along the highway, and it seemed a bit odd for the land to be so quiet...and dark.

The fog would obviously cut down on a good deal of the ambient starlight, but he couldn't hear any sounds that would normally lead him to think anyone was within half a mile of him, and such isolation was very peculiar.

Half an hour later however, Ron finally got what he'd been waiting for when three vehicles, two pickup trucks and one compact car went blasting by him at sixty miles an hour. He moved to the side of the road and watched them closely for signs of stopping, but the trucks just ripped on by blasting music into the night with whooping and hollering escaping the windows which were half down.

After the trailing wind gusts pushed by him, Ron detected the distinct smell of some home grown tobacco products...the kind they twist closed at the ends.

"Humph!" he grunted, never having seen the need to experiment with such things. "Why would anyone inhale smoke of any kind into their lungs?" he wondered.

Next came the little car which jerked hard to the other side of the road when it was close, so Ron figured he must have startled the driver, but it too just kept on moving.

"No one in their right mind would pick up a stranger these days...would they?" he pondered.

He'd never really expected anyone to stop for him anyway, so that was no surprise. He simply made sure the road was clear and kept on walking.

Just after the highway veered to a northern direction, the wind picked up, blowing the moist fog hard and giving it a cutting edge.

That biting breeze made the temperature feel like it had dropped another ten degrees, but Ron never faltered in his stride. He was smooth and even, chewing up the miles well, until he ran across a spot where an old telephone pole stood leaning heavily to the west, next to a new one having taken its place at supporting its load of power and phone lines.

Ron looked carefully about and then drew his sword. The pole was as big as the last one he'd experimented on...about twelve inches in diameter...and he felt this would be a good time to see what his weapons could do. With a couple of waves through the air to get the feel of the battle-proven blade, he abruptly struck the pole a solid blow...one handed. It sunk halfway through! He pulled it free and repeated the strike with both hands, but not full strength. The upper portion of the wooden support dropped into the canal beside the roadway, separated cleanly.

"Huh!" Ron grunted. "That was easy."

He then brought the ebony weapon around into a stabbing motion and slammed it completely through to the hand-guard. Next came one of his knives. He buried it easily up to his fist...and after that, spent the next quarter hour abusing that shortening piece of wood until he felt comfortable with his survival tools once more.

Another few cars sped past shortly after he resumed his journey, and as before, they didn't even slow down to acknowledge him. That was a couple of hours before the lumber truck eventually picked him up.

At that very moment though...in real time...something startling cut short Ron's daydream recollection.

"Woooooooooooo, woooooooooooooo!" screamed a shocking blast from an air horn, shattering the tranquil night with heart-stopping abruptness.

"Shit!" Ron cried as he jerked himself out of his plodding stupor.

He was instantly back in the present and his focus returned just in time to give him a nerve-rattling warning. The survival instincts of his wild nature slammed into gear in a split second, flooding his mind with critical information.

He found himself long past the glow of the city's lights, and a third of the way across the Calcasieu River. The ear-piercing wail of that horn preceded a hair-raising tactile sensation...the railroad trestle's wooden ties beneath his feet were beginning to vibrate. His head whipped around so quickly that the brim of his wide hat whistled in the air.

"You stupid ass!" he cursed at himself when he saw the light of the oncoming locomotive barely a quarter of a mile behind him.

In an instant, he judged how far he was from both ends of the trestle, and how quickly he could make it to either. The way forward was far, and so he knew he wouldn't make it. The way back was closer, but the earth beside the tracks was deep, soft, swampy mud on both sides for an extra hundred yards...and getting bogged down in that sludge could be disastrous.

Those parameters barely blitzed across his thoughts before he was off...headed west...to the far side. In one quick move, he had the supplemental oxygen tube in his teeth and sucked on it hard, filling his lungs instantly and giving him added strength. When he was halfway across, the train reached the bridge, and the vibrations grew powerful. It was all he could do to stay on his feet as the swaying and bouncing tried to thwart his balance. He was moving fast, carried along by his powerful heavy-worlder physique, and an even more powerful wish to live, but there was no hope to match the train's speed.

At the three-quarter point, he knew he wouldn't make it and began frantically searching for an alternate avenue. The bridge was very old and didn't have much of a safety rail, or a walkway...they both being made of lightweight wood he doubted would support him...and if he hit the water below, he knew he was done.

The thought flashed through his mind about the irony of coming so far and being struck down by such a ridiculous reason, but that's when the growing light from the train reflected off the overhead supports...heavy, iron supports...and so he jumped. At the moment his feet left the thick wooden ties, he wished he would have shed his ballast weights, but couldn't...he was out of time. Up he flew at a crossbar twenty feet above him, and his eyes widened as his body rose because he didn't think he would reach it.

The cold wind blowing across him stiffly from the north made no impression, nor did the splashing sounds of the waves against the pilings. His entire focus was locked onto a single edge of steel which seemed beyond his grasp...but...somehow he did reach it, barely. The first joint of his fingertips slapped against the beam sharply and he instantly pulled hard, whipping his feet up and out of the way of the speeding train.

The horn was blasting away until it passed below Ron's flying boots, when it abruptly died in mid wail. Ron winced sharply as that heavy steel device slammed against his right heel, ripping it off its moorings, but he held on to the rust-covered girder for dear life nonetheless.

His heart was racing from such a near miss, and as he watched the long line of train cars pass beneath him, he relished the surging air that was cramming into him with every huff, extremely grateful to still be breathing at all.

The jostling and rattling of the metal structure was violent, so he locked his legs around his perch tightly and sat as still as he could, focused on calming his body. He was determined to regulate himself without dipping further into his supplies, and by the time the mile long train was off the bridge, he was doing much better and had stowed his air tube.

When the way was clear, he almost forgot himself again, nearly dropping back down to the cross-members of the railway without a second thought. However, a creaking groan from the girder he was on reminded him of his sensitive situation, so he wisely pulled out his micro winch and lowered himself down slowly and easily.

His feet touched the wooden ties again a few moments later, giving him an excellent reason to let out a great sigh of relief. Also, he thanked his good fortune for having the foresight to not reject the little device from his techno gear. That tiny gadget had saved him on numerous occasions, as it did once more, and he patted it affectionately before he took up his trek again.

Across the river, the tracks went into a patch of woodland for a short spell before intersecting the first roadway, and Ron stayed in the shadows of those woods long enough to evaluate the area thoroughly. A sweep with his scanner/phone showed no security devices to worry over, and no human beings anywhere nearby, so he moved on.

There were dogs barking, owls screeching, and a car passing, as well as televisions and radios playing news and weather information in the early morning hours, but nothing of any bother. The wind whipped through the trees, bending them pretty hard, but barely moving the tail of Ron's long, heavy coat as he stepped out of hiding and headed north again...his eyes and ears on the alert.

Outwardly the small city was a veritable ghost town, which was another reason for him to move about without delay; to minimize any personal encounters with citizens. He made it nearly all the way to the primary road running through the heart of the city before he noticed the predominant changes to his former hometown.

When Ron last drove out of Westlake on that fate-filled morning, he left behind a sleepy main street with barely enough lamps to illuminate the sidewalks. Now, to the north...the direction where he and Angie had lived (and where he was heading)...the far end of town was lit up with lights bright enough to be a sports arena.

He instinctively drifted to the side of the road, fished out his pair of binoculars smoothly, and scanned the area from behind an abandoned, broken-down van. A mile away, barely a quarter mile short of his destination, there was a set of detour signs. Those orange and white barriers directed traffic away from the central road and onto a newly widened residential street that would rejoin the highway a mile further down the way. Past those signs the road continued north, but only beyond a tall, two layer fence which had been constructed to bar vehicles and people from passing...a fence with razor wire all along the top.

"Son of a...!" Ron hissed.

### Chapter Eleven

### First Contact

Ron's gut was churning and his anxiety went racing at the delay that could mean. Of course when he was planning out the scenarios of the trip, the possibility of his wife relocating was a concern, but this was a bit extreme.

It had been over two and a half years and obviously the government was involved with cordoning off the area, so it only stood to reason that the people who once lived beyond those fences had been forced to leave. But who was there now...and what were they doing?

Ron had considered just that kind of thing weeks ago, when he first set out from Rauld, but actually seeing it was still a surprise. He'd felt certain the government would have made every effort, and spent no small amount of time and money, to investigate the area. They would justifiably want to find out exactly why it was that the black ship from some unidentified, highly advanced alien origin somehow picked that particular spot on the entire globe to hover over, but to what end?

Whatever the intention, he was suddenly face to face with their ongoing, foolhardy endeavor.

Before he moved on to the task of locating his wife though, he found himself compelled to have a look around his former house. There really was no reason for the urge that he could pin down, but it was a driving need all the same.

Toward that goal, he angled off to the east, moving through the side streets until he was well out of eyesight of the main gate, in an area of wooded land bordering the fenced perimeter. Once there, Ron hunkered down in a thicket of thorn bushes and removed the cell-phone from his pack. With a tap of his finger it morphed away from a typical looking Earth communication device, adorned with the normal keypad and tiny display. Instead, it swapped to a sophisticated sensor sweep mode showing all the alpha-numeric characters written in Raulden script, projecting a six-inch by eight-inch holographic depiction of the area.

Tilting it to the proper attitude, Ron began scanning for signs of electronic monitoring, marveling at the little device as if it were pure magic. The simplistic Earth defenses stood out clearly on the small screen. There were motion detectors all along the fence, from the inside watching out, to alert the guards to anyone trying to climb that woven steel barrier. Also, he saw pressure plates under the ground, sensitive enough to determine if any perceived movement might be man or beast. But the combination only monitored twenty five feet on each side of the fence.

Ron smiled. Those security provisions shouldn't cause a problem. He pressed the dial again and the multifunctional device returned to standby.

There was evidence of a well-worn path on the inside of the fence...a border patrol...and so he stayed put to see the frequency of the men. It wasn't long before a national guard soldier strolled by, but Ron noticed immediately that he was far from alert, seemingly bored of the repetitious, nighttime vigil.

Ron could also tell he wouldn't be back soon, since the path ran off out of sight, so he shed his heavy coat and pack, leaving them concealed in the thorns, and headed for the perimeter.

Having played around quite a bit, back at the road along the beach, he felt optimistic, but so far he hadn't tried to utilize his new abilities to the extent he would be now, and so was notably cautious. Cache devised and ran numerous simulations with him back on Rauld, to give him confidence and a good sense of judgment, but this was no game. This was for real!

He set his sights on the target of an old driveway on the far side of the wire. It once led to a neighbor's small barn that no longer stood, the collapsed remains of which were out of his visual range due to the encroaching verdure. The narrow lane was made of hard-packed seashells...the typical material for such vehicular avenues in Louisiana...and would give him a good, firm landing zone.

After a half-dozen steps of extreme acceleration, Ron leaped. He soared up...and up...until he was easily thirty five feet in the air, and then landed fifty feet beyond the motion detector's range. He tucked and rolled when he hit...more out of anticipation of a jolt that didn't occur than out of real necessity. In fact, he knew instantly that he could have simply planted his feet and stuck his landing, but as it was, he probably disguised his true mass much better with the tumbling maneuver, so was satisfied.

Now came the real challenge though. Would he risk the soft ground of the concealing forest, leaving an obvious trail of his passage, or try to make his way around on the roadways...ones which were surely patrolled?

It only took him a moment before he set out through the dark woods. He felt any signs of his presence would probably go unnoticed for days, or longer, if he wasn't spotted, and by then he wouldn't care.

The thick fog that had shrouded his trip from the Gulf thus far was finally showing signs of breaking up, but he didn't know just yet if that was a blessing or a curse. He could see much farther now, at times as much as a hundred yards, but he knew also that anyone else could do the same...and any camera as well.

High above, the full moon had risen nearly to zenith, blazing down through the trees and setting eerie shadows dancing all about in the wind, but he gave them no thought whatsoever. He was no longer the Earth man who relied too much on his vision to be at ease in the night. Now he strode comfortably through it, his own innate sensory net constantly scanning the brush and reporting every creature moving nearby. There was nothing in those woods to concern him other than men, and he was confident in his ability to circumvent any of them if they were about.

Ron moved easily and deliberately, checking his excitement by sheer will...to keep from running low on air. He happened across a few unkempt fences to hurdle, but they weren't much more than a hop for him, and in less than ten minutes, he stood at the border of the subdivision in which he used to reside.

Surprisingly, the place appeared to be quite normal. In fact, many of the homes were lit with lights. He ventured a peek into a couple of them with his visual enhancer and concluded they were being used as some kind of headquarters for the military presence in the area. But the men didn't look like any military he'd ever seen. The notion that they might be some sort of intelligence agency, or think tank group, crossed his mind, but it really mattered little, so he moved off again.

Since it was yet to be even six A.M., whoever these folks were, they were obviously on some sort of duty schedule covering twenty-four hours a day. That too gave the impression of military, or at least government intervention.

The wind grew suddenly stronger as he neared his destination, clearing the fog completely from his path and aiding his investigation of the area, but that howling current of air from the north rustled the dead leaves on some nearby oak trees vigorously, which did not help. The racket made it difficult to hear anything, or anyone prowling about in the dark, so Ron resorted to using his eyes and nose as his early warning system. (Later, he would kick himself for not remembering the Raulden scanner more, but he'd been too long out in the wilds of Caron to have more of a technological mindset.)

He did pick up on a few strange noises to baffle his mind nonetheless, sounding like thick, heavy steel doors closing on a large, hollow tank...or a vault. Ron shook that conclusion from his mind though, it being quite ridiculous, and dismissed them as phantom sounds modified by the cold wind.

At least the moon was helping him out with a little ambient lighting, so he moved smoothly along, keeping to the shadows and making less noise than a prowling cat. He noted a couple of places holding standing water, which prompted him to veer cautiously around them...the soft turf being an unknown hazard even though he'd lightened his load considerably. Therefore it was far from a straight path that he was forced to take, and it made for slow going.

Up another street and down between two houses brought him to his final goal...and his heart began to race just as before. He abruptly stopped, channeling his concentration to keep from becoming winded again, and after a few moments had passed, he calmly conducted his survey.

The home he once whisked his wife into, across the threshold on their wedding night, was surrounded with lights on tall towers...like some sort of monument, or shrine. The interior was also bright, and he slowly circled the place three times before concluding it was vacant. Of course there was no sign of Angela, and no clues to explain exactly what was going on in the area, but he allotted himself a sense of satisfaction anyway. He'd finally made it to the point of his original goal...and to the beginning of another.

As he suspected when he first saw the razor-wire, the entire subdivision had been taken over for whatever project the government found to be appropriate. That fact was clearly evident in the stark order of the entire place.

After the inspection of his house, he started to leave but held himself in check when he spotted a slow moving vehicle approaching, eventually pulling right up to his home. When it stopped in the driveway, five men exited.

He stood in the shadow of a large tree and stared at the four-door pickup they drove, puzzled by it. It looked just like the one his father drove, but it shook the ground and rumbled like an armored truck.

The newcomers leisurely spread out and checked several different areas, where some sensors were concealed...inside, as well as outside the house. It all appeared quite hum-drum and bothersome to the workers, but they were efficient nonetheless.

Ron heard the men exchange only a few words, but he couldn't quite catch it, only able to recognize the language as being other than English. It was somewhat familiar to him, but he failed to place it...and since they didn't speak again, he was left wondering about that.

The men completed their tasks shortly, climbed into the truck, and drove off. Ron stayed put for a few extra moments, just to be sure he was clear, but that turned out to be the wrong strategy. When he finally stepped away from the tree, heading back to his original access point, he heard a distinct "click" from one of the areas where the sensors were hidden. At that instant, his chrono began to vibrate. It was a warning function designed to silently get his attention. Something was out there! Some sort of scanning device had just initiated a low level sweep of the vicinity, and he was within its range.

Without another moment's hesitation, Ron launched his body up and back as hard as he could...and launch was exactly how anyone would have described it! He flew upward into, and through, the nearby trees before ending up forty yards away. Tree limbs rained down on him for several seconds upon his landing, having been snapped off cleanly by his passage...but that wasn't the bad part. The bad part was that his eight hundred pound figure came back to earth in a patch of well-manicured grass...one of his former neighbors' lawns.

He braced himself as well as he could, trying to spread out the load of his body, but still sunk eight inches into the turf.

"Damn it!" he growled at himself as he searched his surroundings.

The chrono was no longer vibrating, which meant Ron was out of range of whatever device it had detected, but now he was in the open which was never good. A frantic inspection of the nearby area revealed nothing out of the ordinary, but he got a feeling nonetheless...a bad one.

Ron looked at the crater he stood in with disgust. There was nothing he could do about this fresh patch of crushed ground, but he didn't want to leave a trail away from it either...or at least not a glaring one...so he targeted a large oak tree in the next yard and leaped once again.

Thirty feet away, a two-hundred-year-old botanical sentry received his flying figure unexpectedly, its outer branches snapping away due to the obstinate intrusion, but its massive main limbs caught him handily.

He waited a few seconds to see if any alarms might have been raised, and then began planning an exit. It only took another instant though before the same truck as before came back into view. It was tearing down the street at high speed this time, leaning hard against the last turn into Ron's old driveway where it screeched to a sliding stop.

There were only two men inside the vehicle this time, but they seemed very excited...even a bit frightened. While Ron watched, he heard a heavy metal door slide back and slam to its stops, and then one man rose up through the roof holding a large, automatic weapon mounted on a monopod. He stood there while the other panned the area with powerful searchlights. They were speaking to one another swiftly and nervously but Ron was too far away to make out their conversation.

By then, more men started converging on the house, so he saw no further need for delay. A moment later he exploded out the opposite side of the concealing tree and onto the nearest driveway. Once there, a house stood directly between him and the searchers, so he needn't fear being seen by them anymore.

From that point, Ron took as much use of cover as he could during his anxious race away through the darkness. He was getting more used to the feeling of Earth's meager pull without his ballasts, and so was able to more accurately judge his leaps, therefore as he fled, he took fantastic bounds from one concrete or paved surface to the next, sometimes hurtling entire homes in the process. Patios, pool aprons, sidewalks, and a tennis court, whatever he could reach was open to his hurried flight.

Ron was back at the border fence in short order and stopped at the point where he'd landed earlier to take another reading from his scanner. He wanted to see if the alarm had triggered any new layers of security...and it was a good thing he did. Power to the motion sensors was much higher, increasing their range by a third, and a whole new layer of protection currently indicated operation. Above the tall fence topped with razor-wire, an added laser-beam now blazed. It was just high enough to clear those fiendish loops, but close enough to catch anyone trying to scale the woven obstruction. And by the readings given to him on his handheld unit, it had enough power to slice through a solid steel bar.

"What the hell?" Ron muttered as he pondered the impressive equipment he was witnessing. "I guess they've made some substantial advancements since I left!"

He glanced about for the roving sentry, but didn't see him, so he settled himself down to wait. That plan, however, was almost immediately overruled. From behind Ron, to the north, an odd sound reached his ears. It was nearly undetectable at first, but growing stronger by the second. Something was approaching...and fast! He couldn't really get a feel for what it was, the wind playing havoc with his senses, but the hair on the back of his neck stood up, and that was good enough for him.

Without another moment of hesitation, Ron burst forward in a blurred flurry of footsteps. Accelerating as hard as he could with the traction available, he catapulted himself up and over the deadly, seemingly impassable barrier an instant later, once more landing well clear of the security system's range.

He immediately rolled upon landing and dashed into the underbrush, having spotted the patrolling guard while in flight. The fellow was off to the east only a dozen yards, apparently speaking into his radio, and didn't notice the dark, flashing figure forty feet above him.

Ron followed the soldier's movements from his concealed location, watching closely as he pulled a powerful spotlight from his backpack and searched the woods on the opposite side of the fence. He was hoping the sentry's light would reveal whatever it was he'd sensed approaching, but it never did.

The guard stayed put for a full twenty minutes before receiving orders to continue his patrol, and then everything went back to normal at that place full of bizarre abnormalities.

Ron then quietly gathered up all his gear and moved off as well, keeping a constant vigil for pursuers. The glow of the coming dawn was beginning to build and he wanted to be well away from there when daylight struck.

It was a good plan too because by the time he was two blocks away, the roads were buzzing with police cars. Ron crouched down behind a full-sized SUV parked at the curb while the first one went by, and then didn't bother with such stealth any further because he saw the little community coming alive. Doors flew open and heads peered out windows in a wave, following the turmoil. At that point he simply blended into the background...a man out early in the day, seeing what all the commotion was about.

Taking a circuitous route to the western side of town, which only spanned about fifteen minutes, his tempo increased steadily until the final turn, when he found himself strolling down the street he'd grown up on.

School buses began cruising by, picking up children for their days activities, and cars were warming up at nearly every house. It was well below freezing by that time, and many of the citizens were grumbling about scraping off the frost from their cars' windows, a heavy coating of the stuff having collected on everything exposed to the dewy night.

Ron merely walked on past, keeping to the sidewalk and enjoying all those familiar parts of life he'd taken for granted before he was snatched away. He sucked in the air, filled with diesel and car exhaust, but instead of choking this time, each of the smells sent his mind into some distant memory of the past...and he smiled. Not so long ago he saw the world through eyes that were spoiled from safety, ease, and comfort, before being exposed to the real plights of different, less fortunate souls. Now he could truly see just how simple and carefree life was there on Earth.

Although the arrival of the black ship had caused quite a stir, most folks had managed to put it behind them and carry on with their lives. Few people in this town, or any place on Earth, truly feared they might all be annihilated or enslaved by an alien species like the Kreete. That was a concern for the military men and politicians. And after months of spinning the story from every conceivable angle, most citizens of the blue planet were convinced it was just some elaborate hoax to cover up a new fighter plane that no one would formally claim. Now, after years of no further sightings, the subject had fallen into the scope of an "Urban Legend"...at least to those living outside the town of Westlake.

A block from his parents' house Ron began to notice something else though...and went back to his alert status. Two cars passed him, along with a dozen others, but these two had already gone by once...in the same direction. They were older vehicles, appearing to have been roughly utilized, and wouldn't have stood out to the commoner, but Ron Allison was no longer that type of individual. He noted too that they both let off the gas when they got close, coasting by, and fully presumed he'd been surreptitiously photographed.

Cursing under his breath, he continued on as if nothing were out of the ordinary, but scanned the street as thoroughly as only he could nonetheless. He noted every change since his last visit...the new cars, new shrubs, trees damaged from the last hurricane that tore through the area, and the upgraded light posts...which just so happened to include video cameras. Also, those taller than normal street lamps currently lined both sides of the quiet lane at every hundred feet, instead of having only one installed at each intersection as was common.

As he neared his boyhood home, he noticed the lights inside were on and the garage door was open with the truck's engine running. His father would be leaving for work soon, a fact that made his heart rate accelerate, but he barely glanced their way and kept his long stride unbroken.

A minute later, Ron detected one of the cruising cars coming back around the block. He heard it approaching slowly once more, but this time dropping its speed even more. He was a block and a half from his parents' place as it drifted up beside him and the passenger window slid downwards.

"Good morning!" shouted the man in the car.

Ron continued on but greeted him in a friendly manner. After all, this might be merely part of the neighborhood watch.

"Morning."

"Can I give you a lift?"

Ron thought swiftly about what would happen if he accepted. He would completely destroy the seat on the passenger side and probably bottom-out the suspension's springs.

"No, thanks."

"You in town on a visit? Relatives?"

"No, just came in off the interstate for some breakfast and got sidetracked. I've heard about this town and wanted to see the place where all the interest is...you know...all the hubbub."

"Yeah, we do have our share of that! You staying in the area?"

Ron was growing annoyed with his line of questions. "Was this America, or not?" he thought.

"No, just stopped for the one night. I'm heading out before noon."

"Really? Where's your car?"

"It's up at the Post Office. I have a birthday gift in the trunk for my niece. Picked it up late last night...nearly forgot, you know? Anyway it has to go out today, but they won't be open for a couple hours, so I thought I'd go for a little walk. Is there a problem?"

The driver of the car looked long and hard at Ron...at his expensive looking coat...and at the pack on his back.

"No...no problem. But if your car is so close, why the heavy pack?"

If he were back on Caron, he'd have already rid himself of this irritation, but here on Earth, he reminded himself, it was a different game all together.

"Oh, I don't leave this anywhere," Ron said with a big, friendly grin. "It's part of my body. I'm a journalist grad-student and documenting my trip around the country. My computer, camera, batteries, a couple of water bottles...you know...the necessities."

The driver wanted to press the issue further, but relented.

"Okay then. Just wanted to make sure you weren't one of those UFO freaks! They've been running us ragged for over two years! You'd think they'd have given up on being 'beamed up' by now, but no such luck. Have a good day!"

The car then eased on up the road, but Ron watched the driver carefully. The fellow kept his eyes squarely on Ron's figure in the rearview mirror. At the next corner, Ron turned off that street, heading back to the main road, casually gazing about the quaint houses and well-kempt neighborhood as if totally carefree.

He checked his chrono for the time, recalling the rigid schedule his father always maintained. Kurt Allison was as punctual as a solar clock, so he picked up the pace enough to catch his family's truck crossing the main road a block over...heading toward the river.

Ron's father owned a riverside dock facility where they repaired, maintained, and stored large boats. That particular occupation was such a complete turnaround from the military background his father came from that it had surprised many in the community when he made the switch, wondering incessantly about his motives.

Ron asked his dad about the drastic change once and he'd simply replied, "I've had enough excitement to last a lifetime, Ronnie." His eyes, and the deep, almost sorrowful sound of his voice told Ron he'd said all he was going to on the subject, so he never pressed the issue further.

Ron crossed the road, jogged up to the next turn he knew his father would be taking, and paused at the corner of the four way stop as if waiting for a friend to pick him up.

When the truck approached, Ron spotted a woman sitting in the cab as well, and his heart skipped a beat...his mother? It had been so long since he'd seen them last...since he thought them dead...it made the building pressure in his chest feel immense. He leaned forward for a better look, catching his breath for a second of joyful expectation, but it turned to disappointment almost immediately...it was not them. The pair in the vehicle was very familiar however, the man being his father's only brother and the woman being his aunt...one of his mother's three sisters. But since they were driving his father's truck, it meant that his folks were out of town. Now his plan stuttered a bit as he recomputed his goals.

Ron had grown up extremely close with their family, his parents and them being so intimately related. The cousins all enjoyed playing sports together along with the occasional sleep-overs, but he knew very well they could not possibly recognize him, so he considered just walking away. Getting them involved with his tenuous predicament was fraught with complexity.

Ron's feelings of disappointment turned quickly to concern though as he focused on his aunt's face. She looked very morose, sitting in the passenger seat, as if the life had been sucked right out of her. That sad expression pulled hard on his heart and caused him to contemplate the reason for her mood a hair too long. When the vehicle slowed to a stop, her eyes met his for a brief instant, and an unmistakable flicker of light flashed across her face, reanimating her in a blink.

Ron had been raised in the Deep South and so he tipped his hat like he'd been taught and strolled onward, thinking he should leave them well enough alone. If things did manage to work out in his quest, he could always come back and visit them. But he made it only a few steps before he heard voices coming from the cab and then the window of the truck slid down.

"Excuse me, sir!" she called to him pleasantly.

Ron halted and slowly turned to face her. She was just the way he remembered her...maybe sporting a little more gray hair...but her voice, and the compassion in that voice, was exactly as it should be.

"May we offer you a ride?" she asked sweetly while her eyes searched him very quickly. He could clearly make out a glimmer of recognition in her gaze, but then it faded away and she lost a bit of that spark that had flared. "It is awfully cold out this morning," she told him, still trying to be friendly.

That was one of the things he'd really loved about growing up in a small town...the unfaltering, welcoming atmosphere.

Ron paused for just a moment, his boyhood memories flooding in, yearning to sweep that little woman up into his arms...to tell her he was back...that he was alive and well. But he held his emotions in check and stepped slowly towards the cab. If he could talk to them for a while, they might be able to tell him where his folks were...or Angela.

"That's very kind, ma'am," he told her as he appeared to check his cell phone.

After the conversation with that man in the car, his awareness of technology was back full strength again. Surreptitiously he scanned the truck. It was being monitored. So even without his deliberate inclusion, it seemed they were already involved a great deal. He made a hasty decision in a blink. A quick press of his finger instantly jammed the device.

"Your vehicle is bugged," he told her quickly. "I've blocked it for now, but someone has been listening to every word you say, so act as if we are just talking casually."

"What?" she recoiled, turning to her husband. "Kyle?"

Ron clearly saw that his uncle was not surprised, apparently having expected such subterfuge, but he held his hand up to silence his spouse.

"Who are you, mister...and what do you want?" Kyle Allison asked the tall stranger.

Ron stood up as if taking a casual look around before he leaned in again and replied.

"Lieutenant Colonel Allison! I have information that you would find extremely valuable, personally...something that will answer a great deal of questions that I know you have...but it will take some time to explain.

"Can you evade your watchers?"

After a few seconds of hasty, bewildered thought, he responded.

"No...at least, not without raising some serious alarms. They've been on us ever since that damned machine over-flew my brother's, and my nephew's houses. We haven't had a moment's peace since then!"

"Do they follow you every minute?"

"Well, no. If we go for a walk, they don't appear to be around...but I'm sure they listen as often as they can. I guess they think the work Kurt and I did back in the day is somehow linked to that ship...and so it makes them think we know something we're not telling them...but we don't!"

Ron's mind suddenly went spinning at a furious pace. "What work?" he thought.

"Just who the hell are you?" Kyle asked, now suspiciously curious about this enigmatic man they'd 'accidentally' met on the street.

Ron stood up and gave the area another quick, yet casual browse...then returned his attention to the occupants of the truck.

"What time do you close up the shop?"

"Well, since it's off-season...with the slack in workload...four o'clock."

"Meet me at Sam Houston State Park at four thirty. Bring Clare and a picnic basket so as not to look suspicious. Take the first trail to the river, on the left...where you and your brother used to run with your sons."

That was it. Ron saw a police car turn onto the street, two blocks down. He quickly removed the jamming signal and stood upright again.

"I'll take your word on that breakfast, mister," Ron said clearly, wanting to be heard by the spies. "I'll bet it's great, but I'm still full. Coffee sounds good though. Up here three blocks and turn left, huh? Okay...thanks again! Y'all take care now."

Ron immediately broke away from the truck and strolled off at a brisk pace, straight at the approaching police car. He tipped his hat to the officer and was almost away...but then the vehicle stopped and the lights went on.

"Shit!" he mumbled, but kept walking, hoping the officer was on some other business.

"Sir!" called the policeman as he exited his vehicle. "Sir, might I have a word?"

Ron glanced over his shoulder at the man. "Who...me?"

"Yes sir. Could you please step back over here?" he said, indicating the sidewalk adjacent to the car. His hand was pointedly on his 45 caliber weapon...and the safety strap was already off the holster. Obviously his request was more of an order.

Ron inwardly bristled. The cop had no way of knowing how close to death he was standing at that very second. Ron was no longer used to anyone threatening him without an immediate reaction of open hostility on his part...but too, he was cognizant of his temper pulling at him, so he checked it abruptly. Instead of skewering the patrolman with one of his knives, he smiled and turned about.

"Of course, Officer. Whatever you say." Then, when he was in the desired place; "What's this all about?"

"Sir, could I see some identification?"

Ron reached for his wallet, inside his coat, and the policeman gripped his gun tighter, easing it up at least an inch. Ron froze for a second and absorbed what he could see about the city cop. He was nearly Ron's height, but slimmer. His uniform was perfectly tailored and starched to a crispness seldom seen outside the military, and his hair was trimmed to a perfect crew-cut. Ron could tell by the mannerisms, the corded muscles of the man's forearms, and the hard, unflinching stare, that he was no typical, small-town flatfoot. This fellow was well-trained, confident, and bristling with eagerness to test himself.

"Take it easy, now," Ron blurted quickly, withdrawing his hand instantly. "What's this all about?"

"The identification sir!"

"You're not going to shoot me if I reach for it again...are you?"

The officer merely stared at him sternly.

Ron slipped his hand in once more and produced a very slim wallet, and then retrieved the desired document...one of three different such items he'd made up while waiting in orbit. It was ridiculously easy for the Darlile to hack into the desired systems and gather whatever information he needed.

The policeman read the license...Ronin Dangarth...Nevada State...and gave Ron the once-over.

"What're you doing here...in Westlake?"

"I was passing through your state on I-10 and decided to see the town. It's quite famous, as you know. I wasn't aware there was an ordinance against that?"

"Why are you on foot...in this neighborhood? And why where you bothering those people, back at the stop sign."

Ron had had enough of this questioning by then and decided to end it.

"Excuse me, but I have a message on my phone...it's vibrating," he told the policeman, reaching into his coat once more. "I wasn't bothering them," he began to explain while he manipulated his techno-computer. He pulled up the scan mode and swept the officer's car.

"They offered me a ride...seeing as it's so chilly this morning...but I preferred to walk, so the lady told me where I could get a good hot breakfast."

He scrolled through a couple of the readouts until "Vehicle Speed Control" was highlighted, and he pressed it.

The policeman was staring at the gadget then, so Ron held it up...too far away for the man to see what it said. Too, it was written in Raulden script.

"It's my wife! She says good morning."

"Well sir, this town is under tight security...due to the national representation...and under military jurisdiction. I'm afraid that you..."

Ron saw where he was headed...speculated that the officer was about to order him out of town...and slid his thumb across the small screen, from Min to Max. The cruise control of the car engaged the "accelerate" mode immediately, and since the car was in 'park' it couldn't reach the desired velocity, so the engine instantly leaped to full throttle. The officer leaped as well...startled out of his wits...his pistol discharging into the pavement, barely an inch from his foot.

"Shit!" he blurted, his attention shuttling between his weapon and his vehicle.

He slammed the gun back into its holster and then lunged for the car door. Ron was already ahead of him though and triggered the door locks. Now the cop was frantic. The roar of the engine was deafening, and couldn't sustain that speed for very long since it wasn't equipped with a governor. The officer hastily searched his pockets for keys he already knew were in the ignition, and quickly realized he possessed no way of shutting it down.

"Oh, God!" he muttered while desperately trying to inventory his person for options. "I'm screwed!"

At least ten front doors flew open at the sound of the gunshot, and a dozen souls now stood watching the young man in uniform.

He'd discharged his weapon in a residential neighborhood without cause, locked himself out of his cruiser, and the power-plant of the car was surely going to explode. His hands shook from the stress, his feet seemed to be dancing a repetitious half-turn-half-step all by themselves, and his brain was absolutely screaming!

Ron took the opportunity to simply walk away. It would be several minutes before the officer would notice he was gone, and by then he wouldn't care. He never got his license back, but before it could become an issue, Ron toggled a "destruct" signal and the entire card turned blank. In an hour, there would be nothing left of it but dust. Ron smiled and couldn't resist a light chuckle. Raulden technology was very handy!

Taking stock in his vast knowledge of the area, Ron worked his way northward through town once again...skirting the fenced area with a wide margin...and out to Highway 171 which would deliver him to within a mile of the park he'd mentioned. It was quite a hike...almost five miles...but Ron had all day and so didn't feel the need to rush, welcoming the burgeoning morning and recalling many past trips up that very road.

Three different vehicles pulled up and offered him a ride, but he just thanked them kindly and said he was fine. One was full of teenaged girls who, after seeing him up close, chatted him up for a good while...until traffic had begun to stack up behind them and those drivers were getting impatient. They finally drove away with two of them hanging out the windows blowing kisses back at him. Ron just waved good-naturedly and grinned, easily remembering his own bouts of poor judgment and youthful quests for adventure.

He enjoyed the sights of the river and the woods as he strolled swiftly along, and before midday, he was napping in the shade of a huge, moss-laden oak tree...a trademark resident of the area. He relaxed and munched on his Raulden foodstuffs and tried to get his thoughts together until the appointed time.

Finally, as the meeting drew near, he surveyed the vicinity thoroughly, both electronically and personally, and then waited.

### Chapter Twelve

### Would You Believe?

As precise as his father was Ron's uncle, so right on time he heard the family's pickup truck pull off the roadway and onto a gravel pad used as a parking spot for the nature trail. On such a brisk day in the middle of the week there was little chance anyone else would be utilizing the path, so Ron wasn't surprised when his aunt and uncle were the only ones who came by.

He scanned the area once more thoroughly, and when he felt comfortable that they were indeed alone, he lowered himself down from a lofty perch in a huge old hickory tree and approached.

The clothes he wore were no longer black. At the press of a touch-sensitive pad, the sensors built into his long coat and hat ensemble had perused his surroundings and altered its coloring to match as closely as it could. It was a tremendously accurate camouflage.

Ron watched them from a hundred feet up the trail, his ears and eyes in a mode of heightened awareness that he always used when moving into an unknown situation. He felt no real danger to his person, but the rules of Earth had their ways of causing mayhem nonetheless, and he surely didn't want his family to pay for any mistakes he could've avoided.

His aunt was duly anxious and his uncle seemed extremely wary of the area as well...so when Ron pressed the camo button to return his attire to a normal state and stepped out into the trail, he saw Kyle Allison jerk at the movement. He was obviously startled and maneuvered himself immediately to protect his wife...his hand instinctively slipping to the inside of his coat.

"You came armed?" Ron asked.

He pulled his 45 caliber, semi-automatic pistol out and kept it at his side. The safety was off.

"Excellent. It's good to see you haven't changed," Ron told him as he turned and viewed the area once again. "You should not trust me until I've proven myself."

The wind was much lighter by then, allowing him to take in every animal sound and tussle of leaves. All appeared calm.

"I'm glad to see you two here. Were you followed?"

"I saw no one...but like I said before, I'm certain that we're being watched."

Ron pulled out his phone-scanner unit and swept the area. Kyle was privy to some very advanced electronics during his days in the service, so this display wasn't as impressive as it would have been had he known exactly what the capacity of the device was.

"We're good here...at least until they start to suspect something."

"Well, we showed up...so what's this all about?"

Ron took a seat on a huge, knotted root bulging out of the base of an old oak tree. He leaned back against the trunk, trying to give the impression of someone who was completely relaxed...docile.

"What do you know about your nephew's disappearance?"

"Disappearance?" Kyle said, visibly irritated. "My brother's son is gone...killed in an accident more than two and a half years ago...and it may as well have been our own boy, so don't screw around with us mister! We've all been through too much...both our families...to dredge up that wound again!"

Clarissa Allison's eyes narrowed. She was even more suspicious now, and didn't care for this stranger's question. It was easily apparent that it hurt her deeply even to think of it.

"What do you want?" she asked heatedly.

Ron's eyes danced back and forth between the pair, his mind searching for the proper words.

"What if I told you there was a mistake in your conclusion...that is, the conclusion the investigation reported?"

His relatives shifted their positions slightly, but listened.

"What if I told you Ron Allison did not perish in that oil-rig catastrophe, as you were led to believe?"

Clarissa clutched her husband's arm tightly...unable to breathe. Her heart lurched into overdrive at the mere suggestion of such a scenario, and her eyes grew wide and hopeful. Could it be? Was it possible her sister's first born child might still live? She trembled noticeably.

"I'd say you better be able to prove what you claim," Kyle replied in a rumbling growl, his fingers turning white as he fiercely clamped onto that pistol. "The deep hurt is still in my heart...and I don't want some crack-pot running around making up stories...trying to fill us with false hope. If this is some kind of scam..."

Ron's steady gaze didn't waver as it locked with his uncle's.

"It is true. He did not die...and I can prove it."

Clarissa began to shake harder and her husband encircled her shoulders with his free arm...still holding the pistol in his other. Kyle's jaw set tightly, but Ron could see the unending hope of a father in his eyes...never fully able to concede a loss in the instance of a missing person. He'd seen real war, and the term "missing in action" was a far cry from "dead"!

"How do you know this? Have you seen him? How do you know it's him?"

"I know because I know. I 'have' seen him...and now I'll make you believe me."

They both stood as still as the tree behind the stranger...too intrigued to move...or speak.

"On a Saturday morning, when Ron Allison was eleven years old, your team...the baseball team you coached with your brother, Kurt...his father...called the Tigers, played against the first place team, the Astros. It was a rainout, makeup game. It went ten innings and ended with your team winning five to four. Your son was sick that day and missed it, but your nephew batted six for six...three times against the best pitcher in the league...the kid who no one could hit."

Kyle Allison's jaw gaped open and his face was filled with astonishment.

"Your nephew, Ron was the catcher to your son, Brandon's pitching, and he only struck out twice the entire year. Your team won the championship."

"How could you...?"

Ron then turned to his aunt.

"In the sixth grade, Brandon took ceramics class with his cousin. He made a multicolored peacock which you set on the television cabinet for the next ten years. Your nephew, Ronnie made an identical one for his mother...your sister.

"Brandon gave it to you one week before he died from a bee sting...from anaphylactic shock."

"That's right!" she whispered...tears now dripping down her cheeks at the remembrance of her own personal, horrible tragedy.

"Your nephew came to see you several weeks after the funeral. He was very distraught. Do you remember what he told you?"

Clarissa recalled that day with exceptional clarity, it having been one of those times that couldn't help but be burned into her memory.

When her son passed so young, she nearly followed him, so deep into despair had she sunk. After a month of seclusion following her son's funeral...when Ron was certain she blamed him for his cousin's death and could take it no more...he went to see her, against everyone's advice. He apologized for having taken Brandon so far out into the woods and broke down in uncontrollable sobbing as he begged for her forgiveness. That was the moment she snapped out of her stupor of seemingly impenetrable sorrow. The boys had always been so close and so alike...more like twins than cousins...so she was hearing his pleas with a mother's ears, not an aunt's.

The boys were born only a week apart to mothers who were twin sisters, and their fathers were only separated by a year and a half, being virtually inseparable their entire lives as well, even having served together in the military for many years. Their little circle was extremely close-knit.

The incident had taken place on a beautiful June morning...when tragedy was the furthest thing from their minds. They were just two boys out hunting for a good spot for their Boy Scout Troop's next excursion...never devious nor overly careless. Both of them were smart and thoughtful, especially mature for their age. That summer day was just like any other, until the boys accidentally disturbed a hive of bees that had made their home in the heart of an old rotten log...and all of their lives were irrevocably changed.

Upon later investigation by the police and some expert entomologists from Houston, Texas, it turned out those insects were a very aggressive strain of African killer bees that had migrated into the USA from Mexico and weren't even supposed to be in an area that far north.

Even though he was in great pain because his own body was riddled with stingers, Ron had carried his cousin on his back a mile and a half out of the woods, and then another mile across bare soybean fields to the small town's only clinic. He collapsed in the emergency room and didn't awaken for two days, nearly dying from a combination of heat exhaustion and the potent bee venom. That was when he first learned of his cousin's death.

"By the time Brandon got to the hospital, it was far too late to save him," the doctor had told the family.

Clarissa and Kyle Allison's boy had perished less than ten minutes after the first sting. No one had any idea that he was allergic.

"Ronnie, baby...don't cry," she'd urged him, pulling him close and cuddling his shaking frame. "Please, Ronnie...don't cry. I don't blame you for Brandon's death! No one does! I 'KNOW' you would never have wished him harm or intentionally injured your cousin. You did more than anyone else could have! His time with you gave him so much joy...so much fun! A mother could never ask for more than that!"

They spent that entire afternoon together, looking through photo albums, exchanging stories, and just remembering the years they'd been given with him. After that day, Clarissa never missed a single game, or award ceremony, or holiday with Ron. That afternoon had bonded them through and through.

When her recollection of that period was concluded, Clarissa replied to Ron's initial query..."He said...'When you get too lonely for him, you just call me. I'll be your little boy.' And I told him..."

"If you're ever in need of someone," Ron recited easily, "you can come to me. I'll be your momma."

Clarissa burst into a new flood of tears at that, turning to her husband.

"Kyle! How...?"

"If you speak the truth," Ron's uncle growled, "then where is he? Where has he been? Why would he not have come to us by now...after all this time?"

Ron reached up and removed his hat, and when his features were at last clearly viewable by them both, he smiled.

Clarissa's fingers clamped down on her husband's arm so tightly they were barely visible through the enveloping nature of his soft leather coat.

"Ron?" they both croaked, the word catching roughly in their throats.

Ron then got to his feet so they might look him over. He wanted to reach out to his aunt...to pull her to him and ease her distress like she'd done all those years ago, but he held back to give them time to adjust.

"It can't be!" Kyle murmured doubtfully, studying Ron's face with intense focus...but his intuition knew better. This was his brother's son! Another thing that made it puzzling too, was he now had to look up to Ron. "You're...different!"

"Yes. Yes I am! I will explain everything to you if you like...but I must say that it will be quite unbelievable."

Clarissa and Kyle approached the man before them slowly, wanting to believe this broad-shouldered fellow was the boy they'd all grieved for, and now was rejoined with, but they were still hesitant.

"Your eyes," Clarissa said when she was close. "Contacts?"

Ron opened his arms to the lovely, middle-aged woman. "It's me, Aunt Clare."

"Oh, Ronnie!" she cried as the tears burst forth once more in a torrent and she rushed to him.

Ron held her firmly for a long while...her hug so tight he could feel it, even though his body was so tough. Ron's uncle put away the weapon he'd been brandishing and slapped him on the shoulder, tears clearly evident in his hardened, warrior's eyes, and when his wife finally released him, Kyle Allison gave his nephew a big bear hug.

"We thought you were dead, baby," Clarissa told him like he was still twelve years old. "We were convinced of it. What could possibly have happened that you couldn't let us know?"

Ron checked his sensory device once again and then turned his attention to his parents' siblings with a deep breath.

"I was abducted by aliens," he said simply.

### Chapter Thirteen

### What a Tale

The blank stares he received were exactly what he'd expected, so he smiled again and waved his hand to indicate a narrow path leading to a small knoll a hundred yards away. It was a power junction station for the cabins in the park and was known by few, hidden deliberately to protect against any curious kids. The trio carefully eased through the brush to that little hideaway and totally disappeared from the sight of any casual passersby.

When they were on the far side of the fenced station, and away from detection from the trail, he bid the couple sit, get comfortable, and have their meal while he spoke.

For the next two hours, until the sun's light was barely discernable, Ron recounted his experiences on Rauld. He told them about all the wonders and the dangers leading up to his infamous return in the black ship...and finally, how he was fooled by the very technology that had saved his life.

It was, of course, more than any normal people could truly believe, so he shucked his coat and demonstrated some of his abilities. He bid his uncle lift his leathery coat, and even though Kyle was a good sized man and still very fit and muscular, he could not. Ron then severed an eight-inch-thick oak tree with a single swing of his ebony sword before he made a thirty foot leap into a huge, gnarly, old pine. After that, he hefted Kyle with one hand.

Even with those simple feats to prove what he was telling them was fact, his uncle and aunt were baffled and bewildered. This sort of thing was just not plausible...or possible.

"We want to believe everything you've said, Ronnie...but it's too much! You know?" his uncle told him. "It's just too much!"

"Oh, I know! It happened to me and I still can't believe it sometimes!"

"What are you going to do?" Clare asked.

"Well...I can't stay on Earth. I assume you can see how obvious that is. Fate has stepped in and forced me to take this leap out into the heavens. Why me...and for what ultimate purpose, I can only speculate, but there are things that need doing out there," he said, sweeping the sky with his hand. "The Milky Way is full of people who need my help and the help of those whom I've allied myself with. I just came back to let you all know...and apologize for the grief I put you through...and of course, there's one other matter."

Kyle and Clarissa both glanced nervously at each other.

"Where are my folks? Are they all right?"

"Oh, yeah...they're fine! They're out west in their motor-home, taking a long overdue vacation. I think they're even planning to visit with your sister, Tyrhan, in Frisco. Once every few days we go over and check on the house and make sure it's okay. We're just driving the truck around today to keep it running. You know how bad the humidity is on equipment down here."

"Is Tyrhan doing all right?"

"Oh, yeah," Clarissa said with a bright smile. "Her and Chris are expecting twin boys in May. They're just fine. So's Ainsley. She's still in Atlanta at that big accounting firm...and it sounds like she's getting pretty serious with a boy. His name is Josh. I wouldn't be surprised if we hear about an engagement soon!"

"Wow, I guess I really have missed a lot," Ron said sadly. He'd always been close with his two sisters...both younger than he, but not too far. He'd definitely have to make sure to see them too, but at the moment, he reverted to his previous topic.

"A Motor-home, huh?" Ron asked, quite surprised. His father had never shown interest in driving long distances. He always preferred to fly. "When did they get that?

"A few months back. Your dad calls it 'the land yacht'. They've been out a couple of weeks and aren't due back for another two. My God, boy...they're going to have a cow when they see you!"

Ron smiled, but was obviously dejected at the news of their absence.

"Timing is everything!" he muttered, and then changed to the primary reason for his visit. "Aunt Clare...where's Angie?"

Clarissa Allison's face went from flushed to pale in a blink, and she glanced quickly to her husband, and then back again.

"We...we don't know, Ronnie," his uncle said. "She's been gone for nearly six months now. She and Derek were on their way to see your folks one day, but they never got to the house. Her car was abandoned at the cemetery where your headstone rests."

Ron didn't show any signs of surprise at the news, to the astonishment of his relatives. He'd already resigned himself to the realization that his dream was absolutely factual...no matter how insane the concept sounded. Hearing it confirmed merely "sealed the deal", so to speak.

"Derek?" Ron asked half-consciously.

"Oh my Lord! I didn't think!" his aunt blurted. "Ronnie, honey...you have a son!"

Ron was hesitantly waiting for that substantiation as well...the _Darlile_ 's sensors having already corroborated the existence of the baby months ago...but he still got choked up when he heard it. He stared off into the woods while he let a thought bounce about in his head for a few moments. Since he was obligated to leave, who would be the father to his son? Where would he grow up?

"He's so much like you at that age, it's scary!" she added, smiling. "He's just a doll!"

That brought Ron back to the present with his own grin.

"Tell me about him...would you?"

They spent the twilight filling Ron in on his child...and all of his little antics.

Ron's heart was heavy with regret for not being at his wife's side for all of it, but he managed to focus on what was most important in the current situation.

"What can you tell me about her disappearance?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," Kyle replied. "She called ahead earlier in the day, to make sure Kurt and Jesse would be home after church. She was going to stop by your grave and visit with you for a while first, but when two o'clock passed, your dad went looking for her. He found her car at the cemetery and called the police. They normally wouldn't have even filed a report for twenty-four hours, you know, but Kurt's good friends with the Sheriff.

"They never found a shred of evidence that might help us track her down, but about a month afterward, this old geezer showed up at Kurt's place and told him a story about some men. They'd driven up in a..."

"Long, black limousine with blacked out windows?" Ron interjected.

"Well...yes."

"And they approached her quite harmlessly but ended up having to pick her up and put her in the car?"

"Yeah! But how...."

"That whole story would be quite long, I'm afraid, and I think you've probably been out here beyond what you should, so it'll have to wait. Tell me this though...how did Westlake get turned into the camp that it has?"

"After the alien...well, 'your' spaceship...left, the city was quarantined for months. Everyone was taken to a military center in Texas and questioned during that time...but your mother, father, and wife were kept for several months longer. While they were away, the government used the statute of "imminent domain" to take everyone's property and force them to move. They tagged it as a 'National Security Emergency'.

"For many that was a good thing...they took the buyout money and started again somewhere else, away from all the hype and paranoia, but for some it was a real emotional kick in the teeth. The LaSalles had been living on the riverfront for over a hundred years, their ancestors having moved there just after the Civil War. The Bergerons lost half of their dairy farm and the old man, Clive, was shot while trying to keep the feds out. He's still in and out of the hospital a lot, and probably won't ever walk right again. Needless to say, they went out of business.

"As soon as all the legal dirty work was done, they built that compound around your old neighborhood, and moved in a whole bunch of people from all over the world. They did every conceivable test on the area that could be devised...and came up empty. Since then, they've just waited."

"Waited for what?"

"They think the black ship will come back...or something worse."

"Well, they were partly right. It is back...just not where they'll ever find it."

Kyle gave him an understanding smirk and a nod.

Ron then tried to devise a strategy, but didn't know where to begin.

"Who at the Texas military camp could I speak with?"

"Colonel Cameron Johnson was in charge at the refugee compound back then...but I don't know now. I tried to find out if they were the ones who collected Angie and Derek, but no one would talk to me."

"Who's running things here...at this facility?"

"I have no idea. It's a group who call themselves the "the Reconnaissance Objectivity Forum"...the ROF. Their some sort of free-lance, European, high-intelligence organization, specializing in just this type of science...unexplainable phenomenon. They call the shots instead of a military contingent, although American soldiers still patrol and perform most of the perimeter security.

"They voluntarily approached our government...about a month after the incident...and then took over the project shortly thereafter. That seemed to appease the global community who was putting immense pressure on the President to share in the studies of this 'otherworldly' contact...even though there never was any contact. Friggin idiots!"

Kyle then grinned quizzically.

"You know, it's kind of funny now, really. There's practically every sizable country represented here today, and they're briefed every morning about...well...nothing. There never was anything special about this point on the Earth! This whole mess...the entire upheaval of our town...and the world for that matter...was about a solitary man trying to return to his home.

"How messed up is that?"

"I'm truly sorry for all..." Ron tried to say.

Kyle Allison merely waved his hand. "That's not what I meant, son. You did what you had to do with the information you had to work with. There's no blame on you. In fact, globally, it may have all been for the best. The world has been given time to adjust to the thought of other, more advanced life in the cosmos. It's permitted all peoples the time to seek out advice, and make amends in their lives. Many have leaned on their religious leaders for guidance and established tremendous prayer groups to ward off any aggressive intentions. Others focused on exactly the opposite...preparing for planetary war...but all these diverse reactions have caused one positive result. Conflicts here on Earth have diminished to nearly zero. The entire planet has chosen to unite our greatest, varied, and progressive minds on the single fact of extraterrestrials' inexorable existence; spanning the emotional, as well as philosophical spectrums.

"If ever there was a time for this to happen, it's now...before a hostile faction finds us first, like those Kreete you've spoken about."

Ron could have talked with his aunt and uncle all night, but as the last of the twilight faded, and the deeper chill of the night swept in, he considered other things.

"What do you two want to do?" Ron asked.

"What do you mean?" Clarissa asked.

"Do you want to stay here, or get away? Because if I start to poke around, I think things will probably get a little exciting...and I may have to do something drastic."

"Such as?" Clarissa inquired.

"I'm going to find them, Aunt Clare...Angie and Derek, that is...and I really don't care what it takes at this point. I've come too far and they've been through too much to half-ass it!"

"Then let's get my wife to safety and team up," Kyle told him. "Two are..."

"No, Uncle Kyle! That's out of the question," Ron told him bluntly. "Right now, you two are innocents caught up in this mess, but if you aid me, you could become criminals...wanted by the most powerful people in the world. I can simply climb back into my spaceship and disappear...and believe me, there's nothing anyone on this planet can do to stop that ship...but you two are stuck here, and subject to whatever these people wish to do to you."

Kyle looked at his wife and knew his nephew spoke wisely, no matter how much it hurt him to consider abandoning Ron to his fate in this quest.

"I'm afraid he's right, sweetheart," he told her. "He can do things I could never keep up with. I would only slow him down and jeopardize his mission. But running away isn't the answer either. If we disappear, it'll put that much more pressure on Kurt and Jesse...and could possibly endanger Angie and Derek, if they've been taken into custody.

"No. We'll stay here and pretend all is well and normal. You do what you must. Kurt has a narrow window in his schedule in case of emergencies. Dial this number," he told Ron, writing it down for him. "If you ring him between 0608 and 0610, Central Time you might catch him. He turns on that cell only two minutes a day so no one can track him from the signal. It may be a moot point because he's confidant he's being watched at all times too, but he does it just in case."

"Very well then," Ron told him. "If you need to contact me, call this number...and then hang up." He passed his uncle a business card with the phone number for Dangarth Exterminators. "I will return your call as soon as I can through an untraceable source. Even if someone is tapping your phone they won't be able to listen in."

"How's that possible?"

Ron just smiled and shrugged his broad shoulders.

"I gave up asking those kinds of questions more than a year ago. The people I work with act as if it were nothing at all."

They all hugged, and Ron's aunt wept again before Kyle led her back up the trail and to their truck. A few minutes later they were gone.

Ron hung back for another hour, watching and listening. Two vehicles followed the Allisons out of the park. One was a family with young children laughing and tussling in the back seat of their mini-van. The other was a very wary man in a dark green car. He swept the woods with his eyes as he glided slowly in their wake with his headlights off...as if expecting to see something through the trees. Ron made sure he didn't.

About twenty five minutes after that car was gone, Ron heard some soft noises emanating from the trail. By then he was perched up in the confines of a nearby live-oak, overlooking the parking area as well as the head of the trail. The strong breeze he fought through during the previous night had dropped with the coming darkness to barely a draft, so it was easy for him to zero in on the approach of footsteps, but they sounded odd. One was as it should be, a light, delicate step, but the other was more pronounced than normal...or was the adjustment to the thinner air fouling his senses? He almost dismissed the entire encounter when a couple came strolling out of the path, arm in arm...appearing to be lovers on a romantic walk...but then he noted they had no flashlight.

"Maybe they just lost track of the time...or took a wrong turn," he surmised, ready to discard the oddity once more before another miscue caught his attention.

The pair walked out to the edge of the roadway and stopped...both looking about suspiciously as if wanting to assess the area. They stood there side by side at that point, no longer amorously joined, and not speaking. The man suddenly reached into his coat pocket and pulled out what seemed to be a phone, but Ron could only make out part of his conversation, and didn't think quickly enough to use his eavesdropping equipment.

"No...we saw no one else, but they were in there an awfully long time to have...yes, we're ready for pickup."

Ron noticed another thing; they were both wearing glasses and were still peering about as if it were daytime. He followed his hunch and slipped on his own "specialized" pair of spectacles. A quick flip through the functions showed what he suspected.

"Infrared! Damn!"

They'd made their way through the trail so surreptitiously by using an infrared light and special glasses...and that was how they were looking about now. Luckily for Ron, his coat blocked any attempt at them seeing his thermal registry.

"Just who are these people?" Ron mused as a large, dark car pulled up and they got in. The man climbed in the front and the woman moved to the back door.

"They didn't walk very far down the trail," Ron heard the man tell the driver. "But I don't know where they did go!"

"Dragen Earthers!" the driver grumbled before the door closed.

That last utterance confused Ron for a few moments as his mind tried to sort it out. He finally concluded that whatever language the people spoke must have somehow been misinterpreted by his translator.

"They probably said, 'friggin natives'," he rationalized. "Well, it's for certain Uncle Kyle was right about being watched! Damn it! This is all my fault!"

He sat there in his roost with a sour disposition after that, wondering what unending amounts of stress his family had been forced to endure due to his hapless act.

No others emerged over the next half hour though, so Ron dropped down to the hard-packed trail and drifted off toward the highway. He swept the area with his sensors as he walked, and then called the black ship.

" _Darlile_...I need you to monitor a cellular phone number. When it becomes active, locate it and send me the coordinates."

"Affirmative," replied the soft, calm voice of the warship.

The night was turning cold and dark...just like Ron's mood.

### Chapter Fourteen

### Timing is Everything

Ron followed the well-worn riverside trail for a long ways, until he found an old cut-through he used to run along in his high school days that led out to the highway. The frigid night was very dark beneath the canopy of pines and moss-covered oaks, but he strolled along calmly and negotiated the path with ease nonetheless. His mountain-man inner self was right at home.

The park was surprisingly alive with a raucous commotion even at the subfreezing temperature. The bullfrogs and alligators hit the bass notes to the never-ending nighttime serenade of the swampy land's inhabitants, and enhanced a din that would drive any typical city-dweller mad in minutes. To Ron it was as comforting as a mother's lullaby and let him relax and think.

As he moved through the night, he decided the best plan would be to get to that military compound in Texas that his uncle had mentioned and try to find out what they knew about his wife. How, exactly, he could accomplish that was a whole other matter, but with the _Darlile's_ help, he figured he could hack through any computer system on the planet. If they had any records of her, he'd get them. If that didn't pan out, his backup plan was to contact his folks and enlist their help.

His short-cut brought him back to the main road a good four miles from where his family's truck had parked earlier, at which point he started his trek back toward the interstate. It was a straight shot across some swampy spillway land permeating the area on both banks of the Calcasieu River, but it was still a long walk.

Many cars passed him on the busy road, but none stopped, and he was glad of that fact. Since his interaction with the officials in Westlake, his need to stay quiet and secretive was paramount, at least until he'd put some distance from the town. Exposing his rather "unique" abilities to a bunch of alien hunters at this point may very well end his ability to search for his family.

Finally though, while making his way through the back roads of Moss Bluff, along a stretch of riverbank on Highway 378, he caught a lucky break.

"See you in a couple weeks, Jimmy!" called out a man in a semi to his friend standing in the gateway of a pipe yard.

"You drive safe, Frank," came the reply.

The truck eased out of the entrance and the fellow left behind began closing up the huge gate that led to the riverside storage area. That place was a way station for river traffic going out to the Gulf of Mexico and on to the Mississippi River where it would eventually reach the northern states.

The name of the company was Progressive Piping, of El Paso, Texas. El Paso, coincidentally, was a city large enough to be able to take care of the one business transaction that Ron needed to make...and it was only seventy five miles from the military base he was headed for! It was perfect.

Ron was barely fifty yards away as he watched the truck crawl slowly out onto the highway, and when it shifted gears, he moved like a shadow in the night. Quick and silent as a panther, he sprinted forward and hopped up onto the three-inch thick wooden bed without either man suspecting a thing. A moment later he was safely nestled down between two stacks of large, wooden forms that were used to keep the pipe from rolling off the truck. He was well concealed from the driver as well as any following vehicle's headlights, so it seemed like a safe move at the time. Daylight would be another matter...but he was good until then.

At that point, Ron settled in and indulged in a long overdue meal. He gulped down his cold rations in a state of mild numbness...his mind being filled with doubt and anxiety. How was he ever going to fulfill his quest? How could he find Angie in such a huge country, among the hundreds of millions? While he ate, he planned...rejecting one scenario after the other, each as either inadequate or downright foolhardy.

Once satiated though, he found the droning of the engine and wheels of the truck were lulling him swiftly to sleep and decided to allow it. He stowed his glasses in his coat's inner pocket and leaned back into a comfortable position. It had been a long day, and there were surely more to come, so taking rest where he could manage it was in his best interests.

Along the outskirts of town, the big rig bellowed in the frosty night, changing direction twice, until it was at last pointed west and headed up the onramp of the tall, Calcasieu River Bridge. The truck was empty, so it had no problem climbing the eight degree slope, cresting the pinnacle of that soaring structure with the stars and moon vivid in the black sky. Ron felt the truck pitch upward and opened his eyes a moment, until he noticed just where he was. He then stood up for one last glance around, gazing out across the lake at the thousands of city lights shining brightly in the darkness far below and spread out across many miles. The lake was as black as pitch, but twinkling bulbs of a wide variety outlined it with striking precision. There were also the nearby colored lights of hotels and casinos, as well as all the illumination of dozens of petroleum refineries, each a welcomed reminder of his simple, ordinary beginning.

The lofty status of the bridge's peak was a fleeting rush which only lasted a few seconds before the truck was pointed downward, the engine rumbling deeply as the weight of the vehicle changed from being a burden to an assistant.

Gravity was a different enemy now, still tugging hard at the big rig, but instead of trying to slow it down, it pulled the cab faster, forcing the power-plant's loping roar to grow even deeper and louder as it told all those around that it now checked the speed of the truck.

Drivers know this as compression braking, and it is utilized to keep from overheating the vehicle's brakes while damping its natural tendency to rush down a steep incline too quickly. Those in cars next to the large rigs only know that it is extremely noisy and irritating.

Ron took a seat once more, propping himself into a comfortable spot. The roaring of the diesel engine, combined with the wind whistling by, was as soothing as the whine of the tires, and pushed Ron deeper into sleep quickly.

It wasn't to be that easy for him though, as catastrophe ended all hope for such luxury barely halfway down the tall, slim structure.

At the midway point of the mile long, downhill stretch, a sound reached Ron's ears which brought him instantly out of his semi-slumber and flooded his body with adrenaline. It was the sound of metal...or more precisely, metal destroying metal.

Inside one of the dozens of expansion joints which enable the bridge's concrete and steel structure to withstand the differing temperatures and rates of change, the heavy, iron meshing hinge of one of them finally gave way to time and usage. In a split second wear and rust won out at last, shearing off all the one-and-a-half-inch-thick bolts securing it in place. When that happened, a three-foot-long, eight-inch-wide, one hundred pound piece of bridging was suddenly turned into a treacherous bludgeon of ricocheting destruction.

Scarcely a hundred yards ahead of the pipe hauler Ron was dozing on, another eighteen wheeler...a fully loaded gasoline transport...dealt the final blow to that weakened joint with its drive wheels, kicking it upward at a sharp angle and allowing the trailer's tires to launch it into the air like a giant Tiddlywink. As if fighting the laws of physics, it seemed to hover a foot off the ground for a full second before a following police cruiser smashed into it with his push-bar, shoving that stout appliance so far back into the engine compartment that the left front tire locked up and sent the officer immediately into an uncontrolled spin.

The collision with the car, in turn, ejected the airborne shrapnel over the concrete median separator, and into the oncoming, eastbound lanes of traffic. That jagged shard of iron then struck a pickup truck at the driver's window post, ripping through it, destroying the left side of the windshield, and obliterating the glass in the door before rebounding to the roadway where it shot skyward once more.

The truck's driver reacted as anyone would have when something that frightening smashes into their vehicle...he panicked! The fellow locked up the tires and steered away from the flying debris, unable to see what his reaction's effect caused to the other traffic because his eyes were peppered with glass.

Before he knew it, he ended up facing backwards down the bridge he'd just been climbing, and couldn't suppress his unmanly screams of terror and pain.

An armored courier truck was directly behind him and it too leaned on the brakes hard as the iron grate struck its roof twice before rolling off the back. The courier driver was able to stay in control of his heavy machine, but now the two lanes heading eastbound were completely fouled.

The next thing to make contact with the cart-wheeling length of metal was a minivan being utilized in the typical fashion of such vehicles...a woman hauling a cargo of four young adolescents. They were just getting back from an out-of-town excursion to Houston, and the kids were all sleeping soundly in their seats. The mom driver was extremely glad to be on the bridge at last because it meant they were finally within a short couple miles of her home. Regrettably her elation came to an abrupt, heart-stopping end at that instant.

The careening joint plummeted harshly from its contact with the armored truck and imbedded itself solidly in the roadway. Unfortunately, it stuck just deep enough so when the van's front end passed over it, the beefy iron shrapnel sheared off the supporting structure to the drive wheel...sending the auto completely out of control.

The female driver felt the steering wheel ripped from her hands and was thrown against the door savagely as the van skidded, struck the center divider, and then shot off across the lanes into the outer railing.

To compound the danger even further however, there happened to be a long-haul trucker just behind her in the next lane, and he was loaded down with half a dozen, sixty-inch diameter concrete culverts, with practically no way to stop in time. The screaming of rubber on concrete tore through the inky blackness of the night an instant before the rear of the van was slammed by that inertia driven truck...and shoved completely through the railing.

Only pure luck kept the vehicle from immediately plunging over eighty feet to the ground and killing everyone onboard. Their good fortune prevailed only by the very slimmest of margins however...its mangled aft sheet metal being thoroughly and miraculously entangled with the bumper of the semi.

The tanker truck which had inadvertently initiated the disastrous incident continued on its way, completely oblivious to what had occurred, but those left behind faced a totally different reaction as the entire flow of traffic in both directions, came to an immediate, petrifying halt.

Ron's keen senses followed the rampaging, ricocheting chunk of metal precisely, right from the onset, and so he was on the move before his own ride could even stop. His hat was on the deck of the trailer so quickly he didn't even recall the move. Then he shed his coat onto his pack in a single deft shrug of his powerful shoulders before coiling and springing from the braking trailer like a jungle cat from a tree...landing on the center median smoothly; perfectly balanced.

He paused there for only an instant, just long enough to acquire a target for his next leap, and so when the thin metal skin of the minivan bent abruptly under the strain of the situation, Ron jumped once more.

Over the armored truck he flew, no longer amazed and elated by the feeling of his body shooting through the air...there was no time for silliness on this night. He landed at the edge of the gap between vehicles, directly adjacent to the semi/van entanglement. The entire bridge shuddered upon his eight-hundred pounds striking its surface, but none of the witnesses even saw him land. They were still fighting their own problems and cringing from the skidding tires and clashing metal of still more accidents piling up behind them.

Time seemed to slow down to the valiant knight on the scene, and Ron watched in horror as the lower lip of the van's aft hatch bent even further, tilting the main body ominously. Five frantic screams resonated from that doomed vehicle in a resounding chorus of unfettered terror, so Ron reacted with all the speed he could muster, instantly diving for the disappearing auto.

The rear of the minivan was badly crushed by the impact of the larger truck, leaving only one substantial hand-hold within reach...the rear axle...so that became his singular target. In a flash, his body slammed against the concrete surface of the bridge's pedestrian walkway where he latched onto that axle with his vise-like grip and to the pathway's foot-high lip with his thighs, and then prayed he could stop its gaining momentum.

The vehicle's undercarriage though, had been subjected to a tremendous amount of abuse as well. It had been harshly forced over the thick walkway which was specifically designed to corral any wayward vehicles, so when Ron grabbed onto it he could clearly see the axle he held was already torn half free of the van.

"Shit!" he growled as the sheet metal wedged to the semi's bumper ripped loose and the van's nose dipped to a vertical attitude, pulling him over the edge along with it.

Ron was then left stretched out to the very limits of his reach. It was a fragile, desperate, and harrowing predicament as his eyes looked down over the edge of the bridge, but his inner drive would not yield.

Eighty feet below was a small, two-lane road leading from the exit of the town he'd visited just that morning to a point where it merged with a service road to the oil refineries, and to the onramp of the bridge. The twisted remains of the sheared-off guardrail could be spotted down there already, having bounced to the edge of the asphalt roadway along with countless pieces of smaller debris that were still raining down from the bridge.

The van then slowly began to pivot around the final point thus far attached to the axle, causing the lower surface of the vehicle to grind against the bridge's structure in a deafening wail of steel on concrete. That forced Ron to change his hold, swapping his right hand from the axle to the shock absorber's supporting structure.

Ron's arms bulged with steel-hard sinew and his back spread out into a delta shape any bodybuilder would have envied, at last locking the vehicle firmly in place, however precarious the locale. His move stabilized the swing, but left him totally encumbered and able to do nothing for the family.

At that instant, he was certain he could hold the weight...but too, he could feel the adrenaline surge burning up his energy. His lungs couldn't keep up with the amount of oxygen intake his body was calling for and he knew it. He needed help...now!

Suddenly there were footsteps beside him and he turned his head to see a guy gaping at him in pure astonishment. It was the driver of the truck that had collided with the minivan. That fellow's face was blanched white with horror at what he viewed to be his fault, until he focused on what the man at his feet was actually doing.

"How the hell...?" the trucker began.

"Get them out!" Ron ordered in a deep, menacing tone, as if he were literally threatening the fellow into action.

The truck driver felt his fear level shoot up instantly, not at the tenuous situation of the family dangling over the edge, or at the thought of standing on the brink of a certain deadly fall if he should slip. He was instantly afraid of falling short of that demand!

He rushed past Ron and screamed at the women in the van.

"Can you move?"

"Help us! Help us...please don't let us die!" the girls pleaded.

"Unbuckle your seat belts..."

"Heeeeeeelllllllllp!" screamed the woman and the four girls simultaneously.

"Take off your seat..."

"HELP US!"

The trucker was not a man with a great deal of patience, or time to be socially amiable, so...

"SHUT THE HELL UP, DAMN IT!" his voice thundered into the van.

The passengers stopped screaming instantly and listened.

"Take off your seatbelts and climb out!" the driver yelled at them, and then he glanced to the man at his feet. Ron was starting to huff audibly, running low on air fast, "...and HURRY!"

Ron's concentration was sheer perfection, his eyes were closed and his breathing was deep and long, trying to suck in enough of the thin atmosphere to keep his mind alert and his body obeying his commands. The van was a hefty load, especially because of the desperate way he'd had to snatch it in midair, but his will would not relent...nor his unbreakable grip!

Soon there was much jostling inside the vehicle, which transmitted to him the fact that they were finally on the move, but he barely registered it, his focus being on his fingers as well as his thighs' grip on the concrete ledge. He could hold on maybe another two minutes, he told himself. After that, things were going to get real bad real fast.

Three more men rushed up the bridge by then to see if they could help, and each of them froze for a few moments when they saw what was occurring.

"Holy shit!" one of them said. "He's holding up that car...by himself!"

"No...no, that can't be," said one of the others. "It must be hooked on the railing somehow. Come on!"

They quickly joined in on the rescue and began hauling the kids out of the back hatch and onto the safety of the roadway in good fashion. Those girls were athletic and nimble...but the driver-mother was not. And just as kids tend to react under stress by taking direction from grownups without offering opinions, adults often have the opposite mentality...perhaps because they think too much about what could happen instead of simply seeing and doing. In any event, the woman did not follow the girls' escape route, only managing to release her seat belt before her fears held her immobile. Now, as precious time ticked away, she sat cowering in the front of the van with her hands over her eyes, crying uncontrollably.

Frank Denk, the driver of the pipe-hauling truck that Ron had stowed away on, had secured his rig on the west-bound side and hopped the concrete median by then, assuming control of the situation immediately. He was a middle-aged fellow standing well over six feet tall, sturdily built, clean cut, and well trained in emergency rescue and roadside assistance...a side job for him.

Three of the men who'd rushed up to help were screaming at the woman to climb up, but were having no luck. Two others were almost ready to brawl over what to do next, and a couple of teenage boys were milling about with a bad case of curiosity. A hasty look around the accident and Frank leaped into action.

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!" he roared over the din of voices, shocking them into an attentive state. Whose truck is this?" he then asked in a thundering, masculine, authoritative voice.

"Mine," replied the first fellow Ron had spoken to. He was a smaller, bearded young man of approximately twenty five years.

"Get your tie-down straps...now!" he ordered. "You there...help him! We've gotta stabilize the van before it slips loose! You two...get those girls outta here and bring back that cop from the west-bound side!" Then he turned to another of the growing crowd. "Grab the chains off the headache-rack of this rig and hook'em to the front here...go!"

He stepped up to the dangling minivan at that point and assessed the predicament with the woman.

"Lady!" he said calmly, but firmly. "Look at me!" She did not obey; her hands still over her eyes.

"LADY! LOOK...AT...ME!" he shouted in a clear, commanding tone.

The woman then peeked between her hands at the sound of his voice.

"Everything is fine here...okay?" He then glanced at the straining back of the Hercules that wheezed for air at his feet. "No frigging way!" he thought when the full scene registered in his mind. He then told Ron, "Hang on, man...the chains are coming!" Then to the woman, "Lady...you have to climb up. Your girls are scared and they need to see that you're alright! Come on now."

"I can't...I can't...I can't! If I move...it'll fall!"

"Shit!" the big man said as he turned from the van. Four men were returning with the chains and straps, and they hurriedly began attaching them to the front of the big truck, at the heavy hooks built into the frame. One of the teenagers appeared from the other side, slipped in next to Ron, and tossed a loop of cable around the wheel that was still firmly attached. He snagged the swinging end and locked the heavy hook in place.

"Okay...hit it!" he yelled back at his buddy.

The cable tightened up quickly, giving both Ron and Frank a moment of hope, but then the eager-beavers went too far.

"Come on, Bobby...let'er rip! Your winch'll haul that bitch right back up here...no problem!"

That's when Ron realized just what they were doing, and tried to warn them.

"No," he groaned, but it was too late.

Frank heard his plea and spun on his heel. He saw the young men attempting to help, saw the attached cable and the apex of the applied force, and he too yelled.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The boys were using the winch on their four-by-four with a ten thousand pound capacity, so when the cable tightened up, there was practically no chance of stopping it. The angle of leverage they used was far too sharp however, and it actually ripped the axle assembly right off the frame, snapping the sole remaining U-bolts without hesitation.

Ron was lucky enough to see it coming though and so was narrowly able to shift his body enough to not be towed off along with it. As it was however, the loss of a handhold let the van swing down even further, and he was forced to make an even more desperate grab at another point. The shock and spring structure on the newly liberated side was out of reach so he switched his grip to the edge of the crumpled uni-body. Regrettably, that was a section of the vehicle never designed for such loads, and it immediately bent and stretched away.

By then, sweat was dripping from Ron's chin and his panic to stop the slide of the van burned through his oxygen reserves even faster. The minivan was slowly tearing itself loose of his attempt at saving the woman, and he unexpectedly found himself with only one course of action.

In a move so quick the men around the van barely flinched before it was over, and only then realized what he'd done, Ron suddenly lunged outward...over the edge of the bridge. He hung tightly to the one hard-point of the undercarriage he had with his right hand and whipped out and sunk the length of the black sword in with the left, establishing a new, solid, and stable attitude once more.

In order to accomplish that feat however, he had to relinquish his thigh hold on the walkway, switching instead to the semi-truck behind him by stretching out his legs and hooking his heels under the heavy bumper. The front of the truck abruptly rose six inches before its own immense weight stopped any further travel.

Now things were more than tenuous...and seconds felt like hours. Ron was able to halt the dropping van, but it was now six feet below the surface of the bridge, and his entire torso was over as well, the fulcrum of that unbelievable support being at his thighs.

Frank pulled away when the van slid, his heart racing madly, but was immediately back at it when it stopped, assessing the newest parameters. (The others jumped well clear...mostly due to the rear axle and wheel assembly flying out from under the vehicle...and were hesitant to return.)

Frank hurriedly began fishing a wide tie-down strap through the back hatch of the van and hollering at the woman again.

"Put this around your waist!" he yelled before turning to Ron. "Hold on, man! A few seconds more."

Ron heard his request, but by then he was in dire shape. The weight wasn't the problem, and he was sure he could've held it much longer, but he could barely inhale at all anymore...especially now that his upper body was so compressed from the position. He was taking small, fast gasps of air that was never meant to supply an individual such as him, and simply could not accommodate his needs.

He started graying out only moments after Frank's appeal...the voices around him becoming garbled and mix-mashed. He vaguely felt hands on his legs, as if someone was trying to aid him, but he could not understand. A few more seconds and he'd given all he could...and then his world went black.

### Chapter Fifteen

### A Strange Rescue

On the surface of the bridge, the voices Ron heard just before he passed out were from the dozens of anxious onlookers all talking at once, and then cheering when the woman finally cleared the crumpled back hatch of the minivan. Six men were hauling her up as fast as an express elevator after she finally managed to encircle herself with the strap and secure the hook.

There were indeed hands on Ron's legs too, three pair to be exact, and each of the individuals operating them wondered the same thing as they gripped the limbs of the man who was performing the insane feat; "This is impossible!" So they just assumed his adrenaline was so overwhelming that he was able to accomplish what could not be done. But when they felt those legs, they knew something was more than a little unique about this fellow...his limbs felt as solid as a tree. And after they leaned their weight on him, to help counter the load he held, it was like pressing on a steel girder, which didn't give in the slightest.

They all looked at one another in amazement, totally baffled by the man's extraordinary deed, wondering what kind of fellow lay stretched out between them. But as soon as the lady cleared the metal prison threatening to stifle her life, they felt those stout bands of hardened muscle instantly go limp. At that point the assistants were nearly thrown from the bridge as the human crane of a man slipped over the edge and followed the van hurtling to the ground.

Ron's fingers had refused to give up their hold until after he was completely out...and falling.

The van dropped straight down onto its nose, turning the one-time family express into a huge accordion as its length went instantly from nearly ten feet to six...and barely three quarters of a second behind it followed the unconscious form of Ron Allison.

Once again however, Ron's uncanny luck prevailed due to a very unlucky motorist driving by at the exact wrong moment.

The driver was totally unaware of any danger because he was so excited and speaking to his son about the fishing trip they were headed on. When the silver minivan dropped out of thin air and slammed into the ground two feet in front of his huge, brand new, dually truck with a custom painted fiberglass bed cover, there was nothing he could do.

The fellow reacted as quickly as anyone could, but not fast enough to miss colliding with the demolished van. He rammed into it at thirty miles an hour and ejected it across the road like kicking an empty soda can.

"JESUS ALMIGHTY!" shouted Jerome Benoit out of utter fright when the airbag exploded into him.

As his truck screeched to a stop only a few feet further along, another source of damage drizzle down onto his freshly waxed pride and joy. Ron's nearly eight hundred pound body landed dead center of his beautiful bed cover and bottomed out the shocks of the heavy-duty truck.

Jerome's death-grip on the steering wheel dissipated a moment later when he realized he wasn't dead, so he pushed the rapidly deflating safety balloon out of the way and checked his son. The boy, whose eyes were as wide as his fathers, pushed at his airbag too...on the verge of tears from the frightening jolt.

"You okay?"

"Y-y-y-y-y-yeah!" croaked the young boy.

"Okay. Stay in the truck," he told the lad.

At that point, Jerome...known as Romy...leaped from his seat to inspect the damage to his vehicle.

"Son of a bit...!" he yelled as he saw the front of the truck and the destroyed van.

He glanced up to see where this pile of destructive steel had come from and found himself staring at more than two dozen sets of eyes looking down at him from the bridge.

They were all screaming something, but he had no clue what it was, figuring they were just excited about his having been spared injury. He saw the bent and dangling railing still hanging precariously from the bridge and then looked over at the minivan which had come to rest at the side of the road. His senses then abruptly jumped back to life in a rush.

"Holy-crap!"

Romy bolted for the van, peering into it with the aid of a street lamp directly overhead, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the auto was empty. But if it had no driver, then how could it have...?

He looked up again at the crowd. They were all shouting and pointing at his truck, which made his heart lurch. With far less enthusiasm, he moved to the rear of his once beautiful vehicle, fearing what he was going to find there.

"Shit!" he cried before stumbling back to the cab. "G-g-gimme the phone!" he ordered to his ten year old son. "Quick! Gimme the phone!"

He started to dial 911 but caught sight of an ambulance already screaming up behind him, and so he tossed it back in the driver's seat and slammed the door.

"Stay in the truck!" he ordered his son again, not wanting him more traumatized by seeing a dead man in the back.

At that very moment, the blazing red lights were passing under the huge "Westlake" sign which marked the edge of town where the first set of railroad tracks crossed the main road. Someone from up above had already called at the initial time of the incident, and soon the heavy, box-van emergency unit swung around Romy's smashed truck and stopped short at his waving figure.

"Here! Right here!" he yelled at the passenger side of the ambulance.

The two EMTs practically flew out of the cab and into the back to grab their gear. Barely two seconds later, the rear doors of the ambulance burst open as the pair of techs launched themselves out and commenced searching the scene. They saw the crushed truck-bed cover, saw the man lying in that depression of shattered fiberglass, and then looked up to see where he'd fallen from. The urgency in them quickly faded though, when they judged the height of the drop, and so they strolled more leisurely over to check the body, fully expecting to find a corpse.

The tallest of the duo leaned in and grabbed Ron's wrist.

"Nothing! He's toast!" the fellow said to his partner.

"I'll call the coroner in a second," his buddy in the doorway of the pickup said while checking the boy for injuries. "See if there are any others."

The med-techs went to the minivan and searched it, then swept the scene with their flashlights. The grass beside the roadway was short and so they didn't take much time to determine it was clear.

As they started back to their truck, a man came running up, red-faced and completely out of breath. It was the driver of the pipe hauler, Frank, who had assisted in the rescue of the woman and kids.

"Is he alright?" he blurted as he jogged to a stop beside the big pickup.

"Who...him?" the tech replied, his thumb indicating the truck-bed. "No...sorry, man...no pulse."

Frank leaned way over, gasping and wheezing from running over a full mile to get around the traffic jam and reach Ron...and he cursed that bitter outcome.

"I can't believe it!" he finally said, after one of the techs gave him some oxygen. "He just saved a family up there. That guy's a bonafide hero!"

The shorter of the techs climbed up to have a look at the poor soul...to see the face of the man the truck driver was describing, and slipped on the concaved, smoothly painted surface of the top.

"Whoa!" he shouted as his feet flew up and he slid roughly into Ron.

He reached out in the darkened depression of the camper top looking for his dropped flashlight, but his hand rested on Ron's face instead. Purely out of instinctive training, he felt Ron's neck while still checking around for the light. He'd almost removed his hand when a strong thud surged through his fingers. His head whipped around so fast that his glasses slid off the bridge of his nose, ending up askew. He straightened those frames immediately and reached for a little penlight he had in his shirt pocket, forgetting the light he'd been hunting for. A repeat of that thump got his own heart racing and he pried Ron's eyes open to check for dilation. They responded in a fashion the tech was not prepared to see though, and he leaped back, nearly falling out of the truck.

"Jeeeezzzzzzuuuusssss!" he squealed.

"What?" his partner asked hurriedly. "What's wrong?"

"He ain't dead!"

"WHAT?" the first tech asked, now feeling frantic...and more than a little nauseous for not doing a more thorough examination.

The trucker had the reverse reaction. "Let's go guys! Let's go! Get to it! Any man who could do what that guy's done shouldn't die because of it."

Frank jumped in there with the two of them and they all searched Ron over for signs of trauma...blood, broken bones, and such. The original Med-tech authenticated his buddy's pronouncement that Ron was indeed alive, but he flicked his own light too quickly in Ron's eyes to get the results his friend had noticed. And that guy wasn't about to start blathering on about eyes turning black, so they continued their examination as usual from then on.

Finding no outward signs of damage on him, the men decided to prep Ron for travel. They had a terrible time slipping a neck brace on him though, and getting a backboard underneath was a feat they simply couldn't accomplish.

In the small and awkward confines of his peculiar location, they couldn't get enough leverage to even raise Ron's shoulders, so they all sat back for a bit to check their options.

"What's this guy made of...lead?" asked the stockier tech.

The other men were thinking the same thing, and all of them knew they weren't going to be able to lift him safely out of there, no matter how many helpers they might recruit. A new strategy had to be devised.

Frank pulled from his experience concerning dozens of accident scenes and was quick to improvise. He hurriedly scoured the gathering crowd until happening upon a resolution to their unique dilemma. With the escort of a police cruiser, a conventional tow truck had wormed its way through the crowded sea of cars piling up in the busy roadway. When the operator saw the remains of the minivan however, he knew immediately that a flatbed hauler would be required, so he just pulled to the side to wait for the crunched pickup truck to get freed up.

"Hey, you!" Frank yelled to the wrecker driver. Bring your truck around here! We need your hoist to lift something!"

The fellow saw an opportunity to earn a little extra cash, so he fired it up straightaway and backed around into position. It wasn't until he was out of the cab and at the rear bumper that he realized what it was they wanted to lift.

"What's the problem?" he asked in a bewildered state.

"Dig out your tow straps and a couple of crowbars and hand'em over!" Frank ordered. "Thanks."

The driver, Seth Boudreaux, did as he was ordered, but didn't understand why until they tried to get the straps under Ron's frame. Then his eyes spread open like everyone else's had.

They grunted their way through the rigors of moving parts of Ron, and had him in a sling made from six straps in another ten minutes. Then they hoisted him out of the damaged truck as delicately as possible. Once clear, they lowered him onto one of the stretchers, but quickly found the next obstacle was getting the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. That turned out to be a monumental achievement requiring the assistance of five more men to manage...and they were still straining!

Finally though, the ambulance was on its way, and Frank, Seth, and fifty bystanders wrapped up their thanks and stories and headed back to their vehicles.

Frank Denk began the long trip back to his rig feeling quite exhilarated. He'd witnessed some truly remarkable things that night and would have one hell of a story to tell his family when he got home.

It turned out to be a protracted walk back to his truck however, for two reasons. With the excitement fading and the adrenaline rush going with it, he realized just how drained he really was...and to make it worse, more than half of that return jaunt was up a considerable incline.

One more little hiccup added to his woes before he could catch his breath too. As he struggled up the dewy grass of the bridge's embankment, he got a glimpse up the westbound lane and saw a large towing rig easing into position in front of his own truck.

"Wait!" he yelled at the driver as he bolted up the walkway. "Wait! I'm here!"

There was an officer guiding traffic through the only open lane, and he wasn't in much of a talking mood...glaring at Frank while waving the motorists along.

Frank reached his truck only seconds before the tow-truck driver began attaching his chains, and pleaded with him.

"Wait...wait...wait! I'll move it! Hold on a second!"

"Sorry, but the Troopers called it in. I have to tow it now."

Frank went immediately to the patrolman working the traffic.

"Officer! Can't you get him to give me a break? I was down under the bridge helping with that guy who fell!"

The State Trooper was in a foul mood though and didn't much feel like being generous. He'd just had to break a very promising dinner date with a rather vivacious woman, so Frank's problem wasn't high on his sympathy list.

"Hang on Smitty!" said a loud voice from the other side of the roadway. "Don't hook up that truck!"

It was the other policeman who'd been at the scene all along. He hopped over the concrete divider and grabbed Frank's hand firmly.

"Mister, I wanted to thank you for what you did back there. If it weren't for you, that lady would've gone down with her car. I really appreciate your help!"

"Sure...no problem. I'm glad things worked out."

"Smitty. Sorry, but I can't let you haul his truck. This guy just helped save five people's lives."

"All right, Ken. It's cool."

"You take care now, Frank. Be safe out there."

"Thanks, Officer. I will."

Ken Thibodeaux went back to his own duties then, overseeing the cleanup on the opposite side, and Frank got an impatient glare from the Trooper next to his rig, so he hurried over to the truck.

Considering what all had just transpired, Frank felt the need to make a quick trip around the sixty-foot-long machine before resuming his journey. He didn't know if someone might have slammed into it while he was away, or if some debris might have ended up under the wheels. As he worked his way toward the back, a passing motorist's less than cordial greeting..."Get the fuck outta the way, Asshole!"...made him glance up.

When he did, he found three items that would eventually keep him delayed from his professional duty quite a while longer.

And through all the clamor and excitement, all the drama and relief, not a single person noticed a singular and very secretive fact. Mounted on the huge green sign welcoming visitors to the town was a remotely controlled, high resolution camera whirring away. They didn't see it stop its normal sweeping of the intersection when the commotion began, nor the three-inch-wide zoom lens returning to its wider angle setting when the incident was finally over. How could they? Only one group knew it even existed!

### Chapter Sixteen

### Rhena

When the ambulance pulled up to the double doors of the emergency entrance of St. Christopher Charity Hospital, eight huge orderlies met it there, the driver having called ahead for the additional assistance. Three doctors joined them as well because the EMTs had no idea what was wrong with the patient in their wagon. Outwardly he seemed to be perfectly fine, aside from his heart rate being extremely low, as was his breathing, so thoughts of either a spinal cord injury or brain damage from the fall were their main concerns.

After five minutes of back-breaking labor, the congregation finally succeeded in getting the gurney rolling into the hospital, and then the real trouble began. They quickly came to realize they couldn't get the oddly fashioned, foreign looking harness off him...nor the black pole, or bat, or club, or whatever the thing was on his back. Through a hands-on inspection of his person, most of Ron's throwing knives were found (overlooking the small one in his left boot) and removed. That left them wondering what sort of man would walk the streets so armed...a criminal...knife fanatic...or just an eccentric. Whichever reason was the true one mattered not at all because the police officers on duty immediately confiscated them and put a guard on this heavily armed stranger in their hospital.

Next, the doctors and staff attempted to strip him by cutting his clothes off with scissors, but that didn't work. In fact, no cutting instrument they could find would even begin to slice through whatever material he was wearing. They even tried a scalpel...dulling it instantly, and there were no zippers or snaps of any sort.

When those attempts failed, the group considered trying to slip his apparel off, but couldn't figure out how to get his boots free. After five minutes of struggling, they abandoned that end and went to his shirt, but again Ron's weight was a tremendous hindrance and so they decided to postpone such an arduous task until absolutely necessary.

"Well, let's worry about that later!" Dr. Dean LaSalle, the emergency room physician told everyone. "We'll get him x-rayed and see about any hidden, internal injuries first."

While the Radiography Techs moved the required portable equipment into position, a male nurse struggled to draw blood from Ron's left arm, only accomplishing the task due to the large bore needle he used and the fact that he was a big man and therefore could exert a great deal of pressure while staying in control of that device.

"Geez, this guy's skin's tougher than cowhide!" the nurse said to the techs.

Once the desired volume of blood was extracted, the nurse immediately started the usual panel of tests. However, when he released a single drop of the fluid into a vial used to check its iron content, the small globule sank to the bottom like a stone and didn't even begin to dissolve for over five minutes. He walked away to type it shaking his head in absolute bewilderment.

Ron was hooked up to a ventilator by that time, but they didn't have a clue about who they were working on and so it was set far too low to revive him. The physicians overlooked his lack of response to the mechanical respirator and merely continued their quest for some other ailments.

Two hours later, after the x-rays came back completely white, not having the power to shoot through his strange clothing and dense structure even when the head Radiographer performed the procedure at the maximum setting, they really were mystified.

"Just what on God's green Earth is this guy made of?" the trauma specialist mumbled, looking over his patient with complete bafflement. "All right, let's set him up for a CAT-scan. We have to see what's going on inside his head. He's nearly comatose and there has to be a reason. I'm betting he has a severe concussion at the very least."

They moved Ron into the intensive care area to wait for the CT examination room to be readied, and placed an intern to watch his vitals...with a security officer right outside the door.

The doctor trainee was a young woman, Rhena Rashde. She was tall for her gender, attractive, and very well proportioned. She also happened to be a recent transfer student at the local university, having come from Seattle, Washington at the beginning of the semester.

She'd made the cross-country move to be involved with the latest cutting edge technology in the field of mosquito transferred diseases. Her goal was to take her knowledge back to her family's home country of Bangladesh to help alleviate the suffering of such ailments. Most of her studies were lab-related, but working at the hospital was a requirement to earn her degree and this was the first real excitement she'd seen.

Ron was the only patient in the room, so she busied herself by reading up on all the data that had been collected. It was very strange, and she was beginning to think she was over her head even trying to understand his symptoms...until the blood-work came back. It showed very low oxygen content, as if he were suffering with hypoxia...a high altitude sickness. She'd seen such cases in her studies back in Seattle, from climbers who'd scaled Mt Rainier...but it was barely forty feet above sea level here, so that didn't make sense at all.

"Excuse me miss," called a man's voice from the doorway, forcing a jump from the intent young lady. It was the security guard.

"Sorry if I scared you, but I need to take a restroom break. You think you'll be alright for a couple of minutes?"

"Yes," she chirped back at him, her voice showing her startled state. "I'm sure he's not going anywhere...at least until we figure out what's happened to him. Go ahead."

One of the doctors on call drifted in just then to check on Ron as well. Rhena handed the clip-board to the physician and waited patiently for him to review it. When he got to the section she'd been pondering, she spoke up.

"Doctor, what do you make of these readings?" she asked tentatively.

He saw her badge, saw that she was very young and an intern, and smiled at her only because she was exceedingly pretty. If she had been a male student, he'd have simply grumbled at him.

"From what I see, he's either just flown in from Everest, or the morons back at the lab screwed up the test...again!"

He then stormed out the door, headed for the lab.

Rhena was left alone once more, so she began her own examination of Ron. She listened to his breathing, calculated his heart-rate, checked his eye response, and then studied the ventilator.

She was brash and excited; and being the top student of every class she'd ever taken pushed her to make a major leap...or gamble...in her diagnosis. She looked around for any watchers and then cranked up the flow of air, carefully monitoring his vitals for fluctuations. A slight increase was immediate, making her even bolder, so she opened the machine to the max.

The mask on Ron's face was designed to accommodate the attachment of three different hoses, allowing for mixing of differing gases to treat a variety of problems, so she hurriedly hauled over two additional tanks. In moments she'd secured them to the mask, and then flooded it with pure oxygen at three times the normal setting. At that point she waited anxiously, watching and listening for anyone coming.

"Come on, come on, come on!" she urged the sleeping man quietly, her head pivoting around to check the door.

Rhena definitely felt his pulse get stronger and his aspiration was smoother, but he still remained unconscious and that really puzzled her. She went over her exam again, certain she'd helped him, but very concerned that her meddling would be viewed negatively if she were caught. After another two minutes of nail-biting anxiety, she decided she should put things back the way they were before anyone found out...and moved to do just that...but the trauma doctor strolled in before she got there.

"Has there been any changes?" he asked, looking over at the panel showing Ron's body signals...and then his eyes grew wide. "What the...?"

He saw that the patient's readings were looking more stable, but the frequency of the ventilator was far too high, and the volumetric flow of oxygen was dangerous. He turned and swept over Ron with his eyes, instantly focusing on the multiple hoses at his breathing mask.

"What the hell have you done?" he demanded, rushing over to shut off the machine. "You could burst his lungs, you stupid little...!"

At that instant, the big man on the gurney opened his eyes.

Ron felt the surge of oxygen cramming into his lungs and relished it...the first really good breaths of air he'd had on Earth. Next, his faculties came back in a surge and his self-preservation mode sprang to life as any animal's would. That's when he saw the man trying to disrupt the airflow he so badly needed...and he reached out to stop him.

When the staff found the collection of weapons on Ron, the police officer on call ordered them to restrain him. Toward that end they'd placed heavy leather belts...the ones used on violent patients or criminals...around his wrists and ankles. Those restraints in turn were lashed securely to the stainless steel structure of the gurney with wide, unbreakable straps.

"No!" Ron ordered through the mask on his face, reaching for the doctor.

It was then that he noticed the restraints, and his reaction was immediate. His hate of being trapped instantly pushed through his rational need to be gentle with these light-worlders, so he tore himself free and grabbed the physician by the upper arm hard.

The doctor screamed and dropped to the ground directly, prompting Ron to release him just as fast. The adrenal spike brought Ron's faculties back fully on line again, so he then sat up quickly and began to apologize.

"I'm sorry about that!" came a garbled, muffled request for forgiveness. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Please don't be alarmed..."

The doctor was wide-eyed with fright, and scurried away from the menacing form of Ron Allison with all haste, holding his arm as if it were broken, which of course it was.

"Stay away from me, you psycho!" the frightened man screamed as he scrambled to his feet and ran from the room terror stricken.

"Damn!" Ron mumbled while taking in his surroundings.

Rhena had recoiled from the angry doctor's insults out of reflex, and was huddled in the corner of the room by the time he scurried off...the corner farthest away from the door. That location put her in such a position that any attempt to exit would have her pass very close to Ron's bed...an avenue which she swiftly rejected. Backing further into that tight spot, she attempted to shrink into nothing with her face vividly pale, clearly showing her level of fear.

Ron swung his gaze around the space, realizing he was in a hospital, and then he saw the girl. She immediately blanched even whiter than she already was.

He'd heard the last statement the doctor made before he moved to turn off the air machine, so it stood to reason that the person he was berating was this young woman. He held up his free hand with his fingers open, trying to seem less menacing. A quick tug on his still restrained limb set him free before he took a deep gulp of air and removed the mask.

"Don't be afraid," he told her calmly with a light smile. "I didn't mean to hurt him...and I certainly will 'not' hurt you!"

Ron scanned the room again. His head was pounding like it'd been hit with a sledge hammer, but the sound of the huffing ventilator captured his attention and he moved to gaze at it closer. The foot restraints tried to reel him back but he just yanked them in half and continued on.

Standing on shaky legs, he read the outputs of the machine, and then turned back to the intern.

"You're the one who adjusted my airflow?"

She nodded sheepishly, vibrating hard. She couldn't decide if she should make a break for the door or jump for joy that she'd solved his strange affliction.

"Well done! You're very astute. Thank you!" he told her, bowing his head pointedly, in Raulden fashion. "I think I owe you my life."

She appeared to ease up her rigid state at that, a bit less intimidated, but wasn't sure what to do. A fast tremor swept through her just then and set her emotions conflicting even more, because what she felt wasn't trepidation at all, it was exhilaration!

"What a man!" her thoughts screamed.

Ron's disarming smile was entrancing to the slim, pristinely kempt, totally feminine future physician...and his gaze made her twenty-three-year-old heart almost giddy. She innately felt as if she could tell he was a man of utmost honor and incomparable integrity. The way he moved, the steadiness of his demeanor, and the aura of supremacy that surrounded him were telltale signs for her female intuition. And his unparalleled good looks were of such perfection that she instantly thought he could easily be a professional athlete...or a male model. (She was convinced that she'd buy anything he was selling!) Her heart was still racing, but it was now focused on a whole other reason for such rapidity.

Ron's attire was thin, form-fitting, and stretchy, to give him the mobility he needed, and Rhena's eyes consumed his every movement, entranced at the unbelievably defined musculature of his body. His every flexing and twisting muscle was clearly outlined and completely splendid, wrapped in that black veil of cloth. His wide, rounded shoulders and slim waist, with a bodybuilder's torso between the two, made her stare without regard for her brazen audacity.

Then her eyes returned to the heavy leather strap that this Adonis of a man before her had simply torn apart offhandedly, and she wondered at his strength...at the power he wielded with that body. She knew nothing about him other than he had been injured in a traffic mishap, but a quick thought seared across her mind...one that was both inappropriate and completely out of character for her.

"What would it be like to be his...completely?"

She flushed heavily at that.

"You're welcome," she finally replied, calming down quickly and turning more curious. "Who are you?"

"I'm Ron...Ron Dangarth...and you are?"

"Rhena...Rhena Rashde. I'm and intern here."

"How did I get...how long have I been...? Oh crap! What happened with that van full of kids?"

"What van?" she replied, having no knowledge of any of that. "I only saw you here, in the emergency..."

She was cut off at that instant by the sound of many feet running in their direction, and a moment later three armed policemen burst into the room followed by the injured doctor.

"That's him! He's the one who assaulted me!"

Ron bristled at the accusation. This fellow didn't know what an assault by Ron was.

"I apologized!" Ron retorted gruffly. "And I only grabbed you because you were going to shut off my air supply...were you not?"

"Of course not!" he replied indignantly. "I was merely making sure this 'student' hadn't screwed up the adjustments I'd made."

Ron glanced at Rhena and saw the anger, astonishment, and resentment on her face.

"You're a liar!" Ron told him in his deepest, angry tone, drawing up to his full stature and towering over the slighter man. "She's smarter than you and you're too arrogant to admit it! She figured out what was wrong with me after you couldn't, and now you're trying to cover up your incompetence! You flarge scum!"

"I don't care what happened!" the policeman in charge shouted, trying to get the situation in hand. "From what I've heard, you may have broken this man's arm, so you'll have to come with us...to get booked for assault! You three can work out all the other stuff later."

"No!" Ron told him. "I'll pay for his medical bills, and we'll call it even...'IF' he apologizes to Rhena here. If not, he can go screw himself!"

"How dare you talk to me like that!" the trauma physician shrieked. "I'm the head of this hospital's entire...!"

Ron took a step towards him and he shut up quickly, cowering behind the officers. The police immediately barred Ron's path with their weapons trained on him...and with the safeties pointedly flipping to the off position.

"I'm not armed. You can't shoot an unarmed man."

"Just turn around and put your hands behind your back!" the sergeant ordered.

"Where are my possessions?"

"You mean the six different knives we pulled out of your clothing?"

"Yes. You have no right to take my things without my permission."

"What were you doing with all those?"

"Protection!" Ron tersely replied without hesitation. "I'm a courier of valuable items. Besides, where I come from, no one walks around without some sort of defense."

"Well, we're not where you come from, I guess. Here, it's illegal to carry knives of that size without a permit. Now turn around and do as I say!"

"I have immunity from your laws by your own decrees, since I'm a representative from a foreign land...and I simply want to go about my business. Those whom I represent are peace-loving and gentle, as I wish to be, and this would be a great insult to them."

"And just who might they be?"

"I come from a place called Rauld. I am an Ambassador for the Raulden people."

"Never heard of it! Besides, I thought you said you were a courier?"

"Yes."

"Produce some papers to verify this."

"I can't. My personal items are back at the accident scene...on the I-10 Bridge!"

"Well then, you'll just have to come with us until we can sort this out."

Ron turned to Rhena again. "You had better leave. If any of these fine officers miss me, they might harm you."

"She can just keep going too!" the doctor hollered from the hallway outside the door. "Her internship is over! She's fired!"

Rhena left the room on the verge of tears, only able to hold them back due to her anger. That left Ron at the mercy of the police...or was it the other way around?

"Now fellas," Ron told them. "Let's all just settle down and talk about this a little while."

The sergeant pulled up his weapon and leveled it at Ron.

"Turn around and put your hands behind your back!"

Ron took one more deep breath from the air machine and braced himself. The officer was holding a weapon that had a two-inch-diameter barrel...a non-lethal gun which propelled a heavy, lead-shot-filled bean bag.

"This thing will take you clean off your feet, mister...and probably break a couple of ribs too."

"Then put it away and let me alone!" Ron told him, his visage turning dark and hostile.

"I'm afraid I can't do that!"

"So be it."

The other policemen began to advance. One took out his handcuffs and closed in on Ron.

"Just take it easy mister," he said softly, "This will all be over before you know it."

"Yes, about that, you are correct...but you don't know what you're doing. Leave me alone and let me go!"

The fellow rushed Ron, reaching for his left arm...but that limb was now far from his outstretched hand...as was the man it was attached to. Ron quickly sidestepped the approaching officer, reached around to the cop's back, and accelerated his lunge into horizontal flight. The policeman went flying into the wall, ten feet behind Ron, striking it flat, yet inverted, where he slumped down into a heap for the next half hour.

The Sergeant fired the beanbag gun five feet from Ron, fully expecting to drop him like it had with two other men on previous occasions...but what happened turned his face white as a sheet.

Ron caught the bag in his right hand!

The third officer had kept his position, but now he backed up.

Ron looked at the bag of lead shot in his palm with curiosity more than anything else. It had stung him pretty good, but that was all. The Sergeant's mouth hung open at first, when he saw the result of his attempted pacification of Ron, and then his eyes flew wide and he dropped that weapon to reach for his other...too late! Ron returned that little bag to its owner with extreme prejudice.

The one pound bag struck the Sergeant in the chest hard enough to expel every bit of air in his lungs and knock him completely off his feet. Ron then kicked the rolling bed he'd been placed on, propelling it sharply across the room to catch the last officer in the gut and slap him against the far wall, next to the door they'd come through. The force of the blow was enough to drop him to the shiny, squeaky-clean floor where he pressed himself up on shaky arms only to fail in his attempt to rise. He was out a moment later.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant." Ron told the gasping, bewildered leader of the group. "I tried to settle this peacefully. You and your men had no cause to arrest me. Now let it be!" Ron then hand-cuffed the man with his own restraints and tied his feet with his belt before gagging him with a short length of cloth he tore from the bedding on the gurney.

After that, Ron scooped up one of the oxygen bottles, strolled out of the room, and stood in the hallway, trying to figure out which direction to go. Absentmindedly, he unbuckled the leather restraints on his ankles and wrists and tossed them back into the room. A moment later he headed down the hall in the direction the police had come from, looking for the nearest information desk.

He started to approach the woman sitting there, but Rhena spotted him as she was exiting the "Employees Only" area.

"Hey, Ron!" she called out, looking first at the huge oxygen bottle he had tucked under his arm, and then back the way he'd come.

Ron could tell she'd been crying.

"How'd you get away?"

"They decided not to arrest me after all."

"Oh?" she said, quite surprised at that announcement, "well...that's...good."

"Are you all right?" he inquired softly.

She was wearing her coat, with her car keys in her hand.

"I suppose so," she replied, shrugging her shoulders. "I just don't know what to do now. I came all this way...and I've only been here for four months!"

"I'm sorry about this mess. I didn't intend for you to get fired. You're obviously intelligent; you have good instincts, and a real desire to help people. You'll make a great doctor one day."

She smiled at his kind words, but didn't have any idea how that would happen now.

"Thanks, but Dr. 'Asshole' will make sure that doesn't happen!"

Ron was getting a little anxious by then...not wanting to be insincere about his new friend's plight, but realizing those policemen would be up and around soon.

"Things always have a way of working out...you'll see. Check in with your professors tomorrow. They'll help you sort through this."

"I guess you're right. It's in fate's hands now."

She smiled up at Ron then. "Do you need anything?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. My personal affects...where might they be?"

"Uh...I heard the officers on duty confiscated them...a bunch of knives, right? Their desk is down the hall. Take the first corridor to the right...then down and on the left. Didn't they tell you that when they discharged you?"

"Thanks. Good luck to you!" Ron told her as he ignored her question and lit out towards the appointed spot, finding it quite a chore to stay firmly on the ground in Earth's lighter gravity without his overcoat and pack for ballast.

The station was designated with a very obvious sign above a long, granite counter. That counter was mounted right up against a low wall, with a large window above it, spanning its entire length. At the center of the smoothly polished surface was a shallow trough for passing documents and such under the glass. Further along was a heavy door for entry to the policemen's "Restricted Access Only" side. It was just past the far end of the counter.

Ron gazed into the small precinct curiously, and assumed the glass was bullet proof.

"Hi," Ron said to the female officer at the desk. "I've come for my things."

The lady looked at Ron's looming, insistent figure and her eight years of experience went instantly into action. This fellow was in a hurry...yellow flag. He seemed to be quite nervous, his eyes sweeping the room constantly...red flag number one. If he was discharged and looking for personal items here, he'd been carrying something he shouldn't have...red flag number two. And the last thing that looked out of place to her was the fact that he was still toting around an oxygen tank...a hundred pound tank...and it was under his arm, not on a cart!

The officer smiled but was immediately suspicious and began her stall tactics to try to evaluate the situation better. Her hand went to the panic button under the desk where it poised while she assessed him further.

"And just who are you?"

"I'm Ron...Dangarth," he said, quickly adjusting to mask his family's tie to him. "I was admitted a little while ago, and was unconscious. I lost my identification during an incident on the I-10 Bridge. My possessions are several blue-colored knives."

"That's fine, but how do I know they're yours?"

"I'll describe them to you," Ron told her, beginning to lose his patience.

"Well, all right...you fill out these forms. They're probably in the vault. Who released you? And I'll need a permit for you to carry those weapons...some are over the legal limit for..."

Ron had listened to enough rhetoric. He'd lived away from Earth for too long to wade through the nearly nonstop, bureaucratic quagmire to retrieve his belongings. He was just about to lose his temper when he spied another officer through the large window. The man was walking over to a fairly substantial looking door...a door which appeared to be made of thick, brushed stainless steel. When it swung open, Ron got a good view of the interior. Inside were several handguns on three shelves, along with at least two shotguns, another stun-gun, and stacks of ammunition. That fellow glanced over at the desk area briefly before he reached into the gun vault to retrieve his weapon.

Ron saw his opening and took it. The entry door to the police station was thick, and its frame was constructed of heavy gauge steel, braced substantially to keep any intruder at bay. He was sure he could breach it, but it might take a few blows...long enough for the cops to mount a defense. The window however was designed to stop bullets, chairs, and any lighter, handheld weapons...not an eight hundred pound, six-foot-four-inch man.

Ron set his oxygen bottle down, took a half step back, and then surged forward, leaping high enough to clear the counter before he kicked the corner of that glass barricade with everything he had.

The frame of the window exploded on the inner side, sending wooden shrapnel flying into the confines of the police office and every person within thirty feet diving to the tile floor. The inch-thick glass obstruction ripped free of its mooring with a tremendous crashing sound...as if a car had hit it at thirty miles an hour...and continued destroying everything close by with its massive weight.

The woman at the desk pushed backwards hard, toppling her wheeled office chair instantly, which in turn, dumped her screaming form harshly to the floor. She didn't even have time to push the emergency call button in her haste to retreat.

"Hey...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!" she screamed before she landed with a thud!

She banged her head solidly on the hard tile before throwing her hands up to fend off the falling sheet of Plexiglas...but it never reached her. Ron was over the counter directly behind that safety shield and grabbed it before it could land on her.

The hard, ceramic overlay that adorned the floor shattered at once under his feet, from the combination of his and the glass's colossal weight, but he didn't pay it any mind.

The officer currently at the vault fell backward as well, startled off his feet by the explosion, where he tumbled to the ground and covered his face from the debris...but he still gripped the pistol he'd been retrieving.

After the initial shock passed, he shook his head hard to both remove the wooden fragments from his person, and refocus his attention. That's when he remembered his duty.

Ron was already past the desk officer and moving like a juggernaut; swift, imposing, and unstoppable. The armed fellow raised his weapon at Ron but held there, still seated on the floor with his hand clearly shaking.

"Freeze!" he ordered in a less than demanding tone, his voice mimicking his fear.

Ron stopped at the vault, which had swung closed but still held the key dangling from the lock. He jammed the corner of the glass into the ceiling and propped it there between him and the pistol-wielding man, freeing his left hand to operate the vault door.

One by one, he snatched up his throwing blades, placing each into its designated pouch quickly, and then eyed the cop.

"I said FREEZE!" the policeman roared, finding his bravery somewhat restored.

He fired point-blank at Ron, but the glass stopped the lead projectile easily. The cop silently cursed before he scrambled to his knees and moved to get around that impenetrable, transparent shield.

Ron timed his motion, and then lunged around the edge of the glass in a wink, snatching the pistol away from the startled officer like he was an unruly child. He spun about and tossed it into the vault, then slammed the door. The key was yet to be removed, so he turned it to the locked position and snapped it off, tossed the stump to the ground. Following that, he merely walked away toward the exit.

"Just what the hell are you doing?" the officer asked as he slipped around the glass sheet and gripped Ron's arm.

"Leaving!"

Ron just kept going, slowing not in the least. The fellow was dragged for a step or two before he threw an arm around Ron's thick neck, grappling with him in order to try and drag him to the ground. Ron gripped his arm and sloughed him off without turning, slamming him against the nearest wall hard enough to rattle him thoroughly. The officer quickly gave up on stopping the retreating intruder, but the desk clerk finally worked through her daze and pressed the alert button.

By then, because of the tremendous noise of the rampaging escapee, half a dozen officers were already heading towards Ron's position from the back offices of the mini-precinct, but they were unarmed...all their weapons safely locked in the vault. However, when Ron opened the door to the corridor, there were two pairs of men looking down the hallway from both directions, wondering at the sound of the alarm...and they 'were' armed...therefore he searched for a new way out.

The stairwell was directly across from the station, so he reached over and collected the oxygen bottle he'd discarded earlier, and sprinted for it.

"Halt!" roared multiple orders from the charging groups.

"Be careful! He's armed!" shouted the lady at the desk.

"Great!" Ron thought as he smashed into the emergency exit door, ripping its return spring/damper off at the header.

Ron reached the first step directly, where he leaped up to the second floor landing in one motion, pivoted, and then repeated it to the third, and so on, until he stood at the top floor.

He heard the pursuit coming but knew they would be much slower to follow, especially now that they thought he was dangerous. The door to the roof was heavy, steel, and locked. Ron lowered his shoulder and the substantial barrier buckled and swung open, slapping against the outer wall with a resounding "bang"!

Rushing out into the frigid night, he surveyed his position like a hunted beast. The city lay slumbering all about, its lights shining and beckoning to him, so quiet and peaceful...totally opposite of his situation. The cold wind sharpened his senses with its icy, penetrating needles, telling him to dally not at all, so he hurried to the edge of the roof to gauge his predicament. It wasn't good. He was facing north on the fifth level, with nothing but parking lot beneath.

"That's a good seventy feet," Ron estimated, thinking about the limits Cache had estimated for him. She theorized he could make forty feet, fifty at the very outside, but he chanced serious injury from this height with only pavement to break his fall.

He tilted his head slightly and could hear pounding feet coming from the stairwell. They were only one floor beneath. Rushing over to the east, he found a grassy lawn tempting him, but another sight caught his eye. There was a parking garage to the south side, and it was three levels high. The hospital and it were separated by a three lane street however, which gave him pause. He looked to the grass again, but now there were several officers running out there, so he turned to the south and sprinted for the edge.

Ron tossed his three-foot-long oxygen tank aside at the last second and launched himself up and out, just as the pursuing police stormed the roof...but they were facing north.

He flew up and across the street in a shadowy flash, the adrenalin rush of the event forcing a smile on his lips. After all, such a superhuman feat was the dream of every adolescent boy, and he couldn't help himself. But when he struck the upper surface of the garage complex, he found nothing to stop him, and the relatively smooth, concrete surface was unable to provide the braking action he needed to curb his tremendous momentum.

He tumbled and rolled across four lanes of parking before slamming into a compact car hard enough to push it completely out into the driving area.

The sound of that collision reached the rooftop searchers, but by the time they homed in on the noise, Ron was gone...and there wasn't a person on the roof who would possibly have guessed he'd made such a leap...except one.

As ten men and women police officers scoured the barren rooftop, one lone individual slowly walked to the southern, knee-high wall...to the place directly beside the discarded oxygen tank. First he looked down below, at the quiet street, where there was very little movement. A dozen people were milling around wondering about the alarms blaring away, one small car sat at the red light waiting to turn, and a nearly empty semi-truck loaded with a couple stacks of wood was stopped halfway down the block. The driver was speaking with someone out on the street...a young woman.

The fellow surveying the area wasn't dressed as a policeman, even though he accompanied them to the roof. He sported military fatigues and boots, with a thick vest and a red beret. His insignia was that of Lieutenant, also having a badge designating him part of the "ROF" group from across the river. Apparently he worked alone, was very stern, and didn't appear to be the social type, so no one bothered to ask him for his credentials, or his purpose at being there. He slowly reached into one of the many pouches on his vest and retrieved a pair of compact binoculars.

Bringing those visual enhancers to his eyes he studied the pair down below, immediately noting how they were staring upward at the garage on the far side of the street, speaking fast and pointing. Turning his attention to that structure, he scanned the upper level. All was quiet up there with no one about and no cars moving, but on his second pass, he discovered one vehicle was not in line with the others. It was damaged on the side facing the hospital, and was fully out in the driving lane...as if something fairly small of size, yet heavy, had struck it with great force. Continuing his scan revealed no other signs of damage, nevertheless his eyes narrowed and he reached for his radio.

With a quick flip of a switch, he changed the frequency to a restricted one and keyed the microphone.

"Command center...this is Victor-zero-one! Be advised...I think we have a rogue!"

### Chapter Seventeen

### Officer Daniels

When Ron finally came to a stop on the uppermost level of the parking structure, he shook the daze from his head quickly enough to scurry behind a concrete divider before anyone could see him. There, he paused only as long as was necessary to take stock of his condition.

It was not good.

His heavy coat was gone, as was his pack with all his rations and other supplies. His breathing assistance device was made into the coat, so he was on his own in the Earth's thin atmosphere...and now he was on the run from the police.

It was only then that he considered the possibility that they might have gotten his picture on a surveillance camera.

"Ah crap!"

He immediately measured what that might mean...news broadcasts, posters in every store and public transportation station, and so on. All of the things he'd wanted to avoid so as to keep his "differences" concealed.

There was little he could do now though, so instead of wallowing over his misfortunes, he forced those regrets aside and concentrated on the present, and the need to extricate himself from the area. He paused a few seconds there, catching his breath, and managed to get his heart-rate down some, but he was breathing very deeply to feed his starving lungs, like an out-of-shape runner after a long race. Keenly aware that his current state would draw attention if anyone came by, he slunk off down the ramp to the far side of the garage where he hid for another short while to get himself under control.

As the noise from the hospital began to intensify, and more and more people filed out of the building, Ron carefully monitored the scene. He was in small niche between levels, a position with very little light filtering in, and his clothing had once again adjusted its coloring to dark gray, blending nicely with the surroundings. He was grateful for that fact too when a patrol car rolled up the ramp with its spotlight shining all around but did not stop, even after it panned directly across him.

That action reinforced his desire to get moving, so he peered out at the chilly night, found a spot to exit, and dropped the twenty feet to the ground. It was a concrete sidewalk, divided every four feet by a groove formed into it, and the block he landed on sunk a good inch into the soft turf beneath it. He checked the area for pedestrians, finding the place all quiet, and then calmly drifted off into the shadowy darkness.

Across the block, on the street running between the hospital and the garage, a chance meeting was taking place...one that would have warranted Ron's presence if he'd known about it. Frank Denk was the driver of the truck which was stopped between the two buildings, where twenty people now walked and talked anxiously about the recent commotion. But the crowd wasn't what had him parked...what did was the unbelievable sight he'd just witnessed, and the need to confirm exactly what had happened.

Back on the bridge a few hours earlier, at the scene of the accident, when he returned to his long-haul rig, he'd found the coat, pack, and hat Ron had discarded at the aft end of the long flatbed. He didn't have any idea who they belonged to, and reached out to collect them, his eyes searching the scene for their owner. Grabbing hold of the coat brought his full attention instantly back to the pile of personal effects though, and his curiosity began to mount. At first he presumed the leather was caught on something, so he changed his position to free it...but it wasn't long before he learned that such a simple task wouldn't be so easy.

The Trooper impatiently urged him to get moving again, in order to restore traffic, so he left the coat and pack where they were. He did grab the hat though, and hurried to his cab gawking at the weight of it. It felt like it was made of some kind of pliable metal, but he had no time to examine it.

Trying to remain composed, he waved at the officer, casually fired up the engine, and then drove to the off-ramp at the bottom of the bridge where he immediately pulled over at a nearby filling station. He parked once more and climbed down, glancing intently about at the groups of individuals going this way and that before proceeding to his prior place, now somewhat guarded in his purpose.

No longer attempting to snatch the items from the bed, he scrambled up to the platform to conduct a better evaluation of them. What he found sent his imagination into overdrive!

The garment wasn't snagged on the decking at all, but rather the leather-like material was just incredibly heavy...as if it were constructed of flexible...make that supple...lead instead of cowhide. The pack turned out to be of similar disproportionate weight to its size, just like the hat. He searched everything as thoroughly as he could with a flashlight before beginning to worry he might raise suspicion if his task continued too long, so he moved it all to the edge and climbed down.

Frank was a large, strong fellow but the possessions taxed him thoroughly. The coat alone was quite a load to handle, it being so limp. He struggled but was finally able to get Ron's things into the cab after a bit, and stood there huffing from the strain afterwards.

Recalling how incredibly heavy Ron had been forced his thoughts to gravitate in that direction, so he decided to investigate a little further, his imagination beginning to spool up.

Just about then however, one of the cops who'd worked the bridge traffic pulled in for some coffee, and so Frank went over and inquired about where the ambulance took the man who'd fallen...getting some directions to the hospital as well.

Frank found it easily and was hunting for a place to park when he stopped at a pedestrian crosswalk to allow a slim young woman to pass in front. But when she was just clear of his fender, she suddenly stopped, whirled around and stared up at the top of the hospital.

He followed her intense gaze, immediately curious as to what would have her frozen in the middle of the street like that, but saw nothing...at first. He glanced quickly back at her unblinking face, and then again at the building. That's when his mouth dropped open and stayed as such for fully half a minute.

As his eyes had returned to the rooftop, a dark figure catapulted from the edge of the structure, soared across the hundred and thirty feet of roadway, and disappeared onto the upper level of the garage the woman was headed for.

He sat in his seat, stock still, while his mind whirled with doubts and questions. "What had just occurred? Was that a person? Was it some kind of movie stunt?" Finally he looked down at the lady and saw that she was just as shocked, and her face was filled with all the emotions he was feeling. He quickly rolled the window down and shouted to her over the raucous clattering of the huge diesel engine.

"You saw that, right?"

She turned toward him in a start.

"Yeah! You too?"

He nodded slowly, his eyes wide; filled with astonishment.

"Good," she said nervously, "because I thought I was really losing it! I was just inside and we had a patient who was brought in unconscious, but when he came around, he..."

She then looked off into space for a moment, as if recalling another miraculous event that night.

"I/I know/know who/who that/that was/was!" they both blurted at the same instant.

The woman stood shocked again, wondering how a truck driver could know someone who could perform such a feat.

"Was he tall, with black hair...wearing only a thin, spandex shirt and trousers with a weird looking harness strapped to him?"

"YES!" the woman shouted back, now totally amazed.

"I knew it!" Frank said as he opened the door and hopped down. "I ran into him on the I-10 Bridge! He was helping a family that was in an accident, and..."

"Were they in a minivan?"

"Yeah."

"A bunch of kids?"

"A lady and four girls."

"He asked about them when he woke up. It was his first clear thought! Are they all right?"

"Yeah, they were fine...because of him. You see...holy crap...I know how this'll sound, but...Jesus...he was holding their entire friggin van from falling off the I-10 Bridge!"

"What? No way...that's not poss...really?"

"He was layin across the pedestrian walkway...no shit...I mean, no joke...and the thing was just swinging in the friggin breeze! I swear!"

For the next five minutes, they exchanged stories about what they each had witnessed of Ron's abilities, and then each introduced themselves to the other. By then, the police were rounding up everybody, wanting to question anyone on the street, and they ordered Frank to move his truck yet again.

"I don't know about you," Rhena said when she saw the officers approaching, "but I'm not telling them a thing. He didn't do anything wrong that I know of."

"I'm with you on that...and I have some things to show you too," Frank whispered to her before he climbed into his truck. "I think they're 'his'."

"Meet me after...in the shopping center three blocks that way," Rhena told him just before she was escorted away to be interviewed.

Ron was on the move through the darkness at that time, putting distance between himself and his chasers, but with no viable plan. His head was still a little foggy and pounded just as hard as when he'd first awakened, blurring his vision and dulling his ability to focus. He knew it was a combination of the fall and the effects of his brush with hypoxia, but nevertheless, it was quite disconcerting to feel anything but 100%.

Every few houses he passed, a dog would report his whereabouts to the empty night, but he paid them no mind and merely continued onward.

He began to think again after he glanced at his watch to note the time. It was just after midnight, but that was of no real consequence...it was seeing the chrono that sparked his brain once more into motion. He suddenly recalled a special mode built into it. The locator function could be used to regain his things!

Skipping through the device's extensive modalities Ron found the correct one and immediately began his search. Four indicators could be clearly seen blinking on a six by six inch holographic overview of the city. Three were together...his pack, his hat, and his long coat...and were in the general area of the hospital but moving slowly along a city street. He remembered the truck he'd been stowed away on and let out a sigh that it was still close by, fully expecting it to be well into Texas by then. The third blinking dot was his sword, which was a mile and a half to the south. That particular item gave him a jolt of horror, his hand instantly feeling for where the razor edged weapon should have been.

"How the...?" he began to say until he remembered his struggle with the van. "Crap! It's still jammed in that car!"

At once, all other objectives were pushed aside...he had to retrieve that weapon first-thing. If anyone found it and grabbed it, they could be killed, or at least seriously injured. After all, its safety measures were designed to stop a Kreete warrior!

Taking a quick glance around to get his bearings, he headed for what he guessed would be an impound lot for wrecked vehicles.

The night was fairly calm and quiet, save the occasional nervous canine, so the only steady sounds he could hear were those of the multitudes of crickets and other nighttime insects. (In Louisiana, those creatures constantly filled the darkness with their calls, even in wintertime) He moved quickly, his long legs showing his anxiousness, but as he drifted through the cloudless black of the cold night, it wasn't very long before he got the distinct impression he was being shadowed.

At first, Ron glanced surreptitiously around, expecting to spot whoever, or whatever, was paralleling his course, but even his keen eyesight gave no clue to aid him. There simply was no one there. He decided to push those feelings out of his mind, imagining the sensation was due to his worry about being found by the police, but the little alarm in his head continued to vibrate, albeit very subtly.

Shortly thereafter, he saw a street sign that told him where he was, and he veered off his route sharply, taking a shortcut through a very affluent neighborhood. He guessed it was probably as safe there as if he were in his own hometown, but he just couldn't shake the foreboding feeling from his mind, and that was a warning all on its own.

Two more blocks brought him to a point where his nerves were ringing loudly, and since he'd been saved by his intuition...or luck...so many times in the past, he refused to ignore it now.

Instead of intentionally blocking those warnings, he shifted gears a hundred and eighty degrees to block everything else. His burning lungs, the thudding in his head, and even the worry for his family all got pushed aside...bringing his exceptionally heightened senses to the forefront, and to their fullest.

In another half block, he'd pin-pointed a spot where he felt the stalker was. It was nothing definitive or concrete, so he took great care before he moved, waiting for the perfect moment. When it arrived, he whirled as quickly as his finely tuned, heavy-worlder frame could manage, and the twelve inch blade from behind his neck flew from his fingertips as if shot from a rifle. That long, blue, double-edged dagger whistled through the black air as straight as an arrow and sunk into the wide trunk of a massive oak tree across the street.

Ron took a moment to peer about, thinking for a split second he'd seen its trajectory change just a hair, but couldn't be certain in the dim lighting. He listened and even sniffed the air for signs of anything that might be about, but came up empty. One more look around and he strode across the avenue to retrieve his knife, grumbling and berating himself for being so jumpy.

When he reached the sidewalk on the far side however, the door to the house that was just seventy feet to his left, opened.

"Well, Shandi," a man's voice said, "I had a great time! When can I see you again?"

"Jim will be back tomorrow, but he'll be gone again on Monday so I'll call you then."

Ron was caught out in the open, but the light from the street lanterns was blocked by the same tree his knife was in, so he knew if he kept still he'd be nearly invisible.

He noted that the mid-thirties woman was wearing a very revealing, see-through robe...and nothing else! She was extremely attractive...tall, blonde, and very shapely. The man was much younger, good looking, and wearing a policeman's uniform.

A quick glance at the driveway alerted Ron to the fact that the fellow's cruiser was plainly visible, and he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it. He'd been too focused on the sensation of being followed to stay aware of his surroundings. Now he watched the two lovers embrace briefly, though hotly, as the officer ran his hands over her body one last time before turning, looking carefully about, and then moving off to his car.

The door closed a moment later, and while the wide base of the tree was blocking the fellow's vision, Ron grabbed his knife and returned to his previous quest, strolling down the walk as if nothing had happened.

The policeman lit a cigarette as he sat down in the seat, and then started the car, lowering the window immediately. The chatter on the radio was easily distinguishable in the calm nighttime and when he backed out of the driveway, his lights flashed briefly across Ron's person. The car eased off down the little lane and as it passed the strolling stranger, the cop took a good look at the man on the sidewalk, the lighted street making him clearly visible.

Ron just meandered along as if he hadn't a care in the world. The officer, although suspicious of anyone out in the cold at that time of the morning without a coat on, was still quite contented with his recent tryst, so he was of a mind to let it go until...

"Be on the lookout for a white male, approximately six-foot-four, dark hair, wearing black pants and a black, sleeveless shirt...last known whereabouts at Charity Hospital. He's wanted for assault, attack on the police precinct in the hospital, and is armed with several knives. He's believed to be particularly dangerous...showing signs of extreme strength...possibly on PCP!"

Ron heard that entire broadcast through the open window of the car and his eyes locked onto the aft end of the cruiser. He was hoping the guy was some newbie, without good instincts, who would prefer to let it go as a simple coincidence, but that was not to be.

The moment the brake lights flashed on, Ron bolted for the car. The officer threw the transmission into reverse and punched the gas hard, twisting around to see where he was headed, but wasn't at all prepared for what he witnessed.

Ron jumped off the sidewalk and directly into the path of the accelerating sedan before the driver even saw him, and then he braced himself. The four thousand pound vehicle slammed into him at twenty miles per hour, and stopped instantaneously, the rear bumper folding in the middle, halfway into the trunk's space.

Ron gripped the crumpled bumper of the full sized, four door cruiser at once, and hoisted it three feet off the pavement, staring at the cop through the back glass. He then sidestepped to the left and surged forward with all his strength.

The wheels went from spinning furiously in reverse, to dead still as the driver pressed on the brakes as hard as he could. Ron then took the automobile for a ride of his own design, straight into the nearest tree where he smashed it hard enough to kill the engine and deploy the airbag.

The officer transitioned from horrified at the unbelievable situation he was in, to being panicked as the safety device squashed him back in his seat. Ron sat the rear of the car down and took a couple deep breaths, his glare through the back window filled with menace.

The airbag deflated quickly and the policeman regained a bit of his composure as he too gulped in some much needed air. At that point he was well aware he needed help so he made a move, glancing down momentarily to grab the microphone...and that was all it took.

Ron snapped off the antennae before he could announce himself, and then dashed around to the driver's door. The policeman dropped the mic when he saw Ron at his window and tried to pull his weapon, but the feeling of cold steel at his throat ceased his action as if he were quick-frozen.

"Hands on the wheel!" Ron growled.

The officer obeyed his order without hesitation, finding himself handcuffed securely to his own steering-wheel barely seconds later. Ron didn't take his pistol or anything else. He merely gave him instructions.

"You will stay right here and sit quietly until you're found in the morning! The incident at the hospital was avoidable...if your comrades would have only just listened. I didn't...and I still don't...want any trouble. I'm only passing through this area and tried to help those folks on the bridge. These knives are for my personal protection and I 'can' produce a permit. I just didn't have it with me back there when they asked for it. They had no right to arrest me or confiscate my belongings. I am a free citizen and simply want to be left alone!"

Ron removed his knife, opened the door, and pulled the release for the hood before going around and ripping out the horns for the car and the siren...then he returned.

"I'm going to lock you inside the car and put the key on the ground under the door. I hope you don't have to use the bathroom. If you do, I'm sorry. When your buddies find you tomorrow, you should've had plenty of time to come up with a viable story. You can tell them whatever you like, but if I'm caught because of you, they'll find out all about you and Mrs. LaFavre, back there at 617 Sycamore...understand Officer Daniels?"

Ted Daniels was fully aware that his little affair could cost him his wife and career, so he nodded carefully.

"With any luck, you will never see me again," Ron told him as he shut the door and walked away.

Ron took a detour at the next block, to make the policeman think he was heading west, but returned to his previous direction just afterward, picking up the pace to extend his lead on the posse.

With all the excitement over his ordeal with the cop, he never noticed the pool of blood at the edge of the sidewalk, next to the tree where his knife had stuck...or the trail of drops through the grass leading off in the opposite direction from his intended path.

### Chapter Eighteen

### The Theory

Frank Denk was obligated to wait a short while for Rhena to show up at their rally point because he'd been released much more quickly than she. After all, she had actually been in close contact with the fugitive.

Once together, they moved to a well-shaded area at the back of the mall's long line of stores, where the big rigs usually make deliveries. The pair looked like a couple of spies, or criminals, as they carefully peered about for any onlookers...and they felt that way too.

When they were finally convinced the coast was clear, Frank suggested that they go into the cab of his truck; to the sleeper quarters in the rear.

Rhena was terribly skeptical at first, since the trucker was a total stranger, but he set her at ease by handing her his keys, his wallet, and his cell phone. Then he stood guard outside the truck while she locked the doors and investigated the items he'd found.

Frank prided himself on his ability to read people, and that fact gave him little pause or concern at having this young woman rummaging around in his personal space. Also, he desperately wanted a witness to corroborate his findings of the odd possessions.

It only took Rhena two minutes to realize the trucker was completely on the level...and that he had found something truly remarkable and sensational. She unlocked the doors and called him up to join her at that time.

"What do you make of them?" Frank asked his slim conspirator.

"I really don't know! Why is the coat so heavy? The pack too? In fact, why is he? I tried to lift his arm to get his blood pressure and could barely slide the cuff under. Of course, it didn't register anything at all. The air pressure wasn't strong enough to cut off his blood flow!"

"Yeah, I know!" Frank chuckled. "We had to rig up a crane to get him out of the back of this guy's truck. Five of us couldn't lift him!"

"So...what? What do you think?"

"I've had a lot more time than you to let that kick around in my head, and I came up with a couple of real doozies of answers. The first one goes like this...I hear a lot of B.S. in my line of work, but I also know that at least a part of it has some truth. You see, the government has been working on enhancing the human body for decades...make it tougher, stronger, that sort of thing. So, possibly, this guy is some sort of 'super soldier', genetically engineered to be more dense...which would account for his weight...and through that 'adjustment', made him that much stronger."

Rhena took her own age into consideration...the fact that she hadn't yet been exposed to a great deal in her short life...but still had trouble swallowing that scenario.

"I...suppose there could be something like that...I mean, I can understand about increasing his strength, but how could they increase his density? I just don't...what about the coat...and the pack...and his clothes? You know we couldn't even cut whatever material his clothes were made from? Why would his things be so heavy too?"

"Well, that led me to the other possibility."

Frank thought a few more moments about it before he was willing to actually say what was on his mind.

"Well?" she demanded after the long, hesitant pause.

"What if he's an alien?"

Rhena's expression spoke volumes...reemphasizing every argument he'd already come up with to himself.

"I know...I know...but just go with me on this for a few minutes. You remember that black ship that caused such a ruckus a couple years ago?"

"Yeah...but nothing ever came of that...right? I mean, didn't they end up righting the whole thing off as some kind of hoax?"

"Yeah...yeah...but let's say that entire 'hoax' story was made up to calm everybody down. Let's say that it really was an alien ship. I've read a lot about that sort of thing since then, from real scientists...on the web. The theory I've come up with goes like this...

"So you're a person from a world that has a stronger gravity than Earth's, okay? If you came to this world, your body would be denser, tougher, and stronger than the average human, right?"

Rhena nodded. She was a good student in the sciences...her father was, after all, a professional astronomer and mathematician...so she could follow his reasoning.

"Okay, let's say that if you're this person...but you want to blend in, y'know...you would have to make some modifications, right? It would be like our astronauts on the moon. Remember how they hopped and floated around...even with those heavy suits and environment packs? Well of course you don't...you weren't even alive when that was going on, but you've seen the videos, right?"

She nodded again.

"Now the moon is only a sixth of our gravity, but what if it weren't quite that pronounced...say two, or three times. Your muscles would be so strong you could do amazing things in comparison to the natives, but to keep that secret, you'd need some extra ballast...you follow me? So you'd make a coat that weighs a ton, and a pack that carries everything special that you need, yet blends in. The material of your clothes would be constructed out of fibers that would hold up to such a person on his own world, where everything has to be much more durable...so on Earth, it would be virtually indestructible. You follow?"

Rhena kept nodding, amazed that she could see the simple, prudent logic he was applying to the astounding concept.

"Okay," she told Frank, "I can't believe that I'm actually having this conversation, but if we're going down this path...for a moment...then why would you be here? What could you gain from a planet where the people are so weak...and the technology! To come here from another world, you'd have to be hundreds of years ahead of us in that aspect."

"That's what I can't figure out...if this 'crazy' concept were true. Maybe just to see what life is like here? Although, they could probably just as easily gather whatever data they needed from tapping into our communications...but to actually stand on our world would give them a much more tangible view of us...don't you think?"

"I...guess so," she replied, suddenly smiling at the middle-aged man whose eyes sparkled like a teenager's as he wove his web of possibilities. "You give this sort of thing a lot of thought, do you?"

Frank grinned broadly at that, sitting back against the bulkhead of his truck's rear compartment.

"I drive the open highway for a living, sweetie. I have an inordinate amount of time to think...so sometimes my mind does latch onto a peculiar topic now and again. If you're wondering...yes, my wife does think I'm nuts at times...but can you come up with a better explanation?"

Rhena examined the items again, feeling the fabric and its weight, and recalled what all Ron had done. She looked up, cocked her head slightly to the left, and then shook it.

"No...but that doesn't mean I've bought into your version yet either," she added, attempting to keep her conclusions open for the time being. "What's in the pack?"

"I don't know. I almost dug through it while I was waiting for you, but that felt too...criminal."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. How about this though? Police and emergency crews routinely search through belongings at accident scenes...in order to aid the patient, right? And this is a bit of an emergency too...right? I mean, don't we need to find him and get his things back to him?"

"Yeah...I guess you're right!" Frank admitted hastily...glad to have a cohort in his search for answers.

Rhena started at the top-most zipper and was immediately foiled. The pack was designed like any typical, average-sized backpack...having one large zippered area and two smaller ones...but where the two tabs joined together on the bigger compartment, they would not release. She tried everything she could, and then sat by while Frank gave it a try. He moved on to the others with the same results and soon the pair of investigators were quickly left with even more questions.

Frank turned to the small set of drawers in the corner of his living space and dug out a magnifying glass he carried for small, intricate jobs...his eyes not as sharp as they once were for up-close work. Rhena held a flashlight on the tabs while he inspected them and swiftly found the cause of their plight.

"The zippers are fused together!" he reported after finding no gap between the normal male-female interlocks. "It's as if they meld together when clasped!" he added while his mind raced with his previous theory. "I bet you if this Ron fellow were to press his fingers on the tabs, it would open just like normal!"

Rhena was a little more skeptical that Frank, but had to admit that it was exceedingly odd. She carefully went over the entire fabric cover and, after getting Frank's assistance to roll the thing over, finally found one item. In a practically imperceptible pocket, one that would have normally been sealed completely, she saw the corner of a thin, small object protruding from it barely an eighth of an inch.

"What's this?" she asked as she slipped her fingernail under the edge of it and began working it out...but it resisted. Her nail suddenly slipped off and the article slid back in almost out of sight. "Shit!"

She quickly dove into her purse and fished out a pair of tweezers before returning her attention to the former objective. With the skill of a seasoned surgeon, the intern negotiated that small instrument into the allotted slot and grasped her quarry firmly, gently easing it out into the open.

"A credit card!" she said with a sigh of relief.

The slim piece of plastic was plain, black, and of no real uniqueness. It had the customary numbers and dates, as well as the brand of card, but it also had Ron's full, real name.

At the time he'd created it, he'd seen no reason to use an alias. This was supposed to be a simple visit...wrapped in outlandishly bizarre circumstances, yes, but just a visit nonetheless. That was the plan before his brush with the law, so he'd simply imprinted his real identity on it.

"Mastercard Platinum," she told Frank, holding the card up. "I suppose aliens use our credit system?"

Frank merely shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "I thought you said he told you his name was Dangarth?" Frank questioned.

"Yeah...he did. Maybe he used that name in case I told on him."

"You can buy a counterfeit card on a dozen different street corners in Houston. I'm sure any galactic traveler could forge one with little effort."

"Well I'd have made it a Visa, myself," Rhena added.

Frank's face suddenly froze in mid grin...his eyes opening wide as he pointed.

Rhena turned the plastic item around and saw that it was now a platinum Visa Card...with a corresponding change in its numbers. Her mouth hung open for a moment before...

"Maybe it should be...American Express!"

The face side shimmered quickly and then settled on the desired title.

"Diner's Club! Macy's! Home Depot!"

Each time the modest card morphed into the mentioned brand with all the appropriate insignias.

"This is friggin amazing!" Frank said...his eyes never blinking.

They sat there playing with the card for fifteen minutes before getting back to the problem at hand.

"Okay," Rhena agreed, "I have to admit that this is pretty 'out there', but there are loads of people who might be able to make this...I'm sure!"

"In a pig's eye!" Frank huffed.

"Well, whatever...or whomever made it; we still need to get it back to him...to Ron! How are we going to manage that?"

Frank scratched his head for a bit.

"I have no idea!"

"He knows my name," Rhena admitted, "but he'd have no way of knowing that I have his things. You, he must assume has them, but he doesn't know your name. That's a real problem!"

"Yeah, but let's think for a minute. If you were on foot in a strange place and knew you'd left these valuables on a truck...a truck that has a sign on the side of the cab...!

"I have to assume he saw where I was from...and if so...if I was in his place, I'd try and get to that destination, right?"

"Yes...I guess I would too. But how's he going to do that? He's on foot, has no money, no food...oh my God!" She pointed at the weighty pack. "What if this is his only food?"

At that moment, the two of them nearly jumped out of their skins when the loud "whoop" of a police siren sounded outside the cab, and blue lights began flashing across the dashboard.

"Jeez!" Frank let out, grabbing his chest before heading for the driver's seat.

"You in the truck! This is the police! Come out with your hands visible!"

"Shit!" Frank hissed back to Rhena. "There's three cruisers out there!"

Rhena dropped the card into her smock's pocket and followed Frank, her heart pounding and her hands shaking badly. The pair slipped out the doors of the big rig and eased down the stairs trying to appear non-threatening. Two of the officers on the ground had their pistols drawn and were looking very serious.

The police gave them both a quick frisk for weapons and then demanded identification before beginning their questions.

"What are you doing here at this time of night?"

Rhena looked totally blank, as if she'd just been accused of murder, so Frank stepped up.

"My boss's daughter was having car trouble, so I stopped by on my way out of town."

"Oh really? What kind of trouble is it, Miss?"

"I...uh...it wouldn't start."

The policeman signaled one of the other officers who went to the car and got into it. The keys were still in the ignition.

"I've already..."

Vroooooom! The officer turned suspiciously back to the pair again.

"I tried to tell you, I've already fixed it. I was working on it a bit earlier and Rhena was in the truck getting warm. She fell asleep, so I was just waking her up when you all showed up."

The policemen just kept glaring at them distrustfully.

"Come on guys...it was just corroded battery posts! Give us a break!"

One of the cruisers was a K-9 unit, so the head officer motioned for the dog to be brought up.

"Do you mind if we search your truck?"

"Hell yeah I mind! I haven't done anything to warrant a search. Since when is it illegal to stop and help someone?"

"Sir, this area has been used for drug trafficking in the past. We just..."

"Drugs?" Frank asked in disgust. "Is that what you think?" Then a sudden thought came to him in a flash when he saw his out. "I tell you what...you let your dog sniff at the open door. If he gets a hit, you can tear the place apart...okay?"

It was a bold assertion that seemed flawless since he was absolutely certain his truck was clean, until...at that instant...he realized he had no idea what was in the pack he'd found. Frank didn't know anything about Ron...other than what he'd seen. His stomach suddenly clenched into a tight knot as he watched the officer walk his canine partner to the steps of the giant vehicle.

"Hunt!" the policeman said in a crisp tone.

The animal leaped easily into the floorboard area of the passenger side and commenced sniffing about. He went across to the driver's area and then through his nose up at the rear compartment.

Both Rhena and Frank were frozen...each holding his or her breath, hoping they were gambling correctly...and each wondering why they felt such a strong need to help Ron, a total stranger, stay away from the authorities' grasp.

The drug dog was very quick in its duties and didn't keep the suspense rising too long before he returned to his "ready" state and hopped down from the vehicle. Frank felt as if his lungs had been clamped too tightly and took a long, deep, cleansing breath. Rhena felt weak and drained, now trembling from more than just the cold.

"You two need to move along now, okay...since you have the little lady going again, I mean."

"Of course," Frank agreed. "I have a long road ahead of me tonight anyway."

Frank and Rhena would have loved to have been given more time to plan, but the lead officer loitered about, talking on the radio and watching them closely.

"I guess we'd better get out of here," Rhena admitted.

"Yeah. Here," he told her, handing her his company's business card with his cell phone number on it. "If you run into him again or just want to talk, give me a call. I'll keep his things safe."

"Let me have another one," she whispered, writing her personal information on it and handing it back to the tall trucker. "Something tells me we'll see each other again."

"Yeah...me too."

Frank then cranked up the huge diesel and roared out of the stores' delivery area a few moments later. Rhena followed him out of the parking lot, but broke off in the opposite direction, on her way home.

The blue lights blinked out a minute later and the officers went on about their business, each turning away from the young intern, which allowed her to really get the shakes as the adrenaline wore off. When she finally pulled into her apartment complex and stopped, her head was swimming and her heart rate was off the charts.

"What if Frank is right?" she kept asking herself. "A man from another world?" The magnitude of such a thing was completely out of her realm of reality though, so she chose to abandon it. "That's just crazy!"

After a while she calmed down enough to get out and climb the stairs to her apartment, but when she reached for her keys she found an added item...Ron's credit card. That tiny object convinced her that the entire night's bizarre circumstances couldn't be so easily dismissed.

### Chapter Nineteen

### Thieves in the Night

Ron glided through the cold night as if riding the wind, his step quick and his purpose set. He kept to the shadows whenever possible, but didn't let himself lose sight of his objective, and before the hour was past, he stood outside the impound yard for the wrecker service.

A quick check of his chrono showed the van was there...a mere forty yards inside the twelve foot high, fenced holding area. There was old, rusty barbed-wire looped along the top of the fencing, and warning signs all around the barrier; "Beware of Dogs", but Ron didn't care about either restriction since neither was a substantial deterrent.

He stayed still for a good while, scanning the yard and the surrounding acreage, and could see cars passing by out front of the place, but there was nothing going on in his immediate vicinity. A quick crouch led to a strong leap, propelling him up and over the fence easily. However, his landing wasn't so quiet, alerting the animals to his whereabouts at once.

Ron didn't let that minor inconvenience dissuade him either, stepping out into a wide open space...one with enough room for him to maneuver. The two dogs...if you can call Great Danes weighing over two hundred pounds each, dogs...raced straight for him, pulling up short when they saw him out in the clear.

If dogs truly can sense fear, they were sensing nothing that night...in fact, what they found waiting for them was quite the opposite!

Ron Allison twisted his feet back and forth a few times to dig into the hard-packed shell of the outer storage area, where all the really demolished vehicles waited for a ride to the scrap yard. He eased into a half crouch, bracing and balancing himself for the attack...all the while issuing his own warnings through bestial rumblings from his chest. They were deep, resonant, and absolutely vicious!

The two massive dogs separated slowly until they stood about thirty degrees apart, their heads slightly lowered and their eyes glaring at their sole opponent. To date, they were yet to meet an animal or human that could stand its ground against them, and now they hesitated, if only to give the poor creature time to submit. Ron was nothing like what they were trained to tackle though and far beyond them in pure strength and ferocity. He felt his old self floating to the surface, the creature that fought so many times in the arena, against men and beasts. Not an Earth-man anymore, not a Raulden, not a Caronian...and on some planets they would argue he wasn't human either.

He was Shartae the Invincible!

The huge canines ignored the tiger-like warnings of Shartae's growls and surged ahead, their mouths drooling and their fangs glistening in the gloomy light of the impound yard. They charged and leaped as a single foe, but what they attacked was no mere rival...he was their true master!

Ron leaned into the impact and his hands snapped up to meet the dogs, catching them easily by their throats in mid-air, one in each of his large, unbreakable grips. The animals instantly realized their folly when he applied his bone-crushing pressure, clamping off their air supply as well as blood flow, and so they began squirming desperately for freedom. When he held them both up to his face and issued forth his own snarling roar, the two previously undefeated Danes both fouled the ground with their excrement.

Ron held himself in check just enough to prevent him from killing the beasts, and instead, slammed them to the hard-packed ground, flat on their backs. They wriggled feebly in his grip, and when released, they both rolled to their sides with their heads flat on the crushed-shell surface, their eyes lowered, and whimpering. Ron's chest heaved from the adrenal flood brought on by the threat, but he quickly calmed himself once more and stood again, sweeping the surrounding yard for more trouble. After a few seconds, he stepped past the dogs toward his target, giving them no further thought.

Through rows of crunched cars he walked, weaving his way toward one of two out-buildings in the place. The largest was a forty by thirty foot garage where vehicles were initially sequestered to be inspected before moving into the holding area. That's where the van was.

He slipped into the open garage unnoticed and surveyed the place, noting three things. First; there were two individuals working...at four o'clock in the morning. Second; the facility was well stocked with equipment such as cutting torches, lifts, hoists, and such...a very busy looking mechanic's den. And third; the men were illegally combing through the mini-van which had very recently been brought in.

Watching them closely for the next few minutes while they moved about the van, Ron got the impression that those fellows might not be the most honest guys in the business. One pulled an alternator from under the hood and placed it on a large work table next to a new battery, at which point he picked up another similar component and carried it back to the engine compartment. The van was a very new vehicle, but the parts he was installing were not!

The other man was rummaging about the interior, inspecting each storage compartment thoroughly. He removed some expensive looking sunglasses from the center console and placed them in his shirt pocket...then searched the back seat. When he got to the rear cargo area, he pulled the spare tire and jack out as well. The vehicle was totaled and they knew the insurance company wouldn't bother to inspect such minor thievery, so they were looking for whatever they could use. It was an easy way to make a few extra bucks.

Ron held to his distance, hoping they would finish their pilfering and leave. He silently cursed the delay, but wanted to keep his anonymity.

The fellow in the aft end dropped down under the rear of the van with a light and poked around for a bit. Catalytic converters had some decent value because of the exotic metal in them, but this one had been torn out from under the vehicle in the crash. He then very nearly abandoned his search, but something caught his attention...and that of his silent watcher. There was a black stick, or pole protruding from the undercarriage, and it looked very curious. The vehicle was about two feet off the ground but not enough to allow his rather robust frame to easily reach the item.

"Billy! Raise er up a lil!"

Ron slowly glided up on the scene then, easing between stacks of mostly empty boxes and various heavy pieces of equipment that would block the men's view of him. As the hydraulic pump of the lift whined and the van went up, he paused merely ten feet from the wreck.

The big man in the rear of the auto grabbed hold of the black handle and gave it a yank. It practically jumped into his gloved hand a moment later.

"Son of a bitch! Billy! Get over here!"

The fellow over at the lift controls walked around to see what his partner had found...what had him so excited. His mouth instantly hung open when he saw the ebony blade.

"Is that a sword?"

"You betcha! It sure is!"

"Where'd you find it?"

"It was sticking out the bottom...like they runned over it. Maybe that's what made'em crash!"

"Whatya think it's worth, Jimbo?"

"I dunno. I ain't never seen nothing like this."

"Maybe it's one of them Ninja swords! They'd be real valuable!"

"Yeah! We can make a killing on Ebay...if it's real! You think it's real?"

Billy felt the cutting edge of the shadow blade and jerked his hand back quickly, blood dripping on the dirty concrete floor.

"God-damn-it! That thing's sharp as shit! Yeah, it's real!"

"Let me see it!" Jimbo told his buddy. "Damn, it's heavy," he said needing both hands to keep the tip of the blade off the ground. "That don't seem right!"

"Are you kidding? You ever see them Ninjas on TV? They're strong as hell!"

Jimbo shrugged his shoulders in agreement, not having adequate information to counter his friend's logic.

"Well then, let's get it over to Lorraine and have her put it up on the c-puter."

"Okay!"

They shut down their equipment hurriedly, leaving the garage illuminated with only the filtered light from the roadway.

"How much should we ask for it? Two hundred?"

"Two hundred? Are you nuts? That thing's gotta be worth five hundred bucks...easy!"

"It's worth a great deal more than that!" announced a deep, calm voice from the inner part of the dark workshop.

Jimbo still had the blade in his hands and whirled around to see who was there. All the two of them saw though, were shadows. Billy's hand went up to the light switch but something beat him to it. There was a sudden bright flash from the box as ten inches of blue steel slammed into it and shorted out the circuit.

Ron moved closer and the two men stayed shoulder to shoulder, with the sword pointing at the darkness.

"That blade belongs to me...and as far as its value...right now it is worth more to me than both your lives!"

The mechanics looked at the blackness and tried to bolster their courage...Jimbo was holding the long, razor-edged weapon, and Billy grabbed the first thing at his side...a cutting torch.

"Well if it means that much to you...just come and get it!" Billy challenged.

Ron really didn't want to fight the men, never flippantly maiming or wishing to kill, so he took his fingers off his throwing dagger and went forward barehanded. The next sound he heard was that of a flint striker as it popped and ignited the torch into a blue sword of a different sort.

"Heat, such as fire, will still be a great danger to you Ron," he recalled Cache saying during his preparatory training. "On this world or one half its mass, fire is fire and your skin will not give you much more protection than anyone else's."

Ron's eyes narrowed at the two men just then, and he let out a low whistle. A moment later, the distinct sound of paws on a hard surface echoed through the building as the pair of watch dogs trotted up next to Ron and held their ground, flanking his legs.

"What're they doin, Billy? I thought them was your dogs!"

"I...I...I d-d-don't know! Down Butch! Down Tiger! Get outta here!"

The animals began to growl then, a low rumble that grew as the seconds passed...and when the two men heard Ron join in with the beasts, the sword began to shake. Billy, with the torch, started backing out of the room, headed for the nearest exit.

"Leave the sword and go!" ordered the demon from the night.

Jimbo glanced back to see his partner slipping away and quickly followed, but he still held the black blade.

Ron's arm shot back and gripped the twelve inch stiletto, but his mind reined him in as he targeted that big man.

"No! This isn't Caron!" his conscience screamed at him.

A quick readjustment of his sights and the glistening blue shard merely clipped Jimbo's shoulder, slamming into the wooden door frame behind him. It was a good wound and would require stitches, but hardly crippling or life threatening. Jimbo wheeled around as he felt the burning sting of that strike, and the tip of the ebony blade passed through the hoses feeding Billy's blow-torch, severing them cleanly.

"Shit!" Billy screamed as the fire went out. "I'm outta here!"

He hastily threw the useless torch down and bolted for the office door leaving Jimbo alone to face whatever was after them in the dark.

The lone mechanic stayed put for a short while longer, trembling and trying to think of a way out of the situation. Suddenly a thought caused his eyes to widen and he backed away quickly, heading for the entrance his friend had just used.

Ron followed them through the doorway and into the office, plucking his weapons free as he went. When he entered the smaller room however, he caught a whiff of the gas escaping from the acetylene hose and his instincts changed directions. In a flash, he was searching the space, fearing the worst, and was rewarded with confirmation of the same. The gas was shooting right at the corner of the room where the building's water heater rested.

Jimbo spun about and bolted out the office's entry door and Ron tore out the other way, diving through the nearest window as the entire place erupted in a blinding ball of fire.

The front half of the building was destroyed completely and shrapnel rained down on Ron as he slid to a stop twenty yards from where he'd left the ground...but that only held him up for a few seconds. He sprang to his feet a moment later and set off after the fleeing men.

They both headed for the only place still open at that time of the morning...the nightclub across the street. It was what the average person would call a "dive" and harbored the worst type of crowd...drug users, prostitutes, felons, and anyone associated with them all.

The noise blaring from the place apparently drowned out the sound of the explosion since no one came out to see what had happened. In fact, only a handful of patrons noticed the blast at all, and that was because they were out in the parking lot already...each conducting their own particular type of business!

Ron marched right past them and into the club, pausing momentarily just inside to survey the interior.

The noise was deafening, coming from a shirtless band whose members seemed to love the sound of screeching metal that their instruments were artificially creating. It was terribly annoying, even painful with such an ear-piercing din wailing in great rapidity...and they made no sign of ending the tortuous serenade anytime soon.

Through the choking, smoke-filled air Ron could make out nine small tables off to the right, with half a dozen of the same, plus a dance floor, to the left. The bar stretched across the far wall and the whole place was crowded with customers.

He spotted Jimbo disappearing into a dimly lit back room and immediately followed after him. The other man, Billy, was nowhere to be seen, but he didn't concern Ron anymore.

Those in the bar Ron passed followed him with their eyes, sensing that he didn't belong but unwilling to try and stop him.

The interior door was guarded by a huge fellow in a long, black leather overcoat. His shoes were expensive and his manner was all business. Whomever he was escorting was no local...more than likely some merchant of illegal trade, probably drugs, Ron guessed. The big man stepped over to bar Ron's passage, his mannerism quite stern and confident...but he was very much mistaken.

"Let me past...please," Ron told him, attempting to keep things peaceful.

"Get lost, Bitch!" the man said as he threw his hands forward to push Ron back.

The guard looked like he could have been a black Sumo Wrestler, so large was he, but when he slammed his palms into Ron, he felt himself pushed backward into the door.

"Step aside!" Ron warned.

"Fuck you man!" the guy yelled before he threw a punch at the much smaller intruder.

Ron batted the attack aside and hit him with his own palms, squarely on the chest. The refrigerator-sized sentry was thrown off his feet and completely through the door he was paid to guard, ripping it right off its hinges.

Ten men inside the twenty-by-twenty room all leaped to their feet as their sentry tumbled backward into their tables, overturning them and knocking him out cold.

There were four women in the space...all nude. Two were waiting tables, one was up on a small raised platform dancing, and the other was leaning over the far counter inhaling a white powder while a drunken man pleasured himself with her and the others watched.

Three of the men were speaking with Jimbo as he tried to tell them about his recent ordeal, showing them the sword as well as the bloody gash on his shoulder that was spattering the floor. There was a large sum of money on the table in stacks, as well as a drab, dark green, unobtrusive satchel with some type of plastic-wrapped blocks visible inside the open seam.

Everyone's attention suddenly shifted with the bodyguard's unexpected entrance.

"You gotta protect me, Boss!" Jimbo quickly pleaded to an obviously irritated man dressed in a very expensive ensemble.

"Hand over the sword!" Ron ordered loudly. He was out of patience.

The men who weren't too drunk, or too stoned to rise were by then standing around the room, and five of them immediately drew pistols. Ron moved so fast that three of them shot at nothing but air and the others who tried to follow him ended up shooting their associates instead.

He scooped up the heavy, metal-sheathed door that had been torn from its framework and tossed it at the firing men as if it was a Frisbee.

Four of them were knocked off their feet and received various broken bones from the collision. The last found himself face to face with his adversary who promptly disarmed him and threw him across the stage to slam into the wall violently. He didn't rise.

The boss backed up against the wall and the girls gathered around him, apparently hoping his important status would protect them. When he found himself in Ron's gaze, he quickly pulled one of the women in front of him. Ron just snorted in disgust.

Three of the remaining men were some rough looking characters, with multiple tattoos of demonic and graphically violent scenes splayed on their bodies. They were large and fearless, or so they thought, standing between their boss and the attacker.

Ron grabbed the closest one, slapped him hard enough to knock him out cold, and then used his limp form as a club against the others before tossing him aside as well.

By then, Jimbo was cowering up against the far wall with the sword still clutched in his hands, pointed at Ron. Ron walked straight up to him.

"The sword! NOW!" he bellowed.

The junkyard thief used all his strength to raise the blade and strike at Ron, but when it came down, his insides turned to ice. Ron slapped his palms together in a resounding "crack", catching the slashing blade between them like a mosquito. A quick twist ripped the handgrip free and placed it in its owner's grasp, with the razor-edged tip resting against the thief's neck.

Jimbo felt a surge of fluid run down the inside of his right thigh as he fully expected his days to come to an end at that moment. Suddenly though, the blade retreated, whistled through the air in a blur, and was stowed securely in its scabbard half a tick later.

"Where I'm from," Ron growled at the man, "I'd have the right to cut off your hands for stealing my blade!"

Jimbo's legs could no longer hold him at that point, and he slid down the wall to sit with a wet "splat" on the soiled tile floor, shaking uncontrollably with his hands covering his head.

"Please don't kill me! Please don't kill me!"

Ron backed off a step, scoured the room with his steely gaze, and then turned from those few patrons who still remained lucid (those whose own eyes were locked wide open by the fight) and strode away. He paused momentarily to pull the leather overcoat off the unconscious door guard and don it, acknowledging the necessity to cover the exposed weapon across his back.

One last, quick scan and out the small room he went. However...the crowd in the main barroom had since gathered to see what was happening, and took offense to Ron rousting their buddies. Three pool sticks leaped at him from the group. Ron snapped two and grabbed the third, wrenching it away from its owner effortlessly.

"I do not wish to fight!" he roared at the mob...but unfortunately they did.

Twenty men rushed him, but his retaliatory defense was so fast and brutal that it stopped the surge almost immediately. After the front two rows of them were batted aside like school children, and lay broken and bleeding on the dirty wooden floor, the remainder of the group reigned in their zeal. Two more pistols emerged among those at hand, but equally as many sharp "snap" sounds resulted in lieu of gunshots, for the arms that held them were instantly broken by a pool stick sweeping through the air as if it were pure magic.

Ron was getting short on wind by then so he decided it was time for his exit... and quickly! He moved toward the door and the angry crowd parted instantly, no longer interested in avenging their friends. But at the front entrance he faced a new (and old) problem...the police.

The clientele inside the bar hadn't noticed the explosion across the street, or the fifty-foot flames lighting up the night, but plenty of residents down the road had. Now there were three fire trucks and four police cars right out front. Even with that gathering however, Ron guessed he could have slipped away if it weren't for two barmaids running toward the curb.

"He's killing everyone in the place!" they were screaming to the cops, pointing back at the door.

"For the love of..." Ron mumbled as he spun around.

He dashed to the back of the bar quickly, but the door he saw turned out to be a storage room, and by the time he found his exit route, there were two squad cars skidding to a stop just outside.

Back to the main room Ron sped, only to see policemen gathering at the front entrance for an attack. He was confident he could get through them, but his ingrained upbringing had taught him not to fight with the police, and he didn't want to injure more of them now. After all, they were just trying to keep the peace.

At that instant, a sound reached his ears that solved his dilemma...a train horn. From the west was the piercing wail of a locomotive approaching an intersection, and he could feel the rumble of it through the floor. It was accelerating...having passed through the city at a slower speed...and was about to hit open farmland on its way eastward toward Lafayette.

Ron checked his direction quickly, synchronizing himself with the heading of the train. He looked at the wall of the dance floor and saw that it was solid, without windows, and was built in the ways of old, with no framing at all, just three layers of interlocking brick.

"Get back away from the wall!" he ordered forcefully as he raced to the edge of the long bar.

The Leaky Drain was originally constructed by a pair of plumbers approximately fifty years in the past, and so much of the décor had to do with that profession. The tables' legs were iron pipe, as were the odd sconces, the handrails of the stairs, and the edging of the bar. That particular piece of furniture was attached to the concrete floor with ten anchor bolts set three inches deep. It had withstood some of the wildest fights and raids in the entire Parrish over the years without so much as a creak. The surface of it was white oak, three inches thick and topped with an eighth inch deep layer of varnish which had also stood the test of time. There was heavy iron pipe surrounding that massive wooden surface like trim-work, or a guardrail. That pipe was a quarter inch thick and four inches in diameter. Most folks figured that bar could easily be used as a cordon.

Ron bent his back against the end of the structure and nearly everyone in the room presumed he was completely mad. In their minds they almost laughed...until...

"Aaaaaaarrrrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhh!" he growled as his adrenaline pumped and the blood coursed into his muscles...muscles that swelled and stood out sharply, even beneath his newly acquired coat, reacting obediently once again to the call of duty.

The huge bar resisted Ron's attack for a few moments, making him wonder if he had overestimated his abilities on this world. But then his efforts were rewarded with a rending of steel, popping of concrete, and groaning of hardwood, as the solid floor burst at the anchor points and tore free.

Anyone still within the confines of the bar was absolutely mortified. Many of them would later attribute the witnessing of that feat to their inebriated state, but the fact remained that the twenty-foot-long bar was ripped out of its mooring by a single, awesome, ferocious man!

Ron shoved the immense bar to the side, sheering off the mounts at the other end, and then he pushed. Those who weren't making a mad dash for the door by that time just stood with their mouths agape.

The weight of the structure obliterated the tile flooring completely, slashing through it to the base foundation like it was flaky paint, and the grinding of metal across the concrete was deafening.

Ron kept his end raised in order to add traction to his boots, and once he got that three ton mass moving, it was worse than a horizontal avalanche, destroying everything in its path...chairs, tables, and the dance floor.

In the twenty feet separating the end of the bar from the brick wall, Ron accelerated the enormous battering ram up to good speed, his powerful legs churning swiftly. So when that cast-iron-wrapped billet of artistic expression struck the wall, there was no doubt as to what the result would be.

A six-foot-wide, seven-foot-tall section of the thick, brick and mortar structure exploded out to the side of the building with a resounding "boom".

That caused the encroaching police to halt their attack and fall back while debris rained inside and out for more than a hundred feet.

Ron dashed through the opening and drew in a few deep breaths of the clean, cold air as he hurriedly checked each direction for threats. A wooded lot was in front of him, but the train was heading the opposite way, so he spun about and leaped straight up, landing on top of the building's roof a second later. His feet barely struck the asphalt coated surface before he was sprinting across the building, taking great care to stay on the center support beam he'd seen spanning the bar's ceiling.

He knew the police would storm the doors and rush to the spot of the wall's damage as fast as they felt safe enough to do so, but with the thick cloud of dust billowing about, that wouldn't be immediate. He also knew no one would be looking for him on the roof of the tavern, which gave him another few seconds. And he was absolutely certain they wouldn't follow his trail when he launched himself from the peak of that building and wouldn't even land within a hundred feet of where his boots left that solid surface.

Ron sailed through the dimly lit sky as silently as an owl. Over a row of Bradford Pear trees bordering the bar's property he flew, and then landed in the grassy median between the auto parts store next door and the small strip mall adjacent to it on the far side. He rolled expertly upon landing and sprang up in a dead run to continue his mad dash to the railroad.

Into the dark side streets he charged, seeing his goal only an eighth of a mile away in the red flashes of a train crossing's warning lights, but he was already fighting dreadfully for each and every breath. His lungs and throat burned painfully from the workout, and the powerful diesel-electric engine on the locomotive was really beginning to build speed. The small amount of ram air he received as he ran couldn't hope to keep up with the demands of his body, particularly at such a furious pace, but he refused to concede.

He veered to the right, tore down a gravel road that paralleled the tracks, and then, at a spot where a well-used path was evident, he cut in to finally position himself beside the speeding train.

The last few cars were approaching when he got to the very edge of the gravel base of the tracks' foundation, but they came at a much faster pace than even he could reach and he grew worried.

By then his gasping and huffing for more oxygen could be likened to a horse at the end of the Preakness, and only his determination kept him moving. He was already seeing the sparkling white gnats across his vision that marked his body running to the very brink of its limits, so he knew he was out of time.

With no other recourse, Ron jumped right at the boxcar...hoping to get at least one hand on the thick, steel ladder welded to the side of it...and took the tremendous collision hard.

The entire car rocked when he slammed into it, and if he hadn't managed to shove his forearm through the rungs of the ladder, he'd surely have fallen. As it was though, Ron dangled from his meager hold precariously, his feet swinging in the wind and his entire body limp and nearly lifeless...completely spent.

He inhaled in great, searing gulps of air by then, each intake an act of torture to his craving lungs. His mind was confused, wandering from one incoherent thought to the next, yet in the deepest reaches it repeated the order to hang on...to not release that one point of security.

Inside the brain of Ron Allison, the indomitable resolve to survive fought on past the pain and the haze, understanding the obvious peril of passing out, and simply rejected that option.

The train was really moving by then and so the blast of much needed oxygen packed into his gaping mouth in a building rush, somehow keeping him lucid...and then he slowly began to recover. He huffed in the cold morning air with enormous thanks to whoever watched over him, feeling that it was a bit more than luck that constantly saved him from certain tragedy. From that point his mind rapidly began to clear once more.

A few minutes down the way, he'd regained his composure and stood firmly on the ladder searching for his next move...which happened to be directly before him. The car he was hanging off of had a sliding door that was locked by a large padlock. He carefully eased the black sword from its berth and removed the lock with one smooth swing.

Dawn was just beginning to brighten the eastern horizon when Ron slid the large door aside, and a moment later he was comfortably out of the chilly, blasting wind and resting alongside a hundred large crates of produce...oranges from California.

### Chapter Twenty

### Regina

For the moment, Ron let his guard down and just enjoyed the nostalgic feeling of the train's gentle swaying and intermittent clanking as he made his way through the countryside east of Lake Charles. He rode onward with two new objectives shoved to the forefront of his mind. The first was to put miles between him and the nightclub, and the second was to regain the rest of his personal possessions as soon as humanly possible. Only after that could he return to his original mission.

On the upside, he still retained the chrono, which could guide him to his missing things. On the downside, he had limited ways to travel to them and was currently moving in exactly the opposite direction. His main advantage at this juncture was his knowledge of the area. Having grown up in the region, he knew the general lay of the land, but quick and easy answers to his dilemma were in short supply, especially around that rural farming district.

He sat there recuperating, and pondered many different options while he watched the world blaze by in the burgeoning dawn of the new day, but each had its own pitfalls.

Ron felt himself growing very anxious, never comfortable being in a position of so little control, but his situation at the moment was decidedly such, so he forced himself to deal with it. After another twenty minutes he felt confident about having lost any followers, and since he was in an area of nearly unending rice farms, he also presumed he could disembark at any time with little danger of being noticed, so that's exactly what he did.

At roughly sixty miles per hour, Ron jumped clear of the train and barreled down the shallow, grassy slope of the rail bed. He allowed himself to tumble only three times across the soft earth embankment before checking his momentum. When he did finally plant his feet though, he came to a stop at the end of a ten foot long trench plowed a foot and a half deep by his boots.

As he stood once more in the soft soil of his homeworld, he was no worse for the wear, being covered in brown grass clippings but with no real damage, and feeling quite good. A thorough scan of the countryside revealed no threat in sight, so he set about making himself presentable once again.

After removing his absconded overcoat, he shook it out vigorously, trying to remove the earthen debris so he wouldn't stand out too badly. When he did that however, he noticed a bulge in the inner lining at two places where well-concealed pockets were fashioned into it. A quick investigation resulted in a surprise that lit his face with a huge grin. There were four bundles of cash hidden inside the coat! Apparently, the bodyguard was also a walking safe for his boss because each bundle contained ten thousand dollars!

Ron just shook his head and chuckled to himself.

"Even Cache wouldn't believe this!" he told himself as he recalled how many times she'd commented on his extraordinary luck.

He left most of the money where it was, placing a few hundred in his regular pockets, and then returned his focus to the task.

Taking his bearings from the sun automatically, Ron struck out north, and less than fifteen minutes later he was walking fast down a stretch of old Highway 90, just outside a small farming town. His plan was to get to one of the roadside cafés that sporadically dotted the side of the interstate and possibly talk his way into a ride west...but before he made it that far, a different opportunity unexpectedly became available.

A block over and half hidden by some trees was the edge of a fenced compound where a military truck resided out front on display. It was a bolt from the blue and triggered a shifting bit of hope in him, so he detoured over to have a look.

The place turned out to be a huge salvage depot for old military surplus items, with everything from tents to half-tracks, and Ron recalled seeing places like it before. They mostly dealt in piece-parts, never actually acquiring anything in running order, but occasionally would scavenge enough from three or four vehicles to make one drivable unit. He always enjoyed a good project, and unconsciously cracked his knuckles.

No one appeared to be around, but the gate was open so he leisurely strolled up and down the aisles for a few minutes, slowly working his way toward a centrally located office.

One horribly treated Humvee was setting only thirty yards from the primary garage (a large metal "Quonset hut" style structure), and caught his attention. There was a sign in the front window that read, "Engine and Tranny are perfect!" It'd been hit by an improvised explosive charge...a Molotov cocktail attached to an old mortar round...and the whole inside was completely gutted. The only thing remaining intact was the instrument cluster, and even that was charred, gouged, peppered with chips from flying debris, and slightly melted. The outside of the vehicle was in reasonable shape but one rear wheel was badly dented, the front right assembly was gone, and the glass was missing from the entire aft end...blown out from the attack.

Ron looked a bit further before slipping into the office, curious that no one had come out to try their sales pitch on him. He called out when the place seemed to be deserted, but received no reply. There was a bell on the counter so he rang it several times...still with no response. After a few minutes of fruitless waiting, he walked out and around to the garage, and then onward to another building with "FLAMMABLE" written over the header of a modest, open-sided shed. He continued to call out while he strolled along.

With no answering reply, he decided to leave and turned to go...but then, a faint clinking noise reached his ears. It was as if a piece of metal was swinging in the wind and striking another hard object. Ron turned about twice, trying to lock onto its origin, and then moved in the direction of the intriguing sound. Something told him it wasn't happenstance that was causing the noise.

Through the maze of junk vehicles, trailers, empty shells, and hundreds of other items, he worked his way forward with the "clink" getting louder as he did. Finally, at nearly a hundred yards from the office, he found the cause of the peculiar disturbance.

At the very back of the expansive yard was a row of huge trucks, troop transports known as six-bys...vehicles which had six wheels and could carry fifty fully armed men. That row appeared all but forgotten, the once powerful old carriers being rusted badly...but from under one of the frames extended a hand, holding a wrench, and it was weakly tapping on the corroded metal.

The front of the truck was on the ground with a large pile of cinder bricks crumbled and scattered to the side. The crude support blocks had apparently given in to either time or weight, or a combination of the two, and collapsed at the particular period when a man was working underneath.

"Can you hear me?" Ron asked after dropping to the ground.

The area was very dark and had almost no space which might provide room enough for a grown person. With that noted, when there was no answer; Ron assumed the fellow was trapped in such a way that constricted his air supply and left him unable to speak. He gripped the front bumper of the truck immediately and tested it. It was very heavy! A visual sweep across the frame of the out-of-commission vehicle quickly told the tale...its rear end was well above the front, forcing most of the weight to shift forward.

"This is not good," Ron cautioned himself, bracing his body as well as he could before putting his heavy-worlder muscles to the test yet again.

The scrapped-out old man hauler was well constructed in its day, having a massive frame of thick steel, and to add to it was the fact that the giant diesel engine and transmission were still installed, having rusted solid over a decade in the past. That entire mass of metal easily weighed over six tons, so Ron found his work cut out for him.

He felt his feet sink into the packed earth at first, as he began to apply force, but that stopped quickly enough, and then the bumper began to groan. The huge metal conveyance hadn't moved from its spot in many years, and now seemed to be objecting to the notion that it do so at this point.

Ron considered the serious possibility that the old, rusty bolts wouldn't be up to the task when the groans turned to shrieks of high-pitched agony from the stress...but they held. Up the bumper went...six inches, then twelve, then twenty four, and finally stopped at thirty-three.

Once he stood with his back locked and his position firmly established, Ron called out to the man underneath.

"Can you move?"

There was no response.

"Can you hear me?"

"Ye...yes," returned a weak, gasping squeak.

"Can you get yourself out?"

"N-n-no. I-I-I'm t-t-too...st-t-tiff. P-p-p-pinned...t-t-too...l-l-long. C-c-cold!"

"Shit!" Ron hissed at his misfortune.

He was stable with the load, but could only hold it for a few more minutes...the strain already making him gasp. He looked around for anything...anything at all that could aid him, but the yard was of no help...at least, nothing within reach, and he knew if he set it down again it would likely crush the man.

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!" came a shriek from behind Ron, startling him enough that his head whipped about with a snap.

There were two women standing there, thirty feet away with a little toddler in one's arms. The lady carrying the child looked to be in her upper twenties with short, black hair and brown eyes. She carried the child against her left hip...and a look of utter terror covered her face. It was she who'd screamed. The other was younger with long, dark brown hair and blue eyes. All three were dressed warmly in the cold dawn of the new day.

"Mike!" the black-headed lady screamed, rushing forward a few steps before stopping again. Ron could tell she wanted to come closer but stayed back out of fear of the odd scene she was witnessing.

She looked to the other woman quickly while her hands covered the ears of the child who was now crying from the fright she'd given him. That lady hesitated as well...unsure of what to do. Should she go for help, call the police, or surge forward into an unknown situation.

"What happened?" the mother directed at Ron. "Who are you? Mike...are you hurt?"

"M-m-meg..." the fellow under the truck called out, "c-c-calm d-d-down!"

"Ma'am, I'm trying to get this man out, but he's been stuck for too long and can't move. We need your help...NOW!"

Ron turned back to his chore straight away and couldn't see the shocked expression on her face, but he guessed at it very accurately.

"P-put Mikey d-d-down, b-b-baby...and h-h-help m-me," Mike ordered to her as firmly as he could. "Gina...you t-t-t-too...p-p-p-please! Hurry!"

They hesitated for only a second before following Meg's husband's commands.

"Stay right here, sweetie!" Meg instructed the little boy who was only whimpering by then. "I have to help Daddy! Okay?"

"Hurry!" Mike huffed again, trying as hard as he could to drag himself to the edge of the wreck. His limbs simply wouldn't obey.

At that time, Megan and Regina dashed over and lunged under the hovering bumper, grabbed her husband's outstretched wrist, and heaved with everything they had. Mike scooted as well as he could with his legs only half working, and together he was freed in only a few more seconds.

Ron's whole body was vibrating by then and he watched with great interest as the couple cleared the danger area...at which point he let go his hold on the massive machine.

"WHAM!" echoed the sound of that withering pile of steel when it slammed down to the earth once more...shuddering and creaking for a few more seconds until it was settled. The four of them felt the earth quake from the shock.

"Uuuuhhhh!" croaked Ron as he collapsed to the ground and then fell back flat, his arms to the sides and his muscles quivering while he panted desperately.

He lay there for a minute with his eyes shut, listening to Meg crying over her husband and him trying to console her worry. Regina was half looking at Ron, and half checking Mike over for damage...squeezing his legs and then his arms, looking for breaks.

When Ron opened his eyes once more, expecting to see the bright blue of the wintery sky, he instead found himself looking up at a squatting little two year old boy who was apparently fascinated by him.

"Hello," Ron said softly.

"Hi!" Mikey returned before he patted Ron's face with his little hands. "Good!"

"Mikey!" Meg called out harshly. "Come over here!"

"B-b-baby, rel-l-lax," her husband told her, shivering hard and slightly annoyed by her tone. "If he...w-w-w-wanted to hurt anyone...y-y-you th-th-th-ink he'd have r-r-rescued me?"

Ron just waved him off.

"Don't worry. I understand," Ron assured them both. "It's all right. I'm a stranger and you have every right to take caution, especially when it concerns your child."

"Thank you, Mister," Megan acknowledged with a forced smile under tear-streaked cheeks. Her overnight worry, the shock of seeing where her husband was pinned, and the relief of his rescue were all rushing out of her at once. "But Mike's right. I should be on my knees at your feet for saving him...not freaking out! Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Ron sat up then, still short of breath, and began brushing off the grit of the ground from his coat. A few moments later he was on his feet and finishing the job, but when he took a look at Mike, he shed the garment instantly and threw it over the shivering fellow whose face was entirely blue.

"Could you please send someone to Mike's Military Surplus Store, on Cypress Lane," Meg was saying into her phone, calling for an ambulance.

That got Ron's attention on the double and he began to look for an exit. An ambulance would likely attract a policeman as well, and he'd seen enough of them for a while.

"Well, if you're all okay, I'll be running," he told the trio.

"Wait!" Mike called out. "We d-d-don't even know your n-n-name. How'd you f-f-find me? How d-d-did you l-lift that t-t-truck? And how c-c-can we ever th-th-thank you?"

"Oh, don't worry about it. You'd have done the same for me, I'm sure."

Mike took a look back at the enormous truck Ron so recently raised off him.

"I d-d-don't think I'd have been able t-t-to," he said with a weak snicker, still holding his chest in pain. "Mister, that th-th-thing has to weigh five or six t-t-tons! Just how the hell could you...?"

"Mike!" Reg hissed. "Not in front of little Mikey!"

"Yeah...s-s-sorry. But really, how...?"

Ron just shrugged his shoulders and turned to leave, prompting Regina to race over to him.

"Wait, please! You came here for something...right?"

Ron's eyes and ears scanned the entrance nervously. "Yes, but that's all right. Some other time, maybe."

"He c-c-can have anything on th-th-the lot!" Mike granted with a weak, sweeping hand. "Free!"

"Honestly, Sir," Meg added, "we owe you so much...I can't even begin to..."

She couldn't even finish her thought as she held her husband close to her and wept again with relief at what might have happened, hauling in her wobbly son for a tender family moment.

"It's okay, Meg. It's okay," Mike told her softly.

"She's right, you know?" Regina admitted frankly. "We'd never have found him! If it hadn't been for the screeching sound of metal, we would've gone off to his favorite breakfast stop."

"You folks are making too much of it. I was just lucky...in the right place at the right time, you know? You owe me nothing. Good luck to you."

He turned to leave again but Regina's hand grabbed his arm and pulled hard, trying to turn him around. She was dragged a few feet before he paused on his own. "Who are you?"

Ron gazed into her eyes at that point and lost his focus of escape. They were as bright blue as the deep ocean, contrasting strikingly with the dark brown of her hair, and her facial features were equally as lovely. She was a very beautiful woman.

Ron smiled at her gently, dropping his guard for a split second. "Sorry. I'm Ron Allis..." he said, stopping abruptly at that and cursing to himself for giving his real name, but it was done. He took another step to leave. "So long."

"Ron Allison...no way! From Westlake?"

Ron looked intently at her then, and his eyes widened a bit. She was familiar to him, but not exactly as she'd been.

"It's me, Ron...Regina...Regina Millson!"

"Bean?" he asked, recalling what she'd been known as back in high school...short for bean-pole.

"Wow, you've...really changed!" she told him, scanning him from head to toe. "You really sprouted up since graduation...you look amazing!"

"You too! Your hair is so long now."

He scanned her tall, five foot, nine-inch frame quickly, but her thick, ankle-length coat had her well hidden.

At that moment, Ron found out she was no longer the shy, introverted girl she'd been in school when she didn't hesitate to whip open that heavy covering to give him a glimpse of how she'd sprouted too. Obviously she'd gained a great deal of self-esteem as she matured, as well as some other attributes.

Before her sister called earlier in the morning, worried about her husband, Regina had been on her way to the area gym to work out, and was wearing an incredibly snug-fitting, spandex outfit. It left her stomach completely bare and was fire engine red with little green wreaths all over to celebrate the season.

"Wow! You really filled ou..." pausing abruptly when he remembered his manners, "you're absolutely gorgeous!"

It was a stunning, shapely woman standing in front of Ron, well-proportioned in all the appropriate areas to catch the attention of the opposite sex, not the ultra-slim waif he'd known back in school. Her eyes too were changed, from being nearly buried behind clunky old, outdated glasses, to the unfettered look a pair of contact lenses offered. Ron also found she had a glorious smile.

The ambulance could be heard by then, pulling off the highway and roaring up their street, so Ron tried again to leave.

"You get him taken care of, Bea...Regina. I'll come back..."

She caught the anxiety he was displaying and cut him off. Something was up with him and her curiosity just wouldn't let it pass. Plus, there was another matter.

"Please wait, Ron! Here," she told him, handing over the keys to the building, "go into the office and wait for me. I'll help Megan get Mike looked after, and then meet you. We can't all ride in the ambulance anyway, not with the baby. Please?"

Ron reluctantly complied with her request, and since he saw blue lights heading their way as well, he hurried off, locked himself in the one room office, and drew the shades. At that point he simply had to trust his school-time friend.

Fifteen minutes later the ambulance was wailing away down the road and Ron heard one of the policemen questioning Regina just outside the window. She was carrying little Mikey in her arms, bouncing him lightly to keep him calm. The officer wanted to know if she'd seen anyone matching a certain description, and showed her a photo from the hospital's security camera. It had been sent out to all the area's police stations, sheriffs' offices, and the state troopers.

"Not today, Danny," she said without a moment's pause, "but I woke up late for my workout and didn't have time for any news. Then a phone call from my sister changed my plans completely. We came right here looking for Mike! What did that guy do?"

"He assaulted a doctor, five officers, completely destroyed the police station at the hospital, blew up a garage, assaulted a dozen more men at the Leaky Drain, destroying the bar in the process, as well as the wall of the building, and then vanished.

"My God!" she let out, truly horrified at such a rampage. "How could anyone do such things?"

"It seems obvious that he's on some kind of new drug that enhances his abilities, but..."

"Squad-car 5381...dispatch!" squawked his radio.

"Go dispatch...this is 5381."

"Are you free?"

"Affirmative!"

"Proceed to 2718, Greenbrier Road, off of Highway 165, for a domestic disturbance!

"Affirmative, dispatch! Well, Reggie, I've gotta run. Hope Mike's alright. Take care now!"

Regina knocked on the door of the office a few moments later, after the Sheriff's Deputy was gone. Ron let her in and backed away, trying not to seem too imposing. She eased the door open and eye-balled Ron for a while without speaking.

Ron allowed her the time to absorb what she'd heard.

"What really happened, Ron? The boy I knew back in school would never have..."

"Why didn't you turn me in?"

She hesitated a bit, clutching at her little nephew tightly. She looked nervous, exhilarated, and cautious all at the same time. He could easily read the conflict in her eyes.

"I guess it's because I owed you one?"

Ron's furrowed brow of confusion bid her to elaborate.

"You remember the night you and I first met? It was our junior year...after a basketball game...when I was drunk and got picked up by those Opelousas boys?"

Ron recalled the incident perfectly. It was an away game for the high school basketball team and he'd gone with a group of his football buddies, just to cheer on some friends. He remembered walking by her and a couple of her friends in the parking lot of the rival school. They'd brought some rum and were passing it around, and it was clear that she was tanked. She got separated from her group during the crowded exit and was stumbling around and giggling incessantly. She obviously didn't understand that the three young men who were "escorting" her weren't going to the parking lot at all, but rather toward a wooded area behind their stadium. Another point being evident to Ron was the way they were each touching her, pulling at her, and groping her. It was obvious that they were intending to take full advantage of her state of inebriation.

"You stopped them, Ron. You stopped them and took a heck of a beating doing it...before help came. You'll never know how important what you did for me was. I have no reason to fear you...and I owe you at least the chance of an explanation for this."

Ron received three broken ribs, and a broken nose in the fight back then...but two of the others ended up in the hospital, unconscious. He'd gotten in a few good licks before going down!

For the next ten minutes, he told her the highlights of what happened over the past night...leaving out some of his "extreme" feats.

"I never meant to hurt that doctor...it was completely a reactionary accident which you can corroborate with Rhena Rashde. The police station was a poor judgment call on my part, I realize that, but they wouldn't return my property...and I'd done nothing wrong. I just didn't have the proof on me. That's why I came here. I need transportation so I can head west...to catch up with my belongings. It's extremely important that I get them back.

"Anyway, the impound garage wasn't my fault in the least. Those two morons blew up their own office. The bar fight was unavoidable. The place was full of thugs and drug dealers who were less than amicable. If truth be told, they attacked me!"

She watched his beautiful gray eyes as he told his story, and saw nothing in them to give her qualms about his truthfulness. He was frank and to the point, calm and composed.

"Well, I never would've believed what you can do, had I not seen it for myself with that huge truck, which brings me up to what the deputy said...that you're on some 'enhancement' drug. How can you do all these things, Ron?

"And while you're at it...there was a funeral! I read your obituary! How is it that you're not dead?"

He smiled his grandest smile, remembering how his aunt and uncle reacted when he told them.

"Now 'that'...will be unbelievable!"

Over the next hour, Ron told her as much as he dared about his transformation. Most of the time her face was totally blank from disbelief, just as he'd expected, but when he asked her to touch his skin she began to swing toward the truth. When he bid her produce a pair of scissors and cut his hair, her mouth hung open. It was like clipping wire! The scissors were completely ruined. When he stepped on a shipping scale, she had to have him repeat it several times, even getting on it herself to test its accuracy (with his back turned, of course!). And when he brought her out into the bright, morning sunlight and removed the sunglasses he'd borrowed from Mike's desk, she shuddered and stepped back aghast as his eyes turned dark gray...even the whites. The late fall sunlight in Louisiana wasn't intense enough to make them go totally black, but it was enough for the effect he expected.

Ron ushered her back inside quickly and showed her he was, once again, normal looking. Regina left little Mikey snoozing on the couch of the office while they were outside for a moment, and at that time she looked at him with a completely new attitude.

For so long, Earthlings had considered themselves the grandest achievement God had ever created. Now she knew better. By their standards, the man beside her was nearly superhuman! And by his own admissions, there were many species capable of surpassing Earthlings out in the cosmos. It made her a bit light-headed, and she plopped down solidly in the desk chair.

Ron waited a couple minutes for her to recover, but then his urgency to keep moving forced his questions.

"Do you think Mike and Megan were being honest when they offered the spoils of this place for my choosing?"

"What? Oh, yeah...yeah I'm certain of it, I mean, you saved his life....ya'know? Why?"

"Well, as I said, I do need transportation...and obviously it'll have to be something heavy duty...so I kind of had an eye on an old Hummer I saw out there in the yard."

His sheepish admittance nudged her back into animation and got her mind working once more. Her eyes darted back and forth for a few moments, as if searching for something on the floor, and then she scooped up her cell phone and called her sister.

"Meg, it's me. How's Mike? That's great! I'm still here with Mikey and wanted to tell you that I'm bringing him over to Mom's...okay? All right then, you take care and I'll see you later. Bye.

"Okay..." she then told Ron, "here's the deal. I'm going to drop off my nephew and get changed. I'll be back in about an hour and a half to help you."

"That's not really necessary, Gina. I can take care of this."

"Well, I've worked here for three years and know every part out there, and where it's at! That could come in pretty handy, don't you think?"

Ron couldn't argue with those facts, so he acquiesced with no further debate. She gathered up the little tike and drove off soon afterward...and Ron got immediately to work.

The garage part of the facility was well stocked with tools and equipment, and was located far in the back, which provided him a place to hide out from those officers who might be searching for him. The Hummer he commissioned was the one missing the front right wheel and brake assembly, so he merely lifted that corner of the seven thousand pound truck and pushed it around and into the covered work area, diving into it at once. By the time Regina returned, the engine was running, every system vital to driving the thing had been checked out, and he was busy making a list of needed items.

Once he showed her the necessary parts, she walked him right out to another vehicle of the same make and configuration. It was missing the entire aft end, as well as the engine, but the front steering was whole, so they began scavenging it.

With Ron's exceptional abilities, rust, bent sheet metal, mangled undercarriage, and even the lack of a crane didn't slow them down. They lowered the project vehicle on its own four wheels by late morning.

"What about a seat?" Regina inquired when she saw him examining the inside. "Anything normal will be...shall I say, less than adequate?"

"Yeah, I saw something that'd work...but...uh...it's a bit unorthodox."

She looked at him suspiciously, already having picked up on his mischievous nature.

"Out with it, Sampson."

Ron smiled at her sarcasm and walked her to the front of the office. Outside was a bench made completely of steel, constructed out of old truck parts. The frame was from a Hummer's roll cage, the arms originally were the inch and a half anti-sway bars off a half-track, and the seat and back rest had started out as heavy-duty leaf-springs. The entire assemblage weighed over a thousand pounds.

"You think this could be added to our ride?"

"I don't see why not! But how would...?"

Ron slipped up behind the six foot wide creation and scooped it up like a lawn chair, then walked unceremoniously back to the garage.

"Okay then," she said, gawking at his casual display of inconceivable strength.

Thirty minutes later it was custom fit and welded into the front of the Hummer.

They both sat down on the new front seat and Reg saw the springs under Ron give and flex. He seemed quite happy with it. Her side was another matter however. She might as well have been sitting on a slab of granite.

"Maybe a few cushions would help," she told him as she exited, rubbing her butt.

As the time approached one o'clock, they'd just finished a test ride around the twelve acre lot. Regina was screwing on a valid license plate when a tremendous groan from Ron's stomach reminded them they'd been at their task a long time, and prompted her to offer lunch.

"What are you hungry for, Ron? My treat!"

"You know, I haven't had a good, thick, juicy, beef steak in years!"

"Alrighty then! Let's go. There's a great, old-fashioned steak house just down the road."

They wasted no time at all before climbing into the horrid looking military truck and setting off. It'd been so long since Ron last drove, he was a little shaky with the clutch, but they were in the parking lot of The Beef Barn in just over ten minutes.

Gina handed Ron one of Mike's Stetson hats for a disguise, so with the sunglasses and the trench coat, it would be difficult for him to be spotted by a casual bystander.

"Hey, Jaimie," Regina said to the Hostess, "could you give us a booth in the back?"

Jaimie eyed Ron swiftly and winked. "Sure, Reg...no problem!" Then she whispered, "Does he have a brother?"

The waitress looked like she'd fall over when Ron ordered three 20 ounce steak dinners with baked potatoes, and then asked Regina what she'd like. She stammered at the request as well but managed to put in her order too.

"Are you for real?" she asked in a harsh whisper after the waitress was gone.

Ron smiled back at her and threw up his hands. He and Cache had done some rough estimates of how much Earth food would satisfy his body's needs. It would take a lot!

When he was polishing off the second steak and reaching for the third, Reg began to giggle. Ron just grinned at her and dove in.

The bill was well over a hundred and fifty dollars after dessert and Ron waved off Regina's offer of paying. He lightheartedly tossed out a portion of the contraband money he'd acquired at the Leaky Drain, adding a generous tip for the stunned lady who'd served them. Then they were on their way back to the shop.

"Oh my God!" Regina blurted when they were finally away. "I've seen some guys put away food before, but that was insane!"

Ron laughed and tested out the vehicle some more. It was nearly ready to go.

"Do you have any heavy tarps, or canvass...anything I could line the back with?" Ron inquired.

"Yeah...sure...there's a stack of them in the storage room, why."

"I'm planning on sleeping in the cargo area...or on the ground...so I just wanted something to keep the charred remains of the truck off me." After he saw the look on her face, he added, "I can't very well sleep in a bed, I'd destroy it."

"Yeah...I suppose so."

Another two hours found Ron loaded up with water, some extra fuel cans, blankets, and Regina even offered the use of a GPS unit, but he declined it because he already had his chrono.

When he was all set, she went to her car and pulled out her suitcases, lugging them over to the Hummer.

"What's this?" Ron asked, clearly surprised.

"It's my things. I can't go anywhere without at least a few necessities...you know...something to change into."

"Go? What makes you...who said...why would you think you were going?"

She put her hands firmly on her glorious hips and returned his insolence.

"I'm standing here next to a man who has spent time on other planets! A man who can do phenomenal, if not unbelievable things! A guy on an interplanetary love quest...and you don't understand why I want to go? You think this happens everyday? What are you...nuts? I want to see your ship, your cool, advanced stuff...everything!"

"Oooooh, no!" he retorted with complete disdain. "You're not going anywhere with me!"

"Oh yes I am!" she barked back, stepping right up to him. "Whose gonna stop me? You?" she demanded, poking him in the chest hard...then wincing and shaking her jammed fingers. "I'll tell the cops exactly what you're driving and where you're headed! How far will that get you?"

"Why you little..." he growled, more impressed by her subterfuge than really angry.

"Come on," she pleaded then, "I can help! You'll need somebody to spell you with the driving, right? It's a long way to El Paso."

"You don't understand, Gina. I'm like a walking magnet for trouble. Ever since I left Earth, I've stepped into the worst possible messes. You have no idea!"

"See, you'll need someone to watch your back! I'm pretty good in a pinch...you'll see!"

Ron just shook his head and grinned. She truly didn't know who she was getting involved with.

"Look, Regina, I do appreciate what you've done for me...honestly...but that's out of the ques..."

"I can get you passed the roadblocks!"

"Roadblocks?"

"Yeah...they've set up roadblocks on both interstates and at every highway and paved road out of the area."

Ron's shoulders suddenly slumped. "Son of a..."

"Looks like you stepped in it again there, stud!"

Ron considered setting off on foot because he knew he could avoid anyone that way on Caron, but here the ground was too soft to conceal his trail and there were many rivers he'd have to cross out on the open expanse of a bridge. It would be difficult to say the least, and incredibly slow.

"Fine," he finally sighed. "Let's go."

It was almost dark as the revived Humvee rumbled out of the surplus yard, and when they neared the first checkpoint, Regina guided Ron off the road and onto a trail that followed a power-line right-of-way.

"This is where we go 'off-roading' in our four-wheel-drives!" she told him while she reached back into one of her bags. "Here, take these."

Surplus night-vision goggles!

Ron smiled grandly at her foresight. By midnight, they were a hundred miles west of any searchers.

### Chapter Twenty-one

### The Trail

At the time Ron was devouring his three steaks, the hospital he'd been to was a mad-house. There were frantic people scrambling about at every turn, and the staff of the small emergency room was getting tired and aggravated at the calamity.

Those who'd worked overtime on the previous night, attending to the injuries from the huge wreck on the I-10 Bridge, were called back in early this day to continue similar issues on the people battered up at the Leaky Drain. Broken bones, contusions, bullet wounds, and concussions were prevalent among them and the physicians were taxed hard to keep up.

"What the hell is happening out there?" one doctor asked of a policeman. "It must be a full moon or something!"

"I don't know, but from what I can figure out, some maniac's on the loose, hopped up on amphetamines or something! He's on a wild rampage we can't figure out, and can't stop!"

There was an excess of police presence due to the devastation of their precinct, and subsequently they were asking everyone questions about the mysterious "super-man" who'd terrorized them.

Several of the injured men from the Leaky Drain were in handcuffs, having been found with various weapons and drugs on their person when the ambulances carted them off, and now were ranting about illegal arrest and police brutality.

The women who were there were sporting only minor cuts and abrasions from some of the flying men during the fight...apparently standing a bit too close to the action for their own good. Now they were complaining and screaming at everyone within earshot about the lack of police protection, or harassment at being questioned.

Amongst the loud and unruly crowd were a couple of finely dressed individuals who didn't seem to fit in with the groups...being neither officer, nor victim. They milled about slowly, listening in on as many of the interviews as they could.

"That's what I said ain't it," one angry man with a black eye and a broken arm shouted at the policeman who was writing down his statement. "I'm telling you, he just ripped the mother-fuckin bar right outta the fucking ground, man! Then he shoved it through the mother-fuckin wall! And that ain't no fuckin lie. You ask anyone!"

"He threw Dino's bodyguard through the door and started killing everyone!" whimpered one of the women who'd been in the back room. "He's insane...you know? Really insane!"

"Ma'am, no one was killed," the lady officer informed her.

"Oh...well...it ain't for lack of trying...I'll tell you that! And he stole poor Mattie's coat!"

"Mattie?"

"Dino's bodyguard! Ain't you listenin?"

"I swear to God, man...he busted through the wall and then jumped straight up on the roof!" another fellow reported. "That dude's friggin Superman, man!"

"No Sam, I'm fine," stated a calm fellow behind a curtain, waiting for his chance to be x-rayed. "I don't know how in the world he did it, but he found me and just grabbed the front bumper of the six-by and lifted the damn thing right off me. Yeah! Then he started talking to me like he was holding up the tailgate of my truck or something. No...no...I'm not delusional, and I wasn't drunk. You can ask Meg and Gina! They were there. They pulled me out while he just stood there like a friggin human crane! Yeah, yeah, I know...I know. I wouldn't believe it either, if I hadn't been there!"

One of the men in suits stopped abruptly there, and slowly ventured into Mike Landry's curtained off area.

"Excuse me, sir," the dapper fellow said softly.

"I'll have to call you later, bro...I got company. Okay, I'll see you then. Bye.

"Yeah? Time for my X-ray?"

"Eh...no sir. I'm not with the hospital."

"Oh...sorry. What's up?"

"We are currently interviewing everyone who had contact with the fugitive from last night, and I was..."

"Fugitive? Mister, I don't know anything about a 'fugitive'. This guy just showed up at my work and saved my ass! He's no fugitive. He's a sure-to-God hero!"

"Was this the gentleman?"

Mike looked at the photo from the police station for a long few moments, not wanting to believe it was the same guy.

"Sir, is this the man who helped you?"

"I don't see how...I don't know for sure...maybe."

"Take your time."

"I really can't be certain. I was pretty out of it back there. I'd been trapped under a truck all night and was freezing cold. My wife will be back in a couple hours. She got a lot better look at him than me...her and her sister, that is. But it can't be him! The Leaky Drain is a good fifteen or twenty miles from my place. And what would a guy on the run be doing wandering around my junk...uh, surplus yard?"

"I couldn't say...perhaps you had something he wanted."

"Well if I did...I don't care what he did to a bunch of drugged-out scumbags at some dive bar...that dude saved my bacon! He can have anything I got! He's a savior in my eyes!"

"Where was he last?"

"Heading out the gate of my yard, I guess. My sister-in-law seemed to have taken to him pretty quick-like, and I can't blame her really. That guy was built like a friggin pro-linebacker, and had a jaw like a gall-darned anvil. Also, he played down his part in saving me like it was something he did every day. Chicks go nuts for that kind of shi...stuff, ya'know? She was talking to him the whole time before the ambulance got there. You can ask her."

"How might I find her?"

"I can give you her cell number, I suppose...and she was headed to 'The Toner' health club, as far as I know."

"Excellent! That would be a big help."

Mike opened his mouth to tell the man her number, but his conscience nudged him into caution just in time.

"Ya'know, it just donned on me that I don't know anything about you, and I don't think... Who'd you say you were with?"

The man in the expensive suit remained calm, smiled warmly, and extended his credentials. Mike read them twice, his eyes growing wide, and then hard.

"What's the ROF doing investigating this...fugitive? I thought you guys were on some 'extraterrestrial' witch-hunt or something!"

"We're just helping the locals with this little problem. We have resources they don't...you know...just trying to be good citizens of the community."

"Yeah...I know what kinds of 'citizens' you guys are. You stole Megan and Regina's folks' home from them two years ago, and told them tough luck. You hauled everyone from Westlake off for two months and put them in a prison camp so you could grill them about something they knew nothing about. Then you crawled up everybody's ass for the next year and a half until you were sure they were telling the truth.

"Yeah, I know what good citizens you fellas are."

"Sir, I assure you that I had nothing to do with any of that...and we are only trying to help now."

"Uh-huh. Well, if you need anything else from me, you can talk to my lawyer!"

"Thank you, sir. You've been very helpful," the man stated curtly, before moving to leave.

"Great! And by the way I don't think he's the guy you're looking for anyway. He didn't look like he was running from anyone. In fact, it seemed more like he was trying to find someone."

The man smiled, then excused himself and went to a secure area, away from the crowded emergency wing.

"I think I have a lead on the rogue," he said to his supervisor on his cell-phone. "Yes sir, I'm on it. I'll keep you posted."

That man had no trouble getting Regina's phone number, and tried numerous times to get in touch with her, but she and Ron were making too much noise in the garage to hear her phone ringing from twenty yards away. And when she did check it at last, she merely deleted the "Missed Call" alert because she didn't recognize the number.

"Telemarketers!" she grumbled when she saw the strange call.

The ROF man and his partner visited the exercise club before he was finally able to track the phone through the cell tower it was using. They even went by the surplus compound, but Gina had closed and locked the gate when they returned from lunch. She knew Ron was being hunted, and didn't want cops coming around. If they had to get a search warrant, she figured there would be time enough to escape.

By the time Megan made it back to the hospital, she was escorted by their family's attorney...thanks to a call from Mike. The ROF had the police involved at that point and they questioned her for two and a half hours before they ever let her see her husband. They even hinted that child services might get involved if she didn't cooperate, citing obstruction and harboring a fugitive as possible charges. It was nearly dusk by then, and when she was finally convinced about Ron being the man in the photos...their highly sought after criminal...she took them directly to the yard.

They arrived exactly three minutes after Ron and Regina had left.

Megan had no idea where they were headed and couldn't reach her sister because Gina had removed the battery from her phone. (She'd seen enough TV to know how the police could track people) Megan provided them whatever they asked for, even allowing them to search the business...and after only a quick scan, they found Regina's car behind the garage area with a note on the windshield.

'Meg,

I'm going with my friend on a trip. He's an old schoolmate who needs a favor. Don't worry; I'll be back in a few days.

Love,

Regina'

"Who is this person...this friend...who she refers to?"

"I don't know. Gina was talking to the man who saved Mike, then he left and the ambulance came up. She called me a little later on this morning and told me she was dropping my baby off at our mother's house...and that was the last I heard from her. I was a bit preoccupied at the time, with Mike and all, and didn't think about it anymore."

"Thank you for your time," the fellow told her, and then he turned to the lead investigator. "Cut her loose...we're done here."

"That's it?" Megan asked, completely put off by the whole, stressful ordeal. "What about my sister? Is she in danger?"

Sheriff Guy LeJuerne stepped up then.

"Mrs. Landry, I would like you to know that we do appreciate the information that you've given us. I'm sorry about the way it was handled, but there was little I could do about that."

"But what about Gina?"

"Well, if she's gone off with an old school friend, she's probably perfectly safe and will call you soon. The men from the ROF are certain the man we're looking for did not grow up in the area. I don't know how they figured that out, but they seem to know a lot more about him that they've let on. Anyway, your sister is no longer part of the investigation, nor are you.

"Thank you again."

The ROF agent shot one last look at Megan before he got into his car and drove off. He didn't look very pleased.

"We lost his trail," he said into the phone as he pulled out of the surplus yard's gated entrance. "Really? I'll be right there!"

He then turned to his comrade, "They have a lead! The cameras caught a truck driver at the filling station just west of the bridge. Apparently our prey left something on his truck."

"How do they know?"

"Whatever it was seemed very heavy, and they saw the same truck out front of the hospital. They think he might have been trying to return it to him."

"You know where this trucker is?"

"No, but since his trailer was empty, it appears he was headed back to his base. They're checking on it."

"What about the company he drives for?"

"Unfortunately, the angles of the cameras that spotted him were poor and the quality of the feed is low. Add to those problems the fact of dim lighting making it even worse, so we can't be sure at the moment. Our people are conducting interviews. It may take a while, but we'll get it!"

"Make damned sure that you do!"

### Chapter Twenty-two

### The Road Trip

Ron and Regina roared along Texas State Highway 190 early the next day. They were making decent progress, but the military version of the Hummer wasn't made for highway use, so at sixty miles per hour they were just about maxed out.

Ron and his new partner had discussed their route extensively, and even though it would add a great deal to their time, they both felt staying off the Interstates was essential to keeping them out of trouble. Too, local Sheriff's Departments and small town cops along the more rural routes wouldn't likely be actively involved in any kind of manhunt that might arise.

Dawn caught Gina curled up on the long, hard bench with her head on Ron's thigh acting as an overly stiff pillow. She'd thanked her preparatory foresight though when she lay down on cushions she'd borrowed off a couch from her brother-in-law's office. It was the only way she could stand the rigid, harsh ride of the Hummer.

Ron, on the other hand, was a machine of determination. When he needed to, he could go for days without sleep, so he'd simply driven on. His eyes were on the alert for anything that might signal they were being followed, but as the miles rolled away, his worry began to wane.

When the sun had been up for a full hour, Gina was rudely awakened by a loud booming jolt caused by the right front wheel dropping into a nasty, six-inch-deep pothole.

"Jeeeeeeez!" she squealed as her head snapped up and she looked hurriedly about. Her hair was tousled and her clothes looked like she'd slept in them (obviously), and so Ron gave her a quick grin. She tried to smile back, but caught a glimpse of herself in the rear view mirror and gasped instead.

"Oh my G..." she hissed, and then hurriedly brushed out her long hair and wound it into a ponytail. She straightened herself up for a few minutes and popped a stick of gum into her dry mouth before looking Ron's way again. He resisted chuckling by willpower alone and passed her a bottle of water from the cooler they'd packed.

Regina guzzled half of it down before turning her attention back to the road. The blue skies they'd enjoyed on the previous day were nowhere to be seen, and the western route in front of them appeared dark and menacing. They were headed into bad weather.

"So where are we?" she inquired.

"About two hundred miles into Texas."

She nodded her head half-heartedly, glancing about at the flat, treeless, rural countryside all around. A few minutes later, it began to rain, and with the temperature outside being barely thirty-five degrees, she began fidgeting.

"Did you get any sleep?" he asked politely.

"A little," Gina replied, still squirming about nervously.

"You think we could stop soon," she inquired of Ron a few minutes later.

"Yeah...sure," he responded, and then he paid closer attention to her uneasy antics. "Oh!" he then said, finally realizing why she was acting that way. They had made only one stop in the previous night (at a dark stretch of forest-lined roadway in the middle of nowhere) so they could relieve themselves, and it was time again.

Ron swapped seats with Gina quickly and began searching for a good place to pull in for breakfast. He was ready for a break too, his dense body having burned through yesterday's huge steak dinner several hours in the past.

Once settled, he twisted the dial on his chrono and a map of the area instantly hovered above his wrist. It was round, a foot in diameter, and was so clear it appeared only slightly transparent, especially in the dim light of the cab. The display was a perfect replica...a fifty mile radius reproduction of their position...and that's where he began his quest.

"Show me the next few roadside cafes please," he told the device.

Instantly, the tiny structures on the map were tagged with little descriptions, and Ron took note of each, as well as their distances away. At a touch of his finger, the map centered on his selected position...a small town just up the road.

"Enlarge two hundred percent," he said to the device. It instantly complied. "It looks like we can stop in about seven more miles. There are a half-dozen eateries in that little town. You hungry?"

Regina was still sitting there open-mouthed, fascinated by that little show of techno wizardry, and only jumped back to life when the hummer's tire dropped off the pavement. She chirped at that and corrected their course back onto the highway, and then returned her attention to Ron's question.

"Sorry! But, uh...yeah...I'm starved! Hey, how's that work?"

Ron just smiled grandly and shook his head.

"Magic!" he told her. "I don't have a clue to half the stuff the Rauldens have shown me."

She'd already grilled him about his other-worldly adventures for half the previous night, before the day's peculiar set of events had finally taken their toll on her and she'd fallen asleep. But this fantastic display started a new round of discussions between her and Ron. That topic carried on through their morning meal and back out onto the road. (Ron downed twenty-seven ham-and-egg McMuffins, thirty hash-browns, and a gallon of orange juice) Gina merely stopped counting after the fifteenth sandwich disappeared, completely mesmerized by his tales.

As the day progressed, the rain eventually stopped and the skies brightened again with patches of blue breaking through. With that, the temperature rose nicely, until the frigid night was just a fading memory and soon they were even forced to turn the Hummer's heater off.

Another hour further into the Lone Star state, the flat ranchland gave way to the wide expanse of the open desert, and the thermometer continued to rise...fast. It was as if the summer had refused to yield to the fall and the coming winter months.

Ron shrugged off his loaner coat and tossed it into the back beside the black sword. Then he cranked the windows down, allowing the wind to whip through the cab of the moaning, growling beast of a truck, and enjoyed the breeze. Regina too stripped out of her warm clothes and got as comfortable as she could. She was fully engaged again by then and the trip quickly took on the feel of a real vacation, one packed with excitement and adventure; directly opposite the way it had started.

The miles slid noisily by beneath the large, knobby tires of the Humvee, and the two occupants inside chatted lightly. They even played the "license plate game" for a while, until Gina realized she couldn't possibly beat Ron because his eyesight was phenomenal.

Their next stop didn't come for another four hours, when the sun was well past its zenith and the fuel thirsty Hummer needed a drink. The gauges were all ruined, but Ron was keeping track of the auxiliary tanks they carried, and they were down to the last one.

As they pulled into a large truck-stop/restaurant/tourist's store, Regina became extra enthusiastic, instantly alert and energized. The place had showers!

Ron fueled the truck and his four spare cans, parked around the side, and then headed in to do likewise. His changes of clothes were gone, but he could at least scrub himself thoroughly and rinse out the attire he did have, which turned out nicely because the showers also had the hot-air dryers he could use on his garments.

Once they both felt better, they casually strolled over to the eating area of the sprawling building arm in arm.

It was a large diner, easily having capacity for a hundred people, and was already fairly well packed. A quick scan of the place raised no flags, so they continued inside. There were no law enforcement officials in sight, and nearly everyone seemed focused on their own conversations, ignoring the newcomers. Of course there were at least a dozen furtive glances at Regina, but that was typical and of no real concern.

Ron was careful to keep from sitting in the wooden chairs of the place and instead stood at the bar next to his partner. Regina again gaped at the vast quantity of food Ron put away...as did their waitress...and afterward his high school chum excused herself and went to the side of the building that had the store.

"Are all women mentally linked to shopping?" he chuckled as he walked back to the truck.

They were well out into the flat desert of Texas by then and even though it was December, it was still very warm and she'd only packed winter clothing, so she was making some much needed adjustments to her wardrobe. Ron gave her some cash to keep from using her credit card.

Ron felt obliged to keep his distance from the public eye, so he waited outside for her, calmly checking on the Hummer's condition...monitoring how it was weathering the demands of the trip. He was pleased to find that there were no leaks from the drivetrain or the fuel system.

A sharp whistle brought Ron's attention back to the building though, and as his eyes shifted, he saw Regina heading his way, her step deliberately accentuated...very provocative, and very sexy. In her left hand was a bag filled with her previous outfit of long sleeved shirt and blue jeans. Now she was sporting rock-climbing shorts and a halter top...and filling them both out extremely well!

He smiled wryly at her, his eyes feasting on her fine figure with her long brown hair billowing in the light breeze.

"That girl's a walking heart attack!" he said to himself.

She saw Ron staring and gave her step a little extra pop with a devilish grin plastered across her face. She was enjoying the attention very much indeed...until...

Off to the far side of a long, A-class motor coach, a group of twenty-three motorcyclists had stopped in for fuel before Ron ventured out of doors. They were just finishing up when Gina hit the pavement, so when the luxury-home-on-wheels pulled slowly away, they were granted the spectacular sight of Regina's heart-pounding exhibition.

Two of their group saw her before the others and slapped their buddies until every head was fixed on her. The next few moments of relative peace were drowned out completely by the large group all firing up their large bore machines and charging off in pursuit of that lovely lady.

"Oh, shit!" Ron thought when his focus was redirected to their movement. "Keep coming Gina," he softly ordered, his voice being totally obliterated by the rumbling sound of the bikes.

She had about a hundred feet to go when they lit off, and fifty when they got to her. Ron was standing in the doorway of the driver's side by then, hoping they were just out for a look...and that she would keep her cool.

Regina's face went pale at first, when the sound of their engines shook the air, but a quick glance at her companion...and the recollection of what he could do...let her calm down. There was no way he'd allow her to be harmed. In fact, she was so confident about it, she went back to her sensuous stroll even as they approached.

The usual cat-calls, whistles, and somewhat rude remarks only made her grin all the more. But when one of the riders rolled by and slapped her on the rear, she jumped sharply and her temper flared. She angrily flipped him the bird and cut him a glare that received an instantaneous reaction...and not a pleasant one.

The majority of the bikers were of average size and build, but about ten were rather large, burly, rough-looking men who wore substantial amounts of inked artwork adorning various parts of their bodies. One in particular...the one who'd accosted Regina...had huge arms displayed by his leather vest, a long beard, and long, black, dirty hair tied in a pony-tail. He wore the usual garb for those with his affection for motorcycles and choice of company...leather boots, jeans, and leather chaps.

That dangerous looking fellow locked up the rear wheel of his bike and slid it around to face Regina when he saw the defiant, one finger salute and the stare she shot him. He then gassed the engine and raced back toward her, but she managed to jump into the passenger side of the horrible looking Hummer before he could reach her.

Screeching to a stop outside the door, he leaned into the windowless portal and addressed her face to face.

"Hey, Baby...what's your name?"

Ron sat inside now, behind the steering wheel, ready to get going, but by the time Regina gained the truck's protection, the bikers were completely surrounding it.

"What's the deal," Ron asked himself. "Do I have a sign on my forehead saying, 'Please hassle me?'"

"My name's 'Get-lost-or-my-boyfriend-will-kick-your-ass!'" she told him, gathering all the animosity she could muster without her voice squeaking from fright. Her heart rate was running as high as it could possibly go by that time.

Inside, Ron just sighed, but outwardly, he locked eyes with her would-be suitor and didn't waver. However, another of the mean-looking highwaymen bent down and crossed his arms on the windowsill of Ron's door, and there was the distinct click of a long switchblade knife next to Ron's ear.

"Take it easy there, stud!" growled the knife-wielding fellow.

"Who...this shit-bag?" asked Regina's aggressor, pointing at Ron. "I don't think so, Baby. Come on now, and give Deek a little taste!"

He then leaned in to kiss her while his right hand grabbed her breast firmly. Regina went to slap his face but her hand was far too slow...striking his waist instead. In the fraction of a second it took for her to coil her hand, Ron snapped the wrist of the man threatening him with the knife, lunged across the wide expanse of the truck, and gripped Deek by the throat. When her hand shot forward to slap Deek, he was being hauled through the window at a blistering rate. A split second later, the big, bad, motorcycle tough-guy was shoved out the driver's side portal like tossing out a bag of garbage.

Ron turned to Regina calmly... "And I thought 'I' was the magnet for trouble!" he sighed.

Her eyes were wide and her breath was quick while her fingers trembled from that brush with disaster. She gave him a timid smile as her hands went to her cheeks, but Ron was already stepping out of the Hummer and so didn't see it.

"All right boys," he said with his hands up and palms out. "Let's not get too excited! Just mount up and ride off...please! I don't want any trouble."

By that point, there was a substantial crowd gathered, with even more watching from inside the diner. The regulars of the place had seen that kind of thing before. The gang of ruffians was known for terrorizing motorists until they got whatever they wanted at the time...be it money, a woman, or just the pleasure of it all.

The biker's flying form had plowed over his buddy with the freshly snapped wrist and they both had tumbled well clear of the truck. When Deek looked back across a shoulder that was smashed out of place due to his rough handling, he was sick from the pain, shocked from the ordeal, and humiliated at the realization of what had happened. But, like most bullies, his shame outweighed his mental prowess.

"Get that mother-fucker!"

Ron caught the first man's punching fist in his palm and squeezed, not stopping until the attacker was on his knees screaming from the pain. Every bone in his hand was broken.

Another two rushed in from behind, but Ron merely swung his free arm around and swatted them both into the side of the armored Hummer. There was a sharp, snapping sound of ribs cracking and at least one collarbone breaking before the pair fell sprawled on the pavement, dazed and confused.

The next guy charged in on his bike, as if he would crash into Ron and shove him into the truck. However, after the cycle slammed to a stop against Ron's hands, and the rider flew over his handlebars, the gang of thugs began to understand a little better just who, or what, they were facing. And when Ron swung the seven hundred pound motorcycle around by the front forks, smashing it into one of the concrete supports for the pumps, they also began to fall back.

Four of the bikers who were on the other side of the Hummer decided to attack someone they knew they could control, and dashed forward at Regina. She'd been watching the fight from her seat and was suddenly grabbed by the hair and pulled back roughly. The men were trying to haul her through the same window Deek had been at, but Ron was on the move before Gina even screamed.

He leaped over the top of the six foot high, seven foot wide vehicle in one smooth jump, landing amongst those "brave" men who were attacking a mere woman.

Ron despised such cowardice with a purple passion and let out a rumbling growl that forced a fast retreat of two of the men. The pair who had their burly hands on Regina though, unexpectedly felt their feet leaving the ground, their bodies suspended by a pair of hands clamping down on the back of their necks like hydraulic presses. And as the pain sky-rocketed to the point they thought their spines would surely snap, they hastily let go of their struggling victim and begged for mercy.

"Okay...okay...okay," they both yelped, "I give...I give...I give!

Ron threw the despicable men away from him like shrugging off a bit of lint from his shirt, and then turned to address the remaining highwaymen.

"You boys have a choice to make!" he thundered, his chest heaving as his adrenaline level really began to course. "We can continue with this fight, or you can call for ambulances and get your wounded tended to...it's your decision!"

No one advanced, too frightened, or amazed, or muddled to move, so Ron walked casually around the front of the Hummer and got in.

"Move the bikes!" he ordered out the window.

"Screw you, Man!" Deek roared...disgusted with the pitiful battle his men had waged.

"Fine...don't move them!"

Ron just dropped the high riding, nearly unstoppable military transport into gear and simply drove over the six motorcycles barring his way. He waved his hand in the air as the Hummer cleared the rubble, and then calmly took a side street, heading north as if nothing at all had happened. There was bound to be police involvement after that mess, and he didn't want any witnesses knowing their true course, so that deviation seemed prudent.

They were down the road four miles before Regina could even speak again.

"Oh...my...God!" she finally uttered...completely in awe of the man she sat next to. "That...that...that...was...incredible!"

"It wasn't much of a fair fight...you know, with my..."

No longer able to curtail her amazement, she flipped her seatbelt loose and jumped him, covering his lips with hers.

Ron was never one to brush off a lovely lady who was determined to ingratiate him with her affections, but this time, after all, he was on a quest to find his wife, so...

"Gina," he said softly after a long, passionate embrace. He could see the sparkle of emotional ties in her eyes and began to worry. "I'm flattered by your attention...truly. You're a beautiful woman, and any man would be...but you know my situation. I can't allow this."

All the while, he kept peeking at the road to stay between the ditches, and when he looked back at her then, he saw even more admiration in her gaze.

"How could any woman be so lucky?"

"Lucky?" he thought; his wife's situation in mind. "Could it really be considered lucky...having lived through the death of the one you loved more than anything in the world? Or raising his child alone while he was out living a new life and finding new loves?"

Ron looked into the submissive stare of yet another ardent admirer and felt guilty for the reciprocal nature of his urges. She was sitting across his lap and mooning up at him like a groupie in the front row at a concert...and she was very lovely.

"Gina, from the moment I left this world, my life has been guided by some unseen and unknown calling. It has cost me the woman of my young dreams, the family I've always wanted, and any semblance of a normal life. Now I'm drawn to conflict, to strife, and to pain at every turn. Those I love are tortured by their reciprocal devotion to me. No matter what I seem to be able to do in battle...and my victories have been many and spectacular...I always lose whenever it comes to the emotional bonds that I desire in my deepest soul.

"This new life has been one leap of fate after another, and yet I'm still searching for the answer to the one question that makes no sense. Why me? Why was I plucked from a wonderful, happy, contented life to serve this one? What does destiny have waiting around the corner for me?"

He stared blankly across the road as he spoke, and let his mind wonder for a while. Regina was reluctant to leave her seat for a long time, and just laid her head on his broad chest, one arm around his waist and the other lightly stroking his torso.

Finally however, with a loud, sad sigh, she kissed his lips once more and returned to her side of the seat. He was a man in deep conflict...that much was clear...and she had no idea how to help him resolve it.

"So how close are we to our next turn, Ron?" she finally asked just to break the spell of gloom intruding upon them. "Let's see that fancy map of yours again!"

Ron appreciated her very much at that point. She really was trying to help him.

"Here you...oh no!"

During the fight with the motorcycle gang he'd somehow hit he chrono hard enough to crack the crystal face, and the safety features Cache designed into it had immediately begun their work. The inner components of the device were breaking down to their base molecules. The only thing left was the housing, and it was eroding fairly quickly. The nano-bots were rapidly doing their intended duty.

### Chapter Twenty-three

### The Warning

Cache Kuar sat on the second floor front porch of the Gitove farmhouse alongside Josylinia who was happily playing funny-face games with little Sheyah. It was mid-afternoon and the Caronian sun beat down with all its might, baking the riverside with its white-star glare.

The ladies were scantily clad to fight off the draining effects of the tropical heat, and Sheyah wore only the Caronian equivalent of a diaper. Cache had long since taken to Josy's choice of wardrobe, a tiny pair of snug fitting shorts with a matching halter top, as it seemed only logical. It was days like that when she was the most grateful for her decision too, because the area's humidity ran so high due to their proximity to the river.

While the raven-headed beauty enjoyed the eye-popping and scintillating color of lemon yellow, Cache preferred a more demur choice of lavender...although the distinction was difficult to make if you were to poll the farm's male workers. Each man could speak for billots about the exquisite features of either woman, and often did...when they were far enough away to not be overheard, of course.

It had been a long day of toil on the farm, finishing up the last details of the most recent harvest of buonta beans, and they both relished the quiet and peaceful surroundings of the river estate.

Cache's private little cottage was a quarter hoz away to the east and bordered the smaller Prant River, but was acceptably close by. It was nothing like the expansive mansion of the Gitoves, but gave her and her daughter plenty of room and comfort. Also, it was a fortress! On the outside it appeared like any other Caronian dwelling of a moderately wealthy owner, but the inside was fully Raulden.

There was a complete emergency station with mednauts, a food dispenser-cleaner module, a sanitizer, and a Kuar Transfer Portal for moving between worlds. Also, the house, as well as an acre of ground all around it, was protected by an energy field which was impenetrable by anyone or anything on the planet. It generated a two-stage protective dome...the first being a two hundred feet wide layer that when entered would cause disorientation, then nausea, and if intruded still further, would result in unconsciousness. The second level was the typical disruptor field, and would disintegrate almost anything. This unassailable shield only opened for three individuals, Cache, Sheyah, and Ron Allison. Cache and Sheyah would be safe whenever they were home...that much was certain.

Cache and Josy had long since settled any jealousy issues between them and now got along famously. In fact, while Ron was away, Sheyah and her mother practically lived at the Gitove home...at least when Karne was out on patrol. Cache hadn't quite been able to get accustomed to the giant Kreete, no matter how often she reassured herself he was no threat. Whenever he was due home, she and Sheyah simply retired to their own abode.

While the days passed slowly by with Ron on Earth, the two women avoided all talk or speculation as to what he might be doing there. This trip was absolutely essential to his making peace with the past and finally being able to move on...even though they each prayed he would return and give his heart to her and her alone.

Inside the house, Josy's mother, Mishea, was seeing to the final touches of the evening meal. Where the Gitoves once utilized Kreete technology to attend to such trivial and menial duties, now they were forced to either do it themselves or rely on human servants. Those individuals were not slaves by any stretch of the word either, but rather a staff of paid Caronians who lived there and helped maintain the home. The mechanical aids' going away was one of the niceties they'd given up with the fall of Kreete rule and the destruction of their original residence. It was difficult to become accustomed to strangers in the house, but the adjustment wasn't too trying because the women were so easy going. The servants did get quite rattled however, whenever Karne was about.

"The rains will be coming again soon?" Cache inquired, recalling the instructions she'd received when she volunteered to help on the farm.

"Yes," Josy replied between kisses and tickles with the baby, "tomorrow or the next day, probably. It will rain for two to four days straight. It's a repetitious cycle that keeps the plants productive."

"What do you do during those times?"

Josy smiled at her ignorance. Cache was a woman constantly on the move...driven to work and explore and inquire. She sat still only for short periods, slept little, and strove to learn, understand, and help. She and Ron were very much alike.

"We still do most of our normal routines...the animals' care, adjust the flood gates to maintain the proper level of water in the fields, pick the orchards, that sort of thing. We just get wet a great deal more!"

Cache smiled back, but inside she tensed.

Cache had lived on Caron well over a cycle during her and Ron's campaign to free the planet, and adjusting to inclement weather was quite a shock to her. On Rauld, she'd visited the surface only sporadically to do research, and never in foul weather. The first rain she'd ever experienced was while she and Ron were on the run from the Kreete, before the battle above her planet. At that time she was nearly sixty Raulden cycles (years) old. She didn't shy away from it, but cared little for the feel of it too.

"On your world," Josy asked, always able to read trepidation in someone, "you don't work in such conditions?"

Cache smiled grandly then. "We have lived underground for so many centuries that weather conditions like here are only on informational crystals. Even now, my people venture out seldom, and then, only when the climate is mild. The feel of Rauld's star upon their skin is a totally foreign sensation to eighty percent of the population. So, no, we avoid inclement weather."

Josy just shook her black mane of wavy hair and held Sheyah close, rocking her back and forth.

Cache couldn't help but admire her. She possessed inconceivable patience, took nothing and no one for granted, and was so calm and serene, even when things went awry of the intended. And of course she was truly, unbelievably beautiful.

"How could I ever hope to win Ron's heart over her?" was the recurring thought that plagued her.

But Cache wasn't one to worry or complain either. She was incredibly intelligent, even amidst her own highly advanced brethren, and knew these kinds of situations could not be planned for, orchestrated, or really understood. The influence of emotions was far too varied to be able to quantify...so she merely waited...and prepared as best she could for the outcome. She had the hope of a lovesick teenager and the rationale of a matter-of-fact scientist.

At that time they heard the chime of the dinner bell and gathered up their things...Sheyah's things mostly...and strolled into the mansion.

Supper was unlike anything on Earth because the entire staff sat down to enjoy the meal together. The Gitoves did not want the natives to treat them like masters. The mystique of that type of class ranking was dangerous, especially to the women who were left alone most of the time while Karne and Larson traveled the province keeping the peace. It was far more desirable to have the locals think of them as leaders, not as their rulers. Also, Mishea and Josy enjoyed the company and the variety of stories from all their differing lives.

There were six female and three male Caronians who lived on the grand estate. All of the men were older and married, with children of their own...and their wives were three of the other servants. Karne was extremely careful in picking the people to stay on the property with his family. He wasn't blind to the fact that the women in his life were objects of desire for healthy young men. And even though the town of Thackere practically worshipped him and his family...they all being considered the saviors of Caron...he was also too familiar with the lust and greed of men. Josy had already been a victim of such desires, and he didn't want a repeat of that ordeal.

The twelve of them were halfway through the meal when a sudden draft blew in and they heard the front door shut. A moment later, the giants who are Kreete soldiers strode through the high archway separating the dining hall from the main living space. Karne and Larson were home again.

Mishea and Josy leaped to their feet to go and greet them, and Cache followed too, albeit not quite as enthused. She felt it would be extremely insulting to just slip away, but she had the urge nonetheless. However, she only ventured to the edge of the dining area since Sheyah was still sleeping and she wouldn't walk fully out of sight of her.

"It will be fine," she told herself, trying to calm her nearly imperceptible trembling.

There were many hugs and kisses exchanged as the mighty warriors were welcomed home, and then they all eased over to the table. The head chef was gone by then, hurrying to fetch another leg of pravort that hung in the smoker shed, always ready for a surprise like this since Karne's duties were no longer regimented by his superiors.

When dinner was over, they all sat in the great room and listened to tales of the road from the valiant Kreete rangers. There was always danger and excitement on their patrols, especially with the entire world trying to return to full Caronian rule.

Disputes of every sort rose and fell, some flaming up from long forgotten feuds between territories...those disagreements instigated even before the coming of the Kreete...and it took firm, dispassionate reason to quell further violence. Karne was a skillful negotiator and a master of diplomacy...and his imposing stature did much to urge opposing factions to listen.

During the telling of one skirmish, Larson leaned over to demonstrate part of his narrative and winced sharply. Mishea saw it immediately.

"What is it, Larson?" she asked in a typical mother's demanding tone...a tone she knew her son would not avoid. "Are you injured?"

"There is an arrow tip wedged between his ribs," Karne acknowledged without diversion. "I could not remove it. I was hoping Cache might be able to help."

Cache perked up instantly. "How long has it been?" she asked as she moved to his side and began pulling his shirt away from the area. When she was in the "doctor mode", Cache was fearless concerning the massive, terrifying men.

"About two torjournes now," Larson guessed.

"There is some infection," Mishea added, assisting her blonde houseguest.

"This should not be difficult," the little Raulden told them, "but if your kind were not so tough, you probably would have died from the injury."

Larson merely grunted.

"I shall be back shortly," Cache announced, peeking over at the little stirrings of her daughter. Sheyah was awake again and peering about. "Josy, would you mind watching..."

"Oh, no!" Karne said sharply, cutting Cache off in mid-sentence as he rose to his full nine feet height. "I have not had the pleasure of holding this little one yet, and I demand a turn!"

He took one long stride and bent to scoop Sheyah up from her cradle at the side of the couch. Cache's gut tightened and her breath caught in her throat. Her thoughts were beleaguered by too many videos of the mercilessness of Kreete soldiers, and her motherly instincts simply reacted with horror...but...

Karne's hands, each larger than Sheyah's entire body, paused at the edge of the beautiful, handcrafted cradle...a gift from a grateful fan from Gardilane. (It was a true work of art that even rivaled the one from Gerdanz) His massive head turned to lock gazes with Cache, a huge, grotesque smile on his monster-like face.

"That is of course, if her mother would permit me?"

In an instant of time, she looked at his shocking, silver eyes, his gargantuan, unassailable physique, and the weapons which still adorned his uniform...and she was terrified. But too, in the same fraction of a lita, she saw the joy in him, the bond he had with his own family, and the delight and complete ease of Mishea and Josy. She knew in that moment that her daughter would never need to fear this man...or his son...that they would never dream of harming her, and would protect her with their very lives.

Cache's apprehension fell away in that split lita, and she breathed freely once more.

"Of course, Karne," she replied with a warm, pleasant smile. "You have proven yourself in innumerous ways. This entire planet owes its salvation to you...as do I. Your family is as much a part of her life as any could be. You are practically her uncle. In fact, I will refer to you as her Uncle Karne from now on, if that is acceptable."

Karne completed his maneuver and held his new niece up high, a good fourteen feet above the floor.

"Well, little one, what do you think about that?" he asked the tiny girl in his deep, gravelly voice.

As a response, Sheyah cooed loudly with her eyes locked on his and not a bit afraid. Karne pulled her down to be face to face with him...holding her there for a long few moments. Her eyes scanned him thoroughly, her head sweeping back and forth to get a good look at all of his features. She was wide-eyed and inquisitive, and for a brief second Cache thought she might be frightened by his appearance, but then she reached out and grabbed his tusks, giggling like she was losing her mind.

The entire group broke out in laughter at that, and then everyone relaxed again and admired the pair.

Cache excused herself shortly thereafter and made the jaunt to her cottage. She gathered her travel bag, added a few extra items, and then headed back...but as she swung the door closed, she noticed the com unit was showing a message.

Any other time would have seen her go to it immediately, but with her baby out of sight and a patient in need barely three borts away, she decided it could wait.

"I missed the usual contact time," she noticed when she checked the chrono. "But after all, if it were an emergency, the alert would have sounded."

Off she went at a fast walk, reminding herself to check in as soon as she returned that night. She failed to note the emergency message was programmed to sound for one bort on a ten bort, repeating cycle, so when she reinitiated the shield after passing through, she was too far away to hear it.

"Emergency communiqué from the _Darlile_! Emergency communiqué from the _Darlile_! Emergency..."

The west was showing signs of a darkening sky...removing any doubt about the weather...the rains were coming early. Cache worked as quickly as she could, hoping to finish up and make it back to her haven of security with Sheyah before the weather turned, but some minor complications slowed her down too much. By the time she'd performed the surgery, then cleaned and patched Larson's injury back together, the deluge had already struck.

She stood at the edge of the wide balcony later that evening, looking at the blackness of the rain falling in sheets, and got a tight feeling in her stomach.

"You're not seriously thinking of taking your little girl out in that, are you?" Mishea asked softly, having glided up to stand beside her.

She wanted to...very badly. She was sharply aware of being out of contact with Rauld for an entire dactrai, and it was disturbing for her...but it was more than that too. Something nagged at her...something she didn't understand.

"They will be concerned that I have not checked in. I just hate to worry them."

Mishea placed her hand lightly on Cache's shoulder.

"Dear, you were out of touch with them for over an entire cycle not too long ago, right? Yet here you still stand. Fear not. It will subside in a day or two."

Cache smiled at her reassurance and they left the muggy porch to return inside. Sheyah was already asleep in the room the Gitoves decided would stay permanently set up for her and her mother, so Cache accepted their hospitality and went off to bed.

Two solid days of thunder, lightning, and nonstop rain followed, fairly trapping the new mother in that huge farmhouse. They passed the time easier than Cache would have thought though, and she found that she didn't actually mind being homebound like she'd presumed she would. Josy and Mishea were superb at filling the day with interesting projects and conversation.

All was well until, on the third afternoon, when everyone was sitting down for the evening supper, they received a surprise visitor.

The talk was light, mostly about the rain and the upcoming duties it would create, as well as the recalling of a rather hilarious sight on the river. A string of four barges had been going upstream, towed against the heavy current by a huge harness of ten massive roukers, when the barge captain mistakenly drifted too close to the bank. The second barge ran aground and the power of the animals simply pulled the joining ropes in two...but only on one side. That set the aft three barges drifting askew in the fast-moving water where they quickly ran into debris flushing downstream...debris in the form of a large tree which had had its roots washed away. Thanks to the power of the river, that twenty-peor-long hardwood was transformed into a colossal battering ram. And a bludgeon that massive had no problem splitting the third barge in half and emptying it of its cargo of pigs.

The next three billots were filled with the retrieval of those animals. Unfortunately the muddy banks of the river created even more trouble, sending the crew slipping and sliding all about. They were even dragged up and down those slopes by their quarry, until every one of them was covered in thick, slimy muck.

As the group at the table enjoyed a huge belly laugh, a sudden interruption made them all snap to attention. At the peak of the high, arched entry to the dining room floated a sight that shocked the entire group into instant silence...a Cnaut. It was round, about the size of a basketball, and glistened brightly from the rain dripping off its shell.

"Cache Kuar!" the little robot said in a sharp, woman's voice. It was Aanlis.

Cache leaped to her feet and rushed over to it, placing her hand on the unit once it descended far enough.

"I am here!"

In Raulden language, the courier issued its message.

"The _Darlile_ has initiated a high priority emergency! The planet Earth is under attack!"

### Chapter Twenty-four

### Frank Denk

Once they realized their advanced map was gone for good, Ron and Regina were forced to resort to the old fashioned method of navigation...a paper one. Furthermore, the two of them decided it would be best to keep to the diverted route for a while and drive only at night in their true direction for another day or so, just to be safe. The ruckus at the truck-stop could very well gain statewide attention, and they didn't want to make finding them too easy. It was bad enough that they were in such a recognizable vehicle.

They continued northward for another half hour, and then pulled off into a small town where they picked up some food and drinks, and spent the day in a state park...away from any campers, with the Hummer well hidden. Ron and Gina got some much needed rest that day, and they each shared stories about their lives since school. Due to his friend's insatiable curiosity, Ron did most of the talking while she sat mesmerized and cross-legged with her imagination whirling away, trying to envision the places he was describing.

Two mornings later, when they reached the town of Alpine, Ron's impatience flared and he made the decision to chance the daylight again. He maintained his strategy of avoiding the more direct route of I-10, but that cost time, so it was late in the afternoon when they finally drove into the city of El Paso.

Regina picked up a local map and they scoured the phone books for Frank's company, but had no luck. Changing strategies, they searched the text for the city's Welcome Center and headed straight to it, but missed its operating hours by barely twenty minutes.

"Damn it!" Ron hissed out of frustration, but a strong squeeze of his arm from Gina cooled his head quickly.

"It's alright, Ron. What's one more night? We can get cleaned up, get some rest, and be back first thing tomorrow."

Ron allowed her calm, soothing attitude to ease his frustrations, knowing she had a good point. He had no reason to be in a hurry really, so he wrapped his arm about her shoulders and gently hugged her back.

"You're right, Gina. I guess the closer I get to my goal, the more edgy I'm becoming. It's been two and a half years. Another day won't matter."

They rented a room at a nearby motel, making sure it was on the bottom level because he didn't want any chances of cracking the floors of an upper one. (Ron tried to get two, so they wouldn't have to share, but only a single unit was available...and Gina made it crystal-clear that she didn't mind) Luckily it had a cast iron tub, so Ron was able to shower and shave after Gina had finished. He was forced to use one of his smaller knives for a razor since the high-tech device Fortell had made him was in his coat, but he felt he did a good job just the same. Also, he rinsed out his attire in the shower, and the Rauldens' clothing proved itself a miracle of convenience when it shed away every bit of dirt and sweat he'd collected since the truck stop. Then it dried completely in just a few strong shakes and twenty minutes under the heat lamp of the bathroom.

Ron strolled about the room in just a towel while his clothes dried and Gina tried desperately not to blink for that entire period. She didn't want to miss a second with him so scantily clad. The ripples of his muscles sent quakes and shivers through her like she'd never felt before, and she couldn't take a deep breath until he was out of sight again, getting dressed.

Once he felt presentable, they walked to a nearby restaurant for a bite, chatting about the weather and the sights of the city just like any tourists would. When Regina thought about it later, she had to shake her head at the oddity of that simple outing; her and a man who'd been to other worlds commenting on the intriguing night-life of El Paso, Texas.

To the amazement of yet another group of unsuspecting workers, he devoured half the menu worth of food before retiring.

Ron slept on the floor next to the king-sized bed where his lovely friend lay down, but by morning, he found she was no longer in the soft confines of the mattress. She'd slipped down to be with him in the night, and lay snuggled tightly against his massive, shirtless form, her head using his shoulder as a pillow and her right arm and leg draped over him, sleeping soundly.

That made Ron grin when he awoke, and he lay there an extra forty five minutes before she roused.

A long, questioning look into her droopy eyes reminded her of exactly where she was.

"Oh...uh, sorry. I just...I mean...well I didn't want...you looked lonely down here!" she finally said with an embarrassed grin.

"No problem," Ron told her, chuckling as he untangled himself from her sensual grasp...and not without noticing the sensationally scanty sleepwear she was in.

It was still early, so they dressed and went out for breakfast. The townsfolk seemed in quite a state, the topic of discussion on everyone's mind being the loss of cable television as well as the satellite links.

While they were distressed, Ron welcomed the news. It would prevent his searchers from coordinating a nationwide alert for him.

On the other hand, Regina was as anxious as the locals. Over the past three days, her cell phone had been of no use, but she'd guessed it was due to the remote areas of their route, and so hadn't worried. She'd almost used a pay phone once, to check in with Megan, before realizing it would leave a trail straight to them, and that had changed her mind. She was a smart girl and fairly confident by then that the authorities were aware of her teaming up with their fugitive.

Now though, they were in a large city with plenty of cell towers, so she tried to call her sister again. She wanted to let her know she was all right, but the service she used still showed a very low signal and she couldn't get through. Even texting was no help. She finally decided to worry about it after their errand was over...thinking maybe the sat-link would come back by then...but if it didn't, she could always use Ron's super-phone he'd told her about once they found it.

She and Ron exited the restaurant and walked straight over to the Visitor's Center, reaching it just as it opened. At the information facility, it was easy enough to get access to the area's computer data-bank, which located the business they were looking for instantly. So half an hour later they were headed to the suburbs, to the company that Frank worked for.

"Excuse me," Regina said to the middle-aged, mousy office clerk at the entrance to El Paso Drilling and Pipe Company. "I'm looking for one of your drivers...a fellow name Frank. Is he around?"

A tall man in a white shirt and grey tie stepped out of his office hastily and interjected a statement.

"If something fell off his truck and broke your windshield, we can't be held liable for..."

Regina waved him off quickly.

"No, no," she said, smiling brightly, "he assisted some friends of mine on the interstate and I just wanted to thank him, that's all. Is he here?"

"No. He just got back from a haul up to Lubbock and we haven't reloaded him yet. He's probably at home."

"I suppose you couldn't give me his address?"

"Sorry, but that's confidential."

"Oh, really?" she pleaded with her sweetest, most innocent smile. The fellow just stared at her like she was boring him to death. After a moment she realized her strategy wouldn't work so she gave up. "Alright then...thanks anyway!"

As she exited the office, she caught sight of a white board with six men's names on it. It was the duty routes for their long-haul drivers, and there was only one Frank on it...Frank Denk. She smiled and continued back to the truck, quite pleased with her moderate success.

"Well," she told Ron when she was in the cab, "I at least got his name. It's Frank..."

"Denk!" Ron finished for her.

The look of absolute amazement on Regina's face made Ron smile.

"I talked to one of the forklift drivers who was loading his trailer," he explained with a snicker. "He lives almost thirty miles west of the city, and a few miles north off of Highway 9."

"Well, I guess I'm no good to you at all, am I?" Gina complained.

Ron just grinned and dropped the Hummer into gear.

"Donna!" hollered Frank as he entered his front door. "I'm home!

Frank's wife rounded the wall of their den and hurried over to her husband while glancing back over her shoulder.

"Who's driving that old beat-up Hummer, sweetie?"

"Are you in some kind of trouble, Frank?" she asked softly after giving him a welcoming peck on the lips.

"What? No, of course not. Why?"

"There are two people here to see you...a man and a woman...and they don't seem like they're from around here."

"They say what they wanted?"

"Something about thanking you for helping with a roadside emergency, but I think it's something else."

"Huh," he grunted, recalling the bridge scene easily, but that was a thousand miles away. And his last trip was simple and uneventful.

"Come on. We'll see what this is all about."

"They're out back, next to the lake. They've been here for nearly an hour and a half."

That really got Frank's attention, so he hurried out the door with his spouse in tow.

The Denk's lived on a fifty acre plot of land bordering a two hundred acre manmade lake. It was very secluded and extremely peaceful. He and his wife walked down the well-worn path, hand-in-hand, through their modest fruit orchard, and out across a wide lawn.

When they were within a hundred feet, Frank saw the two visitors. The man was crouched down at the edge of the boat dock he'd built, and his lovely brunette companion was sitting on it and dangling her bare feet in the water. They seemed to be having a humorous discussion. The man heard them coming, turned, and stood up.

Frank stopped dead in his tracks.

"You!"

His wife was instantly puzzled by his reaction, glancing from her husband to the stranger, and then back again.

"You know him?"

"Yes...I mean no! I mean...this is the guy I told you about! From the bridge accident!"

"Oh!...OH!" she said, taking a step back, somewhat fearful of the tall foreigner all of a sudden.

"Hello, Frank," Ron said calmly, extending his hand in friendship. "I'm Ron Allison. It's very nice to finally meet you. I'm sorry that we didn't have time...you know...back there."

"Uh...yeah...yeah...me too!" Frank said, gripping Ron's hand in his. His eyes instantly drifted down to that joining and then widened even further. Ron's fingers felt like warm iron!

"Uh...," Frank then said, stumbling for his concentration, "how in the world did you find me? How'd you get here?"

"Oh, that's a bit of a story...but first...I'm hoping you have some things for me?"

"What? Oh, yeah...yeah...yes, of course! Come with me."

Frank walked them all to his work-shed, which stood off to the side of the house about a hundred feet.

"I didn't really know what to do with them at first...so I just stashed them."

He flipped on the lights and made a bee-line to the back corner where he opened a large, old fashioned trunk...one his grandfather once owned. It was made of thick oak and was very sturdy. Inside were the Raulden coat, hat, and backpack.

Ron's eyes lit up at the sight of them, and he released a huge sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Frank!" he huffed out, seeing how much care the stranger had taken with his possessions.

"You have no idea what this means to me."

Frank watched as Ron reached in with one hand and pulled the pack out...a pack even he, at his substantial size, had to strain to lift high enough to put it in their in the first place. Setting it aside, Ron looped his fingertips around the collar of his long coat and snatched it out just as easily, whipping it about and donning it in one smooth move. He checked the alignment of his sword's grip and then flipped his hat back into place like it was a lightweight felt fedora. At that point, he picked up the pack again and stepped outside. Everyone followed him and watched carefully as he plopped to the ground and unzipped the pockets that had been sealed shut for the entire time Frank possessed it. Frank mentally acknowledged that his guess about the clasps had been correct.

Ron pulled out one of his ration tubes and gulped it down quickly, his eyes rolling back in delight.

"Oh, man, that's good!" he said with a smile. "The food's fine here, but it just doesn't fill me up!"

"I'll say!" Gina acknowledged with a lilting giggle.

"Now, now...let's be nice," Ron cheerily mumbled as he searched the pack further. "By the way, Frank, this is Gina Millson...a friend of mine from school...when we were kids."

That sent Frank's mind spinning all over again. Just when he thought he'd figured out Ron's story, he was thrown back to the beginning of his imaginative theorizing.

"Son of a gun...I can't...where did I leave that thing?"

"What?" Frank offered. "Is something miss...oh-oh!"

Ron's head snapped up quickly to catch a nervous, guilt-riddled look of embarrassment on Frank's face. "What?"

"Looking for the credit card?" Frank asked awkwardly.

"Yeah?" Ron said quizzically. "Is there something I should know?"

"Well, it's like this. Rhena and I were snoop...examining your pack...just to see if we could find some identification...so we could locate you to return your property, you know...and...uh, well...the cops showed up and...uh...well...I think she might have accidentally kept it."

Ron kept staring at the fellow, obviously not satisfied with that explanation.

Frank then explained the events of his and Rhena's chance encounter in front of the hospital, their rendezvous, and their subsequent hasty separation. Ron was relieved that the police hadn't found and confiscated the card.

"I know she won't use it...or even show it to anyone. That was our plan. We would keep all of this to ourselves and hope to see you again."

"Don't worry about it," Ron told him with a shrug of his wide shoulders, fully accepting the story as pure truth. "I can make a new one easy enough."

Ron then leaned back and continued with his meal. The rest of the party of four stood around him and stared like he was a prized thoroughbred. Ron didn't move.

"Okay," Frank began, seeing Ron apparently content to sit for a while, "Since nobody else seems willing, I'll start then. Where exactly are you from?"

He and Regina dropped to the grass in front of Ron, completely fascinated. Donna though, preferred to stand behind her husband.

Ron laughed softly, trying to swallow without choking.

"I'm from that little town at the bottom of the bridge where we first met."

Frank looked at him as if he were speaking Greek.

"It's true," Gina added, reaching in and dabbing her finger in the paste Ron was eating. "We went to school together. You don't mind if I have a taste?"

Ron shook his head, curious as to how that would work out.

"It's not bad," she said, smacking her lips together quickly. "Tastes kinda peachy!"

Ron smiled and gulped down some more.

"But how the hel...I mean...you know...you're...not...you know...uh...normal," Frank ventured hesitantly.

For the next few hours, Ron filled the Denks in on the whole abduction story...or at least as much as he wanted to let out. Since she'd already heard the tale, Regina added comments along the way, as well as some new questions she thought up. Donna...like everyone else...was understandably unconvinced about the entire concept, so Ron gave her a little demonstration like he'd done twice before...beginning to feel a bit too similar to a circus attraction than he cared to. When he was done, she was sitting on the ground with everyone else, her legs no longer stable enough to support her.

"My Lord...Heaven's sakes...I tell you one thing...this is a true sign! The Almighty sure has something special in store for you!"

Ron smiled and wondered about that very thing for the thousandth time.

"If you're the pilot of the Black Ship," Frank mused, "and it's all this huge secret, then why are you telling us...a bunch of regular Joes?"

"Well, for a couple of reasons actually. First is a simple fact...it isn't the enormous, dastardly, alien plot the leaders of Earth have been worried about. In fact, as soon as I get my private business taken care of, I plan on divulging everything about the Rauldens to the entire scientific community...and the media! Earth needs to be aware that this planet is not the center of intelligent existence we've always believed it to be.

"Second is the obvious one. You've already demonstrated unequivocally to me that I can trust you. Regina could easily have turned me over to the police but chose not to. You could have done the same with my personal items...or sold them to the news tabloids for a hefty profit. You both have shown a good deal of self-thought and self-control. And also, each of you had the practical intelligence to adapt to the information laid out to you, no matter how outlandish it was."

They all felt quite flattered by his assessment and proud of the decisions they'd made. Now though, was the time to contemplate what the future might bring.

"So, what's next for you?" Donna inquired of Ron.

"Well, now that I have my equipment back, I've got to make a call in the morning. From there, I'll see if I can meet up with my folks, and hope they might know something about the whereabouts of my wife."

"Lord have mercy...what's she going to say about all this?" asked Donna, looking around the group with a new level of fret and wonder.

Ron simply shook his head. "I've given up trying to guess. I'll just have to wing-it when it happens."

"You might have a problem, Ron," Frank told him. "The cell service has been poor for days, and from what I've heard on the radio, no one knows why. Their best guess is solar storms from the sun, but I think that's unlikely...at least for this long."

"Well, this little gadget is special," Ron explained, holding up the Raulden phone. "It should give me several hundred miles of range, without the booster towers, so if they're anywhere even remotely close by, I'll reach them."

"Good. I hope you're right. Now, as far as accommodations, you two can stay here tonight if you like. You can relax and get freshened up. No one ever comes out here...other than our kids...but they're not due for a visit till Christmas."

Regina perked up at the offer. Sleeping in the truck again was not her idea of a vacation. Ron caught her hopeful look and nodded.

"That would be wonderful," she blurted with a grand smile.

### Chapter Twenty-five

### A Trip into Town

After a down-home lunch with the Denks, Ron informed them that he needed to make a trip into El Paso to take care of some business. He recruited Regina without trouble, especially after he told her he'd take her shopping for an expensive outfit if she didn't mind helping with the excursion.

"We shouldn't be much past sundown," Ron told them as he fired up the Hummer.

While at the information station earlier that day, Ron had taken a few minutes to research a special side-project over the computer. With the generalities memorized, he felt confident he and Gina could pull off the transaction he needed.

He drove straight to the grandest, most expensive shopping mall of the city and released his partner to the test of finding the finest cocktail dress she could.

"I want you to draw as much attention as possible...okay?" he asked.

Regina's eyes lit with the fires of the challenge. "This could cost you," she shot back with a devilish glare.

"That won't be a problem."

"Really? Well then, I'll just see what I can do," she replied with a haughty look.

Thirty seconds at the mall's directory told her all she needed.

"Follow me."

She plunged into the glitziest, chicest, shop of the place...La Femme Delicious...licking her lips and trembling from the thrill of it.

"Hello...my name is Brandi." announced a young, shockingly gorgeous sales woman, eyeing Regina's rather modest jeans and tank-top with open disdain. "May I help you?"

"Yes," Ron replied, flashing the girl a devastating smile. "I need Gina here ready for the opening of my new nightclub in about three hours. Is that possible?"

"Well, I don't know...I mean...we just sell clothes and shoes. I can't..."

Ron fished out a stack of hundred dollar bills and began counting them out in his hand. "I'd really appreciate whatever you could do for us," he told her sweetly, his deep voice laced with pleading sincerity. "This is for your trouble," he said, folding a thousand dollars in half and slipping it into her hand.

The twenty-two year old woman practically swooned.

"Oh! Okay then. We'd better get started!"

Ron smiled and winked at Regina as she followed the woman toward the back of the store. Gina's mouth was hanging open at him. "Are you friggin kidding me?" she mouthed.

He just grinned and took his leave to get his own props.

At an upscale luggage store, Ron purchased a small, slim, stainless steel briefcase. He felt it would add to the premise he was trying to establish.

Immediately after that he returned to the Hummer to collect some of his Raulden goods and electronics, stashing everything he needed in the briefcase. He'd parked way in the back of the garage structure, in a dimly lit area that looked seldom used; trying to keep as low a profile as he could in such an identifiable vehicle.

As he headed back in however, he noticed a white van with blacked-out windows cruising up and down the aisles. It stopped suddenly and a young man hopped out and approached a big, fancy, ice-blue BMW, glancing about as if he was extremely nervous about something.

Ron paused behind the cab of a huge, dually truck and watched. The boy pointed something at the car, and then there was a distinct "cachunk" sound as the locks all shot up. As soon as he opened the door, the alarm sounded, urging him to dive down under the dashboard.

Ron glanced around for any sign of the police, or some security group, but no one was nearby. With a deep sigh, he broke into motion.

The van started to ease away with the driver still watching the boy in the car, but the fellow in the passenger seat saw Ron step out from his concealed position and into the path of their van. He slapped his buddy on the shoulder and pointed, saying something Ron couldn't make out.

"Whazzup?" the driver asked as he pulled alongside Ron with a sarcastic smirk across his face.

"How much is it worth?" Ron asked calmly while noting there were four more men inside the van.

The alarm was no longer blaring away and the driver stopped abruptly...his face turning pointedly serious. "What?"

"How much is that Beemer worth to you?"

"Dude...I don't know what you're talking about! But you'd better just keep walking if you know what's good for you."

The man in the passenger seat then flashed a pistol...just to show Ron the trouble they could make for him.

Ron's hands shot up in a flash and slammed into the upper frame of the door hard, knocking the van immediately onto its side and tossing everyone inside roughly about. He then stepped to the front of the short-nosed vehicle and shoved it up against the nearest light post's concrete pedestal, effectively barring any escape they had through the rear doors. Next, he turned to the boy in the fancy import.

"Get out!"

The car was running by then, but Ron was blocking the way. He couldn't go forward due to a truck parked in front, so he threw it in reverse and punched the gas.

Ron just grabbed the bumper and lifted the rear wheels off the ground.

"Get out, NOW!" he bellowed at the teenager as the engine roared away.

The young man panicked and tried to dive out the door, but Ron shoved forward enough to kiss the truck's bumper and set off the airbag. The explosive force of that safety device caught the boy halfway out of the seat and crushed him back against the door pillar, knocking him unconscious and killing the car.

Ron set the rear back down and returned to the van. The driver was trying to squirm out the door's window, but retreated at his approach. Ron gripped the tail-pipe of the van firmly and then ripped the exhaust system loose from its attachment hangers. One quick heave later, he bent it up and around the driver's door to seal the last escape route of the thieves.

With a light wave and a smile he returned to his previous task, strolling toward the mall. He did however take a moment to call the police and report the thieves.

By the time the authorities arrived, the hooligans were forgotten and Ron was sitting comfortably out of sight, getting his boots shined while watching the building across the street.

The Raulden glasses Cache had given him were tremendously handy for that task, and so he gathered a great deal of intel on the workings of the place. His eyes missed nothing.

When his boots shined as if new, he handed the young teenager a hundred dollar bill and stepped away. "Thanks!" was all he said, but the boy stood speechless for the next full minute.

Ron then went to the atrium and found a beautiful bench built out of huge granite blocks and continued his preparations.

While he waited, he tried to contact the Darlile, but had no luck. Earlier he'd noticed that there was a message stored in its system, but all it said was that he needed to report in. He guessed that Cache must have tried to reach him while his phone was missing, so he hadn't really worried himself with it. Now though, when he dialed the super-ship once again and found there was no answer...not even a connection signal...his interest started to build. Being cut off from the ship was very odd since he knew it was tied into the planets satellite network and should easily find his cell's signature.

He thought about it for a short while, but it wasn't a real concern other than he was overdue to report in with Cache and knew she'd be worried.

In any event, that went on the back burner for the present. He focused on his current mission and went over his cover story and checked his documents. By the time Brandi emerged, Ron was ready.

He caught sight of the young sales woman standing at the entrance of her shop looking about in an anxious attitude, until she met Ron's gaze. At that point she smiled grandly and waved for him to return. Ron glanced at the huge clock in the vaulted vestibule and saw that she was only ten minutes over her allotted time.

"Not bad," he thought.

"You said you wanted something 'hot' right?" she asked when he stood next to her.

"Yes...something that attracts attention," Ron replied as he followed her to the rear of the store.

"How's this?" asked Regina, catching Ron off guard; over to his right.

His eyes shot around to her position, but his stride continued, albeit slightly off its previous path...he being a bit too startled to halt his progress. One more step found him stopped solidly nonetheless by one of the central structural supports of the building. It was a six by six steel girder bound in concrete and wrapped with expensive Italian tile to match the elegant decor. The entire room shook and several pieces of ceramic hit the floor.

"Uummph!" he huffed before staggering back from the shock with half the air being knocked out of him. "Damn..." he grumbled to himself, embarrassed from his clumsiness.

His eyes then snapped back to the reason of his collision, and he feasted upon a sight above sights.

Regina looked surprised and apologetic when Ron's stare found her again, but quickly began to giggle when she realized he wasn't hurt. At that time her smile returned to the devious, haughty look that had so distracted him.

Her long brown hair was now pulled up and arranged in an exciting coif of braids and curls that swept and dangled in innocent, yet extremely seductive ways. Her makeup was touched up to be more bold, racy, and enticing, and was amplified even further by its ability to accentuate her exceedingly alluring cocktail dress.

The dress itself was a vision of sensuous artistic expression that appeared to have been custom designed to fit the curvaceous delights of Regina's long, exquisitely sculpted body. It was made from a fabric that was tinted a lovely blue shade, and was completely sheer like hosiery yet had embroidered designs in a shimmering navy material which resembled flowering vines sweeping up and around her most desirable areas.

Her spectacular breasts were cupped in the blooming petals of two of the flowers with their glorious swells clearly peeking out beneath, as if daintily suspended in the frail looking mesh. The heavenly valley between them was deep and bare, separated magnificently in a shameless exhibit...somehow managing its task with no hint whatsoever as to how because the single halter strap accomplishing that feat was absolutely clear. Such a perch gave the suggestion to any interested party that those sumptuous mounds of tender flesh would be released at even the slightest movement, tantalizing the watcher with each gesture and every inhalation.

Her ultra-flat middle was expertly framed in the leafy vines and practically screamed to her admirers to stare in that location...a display which dipped scandalously low above her nether area. At the lower edge, the hem was a band of stretchy lace that wrapped Gina's hips as snuggly as her tan, and was so short that her legs looked four feet long. The brevity of that garment made Ron gasp and lick his lips unconsciously, yet the unending spectacle of audaciousness continued. Ron scanned down Regina's fabulous legs, which had been firmed and shaped from many hours on various machines at "The Toner" health club. He found it exceedingly obvious that her wish to stay fit had worked extraordinarily well.

Her slim, feminine, pretty feet were ensconced in elegant, simple heels that had a single strap around the ankle and one across the toes. That unencumbered style left the rest of her foot utterly bare, further enhancing the feeling of exposure the outfit exuded. Also, their five inch height stretched the already tall woman to an atmospheric altitude of six-foot-two...close to eye-level with Ron!

Regina posed in place for a while, just to allow his inspection. Her eyes were riveted to his expression, hoping for the exact reaction he was giving her. Inwardly she smiled even more than the dazzling expression on her face, and when his unblinking stare began easing up from the floor, she took a half step and turned, treating him to the posterior view.

The back of the little dress was nonexistent above the sumptuous swell of her derriere, just barely hiding the cleft of her taught buttocks, and it framed her bronze, supple figure exquisitely.

She paused for a few seconds and then completed her turn like a professional fashion model, full of sultry superiority. Then she approached Ron in the same fashion as back at the truck stop...her accentuated gait maddening to his already over-stimulated male urges.

The gentle jostle and sway of her vivacious body made his throat dry and his chest tense with rising, unfettered lust. Those lovely blue flowers did a superb job at covering Regina's pursing areolas, but little else in the way of concealing the plump, fleshy attributes she was gifted with, and that pushed his hunger even further.

Her eyes grappled with his too, in a showdown of fiery stares that spoke volumes as to her intentions. She no longer hesitated, and no longer waited for him to make the first move. Instead, she strode right up to him, pulled his dazed face to hers and kissed him deeply.

The taste of Gina's strawberry flavored lip-gloss and the feel of her tongue searching out his sent Ron's masculine needs into overdrive. He pulled her to him tightly, getting lost in the moment of passion...but not quite lost enough to injure her. She felt the power of his embrace crushing her yielding figure to his iron-hard one and she melted to him instantly.

After a long, hot few seconds, Ron felt the thermal stabilizers in his coat jump to life to cool his rising temperature, and that reminded him of exactly where he was. Even so, he broke his bond with his high-school friend with burning desire still smoldering in his flaming gaze.

"You should close your mouth, Darling," Gina told him playfully. "You're beginning to drool."

His lips closed with the strawberry taste still heavy upon them, and then he grinned as Regina strolled back to the counter of the shop, apparently oblivious to the eyes that devoured her every movement.

Ron let out a long whistle then...one that expressed what any man would have felt with such a gorgeous woman strutting in front of him, clamoring for his interest.

Nothing at all about the ensemble was overly bright, sparkling, or flashy, but the entire view made Ron pant!

He followed her retreating, sashaying form to the counter where the pretty young woman stood beaming at him.

"Is this satisfactory, sir?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"Yeah...I'll say! What's the total, Brandi?"

She slid the paper receipt across the granite surface of the counter shyly...just a little apprehensive at what his reaction would be. She'd seen every side of the customer at such times, and never really knew what to expect.

Ron glanced at the total, and then at Regina, who now stood beside him in a provocative pose...her back against the gleaming shelf of highly polished rock, and her head slightly tilted in a sweet, pleading fashion.

"Am I worth it?" she whispered.

Ron's hand slipped inside his coat smoothly, and withdrew one of the stacks of money he'd absconded at the bar a few days past.

"This should do," Ron told her, returning his attention to the sales girl.

Brandi fanned the stack in disbelief and then stared at Ron.

"Sir! This is too much! I..."

"You had friends you had to beg for favors to get this all done, right?"

"Why yes...but..."

"Please tell them that I most assuredly appreciate their efforts."

With that, Ron swept Regina away with one hand and scooped up a bag with her previous clothes in it with the other. They then headed for their exit.

"Thank you!" called the young woman behind them. "Come again! Please!"

The two of them were forced to walk halfway back through the mall to their point of entry, and Regina got more than her share of gawking looks and open stares of both astonishment and open jealousy. Ron heard at least seven firm face slaps as husbands and boyfriends alike stood unabashedly transfixed by Gina's exemplary display of beauty and sexuality. She pretended not to notice, but he could feel the vibrations in her body coursing through her. The adrenaline rush of such a public flaunting of her nearly nude figure was exhilarating and intoxicating to the young woman.

Once they broke out of the enclosed shopping center and into the late afternoon air, Regina finally spoke to Ron...too overwhelmed by the headiness of all the attention inside to get her thoughts together until then.

"So, my handsome Sugar-Daddy," she said while wrapping her arms around his and leaning against him in a submissive fashion. "Where are you taking me...clubbing?"

Ron smiled at her in a mischievous manner. "Sorry, no. I have a rather large deposit to make, and you're my ticket through the door."

She looked puzzled at that, but didn't question him further.

"I hope this isn't too uncomfortable, or demeaning to you Gina," he ventured, half apologizing.

"Whatever do you mean?" she countered...her face filled with surprise.

"Well, I plan on using your devastating looks to help me out...but I can't really expect you to..."

"Don't 'even' worry about it. I just walked out of that store wearing a four thousand dollar dress, twelve hundred dollar heels, and carrying a nine hundred dollar clutch purse! Every man in that entire mall stopped dead in his tracks to gape at me, and I'm being escorted by an absolute Adonis from another planet! I think I'll be fine!"

Then she turned a little more serious, gathering her concentration.

"So what's this big distraction you need me all glammed up for anyway?"

Ron pointed across the street. "It's over there."

Regina looked at the glass-fronted building briefly, but another sight caught her attention, off to the left...from inside the parking structure they were headed for. There were blue lights flashing, an irate woman fussing, and about twenty policemen loading six men into a large transport van...all in handcuffs. A tow-truck was just then winching a panel-van back onto its wheels, and three officers were scratching their heads over the entire episode.

"He said a guy just pushed the van over and shoved it against that lamp post...then bent the muffler around to lock them in," one cop was saying to his partner.

"Well, that's the biggest bullshit story I've ever heard...and I've heard'em all!"

Gina shot a quick, accusatory glance at Ron. "You wouldn't know anything about this mess, would you?"

Ron merely shrugged his shoulders and kept walking.

They dropped off Regina's clothes at the Hummer and set out to the nearest cross-walk.

"What's in the briefcase?" she asked...suddenly curious about the shiny new item.

"Some papers, a few valuables, and electronics," he replied mundanely.

At the moment Ron and Gina reached the pedestrian lane, the traffic light changed, allowing the vehicles to go again...but they didn't move an inch.

"This shouldn't take too long, Gina. I just..."

The cars at the intersection were still not moving, which caught his attention right away. A quick glance around answered his initial query about why that was...and he couldn't restrain a broad grin. Every man behind the wheel was oblivious to the lights, and after the nearest fellow wave for Regina to cross, all the rest did likewise.

Ron looked at his escort and saw that the setting sun cut through Regina's enticing outfit with explicit clarity, completely numbing the drivers' thoughts about where they were going, how a delay might affect their schedules, or even what day of the week it was. They just stared, mouths agape and eyes wide.

"I guess we have a free pass," Ron told Gina. "Thanks to you, of course!"

She waved and smiled grandly at the gesturing men, and then slowly strutted across the road, mouthing thank-yous to them all.

Horns from back in the line of traffic began blaring, but that did nothing to start the motorists until she was out of sight. Ron laughed lightly and guessed that was probably a good thing too, because their minds certainly weren't focused on driving! And who could blame them?

"Okay, now," Ron told Gina. "When we go through the inspection area, I'll need you to do what you can to draw as much attention as possible. The metal detectors aren't a problem, but this place may have my photos your deputy friend showed you, so I don't want them looking too closely at me. Also, they're using something I'm not familiar with here as well, and I don't want to be searched...understand?"

She gave Ron a bright grin and a wink. "I think I can handle it!"

They moved forward again before Gina stopped him. "Wait a second. What were you wearing in that picture?"

"Well, I was in these same clothes, but I didn't have my coat, glasses, and hat so I'm hoping that will suffice."

"Yeah, maybe, but it might help if you didn't look like a hit-man for the mob too. This black is a bit intimidating."

"Oh...well, I need the coat to keep me grounded; and to hide my personal array of protection...you know?"

"Yeah, but a lighter color would probably be less ominous...that's all."

"Really?" he said, pulling her over next to a newsstand. "What's your suggestion then?"

"Well," she said, giving him the once over, "for the coat, I'd personally go for something like...honey...you know, a light brown, softer look."

Ron pressed the collar of his coat and said, "Honey".

Instantly the black overcoat turned to a beautiful, supple, light brown shade that looked like freshly tanned leather.

"Wow!" Gina said, feeling the surface lightly. "That's so cool!"

"What else?"

"How about if your outfit matched my dress? That would look pretty jazzy!"

Ron opened the coat and pulled Regina close to him. He then squeezed the collar of his shirt and said, "Camouflage". The shirt then shimmered from black to the lighter blue shade of her dress, and the pants mimicked the darker embroidery of the flowers. Even his boots were a perfect match. He pulled the mock turtleneck collar apart in the middle and bent the edges down into a more standard, golf-shirt collar. Next, he triggered the rim of his glasses. "Blue tint." They morphed from blacked out sunglasses to a chic arctic blue. And lastly, he touched his hat. "White." It glistened for a moment and became snow white. Ron then formed it into something resembling a typical cowboy hat and replaced it on his head.

Regina just stood there like a six year-old at her first magic show.

"Well, how's this? Better?"

"That's friggin amazing!" she squealed as she stepped back and admired his new wardrobe. "Can you get me some clothes like that?"

Ron just smiled and moved on again.

As they approached the entrance, Regina began to wonder what was up with all the security...until she saw the stenciled title on the doorway; "Texas Bureau of Investigation".

"Oh, shi...! Are you sure about this?" she whispered.

"Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Regina took a deep breath and strolled through the metal detector and into the foyer...her heart rate sky-rocketing. Ron followed closely behind, his Raulden gadget fooling the metal scanner easily, and then took up the lead to the next stage...the concierge counter.

"Sir, what is the nature of your visit here today?" a handsome young fellow asked at the information station.

"We have an appointment on the fifth floor with a Mr. James Finntmore."

"Very well. You have to go to the second floor...up those stairs...and you can access the elevators from there to get to the upper levels."

"Thank you."

"First though, please check in through that security station on your right."

Ron nodded his understanding and continued on with a casual stride of self-assurance that helped to calm Regina.

"Open your coat please, Sir," the officer at the next stop said sternly.

Ron complied as casually as he could.

"Thank you. Please proceed by placing the case on the conveyor, removing your hat, and walking through the screening unit. It is a new system that searches for explosives by sampling the molecular tracers of such components."

Ron touched the phone-like device in his pocket and it rang immediately.

"Excuse me a moment," he told the guard. "I need to take this."

Pulling Regina off to the side, Ron acted as if he was reading a message, but he actually scanned the area. When he was finished, he put the device to his ear. "Okay, thanks...I've got it. Call you soon.

"Sorry about that," he said to the waiting sentry.

Ron sent the case through the scanner, knowing it would pass, and then raised his hat enough to show there was nothing under it, but kept it between himself and the face-recognition cameras pointed at him. The officer started to tell him something, but Regina stepped around his concealing bulk just then...right on cue...and the man's focus shifted pointedly.

"Do I need to remove anything?" she asked sweetly, smiling her most dazzling smile and holding her little purse open for him.

His eyes absorbed everything accept the contents of the purse however, and he failed to make more than a slight coughing sound in reply...then resigned to shaking his head negatively. Even the X-ray operator's focus failed miserably because his gaze simply could not move from her ostentatious appearance.

As she strode forward, and the guards' stares followed her incredible physique, Ron stepped quickly between them with a stare of a different sort. The middle-aged security officers looked up into his angry eyes and quickly turned about in search of any other next person, but there wasn't anyone else. The man at the monitor immediately ducked his head down as if he'd just lost an important item on the floor, and the other fellow kept his back to Ron and took a few short steps away, suddenly very concerned with something on the front of his shirt.

Ron nearly burst out laughing, yet kept his stern expression as he followed Regina's provocative trail, snatching up the case after he strolled through the machine.

There were three arched portals to the right side of the building, leading onward to the computer workstations of the bureau, and to the stairs they needed, and every operator of those devices shifted their positions immediately. Ron could have rolled a shopping cart full of grenades right between them without being questioned.

To enter that area required one more layer of security though...the only one Ron was really worried about. As they approached, Ron guided Gina into the lead.

"Do I put my purse over here?" Gina asked innocently, leaning over an extra bit to set the tiny bag in the middle of the conveyor.

The attendant just stood as still as stone.

She then walked through the machine, placing her hands on the sides of the scanner's surfaces, as if nervously bracing herself. Three men greeted her on the other side, as she exited waving her hand at her face as if light-headed, her perfectly sculptured nails (painted to match her dress) shimmering in the bright light.

"I really don't like those things, you know?" she said with a timid giggle.

Two of the men just stared, but one actually collected himself enough to stop her.

"I'm sorry ma'am...but you can't go through with your shoes. This is an ultrasound resonance chamber and can't see through solids. They have to be checked in the X-ray machine."

"You mean I have to go back through?" she complained, looking frightened.

The fellow at the monitor practically leaped up then. "No, no...that won't be necessary. Just take them off and I'll run them through myself."

She sighed heavily and then reached out to brace herself against the most muscular guard of the group as she leaned down to work the strap on her shoe. He grasped her firmly by the forearm to stabilize her, but found that all he could do was stare at her incredible feminine attributes.

The guy was built like an Olympic power-lifter, but with his attention so muddled, he nearly fell over.

Ron was carefully following the whole act and nearly forgot himself in the process as the hem of her skirt crept up to an even more heart-racing, spectacular view.

"I guess if you boys have to search something, it has to be the shoes," she said as the second one pulled free. "cause there's no room in this dress even for underwear, much less a weapon...hah, hah, hah," she told them with a delightful laugh.

She then held up the high heels for the inspector as he shot over quickly, almost frantic in his wish not to annoy her. When he left his seat, Ron stepped across the scanner...pretending to rearrange the contents of his coat's inner pockets.

The man returned to his station and slipped the expensive shoes carefully into the compartment before realizing Ron had passed his check point. He saw Ron's case, boots, and phone, but hadn't caught a reading of his person. If he had, he wouldn't have seen a thing because the coat was completely impermeable to the scan.

Gina's sandals passed along of course, and were harmless, but the fellow knew his orders were to check everyone, so he started to order Ron back through. He opened his mouth to make his announcement, but paused a moment because of what was happening.

"Do you find my wife in need of a 'hands-on' inspection, officer?" Ron questioned the guard who was still supporting Regina while she slipped back into her sexy stilts.

The monitor operator wasn't supposed to have left his seat...and most certainly not to ogle a man's wife...but his sense of duty pulled at him hard, nonetheless. He glanced at his screen again and saw a way out.

"Just a minute, Sir," he told Ron.

Ron tensed, but turned smoothly. "Yes?"

"Could you open the case, please?"

Ron complied without delay, and stood by calmly. He even slipped his boots back on while the man scoured each item in the case. Regina continued eyeing and flirting with the other officers but was inwardly frantic.

"Would you explain what equipment and what contents you have here, Sir?"

"This is a digital scanner-printer. This is my business PDA. These are my papers of authenticity, and this is my cargo."

Ron opened a lined compartment and the guard's eyes flared wide.

"Thank you, sir. Sorry for the delay. Thank you for your cooperation!"

Ron closed the case with a loud snap and immediately headed for the stairs, acting annoyed. Regina quickly latched onto him like glue, but looked back to give the guards one last, taunting wink.

Not one of them moved a muscle as they strained to see her climb those stairs...even when several more visitors began clearing their throats loudly behind them. If that lace would shift just a bit more...

At last, when she was out of sight, the monitor operator grumbled, "Rich guys get all the hot women!" and then went back to work, his face red and his pulse pounding.

Ron let out a low chuckle and kept walking.

On the second floor, Regina made Ron practically invisible as they strolled right by twenty highly trained officers, both male and female, without once being stopped...even though Ron saw three flyers with his picture clearly on them. She snapped her magnificent hips with a little extra pop, and merely took her time...straight to the elevators leading up to the higher floors.

When the doors to the lift closed and they were alone, Regina leaned hard on Ron's shoulder, although he hardly felt it.

"That was the scariest thing I've ever done!" she said, totally exasperated, her heart fluttering wildly.

"You did a fabulous job, Gina," he told her proudly. "Even better than I'd hoped for. You were fantastic!"

He felt her trembling harshly and scooped her into his coat to hold her tightly against him. The sturdy feel of him helped to steady her, and so she was able to take a couple deep, calming breaths.

"All those men eyeing me like an appetizer is quite unnerving...you know? I mean it's incredibly gratifying, but still really frightening too!"

Ron hugged her again. "You're safe with me," he softly assured her.

Just before the fifth floor bell chimed their arrival, Gina looked up at him. Her hands rested against his chest, as did her body to his, and her cheek lightly touched his.

"Do 'you' want me like that, Ron?" she asked in a husky whisper...her breath tickling his ear seductively.

The door opened to an empty hallway, so Ron slid his foot into the doors' path to hold it open. He then turned to the woman in his arms and stared right into her lovely sapphire eyes.

"Regina, if it weren't for the commitments I'm already bound to, you wouldn't have made it up this elevator unravished! You are absolutely breathtaking, and insanely desirable! As it is, I have to congratulate myself that I've restrained my urges this far!"

He then stepped clear of the transport and swept the floor with his gaze.

She followed him out, thoroughly flushed from head to toe. The thought of what could have been filled her with elation that this incomparable man could want her so badly, and yet also with heart-wrenching sorrow that she would never experience such total domination at his hands.

They went directly to the only office on that side of the floor...each elevator opening to a single, expansive (and expensive) space.

There was a wide, extremely ornate desk situated at the center of a broad entryway with a slim, petite woman sitting behind it. Her raven hair was a waterfall of curls that showered her shoulders and dangled slightly in her gleaming brown eyes. Her attire was exciting and youthful without being too dramatic or presumptuous.

"May I help you?"

"I hope so," Ron replied. "I'm here to see Mr. Finntmore. I have something I'm sure he'll be interested in."

"I'm sorry," she said while checking her computer, "but we have no appointments this afternoon, and I can't allow you through without a scheduled meeting.

Ron set his shiny new case on the mirror-like surface of her black-slate desk-top and lifted the lid. He then flipped open the special compartment he'd shown the security agent and withdrew a single item, carefully handing it to the young lady who suddenly appeared decidedly more attentive. Beside him, Regina gasped.

"If it's not too much trouble, would you please take this to him? If he sees it and isn't interested, I will bother you no more."

The woman took the offered item and looked Regina up and down, then did the same to Ron. Afterward, she hurried off across the floor to the largest office...one with cut-glass French doors and a beautiful view of the Rio Grande River.

"Holy crap!" Gina blurted when she was gone. "Was that a diamond?"

"Yes."

"It must have been ten frigging karats!"

"You have a good eye," Ron told her, impressed with her guess.

"How many are in there?" she asked, trying to get a good look at them.

"Two hundred in assorted sizes and cut styles."

No more than thirty seconds later, the door opened again and a well-dressed man in his fifties hurried through it with the assistant pulling up the rear.

"Sir, I am James P. Finntmore...and you are?"

"Ronin Dangarth, a representative of the Raulden Delegation."

"It's a pleasure to meet you...and is this Mrs. Dangarth?" he asked, trying desperately not to stare too much, but failing.

"Yes, this is Cynthia."

"An honor, Madame!" he said as he gently kissed the back of her hand with a deep bow.

"Please, come with me."

They adjourned to his office immediately, where Mr. Finntmore got straight to business.

"These gems you've brought...I imagine you would like to sell them?"

"Yes."

"Excellent!"

He opened a drawer at his left and withdrew a long, rolled-up padded cloth and spread it out on his eight-foot-wide mahogany desk. Ron then removed the compartment from his case and poured out the stones, spreading them evenly so they could be inspected. He then handed Mr. Finntmore an itemized accounting of the total tally.

The diamond broker plucked out four from the group and examined them...glancing at Ron each time, his mind spinning furiously.

"Forgive me, Ronin, but this is an unparalleled experience for me. These are all legal, yes?"

Ron waved off his concern of offending him. "The documents are perfectly in order and each stone has my company's mark etched to it. You'll also find that each is of the purest quality attainable and the cuts are absolutely flawless.

He passed several of them under a light to check Ron's claim and used a microscope to read the insignia. After fifteen minutes of careful scrutiny, and many head shakes of utter amazement, Mr. Finntmore pushed back in his chair holding a six karat, heart-shaped gem.

"I'm afraid I don't have the capital to cover this, my friend," he said dejectedly. "To get what these beauties are worth, you'd have to go straight to the biggest firm. I simply cannot compete on that scale."

"What kind of offer can you make?" Ron asked unruffled.

"The best I could do is four million now, and another five once their sold...which won't take long, I'm sure. There are plenty of wealthy individuals around who'd cough up whatever I want to get stones like these.

"Where on Earth did you get them?"

"That is a secret my employers want to keep for now. Sorry."

He gently and sadly placed the sparkling heart back with the others, wishing there was some way to lure this new business that had so miraculously fallen into his lap.

"What if...?"

"I accept your arrangement!" Ron told him.

He just stared at Ron...his mouth still open in mid-sentence.

"But surely you know they are worth nearly twice that?"

"You are an honest broker...and that is difficult to find. My company has outstanding debts that need settling, and to be quite frank about it, Mr. Finntmore, our CEO is rather appalled at the greed of the larger firms. They hoard stones to keep the market bare and drive up the price when they already have more riches than they could ever hope to spend."

Mr. Finntmore practically burst with delight, leaping to his feet and clasping Ron's hand before he could change his mind. "It's a deal then!"

"Just one caveat though," Ron added. "I think my bride could use some earrings to accentuate her look, don't you?"

The fellow gazed at Regina once more and shook his head.

"I would never have imagined that diamonds would not add to the beauty of a woman," he said solemnly, "but, sir...I honestly don't think they will. If truth be told, even such bobbles as even these will pale in comparison."

Gina blushed beet red at the compliment.

"However, I do believe that every creature of such splendor should have that choice, and so what may I do for you?"

Ron plucked a pair of two karat round gems out of the assortment and handed them to Mr. Finntmore.

Could you have these set into stud backs...or would you prefer danglers, sweetheart?" he turned to Gina.

Her face went blank for a few seconds before coming alive again.

"Studs are fine, Darling. Thank you!"

"I'll have it done immediately, while the contract is drawn up! Adrianna!"

Adrianna (Mr. Finntmore's personal assistant) then escorted Ron and Regina to a plush waiting area while everything was readied, and then brought them expensive Champaign and fruit snacks.

There was an entire wall of glass on the western side of the room which had a breathtaking view of the cityscape, and soft, classical music played over hidden speakers. It was like a scene right out of a movie.

Gina sat in a chair that had leather so soft she couldn't believe it and she kept thanking Ron over and over...so excited she could hardly breathe. Ron stayed on his feet, of course, and tried to play down the lavish gifts he'd given his friend. After all, money meant almost nothing to him.

An hour later, after Gina had admired her new gifts for the tenth time in the mirrored wall of the waiting area, Ron signed the documents and watched the funds transferred into a secure account.

"And is this, Angela Allison...is she your employer?"

"Yes."

"I would very much enjoy thanking her in person...if ever given the chance."

"Thank you. I'll tell her that."

They started to leave when the woman from the front desk quickly approached them.

"Oh, my word! I almost forgot! Thank you Lizzy!" Finntmore said...still shaking from the excitement of it all.

"I wanted to give your gorgeous wife a personal token of my esteem. I'm afraid it isn't the quality of the stones you brought me, but is a rather pretty little thing."

He opened the velvet-covered box that Lizzy held, and removed a dazzling necklace.

"May I?" he asked Regina, checking with Ron as well.

It was a glittering string necklace made of three layered loops of 18 Karat gold chain, with a single, center drop, heart-shaped diamond that glided exquisitely down between her full breasts. It sparkled like cold, white fire. Regina trembled and quaked when she saw it in a mirror Lizzy held, and she promptly hugged and kissed Finntmore on the cheek.

"Thank you, Mr. Finntmore! I don't know what to say!"

"Think nothing of it, M'lady," he said as he kissed her hand once more. "I hope it brings you much pleasure!"

With that, Ron thanked him again before he and Gina calmly made their exit.

When the elevator chimed on the second floor, thirty-six heads snapped around simultaneously, anticipating the emergence of the goddess that they'd either glimpsed or missed the first time around. Ron graciously allowed Regina the forward position, and the general reaction to her provocative stroll past their work stations was even more dramatic than before. Three men spilled piping hot coffee down their front, two fell backward out of their chairs while craning for a better view, four shins slammed into forgotten open drawers, and at least a dozen low whistles snuck out.

Ron heard only one other comment about him during the entire escapade.

"That's one lucky guy!" an agent said to the fellow next to him.

"What guy?" his friend replied.

Ron just smiled.

Even though it was barely five o'clock, the sunshine was waning and shadows in the downtown district were long because the winter solstice was near, so Ron and Gina walked out into a twinkling, dazzling city. There was a sharp chill in the air as they exited the building, but Regina barely felt it...still swooning over the events of the past few hours. Nevertheless, Ron snuggled her into his coat where she could be protected and kept warm. That also kept any potentially disastrous distractions to a minimum...from the motorists going by.

The five minute stroll back to the old Hummer was extremely stimulating to Regina. She leaned on and held to Ron as if he 'was' her lover, and desire built inside her with every passing moment. Ron too couldn't deny the growing bond between them, especially the way she pressed her body to his. And the scent of her...a spritz of some very expensive perfume that Brandi sold...was nearly intoxicating.

When they reached that horrible looking truck, Ron opened the passenger door, but stopped Gina there.

"I think the climb in might leave you a bit...exposed," he told her before sweeping her into his arms like a feather pillow and setting her gently on the cushions of the wide, iron bench.

She just gazed into his gray eyes with the look of a lovesick teenager, and the scalding needs of a healthy, nubile young woman.

Ron went around and hopped into the driver's side, quite happy about the whole outing. He'd provided well for his family, so at least if he couldn't be with them, he knew they would want for nothing. His wife could be a full-time mother to their son, and only work if she felt the desire to.

In those moments Ron longed for her terribly, for the life he'd been ripped away from so long ago now.

His thoughts about Angela and Derek however, were sidelined just then by Regina. She crawled over to a spot next to him, kneeling beside him...her sexy high heels tossed in the back. It was dark in the cab of the truck, even with the parking garage lights sporadically placed about, but he could still see that the hem of her little cocktail dress no longer covered her sensual delights. And the finely honed, innate senses of that wild-man of the Aredanz Mountains did not miss the unmistakable pheromones that radiated from the breathtaking woman next to him. His eyes dilated even further and his heart pounded like a sledge-hammer, until he could actually hear it pulse.

She stopped him from starting the engine with a delicate touch to his hand which felt like a feather gliding upon his skin. Then she ran her fingers through his thick black hair with one hand while guiding his fingers to the plump, ripe mounds of her breasts with the other, brushing their extended points of flesh against his touch brazenly.

Quick, quivering gasps escaped her shining, glossy lips, and her eyes fell half shut at the promise of ecstasy that awaited her. With his large hand cradling her bosom, she felt for him, and smiled grandly at what she found.

"Make love to me, Ron...I beg you! Take me right here...right now! I want you so badly!"

She dove at him then, her lips smashing to his in her overheated need, pressing herself against him in a frenzy of passion.

Up to that point Ron had controlled his sexual drive with remarkable willpower and steadfast loyalty to the first love in his life, but now he was in drastic need of assistance. She was simply too beautiful, too desirable, and too willing to resist.

That help arrived quite unexpectedly just then, in the form of a bright red convertible full of college boys. They were out drinking and cruising around the parking lot when their lights flashed across the scene of Ron and Gina grappling in the truck...and they naturally had to investigate.

The huge mid-seventies Cadillac squealed its tires until it ended up with the high-beams locked on the two would-be lovers, and then the whistles and cat-calls ripped free across the open parking lot.

"Yeah, Baby! Give it to him! Ride that cowboy!"

"Come on, man...nail her! Plow that field!"

"I'm next!" one of the guys yelled, jumping from the car and running over to the Hummer with his cell-phone videoing the titillating escapade.

Ron twisted around in a flash and swung Gina out of sight, his passion instantly turning to anger...anger at himself. He was ashamed at his lack of control, embarrassed by the public scene he was part of, and humiliated that he'd disgraced Regina's honor. That combination of emotions forced a rumbling growl from his broad chest that echoed about inside the truck until it sounded like an enraged tiger had been set loose. And when the loud-mouth, drunken young man stumbled against the door for a better view, Ron was in no mood for it.

Ron grabbed the door handle and opened it firmly, sending the good-sized fellow sailing back onto the hood of the Caddy, fifteen feet away. He then stepped out of the truck with his demeanor full of fight.

His first order of business was to crush the young man's dropped phone under his heel, completely obliterating it. He then stood in front of the huge chromed grill and pointed to the nearest exit, his chest heaving and his whole body vibrating from rage.

"LEAVE NOW!" he warned the twenty-year-old men, but they were all football players at their university, and refused his advice.

"Hey, man...chill out!" the driver said as he and his five other friends bailed out of the car and approached Ron. "We just want a little peek at your fine little cheeka! What's the harm?"

"If you don't leave," Ron told them in a voice of rolling thunder, "you will surely regret it!"

"Fuck you, ass-wipe!" the largest of the group then told him, moving right up to Ron's face. "I don't take orders from some redneck hick!"

The youngster was as tall as Ron, and built sturdier...a lineman. He weighed close to three hundred pounds, and wasn't afraid of anyone...yet! Ron hesitated even though he badly wanted to act. In the back recesses of his mind, he didn't want to hurt them.

"Hey, Baby!" yelled another of the boys. "Come on out and join our party. We'll scratch that itch real good!"

The big guy stepped to the side to go around Ron but suddenly found himself in mid-air, sailing backward into the car where he landed hard in the passenger seat and broke the recline function, ending up laid out flat. Ron hadn't struck him, but instead had shot-putted him the dozen feet to his landing spot.

Three others rushed forward at that point and Ron tossed each of them onto the first in quick succession. One landed a solid punch on Ron's jaw, but only managed to injure himself in the process. Ron backhanded that guy away, pulling his blow as much as he could. Still, the younger man rolled across the concrete floor roughly and didn't return. Apparently he had a sudden change of heart on the matter.

"Get off me!" screamed the lineman as he fought to right himself under the pile.

The driver was the first to recover. "I'll fix this bastard!"

He slid over behind the wheel, dropped the car in gear, and slapped the pedal to the floor.

Ron leaped five feet straight up and landed on the hood with the black rapier naked in the chilly Texas night.

The point of the blade fell hard with the full weight of his body driving it downward, and a menacing growl rolling from his lips. That unbreakable length of razor-edged metal skewered the engine block with ease and seized the four-hundred horsepower V-8 in an instant.

At the same time, Ron's eleven-hundred pound mass slamming down onto the front of the car bottomed out the frame and blew out both tires. The once beautiful, immaculately maintained vehicle ground deeply into the cement parking surface and pieces of it fell in every direction.

Ron stowed the dark sword in one flashing move and stepped down off the crumpled hood, crushing the fender as he did, and moved to the driver's door. The cocky athlete's face was mask of shock and horror that quickly turned to fury as Ron approached. He was too inebriated to realize what danger he was in, and so he kicked open the door to thwart Ron's approach.

The heavy, reinforced metal folded around Ron's legs in a shallow U, but did no harm at all to him. Ron then leaned down and grabbed the lower edge of the door and surged up with a grunt, ripping the hinges right out of the frame before slinging it aside.

"Get outta there, Jason!" the driver's friends yelled as they all scrambled out of the vehicle and retreated at full speed. "He's fuckin nuts!"

Ron leaned into the doorway with on hand on the window frame and one across to the back door-post, corralling the young man within that span. He was seething from anger and wanted badly to release it. A small portion burned out through his left hand as it pulled the stout frame of the windshield down flat, shattering the glass and showering the car with tiny cubes of the stuff.

By that point, Jason, the owner of the classic car, had changed his attitude as well and no longer wanted to push the issue.

"You shouldn't screw around with someone you don't know, boy!" Ron hissed at him.

The college athlete immediately threw up his hands and hid his face from any punch that might be coming. "I'm sorry, man...really! I'm sorry! We're all sorry! We were just messin around! Please...we don't want any more trouble!"

Ron's fingers squeezed the back door until they disappeared into the collapsing metal...and then he stood up and walked away.

Regina was cowering on the long bench-seat by then, wrapped in a blanket...her eyes wide with fright. She'd never seen Ron truly angry, and was terrified that he was going to kill them all. She suddenly felt as if she was in a living nightmare she could not escape.

The evening that had been so wonderful...so packed with adventure and passion...so perfectly fairytale-like...was clearly over. The expensive jewels, the dress, the shoes, and the handbag suddenly lost their appeal. All she wanted to do then was go home.

Ron climbed back in and stared straight forward, his jaws grinding together and the heat of battle firmly on his mind. The steering wheel swiftly warped to a new configuration that was decidedly not round as he fumed. Regina skittered away to the other side of the truck...too unsettled to moon over him anymore.

The Hummer roared to life without a word spoken between her and Ron, and then they drove off into the coming night.

### Chapter Twenty-six

### The Other Side of Ron

Once back at the Denk's place, Regina felt a little less uneasy, but was still clearly on edge and made a beeline straight for her room, barefoot and wrapped in one of the blankets from the truck. Ron didn't even approach the house, but instead, made his way toward the building where his possessions had been kept. Behind it was a large woodshed that was stacked to the ceiling with logs that needed splitting and he attacked that job with a vengeance.

Frank and Donna noticed the icy attitudes immediately but didn't pry for answers right away; knowing that time apart was more than likely the best thing.

A half hour later, at the suggestion of Mrs. Denk, Gina enjoyed a long, hot bath, and that allowed her time to unwind and evaluate everything that had happened. It was all a jumbled, incoherent mess in her mind.

When she'd soaked for a good, long while, Mrs. Denk lightly knocked on the bathroom door.

"May I come in, dear?" she asked.

Regina was more than a little surprised at that, but since she was totally covered in her hostess's bubble-bath suds, she said yes.

"Is there anything you need, sweetie?" Donna queried innocently, standing back just inside the door. "Are you all right?"

For some unknown reason, Regina suddenly burst into tears and poured out her entire story of the events in the city, and when she was finished, she looked with pleading eyes to the middle-aged woman, hoping for advice.

"I was so scared! What kind of man is he? I feel so drawn to him, but is it all just the novelty of our situation? Am I falling for a schitzo...some kind of Jekyll and Hyde?"

"No! No...of course not, dear...no!" Mrs. Denk told her with real conviction. She'd taken a seat on a small stool right next to the tub.

Donna patted her hand and thought for a brief moment, and then said, "Obviously, I was not there...and so I can't really empathize with what you went through, but let me just imagine it for a moment, okay?"

Gina nodded and wiped her eyes again.

"You were caught in a compromising position, and that scared you. A group of men made threats against you that scared you too. Ron did things that were very difficult to understand...violent and nearly superhuman things...and that frightened you even more. But did he hurt anyone?"

Gina's eyes flashed back and forth for a short time.

"Well...no," Regina admitted after thinking about it. "No, not really. In fact, he tried to warn them away...several times. He didn't throw a single punch actually...just kind of...I don't know...tossed and swatted them...and then he let them all run off."

"There, you see?" Donna said with a gentle smile of compassion and reassurance. "He's no maniac. He's just a man who also was caught in an awkward situation...a situation that he felt he should have avoided. In fact, he told us the entire story before I came to you, hoping that by admitting it...bringing it out into the open...he could begin to purge his guilt.

"He's very distraught about 'leading you on and nearly taking advantage of you'. Those were his exact words."

"But he didn't! 'I' practically attacked 'him'!"

Donna's eyebrows rose at the new understanding of the episode, but she continued without delay.

"And having those boys make lewd threats at you really pressed his buttons...I'll tell you that. He was out in the yard chopping firewood so fast; Frank could barely keep up just gathering it as it flew. And it was from an old, knotty tree that Frank had given up on splitting because it was so twisted and tough!

"And not only that, Gina, sweetie...it's more like he feels he's dishonored you...that he's no better than those drunk kids. That's what he told Frank and me, anyway."

Regina's outlook about Ron shifted completely with that statement. It gave her a radically different perspective she could not have imagined. She stared into space for a few long moments considering it...and then she smiled. After she'd literally thrown herself at him, he still accepted the complete blame for the incident. The more she thought about it, the clearer Donna's words rang in her mind.

"My God!" she said at last, turning to her host. "He really is a knight in shining armor, isn't he?"

Donna Denk just smiled back at her sweetly and then turned to leave. "Dinner's in an hour!" she said.

Ron couldn't take the chance of destroying their tile-lined facilities so was forced to use an outside shower which only spewed cold water. The sun was long gone by that time, so, under a pair of powerful flood lights, he stood in a large tin washtub at the back of the barn and tried to scrub away his sullen thoughts. It was invigorating in the rapidly cooling desert air and a far cry from the sanitizer he'd grown accustomed to, but a heck of a lot better than nothing at all.

While Ron rinsed off under the gushing stream from an unregulated, inch and a half hose intended for washing down horses, Regina walked up to him, presumably to bring him a towel. He noticed her approach once she rounded the corner of the barn, so he halted his efforts in order to speak with her. Her hair was still wet from her own bathing, and when she stood in front of him unabashedly with her thoughtful offering, he informed her as nicely as he could that Frank had already provided such an item.

"Thank you though," he said with a light smile.

His nudity didn't seem to faze her much however since she lingered for at least another couple of minutes making small talk before retreating timidly. Ron got the distinct feeling she had something important to say...and he had a good feeling about what it was...but he wouldn't press her.

Before she'd taken more than a few steps though, she whirled about and blurted what was on her conscience.

"Ron, I just wanted to tell that I'm sorry I attacked you back at the..."

"No, no, no...please, don't. It was my fault for spinning your head around so much...with the sexy clothes and the flashy jewels and..."

"Ron!" she broke in with commanding authority. She pointedly locked her gaze with his for several seconds to make him understand the importance of what she was saying. "Thank you for all those wonderful, insanely expensive gifts. Thank you for finding me attractive. And thank you for defending me.

"I know you could never fall for me, and you explained your strategy to me ahead of time, so I can't lay any blame on you. Just the same, I let myself get carried away in the thrill of our 'super-spy' caper and didn't want it to end. Being with you has been such an incredible adventure...from the moment we met again in the salvage yard...that...well...I just got carried away. I wanted the fairytale to keep going...to have at least one unbelievable night with you."

Ron smiled and shook his head. "Regina, if you really think I couldn't fall in love with you, you're dead wrong. It's more like I can't allow myself to have those feelings. It's not right. My devotion to my wife 'has' to come first...period."

"I know...I know. And that's just one of the endless reasons my heart has opened to you. And I'm also aware that I shouldn't say those kinds of things to a married man, but I need you to know how I feel about you. I don't know why...I just do."

"Well, at least let me say thank you," he told her. "You have no idea how flattering that is to me. I find you truly exquisite."

Gina smiled sweetly at him, blushing thoroughly. There was a long, awkward pause in the conversation just then, before; "Donna is cooking up a small feast to make us feel welcome," she told him quickly. "And...uh...well...don't take too long," she finished.

Her eyes quickly caressed his naked body one more time, and then her mind was suddenly unable to come up with any other semi-legitimate banter. "I'll see you inside."

Ron nodded. "Okay then!"

"Every woman I meet is more brazen than the last!" he chortled to himself as she disappeared around the corner.

He finished up shortly thereafter and got dressed, but was surprised when Regina caught him walking back to the house and urged him along.

"Sorry, but the dinner's on hold, Ron! Frank got a call! There's trouble and he needs your help!"

Ron heard a large diesel engine fire up at the front side of the home, so they went around to find Frank backing his huge, four-wheel-drive, dually, Chevrolet pickup truck toward a different storage shed.

"What's going on?" Ron inquired when they'd caught up with him.

"I'm a member of the emergency search and rescue team for this county and I just got a call about some missing young folks. Apparently two couples went out this morning for a four-wheeler excursion in the 'Gorges Diablo'. It's a great place for that kind of thing, but they were supposed to be back by dark and none of'em have been heard from yet."

"That's not really very long overdue," Ron told him, "so why all the fuss? They might've just gotten caught up with having a good time. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I do...but one of the girls' dad is the Sheriff, and he's none too happy about his little angel being out all night. Add to it the fact that for the last few hours it's been raining hard north of here, so there could really be a problem if they're still down in the canyons."

"Flash-floods?"

"Yep!"

"Okay then...let's roll!" Ron agreed. "Gina, would you come with us? We could use the extra eyes."

"Donna's coming too," Regina inserted. "She's getting some extra packs made up."

"Okay, but I'm pretty well set," Ron told her.

"Ron," she whispered when they were separated from the Denks, "what about your super-gizmos. Got anything that might help?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," he admitted, flipping across a list of Raulden characters until he reached the right one. "I'm checking, but it looks like there aren't any satellites I can tap into for a live thermo-graphic relay. Visual would do no good at all, of course. In fact, that's odd...I don't see any transmitting com-sats at all...anywhere."

"What's a com-sat?"

"Sorry...communication satellite. _Darlile_!" he called into the device with no reply. " _Darlile_! Come in, please!"

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"I've lost my com-link with the ship! I've tried three different times, but I get nothing."

"What? I'd have thought that's impossible."

"It is...I mean; it should be. The range of the _Darlile_ 's communication is limited due to its location...an extremely remote place where it couldn't be easily found...but we were sure that wouldn't be a problem because it just tapped into the global satellite network. So I can't be out of range, unless the entire orbiting array is down."

"Maybe it's that solar storm the news was talking about?"

"That's possible...I guess. I really don't know what all that would do. At any rate, we have more important things to get to right now. We'll deal with this afterward!"

Five minutes later, they were roaring down a dirt road on their way to the middle of nowhere...and two hours after that, they found themselves parked next to the missing group's truck and trailer.

There were already three police cruisers and a pair of Sheriff's SUVs in the area, as well as a vast assortment of big lights, and the Sheriff was just finishing up assigning men into teams. Frank and Donna hurried over to meet with the posse assembling under those bright floods to get their search grids while Ron hung back away from the authorities with Gina.

When all was set, six men with horses and a dozen deputies riding either dirt bikes or four wheelers made up the party...aside from Ron, Regina, Frank, and Donna. All in all, it was a good-sized, experienced group.

While Frank coordinated with the leaders of the search party, Ron looked at the tire impressions all around the parking area and waited. He was once again sporting a blacked out look in his wardrobe and kept his hat pulled down low, so he wasn't much more than a shadow in the night.

Frank walked back a few minutes later with his assignment.

"They headed off that way." Ron told him.

The truck driver was also an experienced outdoorsman in his own right and scanned the same patch of dirt, looked in the direction Ron indicated, and then at the ground again.

"Man, there's gotta be a hundred tracks out here! How can you be so certain?"

"The tire trail from two vehicles back out of the trailer here, go over there for a bit where they did a few donuts...probably to impress their dates. Then the girls got on here...see the smaller prints...and finally they drove down that cutout and headed southwest."

Frank stood there puzzled, happy, and impressed all at the same time, because he saw none of it.

"Okay then, that also happens to be the direction we've been assigned, so let's get our machines unloaded! Would you help me with the ramps?"

Ron smiled at the man who was taller and broader than him. He tossed his coat and hat in the back of the truck

"Not necessary. Just release the tie-downs."

Regina complied with his request and Ron grabbed each of the four-wheelers by the frame and set them gently on the ground. The rest of the searchers gawked in amazement, and then burst out laughing.

"Holy mackerel, Frank! That's really handy!" yelled a guy sitting on his palomino pony.

"Ron," Frank instructed, "this one's the most heavy-duty, but your body's load will be a real strain on it, so watch any big drops or jumps. Regina, that one's yours. Donna, take your usual ride. Ladies...you stay up here where it's safe. Ride along the ridge...Ron and I'll scoot down there. There are trails to get out every couple of miles or so, Ron.

"Okay, check in every fifteen minutes...right?"

Frank passed out walkie-talkies to each of them, and they immediately split up.

Down in the gorge, the trail was obliterated by so many vehicles criss-crossing, even Ron had to revert to the more normal method of exploration. He'd memorized a topographical map of the ravines for twenty miles in every direction during the drive to the kid's abandoned truck, so now he knew roughly what to expect from this outing and flew along as fast as he felt the machine could endure.

He and Frank separated at a fork only a mile into the expedition and they blasted along the deep, sandstone cliffs for another hour and a half before...

"I think I see them!" Donna Denk radioed, peering through powerful binoculars at a tiny fire in the canyon. "There are two machines down there. One's upside down with a bent rear axle and one looks buried under a rockslide. There're three people...a man and two women...and the guy seems to be badly hurt...laid out flat...maybe dead. One of the girls is limping badly and the other is sitting against the cliff with her knee wrapped up. The other man...I don't know. I don't see him."

"Where are you, sweetie?" Frank called.

"About ten miles southeast of the parking area we left from. At the tip of Rattler's Bend."

That was a branch on Frank's section that he hadn't gotten to yet.

"On my way!" "Me too!" called Frank and then Ron.

Ron caught up with his partner twenty minutes after he was on the scene and they quickly began planning the extraction. Frank already had the injured man taken care of...strapped to a back-board with a neck brace, and the girls were beginning to calm down, so Ron took a few moments to survey the surroundings. He could see Donna's silhouette eighty feet above them at the top of the rim, and she waved to him.

"Gina's headed back to the truck so she can use the stronger radio to call for the helicopter. That could take a while, but they're too far away for the walkies."

"I've got it!" Ron interjected, pulling out his Raulden phone. " _Darlile_ , patch me into the police band in my area." There was no response. "Crap!" he grumbled before flipping through more functions to find the mode he needed. The device cycled across the bands instantaneously. There was a sharp chirp directly, when Ron was connected.

"Frank...here. They'll be more likely to respond to you than me. Tell them we are at these coordinates...here in the corner."

A minute later the formerly stranded group was celebrating the news that the chopper would be there shortly, and every other team was getting the relay to return to the parking area.

"We'll have to get them out of this ravine," Frank told his agreeing partner. "The helicopter won't be able to get down here."

"And it'd be a dicey cable drop too, with the winds blowing up there," Ron added.

"Exactly."

"Any sighting of the last guy?" Ron yelled up to Frank's wife.

She shook her head to the negative.

Ron gave a nod and returned to help the big trucker. The injured young fellow from the kids' party was banged up pretty badly and was only semi-conscious and delirious.

"What happened?" Ron quietly asked Frank...trying not to get the girls frantic again.

"They don't know exactly. Late this evening, they were headed back to their vehicle when a group of about six or seven dirt bikes blasted past them, just over there. The bikes were running open pipes and the sound was deafening, they both told me. Anyway, the next thing they knew, the whole eastern wall of the ravine came down knocking them right off the bikes. The girls woke up a little later and found their transportation destroyed, their friend here, unconscious, and the other fella gone. They figured he went for help, and thought he'd been successful when we showed up."

Ron stood, touched his finger to the side of his Raulden glasses to get the best contrast setting, and walked around the scene for a minute before returning to pull Frank aside.

"No one else has come by in a long while, and there are no tracks leading out of here. If he's missing, he's underneath that," Ron told him, indicating a pile of earth and rocks the size of Frank's big rig.

The glasses couldn't penetrate the rubble so Ron was inclined to scan the pile with his hand-held, but didn't want to brandish too much of his techno-wizardry just yet...at least not in the crowd.

"I can't get a reading through that. There's too much dirt. It's absorbing the signal."

"If he's in there," Frank mused, "he's toast. Let's get the girls and this dude out first...then worry about him."

Donna lowered a stretcher down to them and they got the man on it, strapped him to the back of the machine Ron had been riding, and then Frank drove away to the next access trail, a mile and a half away, with the crippled woman following him on the other machine.

The other girl was in no mood to do any more riding, vehemently protesting when Frank told her to go with her friend.

"I'm not getting on one of those things ever again!" she told them with wide eyes, while backing up against the cliff in open fear.

She was near hysterics before the rescuers finally agreed to accommodate her through another avenue of extraction. At least they'd come prepared for almost anything. Donna often helped on many of those search and rescue missions so she didn't hesitate to come up with an alternate plan. She chained her four-wheeler to a nearby, gnarled old tree and then dropped a rope down to Ron. He assisted the girl, Sheila...the one with the limp...as she slipped into a climbing harness, and then Donna worked her 4-wheeler's electric winch to aid the girl while she climbed out.

As that young lady crested the lip of the ravine, Ron turned to the debris pile with a heavy heart. He scanned the area thoroughly and could just make out the silhouette of two legs about six feet in, so he at least knew where the boy's body lay. He then started in where the back of the riding machine could still be seen, dragging away huge boulders until it was freed, and worked his way steadily inward. He still had no visual sign of the man he knew was buried there, but before he could do much more...

"Ron!" yelled Donna from above. "It's Gina! You've gotta get outta there! She's back at the truck and the gorge is already filling with runoff! Here! Take this!"

She threw him a pair of her ropes, each capable of carrying his weight, but using two just to be certain. Ron paused in his work for a moment and listened. He could definitely hear the prelude of the flood coming...echoing down the narrow gorge. He took another long look at the massive pile of rubble, and let out a disheartened sigh.

"Well, he's gotta be dead anyway."

Staring to the north once more, he could just see the beginning of the torrent to come reflecting off the powerful Q-beam lights Donna had positioned above. It was only a foot deep but moving fast, so Ron turned and started up the wall, hanging on to the rope with one hand and walking slowly up the vertical face of rock, letting the winch pull him up.

He could have jumped most of the way and scampered up the rest quickly, but chose not to. He was curious about the approaching event, so he watched the muddy sludge of water, rocks, and all kinds of debris rush past his position with deep interest.

The level of it rose very quickly...two feet in mere seconds...and the roar grew until it vibrated the sandy walls.

Halfway to the top of the gorge, his attention was grabbed by a clatter of stones behind him, so he pivoted as well as he could to see what it was, still slowly walking upward at the pace of the electric winch. What he saw in the beam of his flashlight though made his heart lurch.

A large section of earth dropped away as the water eroded its base and he glimpsed a protruding booted foot. That would have been gut-wrenching enough, but the foot was wriggling and twisting.

"Oh, shit!" he blurted as he released his hold to the safety line and plunged earthward once more.

Frank was up there by then, assisting Donna in monitoring Ron's exit, and when they saw the rope suddenly jerk and fall limp, they both ran to the cliff's edge.

"Ron!" Frank shouted, panning the surface of the sludge. "Holy crap! I can't believe he fell! How could he have?"

An instant later they watched as his head burst up from the mucky water and shake like a lion's mane. The torrent was already waist deep and rising fast, but Ron stood against it like a stone pillar. The Denks then saw the movement of the trapped boy and understood what had happened.

"My God! That kid's still alive down there!" Donna screamed, but Frank was already on the move.

He tied himself to the rope Ron had been using and dropped over the lip in a blink. Two kick-offs later he was hanging just above the roaring water, watching an impossible rescue taking place.

The boy was immensely fortunate because the landslide on top of him was made up of an aggregate which had surrounded his body yet still provided protection from the main component of the pile; an enormous boulder. That huge rock presently set directly over him though, and kept a good bit of pressure on his prison of stones...too much for him to move out from under it by himself. Apparently the cold fluid rushing about his body had revived the young fellow enough to get him to cry out.

"Help! Help me! Hel..."

"I'M HERE!" shouted Ron, standing in the violent flow like the stalwart pilings of a dock. "STAY CALM. I'LL GET YOU OUT!"

With that, Ron dunked into the filthy liquid and began hauling out rocks from beneath the boy, but when he came up for air, the boulder shifted in the worst conceivable direction...right towards him!

Ron saw the movement and immediately stopped his digging. Any more excavating would have a ton of dirt and rocks bury the youngster again.

"Look out!" yelled Frank, pointing upstream and waving madly.

"Todd!" screamed one of the girls who'd limped her way to the edge of the cliff.

There was a tree speeding at them, and Ron saw it just in time to brace himself. Any normal man would have been pummeled by the forty foot long, eight-inch diameter chunk of living wood, but Ron caught the root-ball and held his ground...and got an idea!

He fought the tree hard, forcing it against the current's unending power until it was wedged under the outermost part of the boulder and against the cliff wall. He then braced his shoulder under it and heaved with all his strength.

The movement was only slight at first, but then the boulder shifted again, stopped, and slowly rose a full foot. Ron was straining mightily, but still demonstrated the presence of mind to reach out and grab the boy by the shoulder. Todd's head was barely above the water and he was squirming as hard as he could, twisting and writhing in the muck, frantic in the thought he might drown.

When he felt Ron's hand grab him, he thought some sort of mechanized clamp had latched on...a new type of rescue equipment possibly. However, when that iron-hard grip tore him free of his trap, he expected to see steel and cables, not a large man bent underneath the trunk of a tree in the middle of a raging flood.

The water tried to wash the boy away but the undeniable power of Ron's grasp stayed any attempt at that. Ron was gulping for more air, the task draining him quickly, but couldn't turn around in his predicament to see what was happening. He was resigned to his faith that his rescue partners were doing their best to help, so he just hung on...praying they would make it before his body ran out of precious oxygen and he collapsed.

As it was, his hopes were answered in mere seconds when a harness splashed next to them and the boy looped it over his free shoulder and head. Todd's legs were both broken in a couple of places and he was in great pain, letting out a high pitched shriek of agony as the rescuers hauled him up, but his focus was on survival, so he held tight.

His reaching safety was the good news. But the bad news was really bad. Three things happened at once as soon as the boy was pulled clear. First was the fact that the rushing water finally washed out much of the dirt and rock foundation supporting the majority of the boulder's weight, and it toppled. The second was that Ron's enormous load went with it and pushed him forward, off balance. And the third was nearly as bad when more debris came flashing through the water and a rolling rock, the size of a typical bedroom dresser, struck Ron on the single, firmly supporting appendage, buckling his leg instantly.

He had barely a split second to gulp in a breath before he was crushed to the bottom of the newly formed river...the tree and boulder both pinning him firmly in place.

Ron fought like a wild animal to get some leverage back, but he was flat on the sandy floor and could not. His mind raced for possible scenarios that would allow him to survive this disastrous turn of luck, but the only one was the prospect that the water might eventually rise enough to roll the big boulder away...but could he hold out long enough?

Suddenly he felt a hand on his arm, then it moved up to his head, and then, when it located his face, a tube was shoved down to him. Ron was startled, concerned, and then grateful when he bit down on the tube and air began pumping into him.

It was Frank! When Ron went under, Frank remembered his new friend's recounting of the incident on the bridge and immediately yelled for his wife to toss down the portable air tank he brought along for emergency flat tires and such. He felt an undeniable certainty in those few moments; this superhuman man he was united with could survive if he could just breathe long enough. With that thought he braved the rushing flood and leaped out as far as he was able, and then fought through the frothing inundation to reach Ron.

Once the hose was delivered, Frank clung to the tree's roots for as long as possible, but the water was still shooting up and getting stronger. At last, the battering he was enduring took its toll and he lost his grip, instantaneously washing him downstream to the end of his rope. At that point, he was more than ready to be pulled back up to safety...but his eyes never left the spot of his comrade's perilous dilemma.

Those on the bank were all huddled on the edge of the canyon by that time. Regina was back and nearly fell in when she heard what had happened...her legs giving way at the mere concept that Ron could be gone. She helped Donna haul Frank out and up the embankment, working the powerful winch for her, but her eyes flowed tears of deep sorrow and desperation as she searched the torrent unblinkingly for the man her own heart clung to. Even when Frank flopped to his back on the safety of the plateau, heaving from the strain of his rescue effort and sputtering dark, murky water, she refused to accept the loss of such a tremendous man.

"Come on, Ron!" she ordered...willing her strength to him by mental projection. She went down on her hands and knees at the rim of the eighty foot gorge; her heart racing as if it was her under that mountain of mud and water. "You can't go like this! You can't die like this!"

Ron drank in the air with renewed vigor...and waited as patiently as he could. A minute, then two went by as he regulated the pressure and air flow by clamping off the hose with his teeth...only taking it in when he absolutely had to. Two more minutes ticked away, then three, until eventually he felt a new movement. The water had finally reached high enough on the boulder to topple it...and when it started, he surged anew.

Sliding to Ron's left, the giant rock kicked the tree trunk to the right ever so slightly...but it was enough to let Ron get his left forearm up under his shoulder. At that point, the entire landslide of material began to bulge upward. Lightened by the water's buoyancy and natural dissolving dispersion, the mound of rocks and dirt could no longer withstand the mighty foe it had tried to imprison. Ron Allison was on the move!

The large tree raked savagely across his back and the roots caught the air tank, ripping it from him instantly as the flood waters once more took control of the dead and battered length of wood, sending it speeding along.

Ron was left with no oxygen, standing in twelve feet of raging, muddy liquid, so he didn't hesitate even one second, reaching for his blades immediately. With one long, blue dagger in each hand, he started scaling the hard-baked wall of the death canal. His feet had nothing to grip to, so it was just his hands and shoulders to do the work, which turned out to be more of a chore than he expected because he was constantly pounded by semi-floating debris as it churned along.

The young people they'd rescued had turned away by that point, the two girls sobbing uncontrollably...guilt-ridden for having caused a hero his death; already having given up on Ron surviving...but not Frank Denk, and not Regina Millson.

Frank was up again and kept a line ready to throw even after his wife expressed her heartbroken sadness at Ron's courageous demise. She stayed beside them, knowing why Gina couldn't give up, but wondering why her husband would not face the obvious. He had already done an insane act in getting the air tank to the doomed man, and she worried he might be planning another fruitless attempt...until she saw the impossible.

"Almighty Lord in Heaven!" she cried when Ron's hand flew out of the dark water and slammed into the cliff wall. "He's alive!"

Pausing only a brief moment to gasp for air when his head broke the surface, Ron continued upward as if he were climbing a ladder.

Frank was already on the run to a spot that would get him the closest to Ron's position, and he tried to yell across the gorge, but the roar of so much water was too great to breach, so he was forced to wait anxiously. If he could just get the safety line to Ron before he slipped or fell!

Ron continued up the dirt wall like a machine however, and never looked back. His chest heaved in the thin atmosphere, but he didn't slow once until he'd hauled himself up and over the edge to safety. At that point though, he fell promptly to his back, exhausted and lying flat out. His shirt was torn and ragged, as were his pants, but he gave them no consideration while he lay there for the next several minutes.

The rescue party, on the other hand, erupted with cheers and congratulations all around, sharing hugs and thanks to the Almighty for their answered prayers. Regina tried to rise, but fell back too, as drained as her Hercules across the way, her whole body trembling in waves of intense relief. Donna hugged her for a bit and then went to check on her husband. By the time the tears were wiped away, they were already retelling the amazing feats of the rescue like the final minutes of a nail-biter Super Bowl game.

A short while afterward, Ron felt recharged enough to sit up and search out his friends, at last giving a big wave to let them know he was okay.

After he looked himself over carefully and got to his feet, he saw they were trying to tell him to stay where he was...that they would arrange for someone to pick him up. Ron merely waved the suggestion off and turned around. It was many miles to the nearest bridge spanning the gorges, and he just didn't feel like waiting. And too, he didn't want to have to explain his "uniqueness" to any newcomers just then.

He walked a couple hundred feet further away before whirling about and facing them again.

"What's he doing?" Donna asked her husband with the three alerted young people staring after him as well.

"I don't know. It looks like he's...oh, no! You've got to be kidding!"

"What?" inquired Karen Nunez, the Sheriff's daughter. "What's he going to do?"

Frank just smiled when the realization of what was to come hit him, recalling the fantastic leap from the hospital's roof. He quickly turned one of the bright lights to illuminate the ground beside them, leaving the other light pointing at the far rim, closest to Ron.

"Y'all watch this!"

Ron dropped his shoulders, leaning into a deep crouch, and then took off at a dead run...moving so fast they all blinked in disbelief. The ravine was easily ninety feet from side to side and Ron made the leap look like he was jumping a puddle in a parking lot. He landed with no problem and only a few extra steps to halt his momentum...although the hard-packed ground appeared as if a cannon ball had been fired at it.

Regina hit him at a dead sprint as soon as his momentum stopped. She crashed against him hard enough to make him stagger, and hugged him as tightly as she could.

"God, Ron...I thought you were gone!" she said in his ear with new tears streaming...tears of joy and relief. "I can't believe you made it out of there! You scared the shit out of me!"

"Sorry, Gina," he told her affectionately, pulling back and wiping her worried face. "But I'm fine...see?" He gave her a peck on the lips and a big, boyish grin, then took her hand firmly and walked fast over to Frank and gave him a big bear hug.

"Thank you, my friend! If not for your quick thinking and fast action, my corpse would be washed downstream by now."

"You're welcome, Ron...and might I say...well done! That was one hell of a rescue, digging him out and all!"

"Man, that was radical!" Todd told him when Ron walked over, completely forgetting his own painful adventure. "Hey, dude...thanks! I don't know who you are, or how you did it, but thanks!"

Ron just smiled. He was covered with grit and crud from head to toe and smelled like mud...yet still, everyone stared at him like he was a true to life Superman.

Soon afterward, as the familiar thump of a helicopter captured everyone's attention, Frank calmly pulled Ron aside.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"About what?" Ron countered wearily, the effects of the ordeal beginning to catch up with him.

"About those kids! You think they'll keep their mouths shut about what you've done?"

Ron just smiled wryly at the tall trucker and brushed off more of the gunk from his person. "That's one of the reasons I made that jump right in front of them. You think anyone's going to take them seriously?" he asked mockingly. "Think about it. Can't you just see the faces of the paramedics?"

Frank smiled and nodded. "They'll simply write it off to shock."

Ron gave him a quick wink.

### Chapter Twenty-seven

### Cache Meets the President

After the Cnaut delivered its urgent message, the serenity of the Caronian mansion disappeared for a short while. Cache's blood ran cold as she was overwhelmed with thoughts of exactly what the warning meant.

"Under attack from whom?" she asked the robot deliveryman.

"That is unclear at present," was its only reply.

'The Kreete', was her first mental reaction of dread, but it only lasted a moment since their realm was mostly in the opposite direction from Earth. Following that, she considered the other predatory species her ancestors had come into contact with...plus the dozens of foreigners at the newest fringes of the Triad's reach. There were several she'd investigated before Rauld's initial encounter with her bloodthirsty ancestors. And adding to the mix was the possibility of almost countless areas of this one galaxy yet to be explored, and she nearly swooned. It was overwhelming!

"Father, we have to help them!" Josy announced, completely disregarding the Gitoves' self-imposed seclusion from other worlds. "We cannot stand by while Ron is..."

"That is not possible, Josy!" replied her giant brother. "No matter the reason, we are resigned to Caron for the remainder of our days. You know the restrictions of going off-world. Such an option is now gone!"

She then looked to Cache, pleading with the petite Raulden through tear-welled eyes. "Please, Cache...we must do something!"

Cache's mind was already five steps ahead of her though, and her supercomputer brain was ramped up to full speed, calculating scenarios and crunching the numbers on probabilities. Her only real worry was her daughter.

"Caron, or Rauld?" she thought...never really expecting not to return, but having to plan for that contingency anyway.

Cache had battled with that very situation for many Santaris while she carried the child within her, weighing each lifestyle for all its pros and cons. The advanced Rauldens could make her one of the finest minds in the known universe, of that she doubted not at all. Sheyah could travel the stars one day like Cache had always wished to do, and see things no human had ever experienced. But that life was rampant with its own drawbacks...ones Cache herself was all too familiar with. Constant limits to her desires and abilities had been like the bars of a cage her entire life.

In the end, Cache decided her baby's present was more important than what might come about in the future. She would live with the Gitoves! If, for some reason Cache and/or Ron were never able to return, she would eventually grow up enough to access the cottage and seek out her Raulden half. Aanlis and the other council members were well informed of the situation and would do everything in their power to assist her little girl. That seemed the best of the choices available.

All that blitzed through her mind, but to those standing in the dining hall of the expansive home, her deliberation was barely a moment in time.

"I shall leave immediately to give what aid I can to Ron and his planet. Josy, I know this is much earlier than we had discussed, but would you..."

"I will take good care of my little niece...you can certainly be sure of that."

"And I shall stay here until your return, little mother," Karne pledged. "No harm will befall this one while I breathe air!"

"Thank you, Karne," Cache told him, placing her small hands on his massive one. "That truly does set my mind at ease." Then, turning back to Josy, "I just fed her but I can synthesize more when I reach the cottage. I will bring some back..."

"Not to worry, Cache," Josy said, trying to calm her. "My species was bred for nurturing children. I can lactate whenever I need to, so fear not...Sheyah will not miss a meal."

Cache's expression was one of surprise, relief, and awe, all at once. She felt a quick twinge of jealousy at Josy's ability to fill all the gaps she found in her own limitations, but also she had to be extremely grateful, because that raven-headed beauty's gifts seemed tailor made for the problem at hand.

It was a heart-wrenching few minutes as the golden haired mother said her goodbyes to her daughter, but Cache knew time was vital and so she delayed very little. The scientist and warrior in her pushed to the forefront, to put the practical needs of this new mission ahead of the emotional ones, and soon she was sprinting through the downpour for her cozy home...off to dive headlong into another interplanetary war!

Less than half a billot later, she stood on the deck of the replica _Darlile_ , the training simulator of the intergalactic space ship she'd developed and constructed. The vid-screen showed a perfect depiction of its position, resting on the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico, on Earth.

She would rather have been on the real _Darlile_ , but by the time she was notified of the emergency and able to get back to her homeworld, the ebony super-ship was already surrounded by isolator nodes. Those drones were well designed to cycle through millions of layered communications-scrambling frequencies, corrupting all information going to and from the ship. Even the Starflex Portal link was not stable enough for her to utilize. Aanlis tried desperately to lock the gateway open, but to no avail. The jamming equipment of the aliens was causing it to fragment and falter sporadically. They were still receiving data and communication through it, but even that would be gone shortly.

Upon the instigation of the emergency alert...when it could not contact Ron...the _Darlile_ prepared for Cache's arrival and came fully back to life, restoring the primary support systems she would require. The lights and cabin temperature returned to a comfortable level...up from the dark and frigid, ambient climate of the deep water. All of those conditions were mimicked perfectly in the simulator.

As Cache slipped into her pilot's chair the screen burst into operation and displayed the current conditions it was experiencing, but before she could even settle in, the entire display jumped and warped. For a few litas everything was illegible, and then it was back.

Cache knew instantly that she had very little time.

Her eyes tore across the screen from one edge to the other as she absorbed the information as quickly as she could, and soon she understood that the nodes were definitely not of Earth origin.

"Darlile, can you destroy those frequency generators?"

"No," was all it replied.

"Why not?"

"My standing orders are; 'Don't to blow anything up' without contacting Ron Allison first. I have been unable to establish a communication link with him thus far."

"Why is that?"

"The satellite array for Earth has been compromised by the same faction who controls the nodes."

"Can you not just fly away from them?"

"Not while in the 'Passive' mode that Ron Allison placed me in.

Cache suddenly felt hot as her frustration made her blood boil.

"I accept responsibility for the decision and order you to destroy those generators.

"I cannot comply," the _Darlile_ returned. "Until Cache Kuar is physically aboard, the final wishes of the current captain...Ron Allison...are primary."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggggggggg!" she growled at the ship.

Her mind went blasting into overdrive then, panicked that her beloved spacecraft and her beloved man were both left helpless in the face of some unknown entity...one advanced enough to trap her ship. But then a thought flashed through her mind.

"What about the portal probe in your bay? Can you still launch it?"

"Affirmative. No physical limitations have been established as of yet."

"Do it! Do it now!"

"What is the destination?"

"Uuuuugh! Anywhere outside the range of those nodes!"

Instantaneously the display Cache was watching showed the probe speeding away. At that point, she began to calm down again and think more rationally.

"Good. Now...how much time do we have before we lose all contact with you?"

There was no reply and the simulator display went blank.

Cache waited for several litas, but there was no further response.

"Aanlis," she called, "What is the status of the com with the _Darlile_?"

"I am sorry, Cache, but it is completely corrupted."

Cache was stunned. Even with all the incredible advancements her people had, convinced they were by far the most technologically superior beings in the known galaxy, her ship had been outrun, hacked, and now was trapped...all in less than a single santari! It was unbelievably disheartening and humiliating.

At that moment, Cache's fiery disposition flared anew. "This is total bullshit!" she roared, making use of a phrase Ron often used when he'd finally had enough of some particular agitation. "That ship is mine...and nobody is going to take it from me!" she fumed.

"Aanlis, did the Darlile follow normal procedures and download everything it had recorded?"

"Yes. As soon as its sensors detected the alien transmissions, it began a dual transferal...one into its own memory, and one into ours. I am sending you the data link now."

Cache immediately dove into that collection of data, which began a time-lapsed replay of the past few dactrais. Over the next twelve straight billots, she poured over the recordings and then swept the global communications network to acclimate herself to the general knowledge level of the natives. It was a crash course in Earth's social and economic views to be sure, but she focused the majority of her time on those of Ron's home country, so the spectrum wasn't quite so daunting.

After that, she forced herself to eat, shower, and sleep, hoping a change in the status of the situation might arise while she retired from the strain of the day. She was an extremely disciplined woman, and her unique ability to shut down her thoughts enough to rest, despite the stress, was a tremendous asset, especially that day.

Six billots later, as dawn broke above the _Darlile_ the next morning, she was fresh, alert, and working again, combing through the information at a blistering rate.

Two billots more clicked by before Cache made a decision about how she would proceed. It was bold, almost crazy, but time was heavily against her, so she felt she must act...and fast.

She stood up from her seat, took a deep, cautious breath, and asked, "Aanlis, would you please locate the President of the United States?"

"Of course." Aanlis replied, easily locating the desired itinerary and matching it with the current timestamp on the Earth-locked Starflex probe.

Cache flipped her focus to the simulator's long-range scanners and watched the fleet of ships inbound toward Earth, and her anxiety level soared. She'd studied the individual purposes of their widely varied types of crafts and knew one thing for sure. Whoever those intruders were, they were definitely not friendly.

"He is at these coordinates," Aanlis replied pleasantly, displaying the point on a map of the world that quickly zoomed in to encompass only a single city block.

"Excellent," Cache told her, seeing that it was an outdoor venue. That would make it much easier for her to approach him and so she felt her luck was finally on the rise. "Please send the probe immediately."

The interstellar device that had been sitting motionless in five-hundred feet of water for the past day suddenly came to life and blasted straight up.

"It is away."

"Very well. How long until it reaches the site?"

"One-point-one-five billots."

Cache then began assembling what she would need for a meeting with a man of such high political importance. Certainly he would be well guarded and they, in turn, would be well armed...at least by Earth standards. Being the anal retentive person that she was, she systematically gathered, organized, and then packed each of the items she required.

The final half billot of her wait was spent preparing herself as she had Ron, with attire that would fit her Ambassadorial status as well as provide her with needed ballast and protection. Fortunately she'd set that in motion almost as soon as she lost contact with the _Darlile_ , knowing at that point she would have to travel to Earth.

She was ready five borts early and would have sworn that time was actually slowing down as she watched the chrono tick away with butterflies the size of eagles swarming in her stomach. Cache then began pacing the Raulden Interstellar Communications' Station like a caged tiger, trying to burn off some of the stress...to no avail. She kept going over and over the speech she'd use, and prayed to the Guardian that it would work.

With one bort remaining, she took up her position at the portal threshold and forced herself to stop shaking. She was well aware that first impressions account for a great deal at traumatic occasions, and she desperately needed everything to go smoothly.

Standing there on Rauld however, with no way of contacting Ron and absolutely no answer to the question of how she would get her ship back, Cache felt a sudden dire, icy chill run through her. She was somewhat aware of the threat...a species that were mostly known by stories and theories from long ago exploration, but believed to be real enough to have put warnings on those recordings...warnings of the most serious kind. Their true capabilities were unknown though, and just like any species, she feared the unknown.

When the allotted period was up, she valiantly set those worrisome thoughts aside and refocused her mind, mentally scrolling through her hasty preparations.

At a nod from Cache, the communications expert deftly glided through her duties and quickly locked onto the appropriate target. A simple touch of her finger and the bridge between worlds was established and ready for use.

The two women gazed out at a beautiful, sunny view of the fifteenth green of an exclusive golf club in Washington D.C. The probe appeared to be hovering approximately three hundred feet above the ground. She double-checked the readings and turned to give Cache the "all clear", but an erratic and unexpected surge stopped her in mid breath.

"What was...?" Cache began.

"I do not know. Everything was normal...and then a spike in the signal at the relay buoy caused me to almost lose the connection. We will have to investigate that before you can use the Portal..."

"No, there is no time. I have to transport to those coordinates immediately. Cycle the link and see if the problem recurs."

Aanlis did as Cache requested and they both watched for abnormalities anxiously. After a few moments though, and no repeat of the strange glitch, Cache turned to the Matter Transfer Portal's chief operator and gave a new order.

"Send the pinger."

The probe the _Darlile_ launched was programmed to home in on any signal assigned to its guidance computer. So when Aanlis dialed the ultra-private cellular phone the President of the United States had designated to him personally, it moved to within twenty feet of that location before the leader's device rang twice. (To the earthlings, the probe's ability to bend light around its slender shape made it practically invisible, so they were totally unaware of its proximity)

The American leader was out on the course, entertaining his Russian counterpart and his top advisors with a relaxing morning's escape from the pressures of their respective titles.

When President Garner bent to chip his ball onto the green, the buzzing of his phone startled him quite a bit and he jumped back as if stung. He looked about at first...not realizing that the tickling on his upper thigh was the device in his pocket. It was extremely rare for him to ever receive a call on that phone, its number being known by only a handful of individuals, most of whom were present at the outing. The only other was his wife, so he naturally assumed the message was from her.

He pulled out the slim device discreetly and checked the originator cue. It said "Out of area". He cautiously glanced to his Chief of Staff who instantly drifted over to his side to examine it as well.

"It must be a random caller," the Chief said, extremely puzzled, "a freak glitch or something."

"I thought that was impossible. Aren't there filters and firewalls to prevent a stray call?" asked the President.

"Of course. This should not be..."

"Is there a problem?" asked the Russian leader.

The security team continuously sweeping the area saw nothing to give them alarm, and so was taken totally unawares when a lovely young woman with a long plait of golden hair was suddenly standing only a few strides away from their position.

Four guards rushed toward their respective Presidents immediately, placing themselves between the intruder and their charges. At that point, a dozen guns were drawn and leveled at the graceful beauty. She stood where she was quietly, trying not to seem hostile, and allowed them all to situate themselves into a somewhat less apprehensive posture.

She was wearing a long coat, much like the one Ron wore, and for the same reason, but hers was a soft lavender color with dark violet trimmings instead of the chameleon garb he wore. It was perfectly tailored to her feminine physique, open at the front, and had a high collar to add a level of elegance and sophistication. (She had perused the Earth inhabitants' use of lady's fashion and style while lounging in her cottage on Caron, after Ron first set off from the _Darlile_ on his mission. She was curious about what earth men found attractive.)

Under her overcoat was a very sensuous jumpsuit similar to the ones she often wore around Gammone. It was form fitting and clung to her exceptional figure as if glued to her...the upper half designed with a rather generous portion of fabric left out around the cleavage of her alluring, ripened bosom. She had originally intended to use such attire to excite Ron's favor, had she been fortunate enough to catch up with him, but felt confident that it would work in her favor here as well. Her earlier investigation into Earth's social arena had concluded that most men became unusually disarmed when confronted with an appealing woman, so she'd opted to rely on that to "break the ice".

"Stop right where you are!" ordered the head of Secret Service detail. He was all business, no matter who the intruder might be.

Cache did as she was commanded, outwardly calm and docile but inwardly almost frantic.

"Mr. President," he continued, "I think we should get you out of here. She breached our security perimeter, so I can't guarantee someone else hasn't done the same."

The two powerful leaders felt no threat from the petite, comely visitor however, although they would've both agreed such a determination would be hard to make with any certainty. They looked to one another for a brief second, and decided to venture a question out of pure curiosity.

The American Commander tapped his human shields to the side so he might look at her directly, and his Soviet peer did the same.

"Where did you come from?" he queried. "Is this some kind of demonstration?"

"I am from a planet called Rauld, far from here...more than two thirds the distance across the galaxy you call 'The Milky Way'. It is known to us as Shatzar Golashe; 'The Guardian's Palate' in our common language. And, yes, I suppose this is a demonstration."

The two leaders exchanged looks again, but this time they were of skepticism.

"Did she just say what I thought she did?" the Russian asked.

As a reply, Cache spoke to him directly...in his native tongue, and with an accent which mimicked his own region's...a slightly peculiar one for a Russian citizen.

He stood motionless after that, his mind reeling.

"Alright," the U.S. President said, "if you are from another planet, what reason could you possibly have to protest here?"

Cache's translator did not differentiate the common slang uses and meanings of demonstration and protest, so she was confused for a moment.

"I am not protesting sir," she said uncertainly. "The demonstration I mentioned has to do with a threat I have come here to warn you about...well, in fact, I can show you."

She swept aside her long coat to reveal a slim device, about the size of a small laptop computer, draped at her side.

The security men leaped into action again, burying the two leaders under their bulk.

"She has a bomb!" one of them announced.

The next few moments were a blitz of motion and response to that simple, yet onerously compelling statement. Shots rang out as no less than six rifles could be heard from the perimeter of the golf course, sending bullets speeding toward that guiltless, charming woman.

She was startled by the reaction to her innocent move, but her preplanning was superb as usual. Those deadly lead pellets simply vaporized when they got within six feet of her person in a glorious example of her world's incredible achievements in the scientific field.

When the echoes of the weapons' reports died off and the gorgeous interloper still stood calmly before the group of men, a new set of worries began. The commander of the protection team sprang up and into action...his pistol at the ready.

"Fire!" he bellowed as he emptied his clip at Cache, and two of his detail copied his tactic.

When their attempts to end the threat met with results which were less than desirable though, the security team's captain attacked her straight away, yelling back at his men; "Get them out of here!"

His frontal assault forced Cache to make a counter maneuver she'd hoped to avoid. Her dainty left hand rose up with a device resembling a cellular phone, but functioned much differently. There was a flash of blue light from the object and the officer's legs instantly changed from powerful, surging propellants of muscle and bone, to limp, lifeless appendages that couldn't support the clothing he wore much less his impressive physique. He dropped to the ground hard, as if having suddenly fallen completely asleep, his arms askew and his face buried into the short grass.

"Please forgive me for that!" Cache shouted pleadingly. "He is not dead...merely unconscious."

The blast that incapacitated the lead agent was concentrated on his figure, but the power of the weapon carried on like a wave, washing over the closest men. They each swooned and dropped to one knee, and one man retched on the ground.

"I am sorry!" Cache repeated her consternation at her action. "But I could not let him reach the disruptor field! He would have been killed instantly!"

The Secret Service Agents then tried to haul away their charges, but were still very disoriented from the effects of her tiny weapon. They stumbled and pulled at the two Presidents who'd been spared such grief because of their shielding bodies, and would have provided them little protection if needed, but they did what they could.

"WAIT!" ordered Cache in a commanding tone. "Please, Mr. President...I am here only because it is of great importance! You must hear me out!"

President Garner pulled up at her plea, easily resisting the dazed and confused guards. He then assumed control as the true leader of the group.

"Hold on, men!" he told them, turning back to face the pretty blonde who'd just swept aside his finest protective measures in mere seconds.

"Hal, check on Kevin. Make sure he's alright."

It took a few moments to comply, due to the heavy fog in the men's heads, but after another minute, they determined the lead agent was in fact alive. Garner straightened himself up from his tussle on the ground and took a few steps back toward Cache...his Russian brethren copying his move.

They stared at her then for nearly thirty seconds before speaking, trying to get a read on her intentions, but her calm, placid demeanor gave off no clue as to her mission. Garner finally broke his gaze for a brief moment...glancing about the fairway they'd just been walking down, searching for anything else that might be awry. Nothing within his visual range appeared the least bit ominous.

"I mean you no harm, so would you please ask your riflemen to lower their weapons?"

"What?" the President asked. "Who?"

Cache pointed first to the left...then to the right, and then behind her.

"The long range marksmen there, there, and there. Please ask them to stand down."

He glanced to one of his guards and nodded, issuing a silent order to comply. The man whispered into a tiny, hand-held microphone and then looked at Cache. She pulled out the slim module she'd originally reached for and confirmed their standby status.

"Thank you," she told Garner.

"Now, exactly 'who' are you...and why are you here?"

"My name is Cache Kuar...and I have come to save your planet."

### Chapter Twenty-eight

### The Trap

By the time Ron, Regina, and the Denks made it back to Frank's home, Ron had missed the scheduled window to call his father, and so accepted the Denks' hospitality for another day.

They spent it cleaning up the machines, as well as recharging and refitting the equipment to be prepared for the next outing. Ron took the opportunity to take inventory of his own possessions, and to get patched up and changed into his spare clothing. Regina had no hesitation when he asked for her to assist him in some of his more hard to reach places, and took note that she was very cautious and attentive to his injuries.

Donna cooked a huge midday meal and then they all took a long, recuperative nap afterwards. Later that day, as the sun was setting, Frank got a call from work saying his load was ready.

"This is goodbye, my friends," Frank told Ron and Gina. "I'll be gone for a week this time and Donna's coming with me, so you two take care. Ron, there's no way to express how much meeting you has both enlightened and inspired me. I hope to see you again one day, but I also realize that's remote at best. Good luck in your quest, whatever the outcome...but I hope it works out for you."

"Fate will have its way," Ron told them solemnly. "Of that I am certain."

"You have the run of the place," Donna instructed Regina with a strong hug, and not a hint of concern. "You two are welcome any time!"

Ron and Regina thanked them repeatedly and then watched as the big truck amble down the road. It was a sad moment to be sure, but also was tinged with appreciation and respect from both pairs toward the other.

Ron and Gina spent the remainder of the evening relaxing and talking. It was very secluded out on the Denks' land and allowed them both to forget the trials they were currently facing and those they'd been through. That night they slept like the dead.

The next morning, precisely at the designated time, Ron made his phone call and waited nervously as it began to ring. He'd driven to a nearby land-line telephone that was about ten miles away, to keep from leaving a trail that would implicate the Denks.

Earlier, Regina had tried her cell-phone, but it still didn't have a signal, and the one Cache had given him was somewhere southwest of the rescue site...at the bottom of the muddy, debris strewn, temporary river. It, along with his glasses, was forcefully removed from him by his liquid foe during the flood.

Three rings went by, then four, and at six he began to think it would go unanswered...but then...

"Kurt Allison?" Ron asked tentatively when he realized the ringing had stopped.

"You have thirty seconds," said a very guarded man, "starting now. This is a secure line, so how did you get this number and what do you want?"

Ron recognized his father's voice immediately...and he also knew it was not a secure line.

"You know exactly who gave it to me or you wouldn't have answered...right?"

"Yes. What do you want?"

"I have a story to tell, and something to show you. It will clear up a great many things."

There was a rather long pause before; "Very well, but if this is some kind of game, I'll..."

"I understand. Let's just meet and discuss it."

"Where are you?"

"In El Paso, Texas. Give me your location...or someplace to rendezvous."

Ron really hated the loss of his chrono at that point, as well as the phone which was his only direct communication with the _Darlile_. He could have known instantly where the caller was and exactly where he was headed. As it was however, he had to copy down the GPS coordinates and find a map.

"Be there at sundown!" Click!

Ron had expected some resistance, but the man on the phone was exceedingly angry and he wondered about that. He felt confident his uncle had called his father and told him something, although he of course didn't know what, but whatever it was had raised his father's hackles.

"Maybe my being risen from the dead was more of a shock than I'd thought it would be," he considered before discarding that notion. "No...there's no way Uncle Kyle told him something like that over the phone." However, he was left to wonder exactly what had been said between them.

Ron and Gina returned to the Denks' place for supplies at that point. They first went to Frank's dually truck for his onboard GPS unit. Ron turned it on, but "no signal" was all it would read.

"Damn...it's still dead," he grumbled, but remembered seeing a good assortment of topography maps in the shed...apparently from the days before GPS. A fast glance through them relieved his worry. They were well made, with latitudes and longitudes on them as well as elevation.

Half an hour later, he and his pretty sidekick were loading up the Hummer.

"Is your team assembled?" questioned Arvide Doogin of his subordinate.

"Yes sir!" replied Teirle Graehm. "They're ready. We just need a location!"

"Good. Our asset finally paid off. The rogue is coming out of hiding. Here are your orders."

Graehm smiled as he read them. "This is just too easy!"

Regina was sleeping in the back of the Humvee when Ron pulled off the highway and started down a narrow, two lane road leading northwest into the desert. The asphalt was badly worn from years of blowing sand, and the change in the sound of the tires brought her back around to a coherent state, albeit slowly. She eventually crawled to the front and took her seat beside Ron.

The landscape was desolate yet beautiful, having gentle hills covered in scrub-grass, cacti scattered across the flatland, and dramatically colored mesas dotting the horizon.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"About an hour north of Roswell, New Mexico. The directions are showing we have to go up there into those hills."

"Does that seem right to you?" Gina asked. "That your folks would be way out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"I don't know. Maybe there's something out in the desert to make them feel safe."

Inwardly though, Ron felt Gina was correct. The location was more than a little odd.

Another hour's journey saw the burned out old Hummer diving off that rough paved road and onto a well-worn dirt one...something more suited to its abilities. It was pock-marked with deep holes and large rocks which produced an extremely rugged ride, but eventually delivered them to their clandestine goal.

By Ron's calculations they were getting very close, so before he crested a modest hill he stopped the truck abruptly and walked to the top. Down in the shallow valley before them was their destination. A motor-home matching the less-than-detailed description of the one his parents were supposed to own was parked outside a large warehouse, or hangar. That building was adjacent to an old, abandoned industrial park with its own private airfield.

Ron dug into his pack and fished out the binoculars. One fast sweep of the surrounding locale made the little warning bell in his head begin to ring.

"I'll be damned," he cursed, suddenly aware that bringing Regina along had been a mistake.

The sky was clear, with a strong breeze blowing in from the northwest, and the view was one of utter desolation...as if this place had been abandoned for years. There was a paved road to the facility coming in from the north which dead-ended at the buildings. Evidently that was the way the coach had traveled, because there was no way it would have crossed the kidney-jarring road he was on, nor the two other dirt paths that ran off east and west.

There was also a nice circlet of hilly ground to the west which could hide virtually anything if this turned out to be a trap...and that possibility concerned the fearsome warrior greatly.

After watching the placid scene for half an hour, Ron drove on in, where he immediately went to the rear of the motor-home and began unhooking the car his folks towed.

"Regina, I want you to take this car and get started out of here. I don't like the looks of this place. I think my natural affinity for trouble might be warming up again."

"But I want to..."

"Not this time," he cut her off firmly. "I went along with you before, only because I really didn't see too much danger, but now...I don't know...this...is suspicious."

"I can't leave you all alone in the middle of nowhere!"

Ron went to the front, left corner of the car and felt around until he had the hide-a-key storage box his dad always used. He popped the key out and handed it to Regina.

"If I'm wrong and this is all just a strangely located safety-measure of my father's, then there's no harm done and I'll follow behind my parents in the Hummer. If I'm right though," he said while shaking his head and clenching his teeth, "then things will be getting way out of hand...and I don't know what I might be forced to do. I'll call you later when I can, but with cell service still down, it may be a while.

"Thank you, Regina," he told her pointedly, taking her shoulders in his large hands. Thank you for everything. You've been a good friend and a great travel companion."

He then stepped back to the Hummer quickly.

"Here's a little something to help get you home."

He hauled out the leather coat he obtained in the "Leaky Drain", and handed her the last two stacks of money he'd been carrying all along.

"Are you serious?" she blurted as she saw the bills. "This is twenty thousand dollars!"

"Drive to the nearest airport and fly home. Just leave the car there. My folks can get it when we're done here.

"Take care of yourself, Bean. I'll always be in your debt."

After a long, emotional hug, she complied with his wishes, but there were vivid, salty wet streaks on her cheeks as she pulled away. She was totally enamored with him, and wondered why he'd come into her life if she was doomed to never be able to pursue him.

"You go on now," he told her gently.

It wasn't fair! She wanted so badly to stay with him that she quickly found herself trying to imagine some impossible scenario in which they could be together. Undeniably however, his incomprehensibly complex situation made it all seem moot, so she clamped her jaws into a smile and waved goodbye, certain she would never see that incredible man again.

Ron watched until the silver Saturn Vue was out of sight over the farthest hill, more than two miles away, before turning to the building and approaching.

The heavy coat he wore was equipped with the best Raulden technology for any environment, and in the heat of the New Mexico desert he was immensely grateful for the built-in cooling unit Ketlical had personally designed.

He checked his arsenal carefully yet again, extremely thankful for having a change of clothes in his pack after that harrowing rescue in the gorge had ruined his primary wardrobe. Anything Earth-made would have been terribly fragile and couldn't have accommodated all of his weapons, and he was growing more and more certain he was going to need them.

He took one last long, deep breath of the meager, hot air, and pulled open the door.

A quick glimpse of the interior revealed not a thing other than the fact that the room was large...the echoing clatter of the door latch bouncing around inside it for several seconds. It was pitch black, hot, and the billowing air escaping smelled stale, telling Ron no one had been there in quite some time.

He looked over the outside terrain once more and then stepped inside, stopping short when the door shut to allow his eyes to adjust. He tried to be patient, pausing several extra seconds, but it was no use since there were no windows, and so none of the sunlight could make it inside. He decided to prop the door open to aid him...but when he pushed against it, it would not release. He felt around for a knob, or bar latch, but there was none.

"Shit!" he growled. "You stupid, trusting, son of..."

Ron ran his fingers along the edges of the frame and then put his foot to the task of reopening the portal. The resounding report of his attempt echoed powerfully about the room, but the door did not budge!

He'd feared it was a trap...and now he was assured of it.

At that point, Ron resigned himself to the reality of his position. He'd been lured into this place, and now he had to play into the game of whoever was in charge. The questions he needed answered now were simple and direct: Did his father arrange all this, and was he in collaboration with his uncle? If not, how else could they have known about his strength?

He set off to the right, feeling along the wall for the next door that would permit his passage, and found it shortly thereafter. Still in the blackness, he walked down a long hallway, one where his fingertips could just touch both sides, and came to another door.

On the far side of that however was a dimly lit, expansive space which was obviously the main section of an old aircraft hangar. The ceiling was ninety feet high and there were huge doors at both ends filtering in light enough to let him see the general layout. The entire vacuous space looked empty, but the thick coating of dust on the floor told a very different story.

He tested the air gingerly, catching the distinct smell of musk...from multiple sources. Cocking his head this way and that while probing the void with his ears yielded even more information warning him to turn around, but he decided to spring the trap anyway. He walked out to the center of the vast expanse of smooth concrete and stopped, turning slowly about one full turn.

"All right!" Ron shouted to the dimness. "You wanted me...and here I am!"

As if a bucket had tipped, the ceiling began to rain, but instead of water, it was men! Fifty fully outfitted soldiers suddenly whizzed earthward, their ropes fairly whistling as they fell.

Ron stood his ground, his hands bare and to the side submissively, but his heart began to churn.

As a hundred booted feet struck the hard concrete, there was a new set of echoes. First were the release clips of repelling harnesses, then the slapping of stocks to shoulders, and then the unmistakable click of their rifle safeties being flipped to the off position.

"You were foolish to show up!" announced the voice from the phone.

"Possibly. But I had to try...didn't I?"

At that instant, the sodium lights far above began to hum as their ballasts received juice, and a pair of men began the long walk to the center of the room from an opening at Ron's left. They were barely into the space when Ron recognized one of them, even in the marginal lighting.

"Dad?" his mind screamed. But this was not the venue he'd wished for, so he changed his tactics. "Which of you is Kurt Allison?"

The approaching men continued their stroll easily, as if in total disregard to the question. They were in military dress uniforms, and both were wearing the insignias of Generals...the sight of which surprised Ron greatly, since he thought his father had retired at the rank of Colonel.

The fellow on the left outranked Ron's father, but it was not he who spoke first.

"I am General Allison," Kurt replied...clearly nervous. His eyes darted to the other fellow quickly, and then returned. "Who are you? And why do you wish to speak with me?"

"My identity is of no real importance, as of yet," Ron said, instantly assuming this entire event was somehow orchestrated by his father's superior. "I came to exchange information. I come under a flag of truce and wish to avoid any hostilities!"

The men both stopped twenty feet from Ron, staring at him like a specimen in a cage.

"I have no authority to grant you any information," General Allison growled, "And I've seen your kind kill too many good men over the years to trust you!"

Ron was thinking fast, wondering exactly how much his uncle had conveyed to his father, and looking for more hidden clues in his words or mannerisms.

"So why did you agree to meet?"

"You did not answer the question," interjected the other leader. "I am General Daniel Shaine, the ranking officer here, so I'll repeat it; 'Who are you?'"

"I said, why did you agree to meet?" Ron reiterated to his father, ignoring the other man, which infuriated him.

Kurt just stared longer, but Ron could tell his mind was in high gear. He replied carefully, his eyes probing with deep concentration, "I was...curious!"

General Shaine was in no mood to play games with an obvious con-man however. His orders on the matter were clear!

"Are you the person known as Ronin Dangarth?" General Shaine demanded.

That took Ron off guard for a moment, his thoughts immediately going to a single question; "How'd they find that out?" but that passed quickly because he'd told a number of individuals that name, and hadn't he walked right through the Texas Bureau of Investigations? They wouldn't have had a difficult time finding out about his visit upstairs if someone there had realized who he was. And truthfully, it really didn't matter at the moment.

"We know you are an Alpha...a 'super-soldier'," General Shaine added. "And we've dealt with your kind before. We know what you're capable of and we're ready for you, so you may as well come along quietly. Surrender your weapons now and hit the floor...spread eagle!"

Ron looked slowly around at the number of men and the weaponry.

"No. I will not surrender. And you have 'no' idea what I'm capable of. But if you want to talk, then let's talk...here...in front of your men!"

That offer was swiftly rejected.

"Pacification!" General Shaine ordered. "Now!"

With that, there was a loud explosion from above as a net instantly ejected from an odd-looking cannon mounted in the ceiling. It spread to a fifteen-foot diameter, having inch-and-a-half braided straps making up the webbing, the kind used to secure heavy cargo aboard aircraft and ships. It struck the floor of the hangar hard with twenty pitons instantly burrowing eight inches into the concrete.

Ron ducked from the blast and then was forced to his knees by the plummeting, hefty net. He glanced sideways and saw a dozen men rushing in on him, apparently attempting to subdue him with their numbers. It didn't escape Ron's attention that two of them held electric batons...the kind used to control large livestock...and one other carried heavy shackles.

Ron struggled for a moment to better brace himself, straining mightily to stretch the unforgiving, Kevlar reinforced material up enough to...the men were nearly there...get a firm foot under him for leverage...

"Aaaaaarrrrrrrrgggggghhhh!" he grunted as first one, then both of his massive legs joined in the battle, and a moment later half of the anchors ripped from the floor.

The attacking men leaped forward and tried to reinforce the net's hold on him, but Ron's upward surge foiled five of them because of their position, entangling them instead. The others were left to face him unhindered, and that was a huge mistake on their part.

Ron slapped two of the soldiers in the chest and drove them to the ground. The next three seconds saw the demolition of the remaining group in a frenzy of blistering hand-to-hand combat. The assault ended only after numerous broken bones and concussions were evenly spread about...except for Ron of course.

"Please...do not attack again!" Ron begged them, tossing one set of the manacles to the ground, far away from him. "I do not wish to harm your soldiers!"

"Phase two...take him!"

A rapid shift in the closest troops resulted in six Taser rifles shooting their darts at Ron simultaneously. They were not the normal weapons the police toted either, but rather had hardened, titanium tips which should have easily penetrated any clothing and dropped their target in an instant. Unfortunately for them, the material they hit was well beyond their knowledge...and well designed for such an attack. The outer layer of the Raulden coat stopped and snared those flying needles, hanging onto them in preparation for the next phase...and as the darts each delivered their charge of 500,000 volts of electricity, Ron spoke one word.

"Combat!"

Instantaneously the fine cables connecting the darts to their power sources were overwhelmed with a reverse current pulse. The weapons exploded in the hands of their wielders and six soldiers hit the floor wracked with convulsions and on the verge of cardiac arrest.

Ron Allison stood where he was...uninjured.

The advanced clothing Ron wore then began to change swiftly, morphing into a new protective garment. Its leather-like, flexible outer surface realigned its makeup into tiny scales which locked together seamlessly and was extremely adept at dispersing a load upon any impact. The only break in its surface happened to be the point where the black sword's handle now clearly protruded.

All those who'd hefted that ankle-length coat had wondered at the reason of its immense weight, and now that question was answered in totality. It was the finest chain-mail garment ever woven, and designed to safeguard its wearer to the extreme.

The ordinary looking collar drew together at the front and molded to Ron's neck like a turtleneck sweater, armor plating one of his body's weakest points. His boots converted as well, and the rim of his hat drooped, bent, and twisted until it covered his head like a helmet. When complete, it joined with the top of his collar and instantly pressurized itself to the ambient standards of Caron, a pressure that would allow him full strength, and full endurance.

Inside the chink-free armor was a perfect sensor view of the world around him shining in his eyes.

To the mesmerized soldiers surrounding him, it appeared to be a thick, eyeless ski mask, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. Ron calmly slipped his hands into the pockets of the coat where a pair of gloves was waiting to seal him in completely, utterly insulating him from the outside world. His backpack melded to the surface of the suit too, its own outer layer changing to match, and inside, a compact compressor whirred to life to provide his oxygen.

"Do not attack!" boomed his deep voice across the hangar, modified and amplified by the advanced battle gear.

Three large men rushed up from the outer perimeter, each carrying a weapon that had a huge barrel resembling a mortar tube, and when they were clear of their comrades, they...("Don't!" Ron shouted in an angry warning)...fired!

The projectiles weren't explosive rounds, but rather were heavy bolos, connected by quarter inch braided steel cables, and each could easily take down even the largest man. However, the prey they hunted was a different story.

The defensive reaction Ron met them with was purely instinctual and blinding fast.

His only accessible weapon was the indestructible ebony blade across his back, and when the men dropped to one knee and fired their guns, Ron also dropped to a low stance. He spread his feet wide to secure his balance and brandished that long, shadowy razor out front, it flashing into the fray held in both his iron-hard hands. The three flying snares were directed at three different levels, hoping that at least one might either hinder or incapacitate their victim, but the results were less than optimal.

The two cables striking midway and high met with a cutting surface that knew no equal, its edge tapered down to a mere molecule's width, and anchored so firmly it may as well have been set in the concrete beneath them. The braided steel cables simply parted like sewing thread.

The attached metal weights continuing on to strike unsuspecting members of the military group where they bowled those men over with ease. Luckily they were all wearing heavily padded, bulletproof outerwear, so they weren't killed. The lowest flying bolo made a perfect strike, but whereas the typical function of the weapon was to wrap tightly about its quarry, to ensnare the victim with a snug, inescapable cable, the coat registered the impact and rejected the attempt, remaining wide and rigid. The heavy weights merely collided and then dropped to the concrete floor.

Ron stood up slowly again and stowed his blade.

Next was a wave of twenty huge, helmeted, riot-gear men sporting thick, plastic body armor. They came pouring in from side doors, whirling batons with one hand and brandishing shields in the other. Ron slapped the first three aside with one arm, dropped low with a swinging leg that cut down another four, and then put his shoulder into the nearest fellow's shield, breaking his arm and sending him sailing over three more. He struck the following five each in the head with the side of his blurred hands and ejected another three from the fight with his boots. They all dropped like broken match-sticks. In less than six seconds, seventeen of the troops were debilitated...yet Ron still stood!

"Please stop! I am not here to fight. There is no need for..."

"Shift objective!" announced the ranking officer. "Eradication level one!"

"What?" General Allison asked, obviously distressed by that directive. "Sir, we were only authorized to..."

"SILENCE! I have orders from the Chief of Staff, General! This man is not to leave the building!"

Suddenly Ron's viewer flashed a warning. Something had targeted him.

"Shift two peors north!" he ordered, adjusting his electronic signature to a false location.

"Fire!" yelled General Shaine.

Exactly six and a half feet from him, the concrete exploded as a twenty-millimeter Gatling gun delivered a four hundred round burst of explosive-tipped ordinance into it.

"Geez...this is outta control!" Ron thought as debris showered the area.

"Damn it!" growled the strange General. "Weapons free! Fire! Fire! Fire!"

"Don't!" Ron pleaded.

His plea was drowned in a sea of ultra-hardened, armor-piercing bullets designed specifically to penetrate the best protective vests available.

He withstood the assault well, none of the projectiles breaching his advanced shell, but he knew he had to end the conflict, and fast! As hundreds of pellets either flattened against his body or ricocheted away, he surged forward with all his speed, straight at his father. In the last instant, when the soldiers ceased fire to keep from shooting their superiors, Ron opened his coat and encircled Kurt Allison with it while he tossed a single small object over his shoulder.

On impact, the marble-sized grenade erupted with an intense explosion specifically engineered to disrupt the neural pathways of Earthlings' brains, putting every man within a hundred yards into a temporary coma.

The entire military force fell to the floor like rag dolls, and lay motionless as the echoing reverberations continued for several seconds.

Ron scanned the area once more before he released his struggling parent and stepped back. The General immediately drew his sidearm to defend himself but his son snatched it away from him without delay. Another quick sweep of the hangar followed before Ron stepped back and spoke again.

"Standby!"

Once more, the heavy coat transformed, only this time back into its more casual, less ominous appearance.

"What have you done?" asked General Allison as he looked at the bodies all around.

"They're not dead!" Ron said calmly. "They'll sleep for a couple of hours though...and will have pounding headaches when they wake up."

"Just who the hell are you? You're not one of those we normally hunt...I can see that now."

"Normally hunt?" Ron thought but couldn't speak before his father continued.

"Where'd you come from...and what do you want? And don't even try to lie to me, because I know alien technology when I see it!"

Ron saw no more need to plan, or guess, or evade. This was it. This was the moment he'd been waiting for.

"I am Ronald Jameson Allison. I am your son, Dad. I came thousands of light-years from a distant star to return here...to return home. As far as what I want...that's as simple as it gets! I want to see, you, my mother, my sisters, my wife, and my child."

Kurt Allison was completely dumbstruck. His stare was one of total bewilderment. Was this what Kyle couldn't tell him? Was this the truth?

"That...that can't be! You're not the man I raised! I would recognize my boy!"

"Ronnie?" called a feminine voice from a corridor leading into the hangar.

Ron's head snapped around with amazing quickness, surprising his father who jumped at his movement. He saw the figure of a woman he'd known his whole life, and recognized her at once. His heart pounded so hard he was sure she could hear it, and his chest tightened as if clamped in a vise.

"Momma?" Ron answered with a tremor in his throat. For so long he'd believed her dead that a little boy's joy and relief came bubbling to the surface. "Mom...it's me...it's your Ronnie!"

"Jess, wait!" her husband cautioned with growing skepticism in his own certainty that this was a trick...some ruse. "This...I don't...it just can't be true!"

Jessica Allison walked out into the vast open space of the hangar anyway though, ignoring her husband's order. She stepped forward hesitantly, yet she didn't stop. Her hand was at her breast, trembling visibly, but her fear and trepidation did not halt her progress, even while weaving the way she had to through the unconscious men strewn about.

There reunion was slow, as she stared and studied and wondered and wished. She remembered the call they got nearly a week ago from her husband's brother. Kyle was excited to the point that his voice was trembling. He told them that a man would call. He said that they simply had to meet with him, but only in a safe, isolated location. And then he said something very odd. He said that no matter what they saw, no matter how insane it might seem, they 'must' listen to him...not should, but 'must'! Kurt had asked him to explain, but he'd just laughed, saying; "That, Bro, would be absolutely impossible!" Now she understood why.

Ron used all his patience during those tense minutes, wanting badly to rush to her and hug her...but he refrained.

Finally she was at arms' length, her husband close by and wanting to stop her, but for some unknown reason he did not...he could not.

"You're so tall...and your eyes!"

"I know, Mom, but I promise you...it's me!"

He knelt down so she could get a better view of him, and she gazed at him long and hard, turning his smiling face one way, then the other. Finally, she found her voice again.

"What stuffed animal did I make you for your fourth birthday?"

Ron let out a huge grin at her question, remembering it vividly. She was going through a phase back then, and she'd sewn each of the children, the nieces, and the nephews a toy animal.

"Eeyore. The donkey from Winnie the Pooh! I drug that thing around for three years!"

"Oh my God!" she cried...her hand over her mouth in absolute shock. "It is you! It is! Oh, Ronnie...my baby!"

They embraced for a long while as a mother's past grief turned to happiness, her previous despair to jubilance, and her once bottomless sorrow to utter bliss. Her prayers had been answered, even though she'd given up on them long ago. It took a little more time, but his father finally accepted it as well. This man was his son!

"What have I done?" General Allison finally said, disgusted with his part in the ambush.

"Don't worry about it, Dad...really!" Ron told him with a wave of his free hand. "How could you possibly have known?"

He took his turn at pulling his boy into his embrace as well, and they all laughed so hard...until they'd recovered enough for the soldier in him to return. At that point he gripped Ron firmly at the shoulders.

"Holy-mackerel, Ron. You feel as solid as an oak."

"Yeah...I suppose I do."

"How is this possible, son?"

Ron shook his head again, like many other times he'd really considered that very question. "It's not. And I mean that truly, Dad...it's not. The incomprehensible 'accident' that created me is so remote...no, that's not right...remote doesn't even come close to the right term. Well, anyway, I've simply accepted that it was done and I have to make the best of it. In any event, I am now the compilation of two separate individuals compressed into a single body. I'm what we call a 'heavy-worlder'".

Kurt and his wife wouldn't let go of Ron, but they both shook their heads in outright wonder.

"You said you came across thousands of light years to... Oh my God, boy...you're the pilot of that ship! That black ship! Aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid I am," he admitted reluctantly.

"But why did you leave...back then...you know...when you first came back?" his mother asked, clearly confused.

"It's a terribly intricate story, actually...but to cut right to it; there is a war going on out in space, far from here, that encompasses about a third of the galaxy. Through either accidental or divine intervention...and that discussion has made the rounds more than a few times...I was created and delivered to a world called Rauld. That was the beginning of a movement to quell a conquering faction's domination of every planet they came into contact with. Now I'm in league with a group of highly advanced people who are trying to stop that evil empire from further expanding their realm and either destroying or enslaving more worlds. The ship you all saw was built by my partner and closest friend, Cache Kuar.

"You'd love her, Mom. She's a brilliant, gorgeous little blonde thing about this tall," he said, holding his hand up to the middle of his chest, "but she's as feisty and headstrong as anyone you've ever met. And there's absolutely nothing she won't do...or try...if she thinks it's right.

"Anyway, she designed and built that ship, and it's advanced beyond anything that Earthmen can even conceive, but it has no windows at all...a measure that keeps its structural integrity at an extremely high value. Because of that fact, everything seen by its crew is very simply a recreation of sensor data projected on a viewing surface.

"Well, the ship...the _Darlile_ is what it's called...has an artificial intelligence bordering on sentience and it made a decision in the effort to achieve its primary objective, to fight the war. You see, it viewed my returning to Earth as a threat to our overall mission, so it projected a dead world to me so that I could cut all ties to my former life and embrace the new one. It logically concluded that my new course was far too essential to far too many people to chance me not accepting it.

"When Cache and I circled the globe on that first visit, we saw nothing but destruction and death. I left here thinking everyone on Earth had been annihilated. It wasn't until a couple months ago that I finally found out the truth. That's why I came back."

"Is she with you, Ron...this Cache?" Jessica asked.

"No, she's back on Rauld with her daughter. I made this trip alone."

General Allison's mind spun in utter amazement, but his knowledge of the present situation evolving at that location forced his expression to turn serious once more.

"I know how this will sound, son...and believe me, it's not what I want...but you can't delay here very long. It's not safe. We'll have to continue our reunion some other time. I'm certain there are others nearby...from the ROF. They're a group..."

Ron quickly held up his hand to stop his father. "Yeah, Uncle Kyle told me about them."

"Okay, good. Well anyway, I saw a number of men wearing their gear earlier, and they weren't part of the team you...uh...'pacified', but I don't know where they went. They're not in this building though.

"That's it!" Kurt then said, his thoughts suddenly coming alive. "Somehow they must have figured out that you're the pilot of that spaceship! They've always felt certain that thing was connected with me, for some reason...and I guess they were right after all, huh? Anyway, that's the only thing that makes sense, because even General Jackass over there wouldn't have brought them here. They're a bunch of arrogant foreigners who look down at us and patronize us at any opportunity...like we're all some backward, ignorant hicks...and every military leader I've talked to can't stand them."

"Well, that might be my own doing then," Ron admitted, "because I left a rather wide trail back in Louisiana, pointing straight west, although I don't see how they could've known I was the pilot of that ship, or that I'd come here...in the middle of nowhere."

"I can only assume that they must have intercepted Kyle's call to me and tracked me down. But even I didn't know who you were or what you wanted, so I can't imagine how they could?"

"I told Uncle Kyle and Aunt Clare my entire story a week ago. Do you think this ROF group might have forced them to tell?"

"No," Kurt said easily, smirking and shaking his head. "Kyle wouldn't give them the time of day, and in fact he'd like to see every one of those pompous bastards dropped into the middle of the Pacific Ocean with a ship's anchor tied to their necks. And Clare wouldn't give you up, not even with a gun to her head. It would be like ratting out her own son.

"No, I don't think anyone was coerced. But I know they've never dropped their suspicions from me and Kyle about that damned...uh...sorry...your ship, either. And I also know they've been eavesdropping on Jesse and me, and Kyle and Clare too. That's why Kyle didn't tell me more about you, I suppose...when he called a few days ago.

"What made you pick this place, Dad?"

"Well, we were just heading home after visiting Tyrhan in Frisco when Kyle called, and had parked overnight in Albuquerque when you did. He told me to make sure our meeting was at an isolated location, so I sent you to this old training complex we once used for desert warfare prep, back when I was a captain."

"What about that other General?"

"That's the weirdest thing...okay, not the weirdest," he corrected, looking at Ron's new physique, "but your mom and I had barely pulled in here this afternoon when I got a call from the White House on my emergency SAT-phone."

"The White House?" Ron queried.

"Yeah! It was the Chief of Staff himself! Can you believe it? Anyway, he wanted to know if I'd been contacted by a man fitting your description, and that it was a matter of national security. Of course I had no idea what you looked like, but I thought it was extremely coincidental that Kyle insist that I speak to some strange man, and then the Chief wanted me to as well, so I figured they must be tied together somehow. And since, at the time, I had no reason to lie, I told him the truth. He relayed my location to that General Shaine who's stationed over at the Roswell proving grounds, and he and his men arrived by transport an hour later.

"This attack though, was the opposite of what I thought they were here for. I'd assumed they were here for protection, not aggression. That's why you have to get out of here! If our own troops were sent to take you by force, I can only imagine what those ROF assholes will try!"

Ron didn't let that threat worry him though.

"You and Shaine both mentioned something about others like me...these 'super-soldiers'. What did you mean?"

"It's too long a story, Ron, but to hit the highlights, sporadically over the years we've run across some men who have shown incredible physical abilities. They all came from Russia, so we thought they were some sort of genetically engineered men. I was one of very few soldiers assigned to a part of the military that were sent to find, capture, and study these...abnormalities.

"That time I was late for my return, when you were a teenager...do you remember?"

"Yes," Ron replied, recalling the event clearly. His father had been extremely distant for a long while, as if he'd been right to death's door and had somehow escaped it.

"We went out after one of these "rogues", as they're called, who'd been spotted in Kazakhstan. My Delta Force team was the very best...ten men in all. We tracked him into the foothills of the Ural Mountains, and thought we clearly had him trapped. We couldn't have been more wrong! He was unarmed, but he turned the table on us with incredible ease.

"He could do things that 'men' could not...like what you did here...swatting armored soldiers around like gnats.

"We were on the run from him for two weeks, until he slowly wiped out my whole squad before I was lucky enough to lure him to a trap I'd devised."

He shook his head then and paused, remembering that incident.

"It was so simple...and yet incredibly foolish on my part...a last-ditch move of pure desperation...but he'd become too confident, and ended up taking the bait...me.

"He was only three feet away and gloating about how he was from a superior race, accidentally trapped on this pitiful world, and how he loathed everything about Earth. I figured he was either telling the truth, or completely demented, but it didn't matter at the time.

"I was highly trained in hand to hand combat, Ronnie, and damned good at it, but I don't doubt he would've snapped me in two had he reached me.

"Instead though, his desire to get to me clouded his judgment and he stepped on a patch of unstable ground I'd camouflaged. It was too soft for his body's immense weight and immediately gave way.

"He fell from a thousand foot cliff...and even then I had to climb down to the body and check it before I could convince myself he was really dead...he was that tough. We never caught one alive, and the scientists that took the bodies never told us anything about them, but we always suspected they weren't truly from Earth, even though we didn't openly admit it.

"After your ship made that unbelievable flight though, I knew for sure.

"One other thing too, Ronnie...whoever they are, they have some kind of super-camouflage! That's how he evaded us. I don't know if it works during the day, but at night...I swear, the guy was absolutely invisible! We tried to examine the technology, but when the wearer died, the tech began to break down and we never found out a thing."

Ron wondered about what race might have visited Earth, and for what purpose...but that was a puzzle for another day so his mind went back to his original mission.

"Mom...Dad...I've got to find Angie! Please! Do you know what happened to her...who took her?"

His folks exchanged a long, hesitant stare before Kurt answered the question.

"Try to understand, Ron," his father began. "She was hounded by the press, by nuts, by a dozen government agencies that had nothing to do with anything of any real issue."

"Then you do know who kidnapped her!" he said with his hopes shooting straight up.

With another quick glance at his wife, he replied, "I arranged it all!"

Ron's expression was utterly blank. "You? But she was...you could've...I..."

"She was wearing out, Ron," Jessica interjected, her voice full of compassion and worry. "The constant stress, raising the baby alone, her work, and the continuous reminders of your untimely death...it was all just too much...the poor dear. We could see her slipping further and further away from the life you two had planned...the life any normal family could have. It was tearing us apart inside."

"Your mother and I found a place where no one would know her, where she could find a job and work around her child's needs, and where she might at last sleep again. Then I talked a few guys from my old command into taking care of things. It was all kept very well hidden. She simply vanished one day, and was never heard from again. The sedative we gave her was fast-acting but harmless, and when she came to, the evening of the kidnapping, we were already halfway across Texas. That's when I explained our plan to her...giving her the option of rejecting it, if she so wished.

"Her folks already having passed on made the difference for her, and after a couple of days to think things through, she saw the wisdom in our plot and agreed to accept it.

"Everyone just assumed it was the government's doing, and so they eventually let it go. As far as the big investigation into the 'Black Ship', she'd never been much of a lead into anything anyway, because she was totally oblivious to the entire ordeal's true meaning...wasn't she?"

Ron felt the guilt pressing on him again with that statement. All the turmoil she'd been through was his fault. He'd ruined her life.

"But I didn't mean to..."

"No, no, Ronnie," his mother told him, clasping his hand with hers. "You can't blame yourself! How could you have known? We all know you wouldn't have gone away if you'd had a choice."

Ron's expression was one of deep concern and angst nonetheless...until their positive side of the story registered.

"So you know where she is!"

Once she was settled into her new life, Kurt had sworn to his daughter-in-law that he would never divulge her location without her consent. He and his wife went through painstaking care to avoid being followed whenever they traveled to see their grandson...even to the point of keeping her secret from their siblings. No one could know...at least for a while. But now it was different. This was her husband...the father of her child. He had every right to the information, and also, she had the right to see her love again.

"She's in a little suburb of Flagstaff, Arizona," Kurt said while he wrote down the address of her home and her work. "We just visited them two days ago. Here, son. We'll have to stay well clear of course," he added, indicating the hangar full of downed men, "until this mess is all over with, but good luck and God's speed to you!"

They exchanged hug's all around one more time before...

"The military is bound to be watching this station from orbit, right?" Ron asked.

"They would be if they could, but the system's been shaky for a couple days now and the last I was told, it's still down. I don't even know how my phone worked earlier today."

"All right then, one last thing...I don't want these people suspicious of you two, so you need to take a whiff of this," he told them, handing them each a small capsule. "It will knock you out for five or six hours and look like you were incapacitated along with everyone else. That should relieve you any undue questioning...okay?"

They nodded and accepted the substance.

"The casings will evaporate in about five minutes once broken."

Ron turned to leave, but then remembered another matter and spun about again. "By the way, I kinda loaned your car to a friend...to make sure she got away from here safely. Sorry. I'll try to get it back to you as soon as I can."

Kurt and Jess were so muddled from all that was going on that they just waved it off.

"Don't worry about it," his mother told him with a comforting, compassionate smile he remembered so well. Her only son was alive! Who cared about a car?

Ron left his folks then, and set out once more; this time to his main objective...Angela.

### Chapter Twenty-nine

### Evasion

Ron stepped out of the hangar and immediately went to work. With his armor restored, he swept the horizon carefully. It appeared just the way he expected. He detected nothing out there, but the sensor capabilities of the suit he was wearing were fairly limited since he never expected to go to war in it. It was only supposed to keep him safe in a tight spot.

The sun was just setting in the western sky and casting gigantic shadows all about, so he used that natural visual cover to keep him as hidden as possible while he worked his way back around to the Hummer.

The oppressive heat of the day was already quickly dissipating, and as the temperature change stirred up a gentle breeze, Ron took in the sounds and smells of the nearby desert. He heard the calls of half a dozen birds, a pair of coyotes coordinating a hunt at least a mile away...and of course the endless chatter of insects preparing for the coming night. The air sifting through his filtered headgear smelled of dust, wild flowers, a dead animal located a quarter mile to the west, and the unmistakable scent of a four-stroke engine's exhaust.

At first, he hoped to make it to the truck and at least get started away from the building before the cavalry showed up, but he only got halfway there.

From the southwestern perimeter Ron detected movement and froze in his tracks. His camouflage suit turned him into a dark point in a much larger shadow and he half-heartedly expected it to be enough, but that wasn't the case. What was out there was not about to be deterred, or fooled so easily.

He zeroed in on a pair of fast moving motorcycles instantly, the kind with wide, oversized tires that wouldn't sink into the loose sand. They were half a mile away and picking up speed, driving with their lights off...no doubt using night-vision goggles. His inspection continued by switching to the thermal imaging mode of his equipment, where he easily found another interloper with a "star scanner" scope pointed right at him. That fellow was the spotter...the coordinator of this new attack.

Ron visually swept the area in his path to the truck and saw several caches of construction materials...and one of those was a stack of fence-support poles for a partially assembled corral which surrounded the power station of the facility. Apparently, before the complex was evacuated, the safety officer was in the middle of commissioning a new, higher fence for the electrical junction.

He broke into a dead run for that stash of pipe.

Even with the added weight of the chain-mail-coat Ron could really move, so before the cyclists could get to him, he stood with a twelve-foot-long length of galvanized pipe gripped in his gloved hands. He felt good, not winded or weak like he had in his previous excursions, and when the two men closed, they quickly found out how over-matched they really were.

At fifty yards the attackers pulled automatic weapons on Ron and began firing. He heard and felt the impacts, and was somewhat puzzled at them because they didn't feel like the bullets he'd already experienced, but he didn't have the time to investigate. What Ron was missing were the flashes of electric discharge radiating from each impact. His helmet did tap into the com-signal the riders were sending back to their superiors however.

"The null-charges have no effect on him, sir! What now?"

"Go to plan theta!"

The biker pair peeled off sharply when they were close to Ron, but not soon enough. He whirled the long, metal staff with blazing speed and smashed it into the front wheel of the cyclist on the left with enough force to rip the handlebars from the driver's hands and slam them to the stop. The bike instantly cart-wheeled and sent the rider flying through the air more than forty feet, where he struck the side of the hangar violently.

Ron continued his maneuver around as the other sped past, but now the pipe was in his right hand like a spear, and when he heaved that fifty pound shaft with all his strength, it had no trouble catching up with its target. The pole penetrated the rear wheel of the bike and locked it up instantly, ejecting its rider just like his partner, only in a different direction.

That man hit the concrete driving apron surrounding the building and tumbled a hundred feet while Ron raced after him on foot, never assuming an opponent was debilitated without positive proof. It surprised Ron greatly when the fellow pressed himself up on his hands and shook his head, but Ron put him back down with a rock-hard fist to the side of his deeply gouged helmet.

A quick check of the other attacker's motionless form beside the building sent Ron searching for the spotter again. This time however, he was not there. The sun's glow was practically gone as Ron panned the horizon one more time before sprinting for the corner of the hangar. He kept well clear of the massive structure when he rounded it, fully expecting an ambush at the site of his only transportation, and he was not disappointed.

As he slid to a stop, four huge spotlights came to life illuminating him and the ground a hundred feet around him.

Ron abruptly found himself facing ten large soldiers, each armed with a hefty, ominous weapon. The closest two fired straight away, each using what Ron expected was another bean-bag gun, but when it struck him, he realized his folly. They were percussion grenades, and he was thrown to the concrete ten feet back...with the air almost completely gone from his lungs!

Ron gasped and coughed momentarily while a new, very odd looking rifle was trained on him. Stubbornly, he tried to analyze it as he fought his way through the daze to reach his knees. It had five barrels arranged around a central, larger one and as Ron struggled to breathe, the gun-toting combatant braced it against his hip. There was no hesitation from him either, firing point blank at his wounded target. The five smaller barrels each held a weight which was attached to some web-like substance that shot outward to a width of at least ten feet.

Ron had seen such devices in futuristic weapons' articles, so as the net flew, his reflexes did too...but it struck Ron a hair before he could pull the raven blade free. It was an elastic material and enveloped his body completely before it began tightening in a hurry, shrinking swiftly as it cured at an accelerated rate in the ultra-dry air. Ron was thrown off balance again and hit the ground roughly, his right hand still struggling to bare his sword.

"What the hell is this crap?" his mind screamed as he put all of his concentration into fighting that collapsing web. It vividly reminded him of the web balls from the sickle-spiders he'd encountered on Caron, and that revelation sent his adrenaline spiking...after all, they had nearly finished him.

"Great shot!" yelled a half dozen of the soldiers in utter glee.

"Now we'll find out what he's...OH SHIT!" cried the marksman who'd fired.

They first heard the growls from the demon-man they'd snared as his struggles began to pay off, and as the bestial roar of trapped tiger released from Ron's lips, so did the dark super-blade slip free from its scabbard.

When Ron's sword cleared the sheath, the tightening net parted directly, and his arm was freed. A swift reversal of his grip and Ron was raking the naked cutting edge up his armored suit, and eyeballing his assailants. That's when they realized their own recklessness. Instead of hitting him with a second layer of the tough, elastic material, they'd begun celebrating their victory...and now it could cost them.

"Fire!" screamed one of the men as Ron rolled to his knees once more.

Another net came at him but he was already six feet into the air and it missed. Two other guns went off after that one, so when Ron's feet struck the earth again he was blasted by another pair of impact grenades, square in the chest. Those charges delivered harsh blows and took him off his feet once more, but he was now prepared for such battle.

The explosions filled the air with dirt and smoke, and the group of soldiers all rushed in, but when the light breeze cleared the area, Ron was no longer there.

The blasts had hurt! Even inside the armor he was badly rattled, tossed a good twenty feet, and thrown into a stack of empty 55 gallon drums. And by the time the last drum had bounced to a stop, Ron was desperately shaking the fog from his head and watching the horizon list and swim to a stop. Realizing he was at a decided disadvantage against these new opponents...along with his equilibrium being still a little off balance...combined to push Ron toward a totally new strategy...retreat!

The armaments used against him were ramping up in lethality quickly, giving him a rough reminder of the stakes of the conflict. However, they were still trying to capture, not kill him, so he utilized the smokescreen of billowing dust, dove into the shadows in a tumbling retreat behind a pallet of machine parts, and then bolted away. If he allowed the fight to escalate, he was sure men would die here, and he didn't want it to go that far. Killing soldiers from his own country simply could not be an alternative.

Back around the building he flew, knowing the pursuit would be close behind, and he went straight to the first cycle he'd put down. The machine was dead, but when he pulled it upright he found it only moderately damaged from its violent tumble and hoped it could support his burdensome mass. A few seconds of cranking yielded a surprising light-off, and Ron opened the throttle all the way, dumping the clutch.

"Jeez!" he let out as the bike rocketed into motion, never showing signs that it struggled with his weight, and a few seconds later Ron was grinning from ear to ear as he raced across the open desert.

Earlier in the day, when he was parked at the low ridge overlooking the abandoned complex, Ron took in and memorized the layout of the area, noting a singular fact. To avoid detection from all four of the different roads leading to the hangar, any congregation of vehicles would have only one real choice for concealment, so he headed straight for that location.

While he tore across the sandy turf, his eyes focused on the rear viewer of his helmet and saw the enemy coming on hard, driving suped-up sand-buggies...five in all. They would have a distinct advantage of power and speed over his bike if he made a run for it.

Over the moderate ridge he flew, surprising the sentry on duty who was guarding a small fleet of trucks. There were six Humvees parked sided by side, along with a six-by troop hauler, two more of the dune-buggies, and a light helicopter.

"Incoming rider!" Ron heard across the com, guessing it was the guard trying to warn his comrades.

Ron saw a man step from behind one of the trucks and immediately press his rifle to his shoulder.

"Halt!" he yelled as loudly as he could.

Ron didn't slow down a bit however, so the young sergeant opened fire. The automatic weapon sounded through the night like a fireworks show gone berserk, and the blaze from its muzzle lit up his location vividly. Ron steered right for him, feeling the rain of bullets pelting his person in rapid succession. As he streaked by the guard, Ron struck him in the helmet with the butt of his sword and it was lights out for that brave lad.

It seemed too easy, but there were no more troops about, so Ron scoped out the camp as fast as he could. The layout was neat and orderly, showing its military precision, but that was a flaw all in itself.

A hasty plan sprang to mind and he was off again, roaring between the vehicles with the dark blade swinging. He sliced every truck's tire and two feet off of one of the helicopter's blades before he jumped clear of the motorcycle and onto one of the scout jeeps. A quick tug of the safety pin and the fifty caliber automatic weapon was in Ron's hands...and then he went sprinting for the ridge.

The chase group was close by that time, so Ron dropped to one knee, gripping the huge gun beside his waist. He aimed by instinct, swung the long barrel around, and pulled the trigger...and then the night exploded with blazing fire and tracer rounds.

The nearest desert buggy was shredded as the big bore weapon delivered shell after shell into its forward section, and a second later the engine seized up from the awesome damage hammering into it so violently.

The next sand-rail vehicle saw what was happening and tried to veer away, but the heavy gun whirled round to lock onto it before he turned sixty degrees, pounding the aft section until it's tubular frame collapsed and the occupants jumped clear. The mechanical carnage went on and on until only one enemy vehicle remained mobile, it having ducked behind an outcropping of rock. The crews of all the rest were in fast retreat on foot.

That sole surviving buggy disappeared over the northernmost hill at high speed, no doubt trying to find a rally point for their men, and its retreat gave Ron a chance to let the four foot long, vented barrel cool down.

He hesitated only long enough to make a hasty scan of the camp again before he was on the move once more, to the single remaining Hummer...one he'd purposely spared. It was an open-topped one and he leaped into it from behind. Hastily, Ron tossed the 50 Cal into the passenger side, threw a case of ammo under the driver's seat in order to brace it enough to support him, and then plopped down in the operator's position. A moment later he was flying out of the camp as fast as the military truck could go.

The sound of a Browning Automatic Rifle suddenly echoed across the shallow basin the camp was in and Ron heard several ricocheting bullets bounce off the back of the truck, but inside his armor, he didn't even flinch. A moment later he felt the rush of free-fall when the Hummer lunged into a sharp dip in the ground, and at the base of that thirty foot, steep downhill run, Ron was wide open and scorching away.

He pointed it southeast...away from his final, intended route...and blasted across the flat desert land using the night vision enhancements of his combat gear to see.

One last thing as he tore down the first hill was to give the Raulden engineered ultra-suit another command.

"Scattering field on!" he said before concentrating all of his efforts on keeping the truck right side up across the rough terrain.

If anyone were to follow now, they'd have to track him by thermal output, which was sight to sight, giving him a great opportunity. The topographical overlay Ron's high-tech viewer provided, mapped out a perfect route that would get him to the nearest town with the maximum amount of visual protection.

Twenty minutes later, at a point where the route he was on took its second decisive turn, Ron pulled up to check his flank. Just as he suspected...they were coming! Their machine was better built for that terrain...running fully dark in his wake at a break-neck speed which was purely suicidal...and closing on him fast. He wasn't sure how they could be navigating the rock-strewn terrain so well in the dark but he knew he couldn't escape by outrunning them, so a more drastic plan was needed.

"Stand by!" he uttered and quickly shed the heavy coat. He grabbed the big machine gun again and checked the ammo box feeding it. There were ten rounds belted to the breach.

"That should do it!" he acknowledged as he jumped from the truck and ran to a column of time and wind-worn rock that marked an elevation change for the landscape. A strong leap put him atop that ten-foot thick pillar of sandstone and in a perfect sniper position.

"Combat!" brought his helmet back into play, and with it came a number of advantageous displays.

"Target!" caused a shift in the night-vision function, overlaying a cross-hairs emblem at the point where his eyes focused. It also scanned his immediate locale and encompassed the barrel of the gun into his sight parameters...giving it another set of cross-hairs.

"Calibrate!" began a scan which calculated the temperature, humidity, altitude, windage, and even the gravitational pull of the planet.

"Ready," soon illuminated in the uppermost, right hand corner of his screen.

Ron then focused his attention on the approaching sand buggy. "Lock!"

The bull's-eye of his visual connection switched at that moment to red, and stayed centered on the vehicle. He could see changes in the distance indicator to the target while it sped along, as well as the other factors, and the matching yellow bull's-eye for the gun floated across the scene when he took aim.

Ron waited until the buggy made one more dodge of a large boulder and entered a hundred yard straightaway before his took his shot. The angle was not good if he rested it on the stony ground so he took a knee and braced himself. The two pairs of targeting sights overlapped for just an instant...and that was all it took.

"Kkkraaaafoooom!" belched into the blackness of the New Mexico desert, and the recoil shook Ron firmly. His eyes rattled from the harsh shock but locked back on the buggy just as the round struck home perfectly...penetrating the engine block and opening it up with a commanding explosion. That power-plant burst into impressive flames with diesel fuel spewing high into the darkness, and steam surrounded it too, billowing freely in the night air.

The driver was so surprised by the sudden impact and resulting fiery flare-up that he nearly plowed into a cliff wall to his right. As it was though, the men in the buggy jumped clear and scrambled away hastily, each searching out a point of safety from the incoming sniper fire.

Ron started to empty the rest of his weapon's ammunition into the burning heap, just to scare them, but that would only give away his position, so he hopped down from the his rocky perch and returned to his own truck.

Down in that shallow valley, when five terrifying minutes had clicked by and there were no more shots, the group eased back together cautiously. They stood a safe distance from the burning wreck, holding a brief discussion before they all turned to face Ron's direction in unison. Then Teirle Graehm reached for his walkie and called in for a pickup.

By midnight Ron was safely away from the area on a Greyhound Bus, headed for Flagstaff, Arizona.

### Chapter Thirty

### Cooperation...or Not?

The very next day, in the early morning hours, Cache walked quickly through the interior of the White House, her manner stiff and severe. As she approached the Oval Office, escorted by her assigned detail of secret service agents, she had a difficult time composing herself.

"Please open the door," she told the guard on duty, outside the heavily insulated, nearly impregnable door.

"Ma'am, that's not possible. The President is in a meeting and can't be disturbed. I'll notify him of your presence and I'm sure..."

She ignored his response after "not possible", and instead, reached into her personal carry-pouch, withdrawing a slim strip of some material which resembled a bandage for a small cut. Placing it against her throat, she spoke austerely...and loudly.

"Brice Garner! This is Cache Kuar! I need to speak with you immediately!"

The guard in front of her fell back against the heavy portal gripping his head as if he'd been struck a mortal blow. His knees buckled but did not completely fail him, and his first response was to reach for his weapon. Cache beat him to it.

The team surrounding her stutter-stepped to interfere with her apparent attack, but their orders were to ensure her safety at any cost...in this case, even at the expense of another agent.

In mere moments the door to the office swung open to expose the President, wide-eyed and anxious.

"Cache!" he blurted before scanning the doorway and finding his agent leaning hard against the wall, his weapon in her hand. "What the...?"

In three quick moves, she removed the full magazine from the pistol, ejected the round in the chamber, and triggered the slide release, dropping the parts on the pristine carpet in front of the guard. President Garner saw the pieces hit the floor and glanced up at her with a questioning look.

"I do not like these crude weapons!" she said offhandedly. "We need to speak!"

"Uh...alright...won't you come in?"

She whisked passed the leader of the free world as if he were merely a neighbor who had just annoyed her badly, and marched into the room filled with his highest council. The White House Chief of Staff, military leaders including the Joint Chiefs, the head of the CIA, and several senior senators were sitting in chairs all around, gawking at her insolence.

"Robert, are you okay?" he asked of his guard.

"Sir...yes sir, I...please forgive my..."

"Don't worry about it for a minute. Go and get yourself together. Lie down if you need to. I'll be fine! Just send Jimmy to watch the door."

"But sir, I..."

"Look, you weren't ready for this little lady...none of us were. This is all new, and we're in way over our heads. Trust me, and don't worry. I'll see you later."

He swung the door back closed and returned to his large, overstuffed leather chair. Cache stood impatiently until he was seated and they were eye to eye.

"What's wrong?" he asked her, completely discounting the others in the room, as well as the conversation they'd been having.

She was red-faced with anger, and in no mood for diplomacy.

"I thought we had a deal!" she barked at him, standing close enough to his massive desk to have her thighs pressing against it. "I would put my world's resources at your disposal and begin preparations to defend your entire planet, and you would help me find my friend! Is that not correct?"

"Yes...yes, of course...what...?"

"Then why was I not informed that you tried to capture him...by force?"

"We didn't...I mean...not to my knowledge...what...what happened?

"Ask your Army's commander!" she growled, turning to the man in question with a glare meant to set him ablaze.

President Garner instantly swung his gaze to his highest ranking military leader.

"General Brandt, do you know anything about this?"

"Sir, this is a classified matter, and I don't think we should discuss it with 'her' in..."

"OUT WITH IT, DAMN IT! WHAT HAPPENED?" bellowed Garner, leaping to his feet again with his own face now livid with rage. He was furious that it seemed he alone understood exactly how grave their situation was.

"Sir we tried to talk him into a peaceful surrender, but..."

Cache was on him before he could utter another sound, her small hands around his throat! She yanked him from his plush velvet seat and slammed him up against the wall hard enough that his teeth clicking together were heard around the room.

"You lie!"

"Cache, wait!" Garner pleaded, rushing to her while waving off the other men in the group who he thought might jump in.

"If this is the kind of fools you rely on, Mr. Garner, then we will have to adjust our arrangement!" Cache growled at the President, her violet eyes practically radiating fire. She was holding the rather large frame of the General pinned to the wall in a semi-seated position that he was helpless to remedy; and with her head turned too, as if he were merely a picture she was hanging.

The President didn't want to seem weak, or in a submissive position, but too, the fate of the country, and probably the world were hanging on this woman's assistance.

"Cache...please...hold on! Why the sudden shift...why the threat? What did he do?"

"If I weren't a guest in your capital, I would demand restitution for your lies!" she hissed at the General before she shoved him unceremoniously onto a couch along the wall. She then paced back to the desk, still fuming, and opened her laptop.

"This," she told the Commander in Chief, "is what your General ordered done to my partner...my friend!"

With that, she toggled her portable computer and instantly, a holographic image of the incident in the hangar burst into life, and it was as clear as real life, hovering a foot above the desk top and spanning three feet across.

The entire group rushed forward and gaped in wonder at the technological marvel. (All except General Brandt) Too, they watched the events unfolding with deep interest. There was no sound, but it began when Ron announced himself with his arms outstretched. Then soldiers descended from the overhead structure around him, ahead of the superior officers' approach. A few moments later, the action started, and Cache let it run until the men all hit the floor, at which time the image winked out.

"Did he...kill them all?" Garner asked, uncertain of what to do if he had.

"General?" Cache snapped, her glare cutting into him.

"Several men were badly..." he began before Cache turned completely to face him in a threatening manner, "No sir! No one was killed."

"All he wanted was to meet with this man...the officer to the right...there," she clarified by zooming in. "But instead of a civil dialogue, he was besieged!" She was vibrating with ire.

"We have no way of knowing who attacked whom, sir. He must have provoked..."

Zzzzzzzziiiiiiiiiiip-THUNK! A six-inch-long knife flashed across the room and sunk into the wall at the General's ear, clipping him just a hair and causing blood to drip to the pristinely starched white collar of his shirt.

"God damn you, you little..." the General swore.

"If you utter one more lie about him, I shall remove your tongue and nail it to this desk!" Cache hissed through gritted teeth. "And if you think anyone here can stop me...you are sadly mistaken!" She was beyond angry by then, having caught this "leader" in so many fallacies. "Perhaps if I replay the recording in its entirety!"

She started the reproduction again, this time with the full spectrum of sight, as well as sound.

When it was done, there was no doubt as to exactly what had transpired in that isolated hangar...at least until the explosion wiped out the replay.

"Why was I not informed about this?" the President growled in real anger. "I specifically ordered that he be "asked" to come here...didn't I?" Garner was beyond furious, finding his underlings not following his wishes, and in fact completely ignoring them. "DIDN'T I?" he yelled, slamming his fist on the desk in rage. "Who in their right mind would sign off on this?"

"Sir," General Brandt offered, "I...I ordered his capture!"

"YOU WHAT?"

"I thought we should have some amount of leverage on...her...to make her give us the weapons we all know she has. If this threat is as real as she claims, we need something more than some pathetic "jamming" equipment!"

"You are as stupid as you are incompetent!" Cache told him coldly. "I have already explained why that is impossible!" She spun around the room to stare at each individual, one after the other. "The plasma-based energy weapons we use demand ten terawatts of electricity to initiate a single pulse! Do you have any idea how much power that is? Your country's entire electrical output isn't capable of generating the requirements to operate even one such weapon! Beside that obvious short-coming, it would take months to construct such a device! I explained it all to your greatest minds! Speak to your own scientists if you do not believe me!

"And as for you," she said, wheeling back around to the General, "I want to know where my partner is!"

"I don't answer to you, you little..."

"YOU ARE DISMISSED!" Garner shouted, surging into the path of Cache before she had the chance to reach him again. He pressed a device in his pocket which sent his secret service team into the room with four marines flanking them carrying automatic weapons.

"Men!" he said to the marines who rushed in. "Place the General in the brig! I want him gagged and hooded before he leaves this office too! No one is to speak with him outside of my presence...no one! Do you understand my orders?"

"Yes sir!"

"And get me his replacement...immediately!"

The soldiers quickly handcuffed and secured General Brandt as ordered and then pushed him out of the room in a hurry, leaving the entryway open.

Garner walked over, gripped the six-inch thick door firmly enough to make his knuckles turn white, and then slammed it as hard as he could. The gathering of high ranking officials was already fraught with anxiety, and now fairly trembled where they stood, for no one was seated by that time.

The President spun about and swept the room with his stern gaze. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man who'd once served in the military and did not convey leniency with his attitude.

"Let me make myself perfectly...crystal clear!" he began, his jaw clamping shut tightly enough for the muscles in his face to jump out in an exclamatory fashion. "If anyone has a problem with full disclosure to this woman...you need to get out of my sight RIGHT-FUCKING-NOW!

"So far, she has shown no indication of subterfuge! She hasn't lied to us or hidden facts! She came here to help our species for the simple reason that she knows 'one' of us! If she were one of the attacking group, don't you think she'd be sabotaging our efforts, not coordinating them? And with the level of technology she's demonstrated to our most gifted minds...and to me personally...if she were a threat, she could probably destroy our world with her one ship all by itself!

"And yes, we verified her story about where it is with two of our attack subs. It is surrounded exactly as she described, and our torpedoes have no effect on those barrier nodes that have imprisoned it.

"You all saw what that black vessel could do. Nothing on this planet even came close to the thing...and it snuffed out one of our most advanced missiles like batting a fly...not to mention the dozens of other countries' weapons that were fired at it.

"Get this straight...all of you. She doesn't give us orders...not you, and not me! She has provided choices and support...that's all! It is pointedly obvious to me that we are in charge of our own destiny! The only question is; are we going to accept her extraordinarily generous advice and assistance, or turn our backs on her and take our chances against a race that is advanced enough to span the galaxy and imprison that super-ship?

"Hell, we still can't even get a man safely to Mars, for crying out loud! What chance do we have alone?"

Not a word was spoken for several seconds while those in attendance pondered their leader's words.

The spell was broken when the door opened once more and a new General stepped quickly through it. He was dressed much as Brandt had been, but he was slightly slimmer and his eyes were sharp and serious.

"Mr. President!" he said piercingly, snapping to attention rigidly. "General Stan Morgan reporting as ordered!"

"General," Garner said calmly, "I have only one request of you."

"Sir?"

"Will you obey my orders?"

"YES, SIR!" barked the General, snapping to attention as if he were a new private at basic training.

"Good. At ease, General. Now, are you familiar with the botched mission to capture Miss Kuar's partner?"

"Yes sir."

"Where is the man now?"

"We lost him immediately after the hangar incident, but we know he attacked an ROF base camp that had been set up near that site, and stole a Humvee."

"ROF? What the hell were they doing there?"

"Their liaison said they'd been tracking a 'Rogue', and his trail had led them there."

President Garner thought for a few moments...his expression grim.

"I don't trust those bastards as far as I can spit," he grumbled. "They're not telling us the whole story...I guarantee you that.

"Do you have any idea where to look for Cache's friend; Ronin?"

"Negative, sir. The truck was recovered outside a small town in Colorado. His trail was impossible to track!"

Cache had to smile inside at his report. Ron was not an easy man to find!

"Very well. Keep on it with as many of your best men as you need! If you can locate him, do you know what message to convey?"

"Yes sir! 'Ronin Dangarth! Cache Kuar has need of your assistance. If you please, we will escort you to her immediately.'"

"Will you ask for his surrender?"

"Negative!"

"For his weapons?"

"Negative!"

"Good! Cache, is this acceptable to you?"

She nodded, reluctant to trust those men again, but having little choice. With Earth's satellite network scrambled, she could not locate him herself.

"I will state this one time, people!" President Garner said, turning about until he'd met everyone's gaze. "This woman is now our chief advisor for all matters concerning the coming battle! She will be granted totally unfettered access to any...and I mean ANY, information, personnel, and resources she asks for. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a quick round of nodding amongst all present. He then turned meaningfully to his short, blonde guest at that time.

"Cache, please accept my apology for my failure in this matter. It will not happen again!"

She stared into the eyes of a desperate man...one who was a true leader in search of a way to save his people...and she saw honesty looking back.

"Very well. We shall begin again."

"Thank you. Now, we only have a few hours until the global summit. Is there something you'd like to add?"

"As your advisor, I recommend you destroy this satellite!" she told him, bringing a new circuit of astonished stares. A quick finger-dance across her computer replaced the holo-image with one depicting a small communication satellite set in geosynchronous orbit over the United States.

The Director of the CIA took a step forward and blanched. "Sir, this is one of only a handful that still operate! We can't..."

"Why do you suppose it is still functioning?" Cache asked in a terse tone, as if his defending it was absolutely farcical.

"It's our newest, most advanced product. It probably can't be damaged as easily as the others!"

"Please forgive my bluntness, Sir, but that is just ridiculous. I could initiate a pulse from this computer that could disable it beyond recovery. No, Mr. President," she said, turning to Garner, "this artificial satellite is being used to communicate with the attacking fleet!"

"What?" the Director cried, his anger rising at the accusation.

"When my ship was still in contact with my world, it relayed this to us. The satellite in question was designed nine years ago by joint efforts of your country and Britain. Parts were manufactured from two dozen contractors from around the world, and then assembled in this 'secret' testing facility in California."

She flicked her fingers again and an aerial picture of the complex popped into view.

"How can you know this," the Director huffed out of pure shock.

"It was not difficult," she replied curtly, flipping back to the satellite. "Now, this component here," zooming in on a specific point on the spacecraft and pointing to it, "has no function whatsoever in the designated role of the overall unit. It is actually a crude homing beacon that can operate at a frequency undetectable to your planet's sensors. And furthermore, whoever is controlling it is here on Earth...right now!"

"You're not joking, are you?" Garner asked with his head spinning from the ramifications of her words.

"No...I am not. There are Rheckors on this world. And since they built this, they have been here quite some time...probably marooned planet-side due to some accident that destroyed their more advanced equipment. That is why they resorted to this primitive means of contacting their people."

President Garner turned to the CIA director for confirmation. He, in turn pulled out a mini camera, took a picture of the satellite image, and sent it to his support group. He then immediately dialed them, moving off to a vacant section of the room.

"Very well, Cache," Garner began, "Since we have spies here on Earth, how can we find them...by tracing the com-link to the satellite?"

"No, I am afraid not. They set it up with so many relays that even I cannot trace it to the true source. But you can be assured that some individuals very high up in your organizations are working against you!"

"Sir," the Director broke in. "She's right! That component has absolutely no function we are aware of, but is showing power drain on the system!"

"Destroy it now!" the president ordered.

The Director relayed the message and within five seconds, the satellite was lifeless.

The head of the most secret organization in the United States then turned to Cache.

"I had my doubts, Miss, but no more. If there is anything I can do, you just let me know!"

"Very well..." she replied, returning to her holo-player unit, and rolling the image back to the hangar scene. "Bring this man to me...General Kurt Allison!"

### Chapter Thirty-one

### Angela

Ron stood motionless outside the house at the address his father had given him. It was an immaculately kempt, modest brick home, located in an old-fashioned community with sidewalks, picket fences, rosebushes, and climbing ivy. The garage stood apart from the main structure, connected by a concrete walkway which was lined by the same pink brick as matched the house.

His stomach fluttered aggressively, and his heart was racing.

It was still early, barely seven A.M., and her job didn't start until nine, so he had settled in for a wait in the shadow of a large elm tree. He'd have given anything to be able to see through the brick wall so he would know if she and his son were awake, but his glasses and the scanner were both gone. As he stood there impatiently, his desire to throw open the door and call out to her was nearly overwhelming, but he knew he could not.

"That would be a wonderful way to break the news to her, wouldn't it," he thought; "Hi honey, I'm home! What's for breakfast?" She'd keel over and die of a heart attack. No, he would wait until she came out, and then...well...he didn't know.

Following the brief fire-fight on the previous evening, the trip through the night went much better than he could've hoped for.

After locating a bus terminal in Trinidad, Colorado, he ditched the Hummer five miles outside the town and made his way back on foot, purchasing a ticket with cash at an automated stand. The scattering field generated by his gear corrupted any video that the terminal utilized, so he boarded the desired bus without fear of detection.

There were only five other passengers on the red-eye transport, and they were all asleep when Ron joined them. The flooring of the bus was steel plating and with the rumble of the massive diesel engine, it was impossible to hear the groaning and creaking of the undercarriage as he moved down the aisle. He found the seat over the back wheel-well empty and gingerly took it, the extra metal there providing just what he needed.

No one spoke to him, inspected him, or in any way troubled him for the entire six hour ride through the mountains. He even got some sleep, especially when the back of his seat failed to support his reclining physique and bent back to the next one, allowing him to lie horizontal, other than his legs.

The bus station dropped Ron off in front of a convenience store where he bought a local map, a large bottle of water, and twelve ham and egg biscuits...all they had at the time. He supplemented that meal with his rations, and could have skipped the Earth food all together, but he'd always loved the taste of those little sandwiches, and simply couldn't resist.

He then sat outside at the bus stop on a concrete bench, and spread the map out, inwardly chuckling about how antiquated the procedure was. Three of the biscuits had already disappeared before his finger stopped on the paper.

"It still works though," he mumbled when he'd located his target.

He was only three miles from his destination and was up and walking briskly in a wink, slamming down the rest of his breakfast as he went.

Once he located her street, he casually strolled up that quiet lane slowly, staying on the opposite side of the street just in case she was to look out and see him. He didn't want her thinking he was some kind of thug, hooligan, or stalker.

Ron had rehearsed what he'd say to his bride at least a thousand times, and of course still had no idea how it would really go, but as his personal timetable rapidly wound to a finish, he crossed the street.

It was seven forty-five by then, and he felt confident she'd be exiting the home shortly in order to deliver Derek to his day care, and then get to work. As the seconds dragged agonizingly by, he could hear the blood pounding in his ears and his mouth grew as dry as the nearby desert.

The morning was chilly as the sun broke across the crystalline horizon, but he knew the day would be very warm by noon, and dreamed he and Angela would be gazing lovingly across a lunch table by then. In his mind's eye they would be so overtaken by being back together that nothing else would matter at all. He was sure her boss wouldn't mind her calling in, especially when she told him her dead husband had returned from the grave.

Seven fifty-five clicked by and Ron saw the front door open and the garage door begin its upward swing, so he approached the driveway. His hands vibrated from the rush of anticipation, and it required a good amount of his focus to force his teeth to stop chattering. He had at least managed to freshen up at the bus stop, thanks to his Raulden magic bag full of tricks, and so strolled forward clean shaven, breath freshened, and hair neatly combed. His hat was in his hands and his coat was once more looking like finely tanned leather, so it was a confident young man who gingerly stepped forward.

"Angela," was on his tongue when the fabulous figure of a slim woman backed out of the door with a bright-eyed little boy milling about her legs, scanning the outside world with all the wonder of a child.

She was wearing a snug-fitting, green silk dress with butterflies embroidered on it that reached mid-thigh and displayed her many attributes exceedingly well. The back of it was a sheer mesh material that softened the hue of her darkly tanned skin and gave the outfit a dramatic yet elegant appearance. The three-inch heels on her dainty feet performed two tasks that added to the overall, heavenly vision of her. They were perfectly shaded to accent the color of her dress while they kept her calves taught...and those gorgeous legs were everything he'd remembered.

A powerful flash of recollection swept through his mind in that instant, one with deeply ingrained emotional ties attached. It was the memory of the first time he'd gazed upon her inside the house they'd moved into on the day of their marriage.

That evening, after the wedding vows had been said, the pictures taken, and the reception party was drawing to a close, she'd changed out of her gown and into a similar dress as what she wore now. Ron and she ran hand in hand through the throng of well-wishers and then drove away to begin their lives together, so much in love that neither of them could stop smiling. Their honeymoon was technically scheduled to begin the next morning, when they planned to drive to Florida, so they were headed home...to the house in Westlake over which the _Darlile_ once hovered.

After they crossed the threshold, her in his arms and their lips locked together, he carried her to their bedroom where he placed her back on her feet. He recalled the moment their gazes met so precisely that the furnace of his heart burst into full flame once more as if he was standing right there.

The heat of their desire was permeating the room, but the window shades were open so Ron began drawing them closed, and his new bride began removing her jewelry. He was across their small boudoir when the last glimpse of the outside world was locked safely away, and so he turned toward the object of his wanton lust.

Angela leaned against the bureau...her figure slightly bent, the way she stood today locking her front door. She was looking in the mirror as she removed her earrings, and caught her brand new husband staring at her in the reflection. She recognized the look easily and smiled a sly, devilish smile back at him which drew him to her like a moth to a flame.

The shape of her backside, with her small waist and ample, flaring hips was merely the beginning of her figure's stunning features. The posterior side of the dress was made of sheer silk above the swell of her perfect derriere and the cleft of her back was eye-catching, supple, and feminine. Her long, dark, chestnut-colored hair was pulled back over her right ear, flowing sensuously past the middle of her shoulders, and was decorated with tiny white flowers that exuded innocence, and further enhanced her unending beauty.

Ron traced the line of her body downward to her gorgeous legs, and his breathing quickened. She was graced with incredible, precisely proportioned limbs that were shapely, tanned, and sumptuous. He moved to her slowly and she stopped her menial duties to watch him in the reflection, still turned away from his quiet approach.

Ron snuggled right up behind, but did not embrace her. He leaned closer, closed his eyes, and drew in a long, deep breath...sampling the sweet scent of her perfume at the nape of her neck. That simple act sent chills of exhilaration racing through her, and she felt a growing fire being fanned.

A soft kiss on her ear made her shiver and he repeated it before moving along, first with a light touch of his lips, a gentle probe of his tongue, and even an occasional nibble at her more sensitive places. He moved down her spine, barely an inch behind the sliding zipper keeping her provocative garment in place...and as his feather-light caresses moved, her quakes grew stronger.

At her waist, her skin was no longer the smooth, silken surface that normally adorned her, having been transformed into a quivering, twitching covering typically only seen in winter...roughened now only by her reactions to such intense pleasuring. He could see her in the mirror, her long eyelashes squeezed shut, breath fast and shallow, and her mouth half open, panting. A simple nudge of his hands and her light-weight, body-hugging garment dropped to her calves, held up only by the sleeves, where her hands rested on the glass-smooth surface of the dresser.

His stare attempted to consume the reflection of her body by will alone, and the heat of his gaze scorched that vision deep inside his brain. Her natural skin tone was sheer perfection, and the large areolas of her breasts rose like tiny volcanoes against those splendid mounds of ripened flesh. Angela was a petite woman but was graced with a spectacular, voluptuous bosom that stopped every man cold in his tracks...at any venue.

(Ron had chuckled many times over the years at the trouble his male counterparts fell into while there gaze was locked onto his heavenly escort. He'd often noticed how a single event could start a fight between a couple faster than any other; when another woman shines brighter than she. Of course, Angela had never felt that kind of jealousy.)

A strong vibration swept through her body and she gulped...and then raised her hands enough to allow the dress to slide to the floor, replacing them where they were for support because she was sure she'd faint from the rising pressure of expectation.

Ron smiled at her then, seeing the insanely gorgeous figure which was now willingly pledged solely for his personal, sexual amusement. The lacy, sexy finery from Victoria' Secret never looked as wonderful as it did at that instant, gracefully clinging to his wife's lithe, nubile body, scandalously enticing him to delve further for his lover's secrets.

He gingerly urged that tiny undergarment downward, watching the feathery cloth push a wave of goose flesh along as it went. At the end of the journey, Angela had to adjust her weight as she first lifted one dainty foot, and then the other...and those delicate moves were maddening to his male drives, nearly putting an end to this slow, delightful exploration. As it was though, he curtailed his spiking passion enough to continue as planned, kissing, licking, and stroking her firm, toned legs. A nibble on the back of her knee nearly caused her to collapse as she jerked at the sensation, her entire body vibrating constantly now...waiting...enjoying the delectable game her mate was playing.

He couldn't resist a strong, full bite of her glorious, rounded buttocks, and that drew a deep, breathy gasp from his quarry, as well as a sharp jerk...not away from his animalistic attack, but rather toward it, press herself against his mouth hard. He drifted down a bit further, closer to the apex of those heavenly supports, his tongue slipping and sliding, until she could take it no more. Her nails raked against the marble top of the bureau and she squeaked out a high pitched grunt of exhilaration before she spun about to face her sensual tormenter.

Ron's position did not move, so when his beloved spun about, he was perfectly positioned to continue his quest. Looking up at her from his knees, he saw the burning desire in her smoky gaze, her spectacular breasts lunging up and down with each quick intake of air, and her small fingers were lost in his raven locks.

Her need was indeed high!

Ron watched her closely as his right hand drifted up her thigh, causing even more shudders and tremors...and when he reached the peak, where her pleasure center was decorated by a slim patch of dark curls, she jerked uncontrollably, engulfing his fingers in her dripping desire.

A husky grunt from his lovely partner was immediately followed up by pulling his lips firmly to her boiling need.

"Ron!" she uttered raggedly as a premature orgasm rose and passed, and her cradle flooded with ecstasy.

As the pleasure surged through her body, she pulled her playful husband up to her bosom and filled his mouth with her pursed breast, crushing him to her with one hand as she stripped him with the other...her eyes now open and her craving at the overload point.

Ron didn't even have the chance to step free of his trousers before she wriggled herself up high enough to mount him, and as he plunged into the depths of her, and she felt him spread her tiny canal, her lubricants ran down her thighs, and she gasped anew...only this time though, it was loud and desperate, and continued, unrelenting.

In an instant she reached a new peak...a summit of elation totally different from the blissful, satisfying, loving apex of pleasure she was accustomed to...no, this feeling sent her into a writhing, scalding, powerful explosion of ecstatic joy that was both violent and exquisitely harsh.

Her nails bit into Ron's shoulders deeply, while her body arched across the dresser and swept it clear of her jewelry, as well as half a dozen ornamental nick-knacks. She fought hard to control her need to scream, wishing to keep their love-play private from the neighbors, but in the end, Ron's name shrieked from her lips in as deep a voice as he'd ever heard from her.

At the time, Ron had never witnessed such a fantastic, erotic reaction, and her exhibition of mind-bending, uninhibited sexuality drew a likewise reaction from his over-stimulated, overheated body.

In mere seconds, the recently blessed couple soared well past the edge of their present sexual familiarity, and both were permanently imprinted with a new feeling of ultimate, unbridled physical rapture.

Now, here in Arizona, Ron stood poised on the cool concrete driveway with that memory blazing across his thoughts...along with what went on during the rest of their incredible wedding night. So when he tried to speak out to her, his voice was gone...dried out from the vivid recollection.

He gulped twice in an attempt to remoisten his throat, and then paused his call to her a few more seconds simply to admire her beauty. The door was locked by then, so when she turned, he inhaled to complete it...but...

"Woo-woo-woo-woo", screamed a wailing siren as a police car skidded sideways around the corner down the block...its engine roaring with the throttle pressed to the floor.

Ron jerked to a stop and braced himself to make a run for it before he saw that the cruiser was in hot pursuit of another vehicle...one totally out of control! The driver of the fleeing car slid too far in the turn and slapped the side of a parked truck before barreling onward toward Ron. And when an unsuspecting neighbor of his wife's backed onto the street, the speeding car clipped its bumper and careened across the roadway again.

The caroming reaction of the cars brought the mayhem to the very next driveway, where a young woman was jogging by in a parallel direction of the oncoming car, with music blaring in her ears from her portable stereo. The banged up, fleeing vehicle then sideswiped a long van before it jumped the curb and headed straight for the runner.

Ron's reflexes were already primed in his anxiety strewn system, so when he broke into a run, he was a literal blur...his heavy coat, pack, and hat left in a haphazard pile in the bushes beside his wife's walkway.

The running woman barely had time to look startled before the tall, sprinting stranger scooped her up and leaped twenty feet to the side, landing with his body under hers to protect her from his crushing mass.

As they skid to a stop on the front lawn, Ron looked back to see the car smashed into a tree in the next house over's yard, and then he turned to his gasping catch.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I...I think so."

Ron let out a great sigh of relief before remembering his wife with a start. His head shot around to see her pressed against the door, clutching their son...both with wide eyes of astonishment...and then he felt something cold on his neck!

He turned back to the woman he held...the one whose life he'd just saved...and saw a look of perfect scorn.

"So pathetically predictable!" she sneered.

"Oh no!" Ron thought. "No, no, no...they couldn't have!" his mind screamed.

"Did you really think you could get away that easily?" she asked as she pushed him roughly away from her and got up.

He mouthed the word, "combat", but nothing came out, as if his vocal chords were paralyzed...but quickly realized it would have done no good anyway. His armor was no longer in place!

The chill spread rapidly, numbing his body as it did. Ron rolled away weakly, trying to rise, only to end up once more on his back as his arms quivered and shook.

"What the hell?" he asked himself, trying desperately to understand what had just occurred.

He managed to turn his head and seek out the woman of his emotional quest, and saw her there, on her stoop, watching. She was clutching her son close, with her eyes dancing about at all the commotion.

"Angie!" his mind screamed...but nothing came of it. Her eyes locked on his for a brief few seconds before a shadow standing over him caused his attention to refocus. Ron knew she could not possibly recognize him, but he still saw deep compassion in those hazel-green gems anyway, her concern for him vivid on her beautiful face.

The reason for the shadow was a large fellow in a policeman's uniform standing over Ron, glaring down at him with evil intentions in his eyes.

"You nearly killed my brother, you dragen piss-hole!" he growled before he dropped down on Ron's chest with all his weight.

Ron expelled every bit of air from his lungs immediately, plus a good amount of spittle, shooting a misty fog up into the morning air. That left him so short of breath he felt he might not be able to recover in Earth's light atmosphere, but the cop flung him over to his stomach nonetheless and wrenched his hands around to his back.

Through his rapidly fogging mind, Ron suddenly caught on. These people weren't Earthlings at all! They were far too strong...and heavy!

"Bounty hunters?" he thought, considering the immense fortune the Kreete had advertised for his capture or death. "Or something else?"

The cop snapped handcuffs on Ron's wrists and rolled him over to his side as the mighty Caronian warrior wheezed painfully.

"You'll find out that 'these' bracelets are special. Even you won't be able to break them!" Then he pulled back his fist.

"And this is for my broken arm!"

The officer's fist slammed into Ron's cheekbone hard enough to drive his face back into the dewy grass and jumble his thoughts badly. His lids opened to a triple-vision view of his wife's lawn, and he fought for lucidity with all his rapidly weakening strength.

"Ow...shit!" the officer said as he got to his feet, shaking his hand. "This guy's jaw's as hard as Nefradien granite!"

He saw Ron smile at his comment and gave him a good kick in the stomach for the new pain in his hand.

"HEY!" yelled a female voice from the house. "Hey, you can't do that!"

Ron squinted through his discomfort to see his beloved spouse walking his way, the child still in her arms and crying now.

"No! Baby, go back!" he tried to say, but no sound escaped his lips.

"You can't beat a prisoner like that!" Angela Allison said in an indignant, berating tone. "He's already been handcuffed! You..."

"Ma'am, this is a police matter. Please, stay out of it!"

Ron's wife wasn't finished yet, however.

"Why are you arresting him anyway?" she continued...her face flushed red with anger and completely appalled at what she was seeing. "Shouldn't you be arresting the driver who nearly ran that woman over? This man risked his life to get her out of the way! I saw the whole..."

"Shut up lady, or I'll haul your ass in with him for obstruction!" the cop snapped back at her. "Get outta here and shut that brat up!"

"Let's go, Graehm!" another officer said, grabbing Ron's arm. "Give me a hand with him!"

Due to the sun's position and the rough treatment, Ron wasn't able to see his attacker's face, but the name was another matter. He would remember that!

They hefted him up...just the two of them...and hauled him away, dragging his feet behind. Ron's world faded to black a short time later, after he was literally thrown into a transport van, and his last thoughts were of that lovely woman with the hazel-green eyes, challenging the authorities in his behalf.

### Chapter Thirty-two

### The U.N. Conference

"You will simply have to trust me!" Cache told the assemblage of delegates after displaying a very vivid holographic projection of Earth's solar system with the approaching fleet closing in on Saturn, two thirds the way around the Sun. "We do not have the time for you each to have a personal demonstration in your own privately monitored venues!"

Renauld Jasporison, the President of the United Nations General Assembly stepped up once more, as he'd done half a dozen times already to quiet the hundreds of people in the audience. In an unprecedented move, many of the ambassadors in attendance were actually joined by the leader of their respective countries.

The usual human emotion of cynicism had been the presiding point so far.

"ORDER! WE MUST MAINTAIN ORDER!" he bellowed.

The sidebars and arguments of the gathered folks died off again slowly, until all eyes at last returned to the podium. The escalating feelings of the group were skepticism, suspicion, distrust, and fear.

"She is not a magician!" Renauld said angrily. "This is not some sort of elaborate trick to deceive any of us. She has more than adequately proven to our panel that she is completely authentic, and has asked for only one thing...a request we should all be willing to comply with...especially in light of the announcement she's made. The one thing she needs from us all is to believe her!"

The murmuring of the crowd rumbled again in low tones. One member of the multitude stood up close to the front. He was from the U.K.

"Just how...exactly...do you know all this 'doom and gloom' is for real?"

As of yet, she'd managed to sidestep that question, but now it was out there and she knew a direct answer was the only way to gain their cooperation.

"My people received this information from hacking the approaching fleet's communication stream and downloading it."

"But if you're from a planet across the Milky Way, how did you do that?"

"My intergalactic spaceship is currently residing on your planet."

"What? Where? Why?" yelled two dozen angry delegates, causing a bedlam of unrecognizable comments. The room exploded again, arousing sidebars laced with disbelief.

"How do we know you're not with them...or if there even is a real threat?" asked Mexico's representative.

"First, the ship is here, beneath one of your oceans, because my partner felt compelled to return here on some personal business. His visit was specific and private, and would have no aggressive impact on your society whatsoever, so keeping it secret was for the best...at the time. After all, your various countries made it quite clear on our first visit that simply flying through your atmosphere was somehow cause for attack."

"Now wait a minute!" bellowed the ambassador from North Korea.

"SECOND," Cache shouted to quiet the rebuttal, "the threat has been confirmed by images from your own Hubble Space Telescope, as well as two of your radio telescopes. And third; if I was going to attack your planet, it would be over by now, and you would all be dead!"

That frank, unpretentious statement of fact shut everyone up for several seconds.

"What do you have to gain from helping us?" asked the ambassador from Italy.

"I have absolutely nothing to gain from helping you...for myself. However, the partner I spoke of has already put his life on the line for me and my species, and saved my homeworld from an even deadlier foe. The entire planet known as Rauld...where I come from...owes him a debt that could never be repaid. I personally owe him my life many times over. What you all must know is that he is completely dedicated to protecting your planet, Earth! So for that reason alone, I am as well!"

There was more murmuring and discussion in the large eclectic group at that time as they pondered the validity of what she conveyed. Each was holding detailed photographs of Cache's claims of an impending threat, as well as written explanations of what they showed.

"Elaborate on this 'menace' we must all prepare for...if you would be so kind," the U.S. President requested of her then.

The U.N. leader stepped back and to the side, offering the center stage to Cache yet again. She smiled and graciously accepted the plinth, although her patience was wearing very thin. The constant bickering and posturing for power among the delegates was making her ill. On her planet it was much, much different.

"They call themselves, Rheckors, although known by other species simply as what they are...Marauders. They are a race of humanoids who have abandoned their own beginnings, having already pillaged the planet they were born on to such an extent as to leave it with no resources that could sustain beings such as them, or you all. They stripped every planet in their solar system of any and all usable materials needed to build their vast armada, and then set off into the galaxy. Their ships have been their homes since then...for nearly half a millennia! They now scout out and invade solar systems that suit them with their enormous fleets, and take whatever they need."

"What is it they require?" asked a fellow in deep blue robes trimmed in gold...from a small, Caribbean nation.

"Your world has vast, already refined commodities...your air, trillions of gallons of nearly pure water and gigantic oceans that can easily be stripped of the same. But the most attractive mineral of all resides inside your planet's core. The heavy metals in Earth's magma can be extracted and refined into immensely strong alloys and fuels, even weapons'-grade borolide trinallium...an additive which can increase the yield of most explosives by ten thousand fold."

"How is all that possible?"

"Their technology is very impressive...far beyond what you have achieved here. And please forgive my candor. I mean no offense by this truth. They have spent many of your centuries perfecting their methods and their equipment to be able to efficiently accommodate their goals. The collection of vessels they have will number in the hundreds of thousands, dispersing to all the planets of your solar system which have any viable minerals. The immense command ships will set up close to your star and utilize its solar energy to recharge their depleted stores and to power the main part of their operations.

"They will utilize shuttles to carry the ore, gas, or water, off-world to gigantic collection tankers that, in turn, will supply their refineries. Any and all wastes will be ejected into the sun for disintegration. The men and women of the fleet do very little actual hands-on work with these stolen goods. They commonly only monitor, adjust, and repair the machines and space crafts to keep them running non-stop for decades."

"How much of these...commodities...will they steal?"

Cache looked at the man as if stupefied. "They will take it all!"

"What?" was his reply, along with a hundred others. "Are you serious? How is that possible?"

"It is possible because they are the strongest. It is as simple as that. They do what they will because they can! They will drain every sea, every lake, and every river. There are enormous coalescing machines which can even wring out the water from the atmosphere. The oxygen and nitrogen from your environment will be gathered and compressed into gargantuan tankers. The magma will likely be carted up to their colossal construction ships and then separated there...where zero gravity is necessary for many of the specialized processes.

"They care nothing for the foods of Earth since they synthesize their entire nutritional requirements. The trees, the animals, and the people of this world mean less than nothing to them. Your planet is of average size, but its speed of rotation makes it a lighter gravity globe...one they cannot comfortably colonize even if they wished to. The level of technology here is too far behind their own for them to be even mildly interested in it, so raw materials are all they will focus on."

"If they are so formidable, so advanced, and so malicious, what is the point of you telling us? What can we possible do to stop, or even deter them?"

"My people can supply you with many devices engineered specifically to disrupt their shielding, leaving their vessels open to your weapons. I can provide you with intelligence of their methods, their armaments, their fighters' capabilities, and so on. It may be possible to make the raping of this planet too costly for them, if you can resist for long enough, damage enough of their equipment...and kill enough of them!

"You people...you are the representatives of your respective countries! You will have the burden of seeing to the dissemination of the information from this meeting. I have given you the pure truth of the matter...so now, if you do not believe me, then you do not. We have no more time to argue about the facts! If any of you think this is all some kind of hoax, then you should leave now! The time is already too short to adequately prepare for what is to come."

"What exactly would you have us do?" asked the President of the Czech Republic.

"You all will need to convince every person on the face of this planet to fight them!" she announced, scanning the faces of the room. "You have no recourse!"

"What about diplomacy?" asked the French President. "Perhaps we can negotiate some sort of trade, broker a deal of..."

"There will be no 'deals'," Cache said, cutting him off. "These beings' first order of business will be to wipe out all global communications among your peoples...which I know you have already seen happening...so you should begin immediately working up some alternate methods. They will dispatch sweeper-droids...machines built explicitly to completely erase every satellite, every space-based weapon, and every piece of debris that might be of use to you or hazardous to their own crafts. Next, they will encircle the globe with fighter carriers...giant vessels which house a thousand atmospheric fighter crafts in each. Most likely, they will place one above each of the major military powers' countries. From this position, they will totally dominate the air, and will be able to launch strikes against any ground forces trying to interfere with their diggers and collectors.

"Once they destroy every threat to their equipment, they will simply begin stripping your world."

"If your inhabitants are so far beyond their technology that you can stop them, then why don't you?" asked the South African Ambassador.

"My people can assist no one in waging war! They are devout pacifists. They do not comprehend the nature of it, and so would be completely useless to you. However, due to our own recent history, which I touched on briefly, the Raulden populace is willing to assist in areas where they can...thereby, I represent them as their Ambassador, with full authority to do what I deem necessary to help you. But the fight is inevitably yours!"

"If they are all pacifists, then are you not one of them?" inquired the Nigerian President.

"I am Raulden, but...I am...unique."

"What about this ship of yours? Is it capable of assisting us?" inquired the Jamaican representative.

"It would be more than capable, but as of yet, I cannot make contact with it. While I was off-world, the fleet attempted to hijack it, but of course, they were ineffective. However, their secondary action was cleverer. Since they could not commandeer the vessel, they set up a series of jamming buoys to block all communication with it. As of yet, I am still working out a way around the problem, however, I must say that I have limited resources on that front."

The attending members of the U.N. began dozens more sidebars at that point, with many of the discussions heated. The usual banter about who would do what, and how much it would cost quickly sprung to light.

Cache caught several of such arguments from the closest delegates and lost her temper.

"IT DOES NOT MATTER HOW MUCH THIS WAR MIGHT COST!" she shouted into the microphone, slamming her tiny fist on the podium...cracking the wooden surface and stopping every person dead in their tracks. "YOU WILL ALL DIE! DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THIS? YOU MUST FIGHT! YOU MUST USE EVERY LAST WEAPON AND RESOURCE! WHAT ARE YOU ARGUING ABOUT?"

Her very pointed and dismal announcement struck home like an arrow, and the assemblage finally began to hear what she'd been trying to get across...many nodding in agreement.

"You all have to recognize that this is it! This is the war of wars for you! Your past problems have to be laid aside! You need not save anything for 'THE NEXT TIME' because there won't be a next time. You will be facing certain and TOTAL annihilation if you fail...of that you MUST be clear!"

"All right, all right!" Spain's president finally shouted from the floor. "We need to get on with it. What can we do?"

Cache took a deep breath, with every person in the room and on the video links hanging on her every word. She was uncommonly nervous as she prepared her instructions in her mind.

"I surely wish Ron were here!" she thought.

"The very first thing you should all do is inform your countrymen and women of exactly what is going to happen. It is extremely vital that they all be prepared to meet whatever comes their way."

Every hand in the place went up at her statement, but she had anticipated their reaction.

"What may happen all depends on the location of where they live...the resources they are closest to. If they reside next to a large lake, then hover-tankers will drop from the sky and begin siphoning off the water. If the land they live on has valuable minerals, then thermite-plasma dredgers will simply obliterate the ground to get at them."

"We can't tell them that!" cried dozens in a roughly unison complaint.

"There is no way to know just where they will strike, or for what purpose. I do not have a detailed enough description of your world. Whatever message you decide is best suited for each country will simply have to do...I leave that to you...but the inhabitants have to be told to prepare to repel any invaders. They cannot run away and hide. If they see strangers...and the Rheckors will definitely not blend in...they should not try to communicate with them, or negotiate. Tell them to attack...preferably in large groups!"

"What kind of weapons will they have?" questioned the Bulgarian leader.

"Some form of disrupter guns. These weapons will be incredibly powerful, as will their wielders because they hail from a planet with much stronger gravity than Earth...but they can be killed. It will be difficult for the average person, and appear overwhelming, but I assure you they will die if you can inflict enough damage!

"Now they will likely not make ground engagements right away...at least until they have decimated your military forces, but any downed aircraft will likely spew some survivors who will continue their campaign until they are either rescued by their brethren, or killed.

"Inform your citizens to use anything...guns, knives, axes, even vehicles to stop these attackers! It will be you or them...period. Only one side will remain standing!"

The politicians were mostly deliberators and thinkers, not soldiers, so her plan to kill at such a basic, brutal level was appalling. Cache was already versed in that arena though, having faced such distaste before from her own people, so their attitudes really didn't surprise her, but the use of time was another matter. She let them squirm and whine for half an hour longer prior to calling an end to it.

"MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION!" she finally blasted through the intercom before waiting for the room to calm down. "Thank you. Now...I have been working with a few of the largest militaries' leaders of your world and we have drawn up some rough plans...lists of things to do, from the placement of mechanized defenses and aircraft, to what the average person may be able to accomplish. Your screens are all being sent this information. Take it and do what you think is best. The time for talk is over! We have only thirteen days until they are here...and that is the best case...so good luck to you all, and may the Guardian protect you!"

With that, she walked off the stage and joined up with her personal escort...four very powerfully built, extremely serious looking men.

From the summit she was taken directly to Air Force One. The President of the United States now escorted her everywhere as if she were royalty.

### Chapter Thirty-three

### Kurt Allison

The next time the massive Boeing 747 touched down; there was a small group of individuals waiting on the wide Tarmac at Andrew's Air Force Base in southern California. One was the newly appointed Head of the Joint Chiefs, General Stan Morgan, and the others were General Kurt Allison and his wife, Jessica.

President Garner exited the jumbo jet and headed down the long stairway alongside the much shorter form of Cache Kuar. He spoke with her as they went about one of a long list of prioritized meetings that were mounting with every passing minute.

He was constantly taken off-guard with her responses to his questions, and that fact was because she always seemed to know as much as he did, if not more. She'd tapped into the computer network of Air Force One the moment she boarded it and received every update he did, but what kept her ahead was the fact that she could read at approximately ten times the speed of a human...and she forgot nothing!

When she caught sight of Ron's parents, she knew them instantly...having absorbed Kurt's dossier days ago...and it was with great relief that she found them well and safe. (She was still having trouble trusting the men under President Garner)

"I am sorry, Brice," she said to him sweetly, cutting him off in the middle of a statement, "but it is time to take care of a more personal matter."

The President glanced up and saw where she was focused, and then nodded. "As we discussed then?"

"Yes, that is, if you still do not mind."

"Not at all, Cache. It's the least I can do for you." Then, after a few steps, "Might I request permission to join you...you know...when you tell them?"

Cache glanced up at him sideways with a quizzical expression. "I've been dying to hear this story since I first laid eyes on you!" he grudgingly admitted. "I mean, honestly, this has got to be the wildest thing I've ever heard!"

She smiled and looked forward again, deep in thought. By the time they'd reached the ground, she said, "I shall ask them if it is all right...when the time comes."

"Thank you. Now, here we go."

At that point, six heavily armed marines strode beside the president and Cache as they approached the waiting trio. Cache took a step back to appear as an assistant, or attendant.

The two service men greeted their Commander in Chief with crisp salutes. President Garner saluted them back and then spoke.

"At ease men."

He then turned to Jessica Allison and offered his hand. "It is a real pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Allison. Your husband has done an exemplary job for his country over many long years, and I thank 'you' for your sacrifice." When she took his hand, he covered hers completely with his other, gazing at her as if she were the Queen of England. "I truly mean that, ma'am."

"Well...thank you...I mean, your welcome...?"

Garner then shook Kurt's hand firmly. "An honor to finally meet you, General," he said, sending Kurt's mind into a buzz.

"And you, Sir!" he replied.

The President then turned to General Morgan. "Thank you very much, General. I won't keep you from your duties any longer."

"Mr. President!" General Morgan snapped with another salute, and then he turned and strode swiftly away, catching up with his own aide with whom he immediately dove into hurried conversation.

"If you two wouldn't mind accompanying me, I have arranged a place where we can talk privately."

Kurt and his wife exchanged a quick glance, thinking; "Like we have a choice?", and then dropped in step with the President and his armed security. The Allisons had not missed the fact that the woman with Garner had not been introduced, and that she had stayed focused on her computer the entire time of their introductions, her free hand blazing across its surface nonstop.

Kurt found something about that little blonde seeming out of place. He couldn't fully place it, but sensed it. And the long coat she wore was definitely not necessary in the weather they were enjoying. (The temperature was seventy-five degrees.)

They all went directly into the enormous complex and followed a Marine guard deep into the heart of the building, passing blocks of work stations that were literal flurries of movement. Kurt took note of the area and knew something serious was happening, but since the hangar incident, he and his wife had been sequestered from any outside contact, so he had no clue about what it was. Nonetheless, he could tell that preparations of every conceivable sort were being coordinated and put into play in that command center...and that whatever it was, it was grave.

It was obvious that every soul there had been thoroughly briefed about their mission, so their focus was sharp. There were no groups casually chatting at the coffee mess, or lounging about at a desk. They each appeared driven like he'd never experienced before.

The level of tension in the place was palpable, rising Kurt's curiosity to a peak, and with that, his adrenaline rose too. It was like he was back in combat, and every sensory input was ramping up to keep him alive. That was when he first noticed the oddities, and so he honed his suspicions from there.

The group finally stopped outside a small conference room that could seat approximately twenty people, but when the Marine sentries opened the door, the Allisons, Cache, and the President were the only ones who entered.

There was a variety of fruits, snacks, and beverages laid out on a buffet table along the far wall, and a door to a private lavatory off in the corner. It all looked extremely comforting and cozy.

"A late snack while we talk?" Garner suggested.

Kurt took a step to the side to allow the President to enter first, then his wife, and then Cache. He was very polite and smiled broadly...and then he moved!

Like a lion leaping its prey, Kurt attacked the nearest Marine, threw him to the floor, and stripped him of his sidearm. Before the others could even spin about, he was sliding the bolt of the weapon back and dashing into the room.

President Garner was just then reaching for a bottle of water when the commotion caught his attention and he whirled about. Jessica was next to him, perusing the selections as well and she too spun around, recoiling immediately. Cache was at the other side of the room, calmly waiting for the meeting to begin. Her computer was on the table and she faced the door they'd just passed through, as if expecting something.

Kurt Allison was four feet from her, the loaded and cocked .45 trained on her and a snarl on his lips.

"MARINES! SECURE THE PRESIDENT...NOW!" he ordered, never taking his eyes off Cache's tiny figure.

Into the room the detail flew...even the man Kurt had so rudely treated...and they swarmed President Garner in a flash, their weapons trained on the same target as their superior's, even though they had no clue as to why.

"GET HIM OUTTA HERE!" Kurt then ordered.

Cache never flinched. She just stared at her assailant with a wry smile on her lovely lips.

"Jessica. Go with them...and you men send back an 'Alpha Team'. Tell them to bring back a 'Black Dragon' security kit. We have a rogue!"

"Wait!" President Garner tried to say, but the soldiers were already ushering him around the table. "WAIT! DAMN IT!" he barked, suddenly confusing the Marines...not knowing which commander to follow. They chose the President.

"How did you know?" Cache asked Kurt coolly, standing as still as a statue.

"Your weight!"

Cache tilted her head slightly with a curious look on her face. "My weight?"

Kurt nodded. "The sound of a normal woman your size walking across the tarmac, and then inside the building, would have been much higher pitched...daintier. You sound more like one of the Saints' linemen."

"Excellent! I was wondering if you would notice."

Kurt furrowed his brow at that, clearly taken aback.

"General! Stand down!" Brice barked in his old military manner. "You don't under..."

"Sir, this...woman...is not who you think she is! I have experience with these...creatures...and she poses a real threat to..."

"STOP!" Garner shouted at Kurt.

But before anything else could occur, Cache Kuar broke into action.

In the light atmosphere and gravity of Earth, her reflexes were as fast as Ron's, and she proved it. She lunged forward, grabbing the barrel of Kurt's weapon, and pushed it. The slide retracted to the aft stop, ejecting the chambered round. At that point, she merely clamped her fingers around the weapon, thus not allowing another bullet to load, and then snatched it from Kurt's grasp like he was an impetuous two-year-old.

She quickly returned to her previous position, stripped the weapon of its three major components, and set them all on the table next to her computer...all in the blink of an eye.

"Holy shi..." Kurt started to say, but something she said stopped him cold.

"Ron would have been impressed, General. I see where he gets his courage and tenacity!" And then she shot a dazzling smile at Jessica. "And his devastating, good looks!" she said with a wink.

Jessica just stared at Cache with her mouth drooping open. Kurt Allison changed from shocked and amazed to completely dumb-founded in a heartbeat.

"Ron?" he huffed, his fiery aggression fading swiftly.

"You know Ron?" Jessica queried from her position behind the soldiers, suddenly stepping forward.

"Yes," replied Cache, "I know him extremely well. He is my partner and my closest friend."

President Garner disengaged himself from his guards at that time and broke the growing silence.

"You men can return to your posts now. Thank you."

The six Marines slipped quietly out of the room after the one Kurt had attacked had retrieved his weapon. (He wisely offered no rebuke to his superior) As the door shut, he said to the others; "Did you see that lady move? She was like the friggin Flash!"

"Please, folks," Brice said softly, letting out a long sigh, "can we sit and talk?"

The Allisons joined hands and sat across the table from Cache...as far away as possible.

She did not get offended, and kept her distance, attempting to alleviate some of the strain.

"So you're the one," Jessica said in barely a whisper, suddenly mesmerized by the lovely woman across the room as tears welled to the brims of her eyes. "You're the one who...who..."

"Yes. I am afraid so," Cache admitted solemnly, her face a mask of stern anguish. "I am responsible for Ron's abduction from Earth. I am responsible for causing you these last few years of terrible grief and loss. I even built the ship that made your lives all the more complicated and traumatic. Regrettably, I am the nexus of it all."

Brice Garner simply remained silent and took it all in, now even more amazed at the brilliance of his new ally. "She built that ship?" he thought.

"No...no...no...that's not what she meant," Kurt corrected her, his fingers interwoven with his wife's. "You're the one who brought him back to us!"

Cache was stunned...even more so than the Allisons had been. Did these people not understand what she'd done...that she'd stolen their son from his life and forced him into a new one...one filled with danger and malice?

"I...do not understand," she finally said, too dazed to comprehend the statement. "You do not hold me accountable for destroying...?"

"No," Jessica blurted, seeing the guilt and misery in Cache's lovely eyes. She then got up and made her way around the table to stand in front of the petite alien woman. "Thank you!" she sobbed, throwing her arms around Cache's shoulders and hugging her tightly. "Thank you so much!"

Kurt was there too, and when his wife stepped back, he took Cache's hand and pumped it vigorously. "Thank you, Cache...for bringing our boy back to us."

"But how do you know my name?" she asked, glancing at the President.

"I didn't say a word," he told her quickly.

After that, the Allisons took new seats, closer to Cache's standing form. (She refused to sit on the chairs for fear of breaking them)

"Please tell us the story," Jessica pleaded then. "Ron had no time to...only that you and he were partners in a war of worlds with a terrible enemy."

"Of course," Cache replied, now revealing her dazzling smile once again since her guilt was proven to be misplaced. "And Brice was hoping he might hear it as well...if that is acceptable to you."

The Allisons were both surprised that she was on a first-name basis with the President, but agreed without hesitation.

Over the next half hour, they enjoyed the mini-banquet as Cache laid out the entire, insane set of circumstances that led up to Ron's kidnapping, a quick overview of their battle for Rauld, and the first trip back to Earth.

"Ron told his uncle about another world he'd been to," Kurt interjected. "What were you...?"

At that point, Cache threw up her hands to stop him.

"I am more than happy to answer any of your questions, but first, I must ask you a favor. I am desperately looking for Ron, and as you have admitted, you spoke with him after that business in the hangar...right?"

"Uh..." Kurt uttered, glancing at his commander sheepishly, "yes...as a matter of fact, we did."

"He asked you where he could find his wife...correct?"

Jessica nodded nervously.

"Would you mind telling us? I have to find him. It is extremely important!"

That's when Kurt finally caught on.

"Something's happened...hasn't it? He told us he was here alone...that you'd stayed on your world with your daughter...so if you're here now...then...Holy Mother of...the Rogues! The ROF! I knew those guys were... It's some kind of invasion, isn't it?"

"What?" Jessica squealed, completely lost in the conversation.

She glanced to the President quickly.

"Yes, General," President Garner acknowledged. "That is exactly what it is!"

From that moment, the story Cache had begun was forgotten and they all began collaborating immediately to find Ron. President Garner and Cache went back to work while Kurt and Jessica flew to Flagstaff in an Army transport and then drove straight to Angela's house. He tried to call, but she only had a cell phone and the system was still down...and they didn't want to send another military force to collect her. That would have been too cruel after all she'd been through.

Cache listened to their report later that night, and her hopes sank. She realized precisely what had occurred when she heard Angela's tale of the police. She'd describe Ron perfectly, and the fact that any man on Earth could possibly keep Ron down sealed it. He'd been captured by the Rheckors!

### Chapter Thirty-four

### Preparations

Beginning on the 2nd day following the NATO summit, Cache met with each country's military leaders and technicians...at least the ones who had equipment she felt might be used against the invasion. She was flown around the globe on top-secret, supersonic transports with twenty-five of the finest soldiers from the Army's elite Delta Force contingent as her personal bodyguards. That group was in turn escorted by two dozen of the Air Force's most lethal fighter planes, which were in the air at all times while she was in foreign territory.

Only twice did she have to abort her designated meeting with some officials due to them not following her strict, unyielding safety protocols. The rules were straight forward and relatively easy to comply with. She would land only at civilian airports. Only the country's rulers and their technical advisors would be present...no military! No weapons would be carried within a mile of the meeting other than her protective entourage, and she would be granted complete access to computers containing their aircrafts' schematics and full functional capabilities.

When her requirements weren't met, those countries were simply passed by, dismissed to face the coming storm on their own. The remaining nations quickly lost interest in pressing any advantage they might feel they had, or needed. They simply obeyed her demands.

At any other time, that would have been an impossible amount of cooperation to ask for, but when they saw the demonstration of what they were up against, and what she could provide for them, the major countries' leaders were more than willing to accommodate her.

Every manufacturer across the planet had their own unique thoughts on their particular systems however, which meant vast variances to deal with, but Cache didn't shrink from the task. She worked with Ketlical and his staff, through the portal probe's com-link, modifying each Raulden component to operate with each device nearly autonomously, and then explained how to attach them to the designated power sources.

Outwardly she demonstrated tremendous patience, but inside she grew extraordinarily weary of explaining why the Rauldens wouldn't give away their advanced weaponry. The power capabilities of the differing land-based and mobile machines and aircraft were unquestionably far too weak to operate them...but she promoted what she could provide marvelously. Cutting-edge jamming devices were the best answer to their situation. They would eliminate the shield-generating capabilities of the aliens and give the Earth ships at least a moderate chance in the upcoming battle. Too, the modules would lock onto the Rheckors' transponder signals and mimic them, thus creating confusion for the aliens who wouldn't know what target was a friendly one.

The fixed-base radar facilities located nearly everywhere would cover most of the airspace close to the ground, and the AWAC type planes would work best for cover during aerial battles. Their position above a conflict area could enable them to scatter the field in a wider parabolic arc than any other method. The military leaders assigned multiple tankers and fighter cover for each one of those planes, in order to try and keep their chances optimal for as long as possible when it started.

"It will not take them long to figure out what we are up to, and when they do, they will be 'very' focused on eliminating these aircraft, so be forewarned."

They all nodded their understanding and relayed the entire scope of the coming battle to their men.

Another strategy was to evacuate every military base of personnel and equipment.

"They will certainly be targeted at the onset and will be destroyed," she explained. "We will set up decoy signal generators that will make it appear as if the bases were still in place and active, thus drawing more of the enemy ships into false attack sorties. When they move in, your planes can catch them off guard...at least for a short time...so make it count!"

She grew more and more concerned too while the days passed and no one could locate Ron. The search had become infinitely more difficult with the loss of the communications satellites, and her hopes waned with every passing hour. With only local programs being broadcast from individual cities, like news and such, the dissemination of information was drastically slowed, reduced, and oftentimes altered. The President relied on internet connections heavily, but even those were sporadic due to the majority of data being sent over the airwaves at some point, and thus lost or fragmented. The world was instantly thrown decades back in time for ninety percent of its services and communications.

People across the country, and the world, blew the dust off ham radios and CBs, and the airwaves were rekindled with a much more primitive form of talk than the ultra-portable cellular phones of the day. As the moment every Earthling feared approached, Martial law commenced in each state, city, and town. Only essential workers, those needed to maintain basic services, were allowed on the streets. Military patrols were buoyed by Sheriffs' departments and city police. The vast industrialized engines of progress and production ground to a halt as the citizens around the world braced for a true world war, or waited for the end of days.

December 24th turned out to be the day when Earth finally witnessed the convergence of the enemy and by then Cache Kuar was a nervous wreck of exhaustion, worry, fear, and sorrow. She'd worked nearly non-stop for days on end, planning, coordinating, and delivering thousands of her people's devices to those on Earth who would utilize them...even installing many of them herself.

In fact, she'd remained was so focused on her duty to help Ron's world, she completely forgot her own safety...and now she found herself trapped, Earth-bound...without the support of her beloved partner, or the mighty warship.

After a whirlwind tour of the planet, during the second-to-last stop of her expedition, a freak accident had shaken her reality to the very core, and altered her future dramatically.

While packing up the equipment she used to install all the enhancements to get the Venezuelan government up to speed, Cache was programming the next set of coordinates to move the Starflex Transporter probe to...for the final stop. Off to her left was the typical scene of movement at an airport...heavy equipment towing aircraft, small baggage tugs whizzing about, men and women performing various duties, and so on. The entourage of military men surrounding her were performing their jobs as usual, and no one was in any way threatening the group, but in the end it didn't matter.

A fast moving baggage tug sped along the perimeter of their meeting area, the driver faithfully on his way to refuel one of the planes in the U.S. party, when a length of rope under the seat of the driver was blown out of its stowage position by a gust of wind and reached the rear tire. The rotating wheel sucked the rope in like a long spaghetti noodle. In an instant, the set of chocks attached to the other end of that rope were snatched out of their stowage trough, knocking the driver completely off his seat and onto the concrete ramp.

The fellow rolled to a painful stop, but in his exit of the tug, he tried to hold onto the steering wheel, and failed. Unfortunately, he managed to yank it hard enough to send the four thousand pound steel cart hauler directly into a running engine of the transport Cache was standing next to.

The tug struck the inlet of the high-bypass engine with enough force to reach the huge, eight-foot diameter fan, sheering off two thirds of the blades before it lurched to a horrendously loud, grinding stop. However, before that massive assembly of metal did cease its rotation, it sent six of those three-foot-long blades screaming out the sides of the cowling as deadly shards of hardened titanium.

Cache barely flinched from the noise of the rending metal before the ricocheting resonance of one of the blades whipped past her. She grabbed her breast at the shock of it, scanning about to see if anyone was injured...and was greatly relieved to find that no one was. Although, when she returned her focus to her computer, the red warnings across the screen caused her to cringe...and then the blood fled from her face. The Portal probe had been hit and was damaged! She ran a quick diagnostic and found it to be irreparable without access to either Rauld or the _Darlile_.

If it hadn't been for her personal, nearly limitless tenacity, she'd have been a sobbing, dysfunctional, useless mess. After all, with what she currently knew about the Rheckors and their abilities, the fight was all but a lost cause without the _Darlile_. And now that she was completely cut-off from Rauld, the real probability that she would never see her baby girl again quickly grew heavy on her mind.

### Chapter Thirty-five

### Who Are You?

"Mistress is demanding an update!" said an unknown male speaker, echoing from the deep, semi-coherent parts of Ron's mind.

The next voice was strained...worried...even frightened. It was clear that he was under a tremendous amount of pressure.

"I don't have anything yet!"

"What the fuck are you talking about? It's been six days!"

"Yeah, I know...and before that it was six with some other squad! You don't understand what I'm up against!"

"She doesn't give a damn about your problem! She..."

"Then tell her to get her ass down here and I'll explain it to her!"

"Talk like that will get you disemboweled Trinnle!"

"You all think this is just some kind of game? I'm not trying to tune a fucking piano! I've hit him with every kind of serum we have...even combined things I've never used before. I flushed his system twice to make the drugs more potent. I got nothing! You follow me? Nothing! He's like a God-damned vault with a million digit combination! And I tell you what...he's been through this before! His thoughts are intentionally scrambled, as if he were wide awake! All this!" he said, slamming his metal tray filled with vials and small instruments into a wall. "All this equipment is no better than simply asking him for the information over coffee and donuts!"

"What do you want me to tell her then?"

"Tell her the truth. He's not from Earth, and he's not normal if he's one of us. That's all we know for certain. It's possible he could be a Sentinel...the way they modify those guys, there's just no telling. We'll either have to make him a deal, or let the Queen's experts have a crack at him when they get here!"

"She's not going to like...wait! Can he hear us?"

"No...no...that's just a sporadic spike in his alphas. Don't worry..."

That short bit of intelligible memory was the single portion of his long ordeal clear enough to retain when Ron finally awakened. They'd tried the oldest form of torture first, just for the joy of it, taking turns beating him with their fists...until he timed a blow just right and ducked into it, shattering the man's hand in the process. The tormentors then decided to obey their orders, handing him over to the doctors...and after they began, his grasp of time and reality was nothing more than a sluggish fog.

Another day passed after that single moment of cognizance before Ron cracked his eyelids open enough to take a few hasty peeks at his surroundings, searching for his captors. When he found no one about, he grew bolder and extended his investigation. He was lying prone on the ground with his hands pulled out to the sides and raised a foot off the stone floor, was stripped of all his garments, and his head pounded heavily. The only light in the space was far above, glowing dimly, and his new version of reality slid and swirled all around him as he peered about.

His throat was so dry it was difficult to swallow, and he felt like it'd been a month since his last meal. As his faculties gradually returned, he studied the room and realized he had been a "guest" of such a place before...Huinrag! At that instant, Ron couldn't suppress a snarling, rumbling growl.

The walls were twenty feet high and about the same apart...squared off with one another. The entire place looked like it was constructed of concrete, but without a single crack or joint to be seen. In fact, the only real break in the smoothness of those confines was a lone door directly across the room in front of Ron. That portal was easily ten feet in height and five feet wide, and those dimensions reminded him far too much of his last imprisonment as well.

"Could the Kreete really be here...on Earth?" Ron thought. "Or have I been taken off world?"

He felt the effects of many powerful blows on his body as he tried to sit up, quickly discovering his hands were encircled by heavy steel bracelets which were, in turn, attached to long, stout chains. Those welded loops of iron ran ten feet to either side, up through a hole in the wall, and into an adjacent area.

Getting to his feet stiffly, Ron took inventory of his person. Nothing seemed broken, but there were plenty of clear marks to remind him of the battering he'd endured. Carefully moving about, he assessed his injuries further and tested his restraints for mobility and the range of the chains. At that point, Ron discovered he was given only enough slack to keep him from being suspended from his manacles, forcing his arms to remain somewhat spread-eagle. A strong pull on those fetters however, gave him another clue...they weren't anchored solidly. Instead, the welded steel links were attached to some sort of weighted pulley system that he couldn't see. And closer examination of the cuffs on his wrists revealed that they were of simple design, not even appearing to have locks, so if he could just put one hand to the other, he'd be loose.

He pondered the reasoning for that and could only guess that it would instill the victim with a frustrating psychological dilemma. He was allowed some movement, but not quite enough to produce the freedom he sought. However, that very contraption provided him an intriguing avenue.

He began experimentation from there.

The weights on the other side of the wall were massive, taking nearly all of his strength to move them, so he started alternately pulling each of them to the limit of their lengths, just to see what would happen. A thundering, booming, slamming sound echoed through the room, vibrating the entire place and causing a light fog of dust to drift about...and that planted a thought in his brain. His feet had been left free, so he used them to gain leverage against his shackles in order to add his considerable mass to the action. In a few short moments he had those counterweights crashing in an earthshaking rhythm which was rewarded with swift attention.

The noise from the massive weights bashing against stone rung Ron's ears so badly that he didn't hear the heavy latch on the thick steel door being thrown aside, and only knew of an attack when three large men rushed in at him.

"Stop that infernal racket, you mindless gaert!" screamed one of the group.

Ron was in mid-motion from pulling one way when he saw them coming, and allowed the opposing action to accelerate his body toward their charge. The first fellow swung a club at him but had it swept aside with one flying foot before catching the other squarely in the face. The guard's body seemed to rotate perfectly at the waist as his boots flew up and his shoulders sped downward, until his head slammed into the stone floor violently. He did not rise.

The next guy stepped aside as his partner was put down but couldn't quite get out of the way before Ron twisted his body sharply and connected with a knee to his chest. The force of the blow threw the guard against the wall hard enough to dislocate his shoulder, and Ron gave him one last shot as he slumped...a horrible kick to the side of his knee that folded it ninety degrees from the normal motion. The man screamed and dropped to the ground hard, squirming on the floor in mind-searing agony.

The last guard clubbed at the captive man with all of his strength, but Ron Allison was unlike any prisoner he'd ever seen. Even though his back was turned, dispatching the second attacker, he knew the last one would likely try to incapacitate him with a head strike so he hunched his broad shoulders and ducked sharply.

The hard, wooden baton landed short of its target, much to the surprise of its wielder. There was a loud report of the club slapping flesh, and it was painful to be sure, but Ron didn't pause as his foot snapped up behind him, catching the man in the groin and lifting him two feet off the ground.

The guard's hands were pulled back in a two-handed swing he was certain would stop this maniac in chains, but the shot to his sensitive area made his stomach clench and churn in a nauseating reaction he simply couldn't control. And before he had the chance to recoil away from that demon's wrath, Ron spun about...and his eyes were full of fire!

Ron dropped his weight onto his shackled arms as his feet shot outward, latching onto the neck of the final foe, and then he reeled him in. The man instantly forgot about the mind-numbing queasiness in his lower body while his hands sprang up to try and free him from those legs now threatening to crush his neck. He pulled and twisted and jerked in a desperate attempt at freedom, fighting like a wild animal caught in a trapper's wares, but he was only then understanding the opponent he faced...and it was far too late.

Ron drew him in close, and the growling, guttural emissions coming from his throat combined with the rumbling from his broad chest as if he were a grizzly bear. Such primal, ghastly sounds made the fellow lose control of his bodily functions, filling his trousers with waste. One more quick twist would have ended the man's life with a clean snap, but...

"STOP!" bellowed a voice from the doorway.

Ron hesitated in his fight for a split second, just long enough for the newcomer to offer up a warning.

"You kill him," he continued, whipping out a huge weapon with a barrel at least an inch and a half in diameter, "and I'll kill you!"

For a long second Ron considered that threat, his need to finish the brawl still searing in his brain, but his cognitive senses took over...barely. Instead of ending the man's life, he kicked him free and filled the room with the infamous battle-cry of his Aredanz clansmen.

When that horrendous release of adrenaline was past, his captors got a tiny glimpse of what exactly they'd caught, and they unconsciously took a half-step back. Ron's body glistened with sweat and his heart pounded hard, forcing his blood into bulging muscles that were more than mere sinew...as the three wounded guards had so quickly found out.

Ron's wrists were pulled in close to his body too...the huge weights both held at their upper stops...as his glare tried to pierce the return stare of this new threat. He looked like the human embodiment of pure, unbridled fury.

The leader of the group held his ground for a while, not speaking...and no one else moved either. A few seconds of eyeing Ron drifted by before the gun-toting fellow motioned for his two male escorts to move in from the hallway.

"Get those three out of here."

The fresh men cautiously dragged the moaning man and his unconscious buddies well out of Ron's reach before stooping to lift them, and the person in charge stepped up closer when they were done.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Ron gave no reply. He had been "questioned" for an entire santari in the dungeons of his last prison, enduring the cruelest, most ungodly punishments no other human had ever survived, and if these men thought they could make him talk, they were gravely mistaken.

The leader studied Ron intently. He saw the remains of the deepest, most horrible wounds his captive had sustained, those still showing the slim whitish lines of scar tissue which was not yet fully absorbed. In that instant he knew without a doubt this man was a true warrior. He would not gain information by threats or pain...and too, the prisoner was incredibly strong!

Ron continued to hold his wrists close, and the spokesman knew the size of the counterweights on the other ends of those chains. Most of his own men wouldn't have been able to lift one of them with both hands, yet this fellow held them both...and his arms didn't even tremble from the strain.

"Were you sent here from the fleet?"

Ron made no move...not even a twitch...but his mind began to run fast.

"Are you a Sentinel?"

"Who are these people?" Ron began to aggressively deliberate. "They definitely aren't from Earth...but where? What fleet?"

"If the Queen sent you, tell us. We will verify your identity and release you."

Ron was a statue.

"Were you ordered to contact us...or eliminate us?"

Nothing.

"What are you here for?"

Ron's mind was racing full tilt now. They knew he was not an Earth man...apparently expecting someone from their homeworld...or at least from some alien society that they were allied with.

"We will be leaving soon. If you wish us to take you along, you had better give us something. Otherwise, you'll find yourself dying right where you stand with the rest of this pathetic world."

Ron said nothing but his deliberation switched from wondering who they were to the fellow's inference of an attacking threat.

The leader grumbled before he and his men moved off to the doorway for a sidebar. They spoke in low tones and in a completely different language to conceal the conversation from Ron, but he could make out much of it due to the Raulden translator chip and his concentration being so keen.

"We should kill him now!" one of the men urged, glancing over his shoulder at Ron.

"But what if he's been sent from the armada?"

"We have no way of contacting anyone yet who could clarify that. When the Earthers killed the up-link, they shut us down. We've got to wait for a ship to enter orbit now, and the delay is driving me crazy!"

"Relax, they'll be in range soon."

"What if he was sent to find the origin of the scans we detected?"

Ron's ears picked up the mention of those "scans" and knew it had to be the _Darlile_. That gave him an angle to work with.

"What if he 'is' a Sentinel, Graehm?" the fellow continued.

Ron's anger took another step toward full-on hate with the mention of that name.

"Then we can just say we never saw him Kiite!" Graehm replied with obvious aggravation. "Kill him now Doogin...and be rid of him. There's something not right about that guy! If he's a Sentinel, we never would have caught him."

"That was just dumb luck, you idiot, and you know it!"

"Luck? My happy ass! He simply acted out his 'conditioning' mandate. They're trained to protect any female with their lives...just like he did on that bridge! No, Mistress had him figured out to perfection, so shut your hole, Kiite...before I..."

"Be quiet...both of you. I need to think!"

"If he's from the Queen's Guard, why was he at that woman's home?" Kiite whispered.

"The last we heard, they were looking for the crew of the ship that's scanning the fleet! He probably did what we'd do...hack their pathetic computer network and find her. After all, she's the only link to the black ship that we know of."

"That's what it looks like to an outsider, yes," Graehm replied, "but we've already probed her memories. She knows less about the vessel than we do!"

"I'm well aware of that, you gaert! But a newcomer wouldn't know that!"

"It was in my report!" Doogin clarified. "What if he's the pilot of that ship?"

"Then the whole scenario makes less sense than anything!" Kiite replied. "Unless he was just there to get him a little Earth-girl action...heh-heh-heh!"

"Pipe down you idiot, and let me think!"

Doogin considered his options intently for a few moments, weighing the consequences of his possible decisions. If he simply killed one of the Queen's elite commandos, he might someday have to answer for that. It was obvious to all of them that the prisoner was a heavy-worlder, and that he'd seen a great deal of action, so the assumption of his warrior's status would more than likely be correct. On the other hand, if he was wrong and released him, he might be inviting a spy into their midst. The only other option would be to leave him here alive and hope to find out about his identity before the planet was too damaged to come back and rescue him, or he perished from lack of water.

"Water!" he jerked like he'd suddenly remembered something important. "Brejite!" Doogin called down the corridor. "Bring water!"

The three men stood at the doorway nervously then, still undecided as to how they should proceed. They each glanced at Ron often but didn't speak. A few seconds later footsteps could be heard approaching in a quick manner, and the lightness of the patter told Ron a small person was hurrying toward them in sandaled feet. Doogin stepped aside and a woman entered the cell carrying a large metal goblet.

"Water him!" Doogin ordered as he continued his deliberation.

The woman was short...possibly only five feet tall...slim and athletic looking, with well toned legs and a defined midriff. Her skin was superbly tanned and she had long, straight, dark-brown hair that almost floated in the air when she moved. The attire she wore was a very skimpy bit of shiny, pastel pink cloth about her hips which was slit on either side all the way to a thin cord...the only thing holding the semi-skirt from falling to the floor. Her upper garment was equally scant, being only a sleeveless half shirt that matched the skirt in color and appearance, and was just barely enough material to encompass two-thirds of her marvelously proportioned breasts...the sweet curve of their lower regions plainly in view.

Ron noticed the way she kept her head down around the men, and guessed she was some sort of slave to them...a concubine, or pleasure toy. His disregard for the men rose another few notches at the thought.

As the girl passed by the doorway, her curiosity got the best of her and she lifted her eyes to see Ron. His demeanor had not changed, and she could tell instantly that he was an extremely dangerous fellow.

She stutter-stepped at first and then stopped all together, just staring at him...her mouth hanging open in astonishment. She had never seen such a perfect specimen of a man...so powerful, so commanding, even though confined in the chains...and so fearsome. She quickly shot a timid glance back at Doogin.

"She is a native woman," he said to Ron, "...one of the Earthlings...so if you kill her, I wouldn't care one bit."

Ron couldn't stop a deep growl from reverberating through the room, and it made the girl even more apprehensive. She took a few more steps and stopped again, looking as if she would burst into tears.

"Water him, you little bitch!"

Ron made a conscious decision to prolong the encounter, and released his strain on the chains. His arms shot up and out, followed immediately by a tremendous explosion of sound as the counter-weights slammed to the ground on the other side of the wall. Brejite jerked again, spilling half the water she'd carried in...and shook visibly.

The men jumped to full attention as well, unable to absorb the shock of that thunderous sound without a sharp reaction of surprise. They ceased their deliberations once again and stood staring at him...wondering what the mysterious beast-man would do next...but when they saw, they were quite surprised by it.

Ron's furrowed brow melted away and turned placid and gentle, revealing a countenance which the young woman found quite handsome and totally captivating. His quick glance at the others however was hard and cold, and reminded her he was not so gentle to everyone, but when he looked her way again, he softened.

"Don't be afraid of me," he whispered. "I will do no harm to you. Please, give me the water."

Brijette complied with his request but was clearly shaking as she did so.

Ron knelt and drank every drop of it, and when his throat was soothed again, he looked at the girl intently.

"Thank you."

She seemed shocked at his simple show of gratitude...as if that was the first time in a very long time anyone had shown it. Ron then regained his feet and turned his attention to the men.

"If you have knowledge of the fleet, then identify yourself!" he ordered in their tongue.

Doogin stopped his mental deliberation suddenly, his astonishment at being overheard showing on his face in the form of queasy fear. He then shifted his stance and faced away from the now commanding prisoner. He and his men whispered together for a few more moments before they approached.

"Who are you?" Graehm asked. "And you are not in a position..."

Ron ventured a guess that those men weren't as important as they tried to make out, and since whatever group of vessels they were connected with weren't in direct communication with them, he decided to play out a ruse.

"No, Doogin!" he said, ignoring the associate. "It is YOU who are not in a position to command. When my superiors realize your part in my capture and abuse, the roles we have here will be quickly reversed! And I cannot wait for that! So if you wish to have a slim chance of avoiding such a future, you'd better begin with answering my questions! Now, identify yourself!"

Doogin didn't know what he should do. If this man was on the level, then he surely didn't want to further aggravate the situation. But if he was not, any information he divulged would look equally bad.

"First give me your name and your Mistress...so that I can verify your story."

Ron looked into the eyes of the leader and saw he was not at all confident in his authority.

"If you have any knowledge whatsoever of my duty here, you know that I am not at liberty to give either...at least until I establish your own credentials!"

Another long few moments drifted by as Doogin considered the truth of the prisoner's statement. If this man was really a Sentinel, then he had enormous value to his sponsor, whoever she might be. And if he didn't check out, they could always kill him then...no harm done.

"Very well. I am Doogin Chandlin, second in command of the exploratory vessel, the _Rasp of Fire._ The Matriarch of the ship was Kimmshea Goan. She died in the crash that stranded us here over eighty seven cycles ago...more than a hundred of this world's orbits."

"I do not recall such a craft, nor was there any mention of your being here...in this sector," Ron told him, trying to stall for more time to think.

"We were part of the exploration of the Garannte Subsection!"

No response from Ron.

"The Garannte Subsection...ten light cycles from here, on the thirty-first parallel of the Quadrullion Nimbus Cluster!"

"I am a warrior...not a student of Astral-navigation. But if your duty was ten light cycles away, how did you get all the way out here?"

"The Kassars were expanding their realm in that location and we ran into a heavily armed attack fleet. Matriarch Goan waged war with them as best she could, but in the end, we had to retreat. Our ship was damaged but we managed to make it to jump-speed before they could catch us.

"We were heading in this direction, hoping to drop into normal space and turn back toward the armada, but the Dark-Matter drive failed and we came out of hyperspace too close to this planet. The ship disintegrated in the atmosphere over a country called Russia, and our lifeboats landed on a frozen lake in that area. We barely managed to survive back then...this world's air is so thin...and we've been waiting for rescue all this time."

"Why did you not contact your superiors?"

"With what? At the first snow thaw, the only thing we'd salvaged from the ship sank to the bottom of a deep lake. Back then these people were so primitive, and their industry was so antiquated, we had no way of making a com-link. The ability to communicate at the wavelength we normally use has only been available for about ten cycles. Once the technology was finally achieved though, we integrated what we could into their orbiting network and began a distress call. Isn't that why the fleet is coming?"

Ron began to understand how these heavy-worlders had stayed hidden for so long. They must have grouped together and avoided open intermingling with the natives, although their expertise was probably utilized in certain electronic fields. Too, his father, Kurt, must have been tracking some of them while in the military...possibly dissenters, or cast-outs of the group...those "rogues".

Ron gave no reply, his mind spinning from the information. It was too disjointed to get a good grip on exactly who these aliens were, but he got the distinct feeling that their "fleet" was something exceedingly bad...and it was headed toward Earth!

Doogin got suspicious when Ron didn't respond, so he then turned the conversation around.

"All right then...I've told you who I am...now it's your turn!"

He held the huge gun up to indicate his sincerity and Ron clamped his jaw down. Time was up. He had to come up with something.

"I am known as Shartae! My Mistress is Josylinia Gitove. I have indeed come to investigate the scans emanating from this planet. Moreover, I've been tasked with finding a crewmember and getting aboard that mystery ship...either to pilot it off-planet, or destroy it! Do you have any leads that might assist me?"

"No," Kiite replied with dismay. "Our source in the military has been lost. He was an Earther General...tied in at the highest level, but he was having trouble passing information due to some new advisor to the President. She knew about the fleet's approach and was extremely suspicious of him, monitoring his every move! She even put a tracer on his personal computer! The last communiqué reported the Navy had found the ship, so it's somewhere at sea...on an island or floating base, possibly...it didn't specify. As far as its crew, we can only speculate."

"Have my Mistress confirm my mission and then turn me loose," Ron ordered of Doogin. "We are running out of time!"

The Earth-bound leader slowly retreated, trying to come up with more questions, but suspecting he would receive no further answers from the man.

"And have some food brought in!" Ron roared as they exited the doorway.

Brijette left with them, having stayed off to the side during the dialogue like a pet. Throughout the verbal exchange, they spoke a language foreign to Earth and didn't give a second thought to her understanding them. Ron of course spoke their own dialect fluently, without even thinking about it, also dismissing his petite hostess's presence.

He stood alone in his cell for several minutes, racking his brain about how he was going to get out of this mess. He had a plan, but with a guard outside the door, he didn't see a great opportunity on the horizon.

A sudden drop in pressure made Ron's ears pop, and explained at least one parameter of how heavy-worlders were thriving here...the building was a vast hyperbolic chamber!

Five minutes drifted by before he felt a repeat of the pressure change, and he smiled at the sound of those little feet hurrying down the hall once more. The new male guard opened the door for her, and Brijette scurried through quickly with a heaping platter of food. She walked up to within five feet of Ron before stopping...again out of trepidation of such an ominous being.

Ron saw no means of surveillance in the room, which seemed very odd if this was a place designated to such inquiries, so his mental warning bell was chiming again. He was convinced his time was short though, so he decided to take a very risky step.

"I need you to help me escape!" Ron told her softly in English.

Her eyes flew open wide and her mouth copied them.

"Do not fear," he whispered. "I am not with them. I will not attempt to harm you in any way. Please, act as calmly as you can. I will talk with you a bit, and if you don't trust me, all you have to do is tell the guard I tried to subvert you. It will be over and you will be blameless.

"Now, be at ease and give me the food. I'm very hungry."

He then dropped to his knees again, to allow her access to him.

The girl slowly returned to animation and moved closer. She looked up into his gray eyes and hers shifted back and forth rapidly, showing her anxiousness, but in the end, she began to feed him the platter of food piled with meats, bread, and fruits...as she had been ordered.

"I am an Earth man...Ron Allison...from Westlake, Louisiana."

"You can't be! I heard what you did to Jebor and Keston and Frastiss. No Earth man could do that!"

"I have undergone a...change...it's true, from some other very advanced beings on a planet called Rauld. They made me as I am now."

Brijette looked away for a few seconds, contemplating his story. It would have seemed completely ludicrous just a couple of years earlier, but now, knowing what she did about the aliens who dominated her, she was more inclined to accept his story.

"They want to destroy our world. What about you?"

"I don't know anything about that, and I definitely would not help them since my whole family lives here. I have only one objective at the moment though, and that is to escape. If I can manage that, then the people I represent will absolutely assist in protecting this planet...I guarantee it!"

"How did you end up here?" Brijette asked, still trying to judge him.

"I was looking for someone in Arizona when I accidentally got caught up in some kind of attack they'd staged."

The girl just stayed quiet and kept feeding him, but he could tell she was scouring his story for deceit.

"Do you know who these people are?"

She looked down for a few seconds and then up at him. Even kneeling, Ron was taller than her. She nodded slowly.

"You know they are not of this world?"

Again she nodded.

"How long have you known?"

"Since...since the first week I was brought here."

She was frightened, that much was clear, but after a moment she seemed almost relieved to be able to speak about it.

"The other girls...the ones who came before me...they all knew. At first I thought they were deranged, from being prisoners for so long, but once I witnessed these men for myself, I began to believe the truth."

"Who are they?"

"They call themselves Rheckors. They come from a solar system that is now unable to sustain them...having been completely ruined by their total disregard of the balance of nature. They're like a plague of interstellar locusts...passing through the galaxy and stripping it of every usable resource as they go. They travel in fleets numbering thousands of ships, and destroy on a planetary scale."

"Mother of...!" Ron started to say, but checked his thoughts. "And now they're coming here?"

"Yes!"

Ron's mind really began to rev then, and his focus of finding his wife suddenly took a sharp shift to a broader spectrum. He stared at the guard by the door, carrying that dangerous looking rifle.

"I was Melany Fortrain," she began again hesitantly...trying to get his attention once more. Ron pushed aside the dread he felt and kicked his brain back into gear with a strong sense of urgency...all caution now cast aside.

She helped him wash down his meal with a pitcher of water and then continued her introduction while Ron devoured her offerings.

"I'm from Jasper, Georgia."

"How'd you end up here?"

"I was a college freshman at Georgia Tech when I went on spring break down in Florida with a group of friends. Things got out of hand one night and I woke up in a hotel room with three other girls. Our wrists were taped together and gags were in our mouths."

More tears dripped from her lovely chin as her hand withdrew from her duty and quivered at her side.

"We were sold to these men that day and taken here...wherever here is...in a panel van in the middle of the night. They drugged us, so I don't know how long our trip took. We could be anywhere! That was over two years ago."

"What did they...want with you?" he asked, feeling certain about the coming reply.

Brijette looked down for a while and he saw a few flashes of drops falling to the floor.

"These men like Earth girls. They say we make them feel strong...like Gods! And they 'are' strong! They can do things normal men...even huge, powerful men...simply cannot do. They like to show off too...that's how I know.

"But what's totally ironic is..." she half sobbed and half laughed, "on their world, the women rule."

She looked back at Ron, the streaks of salty water evident on her cheeks.

"There was nothing I could do! They just take what they want!"

"Don't allow yourself to accept blame for this!" Ron told her sternly. "You're absolutely correct. There was nothing you could do. You've survived this ordeal, and soon we'll get you home again!"

"Home? That's a laugh. I haven't even dreamed of home in so long I can't remember."

"I'll take you with me when I leave. You have my word."

She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind, glancing at the manacles and heavy chains. Ron just smiled.

"Can you release my bonds?" he asked then...his hopes soaring.

"No," Brijette replied sullenly. "They're designed to look simple as a ruse, but are not. I heard them joke about it. It takes a special, odd-looking key to open them."

"Do you know where my clothes and weapons are?"

"In a room up the hallway...third door on the right. They keep all their weapons locked up there...and the keys."

"Can you get them?"

"No. The room is always locked. I only have access to areas of food...until they call for me."

Ron thought about his options for a moment and then made his decision.

"Where do you go when you leave this cell? I'll collect you...or do you not want to get involved?"

"You really think you can escape?"

"Well, I don't plan on staying here," he told her with a twisted smile. "When they try to confirm my identity, they'll quickly find out I'm a fraud...and they'll want to rid themselves of me."

Brijette looked long and hard at Ron's unflinching, grinning face. He was so full of confidence, so brave in light of his position, and so gorgeous. She decided she had little to lose in the plan. If he got free and rescued her, great! If not, she would be no worse off.

"Very well. I'm in the next compound. If you turn right out this door, go down the hall to the end, turn right again, take the next left, then follow it for fifty yards and turn left again. That corridor will end in a heavy, steel door which leads outside. I don't know exactly why, but all these buildings are pressurized. The other women say it has something to do with the Rheckors' heritage...like the air here on Earth is too thin to sustain them."

"Yes, they're heavy-gravity dwellers," Ron explained, recalling the strength of the men who'd captured him, "and Earth's pull is too weak for them.

"Do you know how long I've been here?"

"I've only known about you for a couple days...but you were in the lab for a while first. Also, they brought you in by ground transport and I heard one of the drivers say that was the longest job he'd ever had."

Ron guessed his "dream" was fairly accurate as far as the time...probably at least a week.

"What do you know about this region...outside?" he asked.

"It's hot here all the time, except when the rains start. Then it's like we never get warm."

"Central America or northern South America," Ron guessed, assuming he'd been delivered by ground vehicle.

"We're in some kind of wildlife preserve too...or a national forest. The entire facility is only about fifty acres, with six separate buildings, but outside of that, it's a wild jungle. We've never seen or heard a thing.

"Also, there are normally only about fifty Rheckors scattered around the place, but there are many more here now. They've been making preparations for a journey over the last several days and will most-likely be in the largest structure off to the east. I will be in the next building to the left...to the north of where you come out. I have very little, so I'll be ready when you get there."

"What about others...other prisoners?"

"There are thirty-three of us in our building, but I don't know how many would be willing to take the chance!"

"Okay then, tell the ones you know will want to go. We can't afford anyone giving away our plans. If the others decide to try it, they'll just have to hurry.

"Do you have other clothing? If we have to go through the woods, you'll need protection from the vines, thorns, and such."

"I have a long cape, and some high boots!"

"If you can travel in them, put them on! What time is it? Hell...what day is it?"

"Just after midnight...and one of the girls thinks it's Christmas Eve."

"What about that guard?"

Brijette thought quickly, and then a look of determination swept across her face.

"I'll find a way to...uh...distract him!"

Ron felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of what she might have to do, and it showed.

"It's nothing I haven't been forced to do many times over the past two years, so forget about it."

Ron nodded regretfully. "Be ready before daylight. I'll be there as soon as I can...and you'll know it when I arrive!" he added with another sly smile.

Ron was finished with his dinner by then so she smiled back at him, turned, and left. He noticed the guard checking the barred window in the door when she asked to be let out, and saw he was alone. Brijette spoke with the man for a minute, sidling up close to him and stroking his arm affectionately. Before long, Ron saw him smile down at her. The massive bolt on that iron barrier quickly slid into place followed by the distinct sound of a heavy lock clicking into position, and then two sets of footsteps were clearly moving away.

When the sounds of Brijette's sandals faded from his auditory range, Ron waited with mounting excitement. He felt the pressure drop, then rise...and at that point, he went back to what he'd started before the first group of men had arrived...and the room instantly shook from the tremendous pounding.

### Chapter Thirty-six

### The Rheckors

Not a single military person was on leave by the time the first wave broke through the atmosphere, and every weapon, every ship, and every plane was on heightened alert as the clock ticked away the hours, minutes, and then the final seconds.

An alarm on Cache's personal com unit alerted her to the event, and at that moment, 0219 Eastern Standard Time, while she was all alone and had no one to turn to, she knew it was virtually hopeless! Needless to say, she slept little that night.

The attack began outside the highest reaches of the upper atmosphere, as the Marauders obliterated every orbiting satellite around the planet. They utilized thousands of automated ships projecting gigantic sweeper nets of disruptor energy in front of them to plow the space clear of all debris, disintegrating everything from dust to the Hubble Space Telescope and the International Space Station. Four astronauts perished in that attack...but they were just the first victims, and many more were certain to follow.

At least Earth's leaders were ready for that move and didn't panic at the loss of signals from the few remaining, operating devices. They had finally broken down the barriers between the quarreling nations and established alternate methods of informational conveyance, sharing several secret technologies with their usual enemies.

The next move the Rheckors made came shortly before dawn in America, and was mirrored on every other continent as well. They began planting their Penetrator ships on the ground at several places where the Earth's crust was thinnest. The Yellowstone Caldera in the United States was one target, as well as New Zealand, Japan, Indonesia, and other super-volcano sites.

From a distance, the ships appeared to be gigantic donuts, with no outward insignias, antennae, or weapons. Their passive flight approach, nondescript exterior, and hollow centers belied their exceptional power capabilities and horrendous intentions. Those first intruders were met with ground to air missiles and anti-aircraft fire when they were within range, but didn't respond or even attempt to deviate from their routes. Their shielding withstood the inferior attack easily. They then all landed at their designated coordinates and immediately began preparations for drilling...auto-leveling themselves into attitudes best suited for harvesting their intended raw materials.

In less than two hours, as the burgeoning sun spilled its golden light across the tranquil landscape, those gigantic machines were spooling up enormous generators that would produce a drilling laser a hundred feet in diameter and could cut through earth and rock with incredible ease and speed. Once the molten magma was reached, they would use a ray-shielded vacuum system to pump the planet's life-blood through the boring lander, and into bulbous, hovering tanker crafts that settled directly above each of the diggers. Those pairs of alien ships combined to appear like a super-sized mushroom, dark blue in color.

Cache, President Garner, and the Joint Chiefs all stood watching the first machine in awe and horror via a special military uplink fed to their heavily fortified bunker in the Colorado Mountains. Not a single person spoke for a very long time as they took in this unabashed attempt at robbery on a global scale. They were both mesmerized by the incredible technology so far beyond Earth's capabilities as to seem magical, and appalled at the blatant disregard for the inhabitants of their planet.

"Are we ready yet, General?" Garner finally asked of the army's highest officer.

"The Abrams are in place now, sir."

"Then proceed with operation Death Blow!"

Stanley Morgan, the Five Star, newly appointed General smiled a slim little grimace as he spoke again, this time into the phone.

"Colonel Cataan...Fire at will!"

There were fifteen heavy tanks positioned in the vicinity of the pumping ship, thanks to Cache's probability scenarios, and they followed a preset list of instructions perfectly.

First, they all fired one volley at the digger, using their best armor piercing "sabot" rounds. The depleted uranium tipped projectiles that could rip through nearly any armored vehicle without worry were simply vaporized as they struck the limits of the shields, destroyed in a bright orange glow of shimmering phosphorescence.

"Turn on the device!" ordered Colonel Cataan...the commander on site at the ground-zero position, quartered in the lead tank.

Cache held her breath as she watched the viewer. There was no outward sign of change at all.

"Fire!" yelled the colonel again.

This time the result was quite different. The boring craft shook with the impact of those rounds and fifteen holes could clearly be seen in the ship's hull. Smoke instantly began leaking from these penetration points and a couple seconds later, the efficient crews were firing once more, this time at the hovering ship. They loaded a different round into the massive cannons of the Abrams, for maximum results against their new target. The explosive yield of the projectiles exploded violently as soon as they impacted the ceramic lining of the ship's thermal casing, blowing out huge, gaping holes on all sides. The damage was catastrophic, destroying the containment field keeping the four thousand degree liquid rock from actually touching the structure.

The result was immediate, as well as gruesomely satisfying. The upper craft began spewing out the bright red molten cargo onto the pumping station, encasing it in a shroud of liquid hell. Next, the transport ship began to bulge and warp as the heat of the magma was absorbed into the metal shell of its skin, and then it fell...the antigravity drives collapsing as the power units went off-line. A moment later the two alien ships were forever joined in a mountain of oozing lava that would soon be a solidified memorial to the short battle.

Back at the command center, the com lit up with raucous cheering, as did the soldiers manning the station. The President and his staff couldn't contain their jubilation of the moment, and many congratulations were spread around promptly. Cache smiled and tried to be upbeat about it, the shield-jamming equipment working well all around the globe, but she knew what would come next...and then it did.

Just as the boring equipment went down in two dozen points, from Chile to China, a new and more deadly threat emerged. Floating far above the ground, already inhaling tremendous quantities of the Earth's life-bubble, were enormous atmosphere-gathering ships as well as some other vast and onerous vessels. Those others were the delivery crafts from the orbiting super-carriers, and they burned through the sky swiftly, like sharks in a pool, with their targets set.

Those transports would each deliver a hundred fighters to lay waist to the ground troops and mechanized forces the Earthlings had assembled, and once the compact attack crafts broke free of their heavier "mother ships" they did their jobs exceedingly well. The huge, flying docks were quickly left alone in the lofty confines of the stratosphere as literally thousands of smaller, faster, and sleeker birds sped away in steep dives.

Planet Earth experienced the largest single, man-made bombardment campaign of its long life in those next hours. Conflict on the scale of what was occurring was unimaginable before this day, and earthlings perished by the tens of thousands, their men and armored vehicles incinerated in wave after wave of brilliant plasma energy.

Cache's stomach began to churn hard, the bile taste clearly registering in her mouth as she anguished over the fight. Then the specially equipped aircraft were ordered aloft, followed by every operating fighter aircraft that could possibly stay in flight.

Over the United States, the huge radar dishes came to life, joining with the A.W.A.C.s to spread their spheres of dispersion energy as far as they could possibly cover, and then the battle for air supremacy truly began.

The coverage mostly stayed close to each nation's military's strongholds, protecting sensitive areas on the ground, cities, reservoirs, and such. At sea, the aircraft carriers extended their blanket of safety far enough to protect as many other ships and coastal cities as they could.

Once the jamming equipment came on line, the enemy shields were immediately disabled, and those alien fighters that were meant to be agile and lethal became cumbersome and vulnerable. Their structural designs were intended to support and produce powerful energy weapons, which they did very well, but their hulls were not intended for actual contact with the atmosphere. The fantastic, advanced shielding normally manipulated such duties extremely effectively, and allowed hypersonic flight speeds without bother. Now, the friction of the air threw their handling characteristics into near bedlam and they were strictly limited to subsonic speeds.

Adding to their chaos was a new level of urgency too, as Earth's most elite and motivated pilots flew their crafts to the very brink of their abilities, and beyond.

The battle raged for a dozen hours, until the Marauders eventually lost every ship that first wave had delivered, and it looked good once more to the commanders in the underground safe-houses.

But then the Rheckors initiated phase three.

The gigantic, city-sized space vehicles began their own retribution for the loss of their comrades. A ball of plasma energy burst forth from the nearest vessel and tore through the atmosphere in a blindingly bright flash that slammed into an A.W.A.C. aircraft over Dallas, Texas. The plane, as well as the twelve man crew inside it, erupted in a white-hot explosion that scattered their melding molecules into the air for over five miles. Only a puff of white smoke remained an instant later. And with that loss went the small bit of help against the relentless enemy.

At the same moment, a new, vastly more devastating assault was unleashed against the people of Earth. From platforms that floated safely out of any reach from the ground came a rain of death on a scale unparalleled heretofore. Hundreds of kinetic energy weapons the size of buildings were suddenly released over every major city. As those gargantuan spears of hardened super-metal knifed through the atmosphere at fifty times the speed of sound, Cache blanched. There was absolutely nothing that could stop them.

One such deadly harpoon struck the center of Chicago, Illinois...and ten square miles of the city-proper was vaporized! Simultaneously around the globe, a thousand such projectiles were in flight.

The President, his advisors, and the military leaders all looked at Cache then, as if she could somehow pull out a new strategy that would restore their hope. However, what they saw looking back was the grim determination of a lioness surrounded by a pack of hyenas. There was absolutely nothing in Earth's meager arsenal that could even hope to stop such weapons from annihilating every person on the planet.

The strategy from there was simple and straight forward.

"Get me to my ship! It is our only hope!"

### Chapter Thirty-seven

### Shartae the Invincible

After forty-five minutes of unbroken, arduous labor, Ron saw the first signs of cracks in the thick concrete wall where the chains disappeared. By then, what once had been perfectly formed, smooth-bored, round holes were no more. Now they were elongated into rough, ragged, gnarled slots, ripped into the stone from the friction of those steel loops being dragged back and forth across it with incredible force.

Ron was literally raining sweat by then, slipping in the growing, salty puddles that surrounded him. His hands were torn and bloody, as were his feet, from the abrasion of the arduous tasks, and his shoulders, thighs, forearms, and biceps screamed from the strain, but he would not yield. His will to succeed superseded the pain and exhaustion he felt. Time was against him.

He couldn't hear anymore since the thunderous pounding was causing such intense vibrations. That sound echoed around in the room so violently his ears were completely numb and his skull felt like splitting...yet on he went, slamming the enormous weights into the stone wall...long since having obliterated the pulleys that once supported them. Now the task was harder, but the results were more evident. After another half hour, the cracks spread nearly halfway to the floor and powder and rock chips flew across the room with every blow...and on he went.

Twenty more agonizing minutes saw a bulge in the poured concrete partition to his left, and that spurred him on even more...the room swiftly drifting out of clarity as his vision was blurred in a reddening haze. His grunts became more and more bestial and the spittle flying from his mouth was laced with foam. He was returning to the animalistic state he'd been in during the Retribution Games. He was a caged creature who would do anything to escape.

A few more heaving tugs saw the wall lose half of its thickness. It had worked! His Herculean strength and completely unbreakable tenacity had once more accomplished the impossible. He would be free in mere minutes...but then...

An unexpected popping of his ears made the skin on his overheated body suddenly jump taught with goose flesh. The door to the outside had been opened! It could only be the execution squad coming for him! His time was up!

Ron increased his efforts instantly...his adrenaline spiking even higher now.

Down the long hall, two men were striding into that secure bunker, but when the reverberations of Ron's arduous work registered, they picked up the pace. One pulled up short at the weapons' hold and the other continued on toward the cell at a dead run.

Ron saw a face peering into the cage just as the first weight burst from the concrete rubble and bounced free, halfway across the room. He then turned his full attention to the other and his labors became frantic.

"Mother of all that's holy!" the guard blurted in absolute astonishment. "Graehm! Hurry! And bring the big one! By Adreah's hand...he's lose!"

The man at the door turned to see his partner racing to him carrying two weapons...both of which were designed to stop other heavy-worlders like themselves. They possessed no energy disruptors, those type guns having all been destroyed long ago, but instead, these were enormous versions of Earth's typical rifles...only twenty percent more powerful than a .50 caliber Earth round.

When he looked back into the cell, his face lost all of its color as the stark reality of what he was seeing washed-out his tanned skin.

"HURRY!" he screamed in terror.

Graehm reached the door in time to have a quick look at what his partner was so frantic about, and then he too gasped in amazement...and fright. Ron was standing in the middle of the room, one of the heavy chains grasped tightly in his bloody hands as his body spun about rapidly. Every revolution forced him to leap over the other anchored shackle still holding him captive, but at the end of the metal loops he grasped was an enormous block of battered iron.

"SHIT!" Graehm squeaked as he heaved against the weight of the weapon which could shoot completely through an elephant. Up and between the bars it slid, slapping tightly against his shoulder to steady it. Ron's horrifying figure fell into the reticle easily, he being so close, and then he squeezed.

He got off one shot, and for that split second when he pulled the trigger, he thought it would be enough, but the round merely collided with the flying counterweight as Ron released it like an Olympic Champion in the hammer throw.

That forged block of metal flew straight as an arrow, four feet off the concrete floor, and when it struck its target, the portal to the cage they thought would easily contain this mere man, the results were horrendous. It ripped the entire door and frame from their mounts, shearing off ten one-inch diameter pins that were anchored into the surrounding concrete walls all around the opening. The three inch thick metal barrier was ejected across the corridor and smashed into the wall there with sufficient force to imbed it an inch into the stone surface.

Graehm and Kiite did not escape. The gun wielding man was now only sticky mortar between the door and the wall, and his accomplice had lost his right leg, arm, and shoulder as the huge weight cut its ghastly path.

Before the grit and rock from that explosive collision could reach the former glossy concrete surface of the room however, the bunker was filled with the terrible, eerie, magnificent call which signified Ron's victory...and then he turned back to the second anchor.

Since he could finally utilize both hands on the single chain, the wall collapsed almost immediately...but he was not free yet. The bracelets still kept him linked to those massive devices.

The destructive nature of his escape also tore loose the water system intended to protect the structure from fire, and so he paused for the briefest of moments in the invigorating spray of a ruptured pipe. The heavy shower washed him free of the thick layer of concrete dust that covered his entire body, and cleared his burning eyes. He sucked in a couple of good, deep breaths of air, stretched his tortured, weary frame, and then he was off.

Scooping up the only weapon he saw...the one Kiite had been holding...he went straight to the armory, hauling his twin anchors behind him one at a time and thanking the Maker for the fact that the floor of the corridor was so smooth. Once there, he used the Rheckors' own weapon to blast the hinges off the door before he kicked it in.

After those three explosive discharges, Ron inspected the gun...quite surprised by its power. It was some type of shotgun of a gauge far surpassing any Earthly similarities, and it kicked like a mule, even for him. The slug it ejected was large and had extraordinary mass...possibly depleted uranium pellets, or perhaps something he'd never heard of. Also, it turned incendiary upon striking its target, leaving a hole which was both large and glowed cherry red.

Once he was in, Ron immediately sought out a way to free himself of the manacles. That turned out to be the easiest goal on his list because directly next to the doorway was a cabinet where keys for every door in the facility were hanging. Ron studied the shape of the slot in his bracelets and found its match in only three tries.

He let out a grunting growl when he at last cast the chains into the hallway, always hating the feeling of captivity.

Next, he made his way around the large storage room in search of his personal items while contemplating a defensive strategy...just in case someone else might come looking for his would-be assassins. He found plenty of options.

His clothing was tossed in a pile on a back-corner shelf, along with his boots, so he hurriedly slipped into the shirt and pants. However, the protective coat and hat were nowhere to be found. The blue throwing knives were laid out on another rack next to the ebony sword, still secured in its harness, so they were added to his attire as well. Moving on to his next need, he tore into three medical packs in order to wrap up his brutalized feet, and afterward forced the boots over them none to carefully. His hands would just have to do as they were, not wanting any impediments in a pinch.

At that point the arsenal was open to his investigation, and his eyes gathered in every sort of weapon they could. There were handguns, grenades, multiple types of rifles...some of which were fully automatic...packs of unknown materials, racks and racks of ammunition, flares, and so on.

One last thing he eyed with great envy was an interesting looking backpack which, upon closer inspection revealed itself to be an air pressurization system used to aid the heavy-worlders out in Earth's inferior atmosphere. He didn't leave without that!

A few minutes later, when he slipped back into the hallway, he felt well prepared to meet any foes who might attempt to delay his exit...and left behind a good-sized improvised explosive charge to keep his new enemies from using that cache of weapons against him.

Up to the massive pressure door Ron went, pausing to check the items he carried one last time before he decompressed the chamber and opened the portal.

He half expected to be ambushed, but as the cool night air struck his face, all was calm and quiet.

The wide open courtyard before him was sparsely lit, allowing a bit of shadowy cover, but not too dark to make a good visual sweep of the place. After determining the threat level, he took a quick note of the arrangement of the open space.

There were concrete walkways running between half a dozen buildings with colored tile and stone bordering either side of those paths. Also, small pockets of greenery stood here and there resembling the urban layout of a typical residential compound. The architects were obviously attempting to add some color and life to the drab constant of stone.

Ron slipped out of the lighted entrance to his former prison and into the shadows before he set his senses on patrol. His ears were still ringing from the long bout with the heavy anchors, but his eyes were in fine shape, so he swept the area twice more, first swiftly to determine if any of his captors were milling about or heading his way, and then slowly, to imprint the positions of every tree, building, and bench in his visual realm.

Things were very serene at that moment so he took a step further back and checked the sky. His extraordinarily sharp memory searched out the stars of his past and allowed him to get his compass bearings. He then turned west and struck out for the holding pens of the women.

There was a little bell going off in his head as he made his way through the darkness, warning him that this was all a bit too easy, but the pounding inside his skull made him too numb to heed his inner, cautionary advice. As he cast a last glance about and rushed to the door of Brijette's jail, he failed to see the horde of troops moving into position beyond the glow of the lights.

Ron pressed his ear to the thick wooden entrance and heard nothing, so he tried the handle. It was locked as he had expected, but it wasn't the massive steel barrier of the pressurized portal he'd just exited, so a single, solid blow of his shoulder managed to open it rather handily.

The door swung violently inward, exposing a large interior space which was arranged like a commons area of a college dorm. There were several couches, chairs, small tables, lamps, and such, but he saw no one about. Ron glanced over his shoulder at the empty, grassy expanse, and then strode swiftly about the room, checking in each of the five arched openings arranged in a half-moon shape. They yielded to five separate corridors leading into the body of the large structure like avenues...cordoning off the different wings of the place.

Ron detected a distinct scent from each of them. One was the way to the laundry facility, another was lined with showers and latrines, the next two were domicile areas, and the last had the definite aroma of a kitchen or cafeteria. None of the windows in any of the areas opened, and so he guessed the women slaves were allowed to control this compound, or at least have the run of the inner space, but they were completely contained inside the walls of the building.

Ron flew down the hall where the ladies slept...but again, no one was around. He listened for water running in the shower section but all was quiet. Finally he marched to the cafeteria and found what he feared...the tables still had food on plates, sitting idle!

"I'll be damned!" he growled.

"Take him!" ordered the Mistress of the facility.

Three large brutes with arms like trees dashed forward at her command, straight into the dimly lit building. They were armed with those big, bulky rifles that shot the elastic netting material. It was simple...they would quickly recapture Ron.

The Mistress waited outside under the lights, her breath quick and shallow...her eyes straining to see what was happening. She didn't need to worry for long however before the sounds of shots being fired were heard...along with some unearthly roars and unmanly screams.

One of her men literally flew out the first window to her left, spraying glass far into the courtyard, and then the ghastly sounds of bones breaking were quickly followed by the other two fellows being cast out the doorway.

She took a hasty few steps backwards before realizing what she was doing, and then stood her ground once more...trying to bolster her courage in front of her minions.

"Show yourself!" she demanded.

Ron made no move toward that end, but rather used the distraction of the unconscious men he'd discarded to allow him to make a rough guess as to the size of the contingent which now stood outside. Six more men rushed over to drag the wounded trio clear of the possible reach of their vanquisher, and he saw clearly that he was surrounded. There were at least thirty armed soldiers out there and all were brandishing some kind of rifle.

"Show yourself or we shall begin killing the Earth females!"

A snap of her fingers and the women were immediately herded into the wide courtyard.

Ron's chest rumbled deeply, speaking only slightly of the anger he now felt burning inside. His wish to show them just how much he detested that display of cowardice would have to wait though, and so he stepped into the doorway.

The Rheckor Mistress' eyes gleamed at the sight of him. Her three warriors hadn't even ruffled his hair, much less damaged him. She was openly impressed by his attitude as well, noting his gaze spanning the entire setting in a single pass. She gathered that he was also well prepared for battle.

"What planet do you come from?" she asked.

Ron let his thoughts run through the usual "pros and cons" of answering that question, and the possible consequences if he were caught in a lie. Also, he scrutinized his female adversary.

She was tall for a woman...perhaps six-feet...and quite lovely. Her hair was flaxen, extremely curly, and pulled away from her face with an ornate, golden hair band. That coif of glinting curls draped behind her to midway of her back. She was very voluptuous and didn't mind showing it, sporting a lacy black, sleeveless vest that stopped above her belly-button...one that showed ample cleavage and was the perfect companion to a sheer black mini-skirt. Her dainty feet were shod with golden sandals having straps that adorned her shapely calves in a crisscross pattern up to her knees. She was stunning as well as shameless.

"Teach him to speak!"

From out of thin air, Ron was bludgeoned from behind by some club, knocking him from his feet. He struck the ground with stars in his eyes but kept moving, carrying his momentum forward in a tight roll that put space between him and his invisible foe. He popped up with the raven blade naked in his hand, but it was removed with the next attack, directed at the wrist of that hand. Another powerful blow struck the back of his left knee, dropping him again as two more speeding weapons contacted his head and back.

Ron didn't have his heavy coat or pack to ground him, and so used that fact to catapult himself up and out of his assailants' reaches, hitting the grassy surface thirty yards from where he'd left. A quick shake of his head cleared his thoughts and snapped his senses up to the max.

"They have some kind of camouflage that makes them invisible in the dark," his father had warned.

Ron didn't spend time cursing his stupidity for being caught unawares...he merely began the fight anew. The morning air was calm, and with everyone around holding their tongues to watch the fight, he set his focus. Luckily, the ringing in his ears from the pounding weights had finally passed.

His opponents rushed over to his position, attempting to surround him again...but their cloak of stealth was not as perfect as they'd hoped. It didn't hide the crushed blades of grass under their feet, or the sounds of the staffs whistling through the air.

The mighty Shartae quickly reached up and tucked the stolen breathing apparatus into his mouth, spread his feet out wide for balance, and cocked his head slowly from one position to another...searching...searching.

"Smack!" sounded the next strike, landing on Ron's lower back, under the air-pack. It stung, and pushed him forward again, but this time he was ready. The next whirling piece of hardened wood slashed at his jaw, but he heard it coming and his two forearms flew up to parry it. That blow was painful, but it made him smile nonetheless.

Ron could sense where the fellow was by the pressure against the staff...and almost decided to slit the fellow's throat with his long knife, but altered his method at the last. These aliens hadn't killed him yet, but if he were to slay four of their best warriors right in front of them, that might change. After all, he was still surrounded by a small army of well-armed troops.

Instead of a death-blow, Ron latched onto the staff with both hands. A powerful twist and a lightning fast kick robbed the foe of his weapon, doubled him over, and armed Ron with a six-foot-long length of some manmade equivalent of wood. The weapon suddenly winked into view when its owner released it, and Ron twirled it once to get its balance.

That pseudo-wooden device then whistled in the air before colliding with something waist high in the grass...only seen as a depression of the green blades...a depression in the shape of a man. Three more blistering shots to the invisible assailant stopped all movement from the man and placed Ron against the remaining trio.

Ron continued onward without hesitation, now fully ready to do battle. He attacked harshly to the right and the staff became invisible again...this time though, due to its speed!

He no longer scanned his proximity for the enemy...now he felt for them. In twenty seconds, two more phantom attackers fell to the ground, both groaning and screaming after the snapping of several limbs...and when they were down, the challenging call of the Piercellione echoed across the compound!

The fourth fighter remained still...out of reach and hidden from the demon-man! Those soldiers fought and sparred with one another to stay proficient in such warfare, but the man they now faced was no mere soldier. He didn't practice 'mock' battle, he lived amidst mortal combat!

"You wish to fight?" Ron roared into the air and at the large group of troopers. He was fully incensed by then. "Then let's fight! I know there's another one out there! Come on!"

"Enough!" their Mistress shouted, regaining Ron's attention instantly.

The comely alien leader looked sharply to her left and one of her guards nodded, putting his rifle up to the temple of the pretty little Brijette. Ron could see her clearly under one of the lights of the compound. She was naked, kneeling in the grass, and the side of her face was swelling fast. She wore red welts on her body from a lash of some kind. The Mistress was not one to casually threaten. Ron saw that immediately.

"As you may have gathered," the Mistress told him in a terse tone, "I now know that you are not one of us!"

Ron would have stood his ground if he'd have seen any other way...but...

"Caron," he finally admitted.

She focused her attention back to the broad-shouldered man in the courtyard of her slave facility...the one who seemed unassailable.

"What?"

"I come from a planet called Caron!"

"I've never heard of it."

Ron didn't blink or twitch. He merely stood there like a Greek god. His trump card...the detonator for his bomb...was securely in his right pocket, and it gave him the confidence to play his hand. He felt fairly certain he could use the explosion as a diversion and escape if things took a turn for the worse.

The invisible attackers suddenly appeared on the ground, deactivating their electronic camouflage so their comrades could come to their aid and carry them to the infirmary. Each of the fighters wore a breathing device like the one Ron was using, and Ron saw that one of them had a bandage on his neck, and he wondered about that wound...and that night in Lake Charles.

"Where is your ship?" the female leader barked, returning Ron's focus to her.

He tossed the staff to the ground and retrieved his raven sword, stowing it casually. At that point, Ron just stared blankly at her.

"Shall I have them all executed?"

"Do what you must. I have no responsibility to them."

She smiled at that. "No matter. The fleet has already located it anyway...and dispatched a set of isolator probes to it. You will not be using it again!"

Ron's mind went back into high gear then. "Isolator probes?" he thought. "They have the capability of finding and trapping the _Darlile_?"

No wonder he'd been having trouble contacting the warbird. He needed more information...and time to consider alternate plans.

"Mistress Kimmshea Goan, I presume?"

She nodded slightly, brandishing a thin, malicious smile. "Clever boy."

"Who are you people?" Ron asked, hoping for some clarification.

"Everything Doogin and the wench told you in the cell was the truth, except for my untimely demise of course. We were trapped here and now we've been rescued. The Queen has arranged for our transport off this low-grade rock...which should be here shortly. We are finally going home. If you would like to survive, you'll come with us. Otherwise, you'll die with the rest of these pitiful creatures."

"What could you possibly want with this planet? It's primitive by your standards. The people know almost nothing about space travel, and their tech..."

"Water! Air! Minerals!" she replied curtly. "Earth is a gold-mine...so to speak...of resources we can always use!"

Ron finally understood exactly what their fleet was doing there. The Rheckors were the final chapter of Earth's existence! That is, unless someone stopped them. His determination ratcheted up several notches.

"And just why would you allow me to join you?"

Kimmshea flashed a dazzling smile. "You are not a fool...that's good! Of course for the honor of being accepted into our fold, you would be required to make some sort of sacrifice...or gesture of good will."

Ron wouldn't bite. He stood there waiting...waiting for her to spell out precisely what she wanted from him...even though he already knew what it would be.

"The ship! We've been intrigued by it for the past two years, and now that it has returned, we'd like to know more. You will have to hand over the black ship!"

"If that's all you want, why bother with me? Why not just take it?"

He saw the beauty drain from her face at his statement. She knew he was chiding her...and she didn't like it at all. She was used to being pampered and obeyed without question, and this stranger was beginning to rub her the wrong way, even though she found herself inwardly drawn to him by the typical attraction one alpha has to their equal of the opposite sex. This man was no mindless pawn.

"What is the key code to the ship?" she said harshly, her manners totally evaporated now.

"Even if I gave it to you, without my hand and brainwave input, it would be useless." Ron then smiled and said; "I tell you what...take me to it and I'll open it up for you."

The Rheckors' leader smiled slyly back at him. "That is an unlikely scenario."

"You'll never open it without my help...so I guess you do need me, don't you?"

Mistress Goan was mad enough to chew nails by then. She hated being in a position that forced her to tolerate such insolent behavior...especially from a mere man...but she had no alternative. With the initial penetration of Earth's atmosphere, her orders had come down directly from the flagship and left no room for argument. They wanted that ship! Apparently they were somehow familiar with it, probably due to their own scans, she surmised. Through some means not relayed to her, they had information leading them to want it very badly!

The commander of the Earth base took a long breath...her brow furrowed deeply...and then the smile returned and she was beautiful again. That rapid transformation made Ron's stomach knot up. She could never be trusted.

"Yes...I suppose I do."

Ron kept his own face stoic but inwardly grinned at the new set of conditions. They would keep him alive until he either gave up the desired information, or they were satisfied he never would. For now though, he had the upper hand.

"Release all the Earth hostages and allow me to keep my personal weapons, and I will go with you...after I have inspected them."

Kimmshea found his deal simply too good to pass up. The women were of no use to them anyway, and he carried nothing that could damage their ship. She graciously offered him a clear path with the sweep of her hand...but he noticed the snipers on the buildings stayed where they were as he moved. If he made any attempt to harm their leader, he'd be cut down instantly. That was alright however, because he needed something else first.

It didn't take long before he looked over the harem they'd gathered and found out his wife was not among them...silently thanking the heavens.

"Is this all that you have?"

"At this facility, yes. Why?"

"I'm looking for a certain woman."

"Well, let's conclude this business and we can check our database."

Ron was suspicious of her eagerness to help him, but postulated that his cooperation would no doubt enhance her position upon rejoining her people. If she could manage to deliver him, and thereby his vessel, all the losses she'd suffered over the years would likely be swept away.

They gathered the prisoners together and Ron made certain that Brijette was clothed and cared for before he explained what was occurring.

"I thought you said you were from Louisiana...from Earth," she whispered harshly to him when they were alone for a moment. She was clearly insulted at having allowed him to manipulate her.

"I am from here, originally...I swear it...but...well...there have been some changes in my life. I'm no longer truly an Earthling. It's all very complicated, but that doesn't matter now. You take your friends and go. I'm not done here yet."

He then told the group the plan and urged them to hasten. Their first impression of course was that the Rheckors were going to kill them all, and this was just some elaborate charade to persuade them to go willingly. But when Ron helped them get into three transport vans, each having one of their own members at the wheel, their chatter ran with a more upbeat note.

By the time dawn had fully exposed itself, Ron was watching them all vanish around a sharp turn in the road, half a mile away. When they did, he let out a huge sigh of relief; half expecting to have seen the vans erupt with glorious pyrotechnic flare like in some psychotic movie. He then refocused his attention to his new allies...and he was more than a little suspicious.

"Why are you being so agreeable?" he asked of Kimmshea. "Aren't you afraid of them sending back the authorities?"

"No, not really. It's two hours to any town that could even mount an investigation. And by the time they would, we'll be gone. Our transport is already entering the atmosphere."

She snapped her fingers to a man hovering off to the side and gave the order for her people to assemble, which caused a flurry of movement as the entire compound dropped what they were doing to comply. She then summoned a portable computer and allowed Ron to peruse the other prisoners from a few different sites.

"How were you able to track me to that house?" Ron asked as he flipped through the photos.

Kimmshea chuckled softly, as if that were such a simple thing. "We had a drone on you from the moment you entered the hangar facility."

Ron nodded at the ease of it. He hadn't considered airborne surveillance, having lived on Caron for so long.

"Did you capture the woman who lived there?"

"No. We saw no advantage to it at the time, and to arrest her and her child with so many witnesses would have drawn attention."

Ron nodded his understanding and went back to his quest. He had no luck in his search there either, so he calmly closed the laptop and handed it back to his host. At the very least, Kimmshea was not lying...neither his wife nor Regina appeared to be a captive...so he focused on the next phase of his agenda.

"Why were you there anyway?" she inquired casually, handing the computer to one of her underlings.

"I was ordered by my superiors to assess the damage that my first encounter had caused, and make amends. It is not our mission to disrupt the normal progress of any foreign world."

"The craft you flew seems very advanced, so why did you allow it to be seen on that initial visit?"

"I...how should I put it...exceeded my mandate," he told her with a crooked smile. "These people are primitive and brash. They think themselves the center of the universe...the only sentient beings ever created by the Guardian. I wanted to show them they were wrong...and I was curious about what their response would be."

"And your superiors weren't overly keen about that, were they?"

"No," Ron told her, "No they were not."

Kimmshea then strolled alongside him over to the shaded cover of an outdoor patio where she took a seat on a long, plush bench.

"It won't be long now," she told him calmly, thoroughly satisfied with herself.

Ron just stood there beside her as coolly as he could, watching the scene unfold with deep interest. People were emerging from the surrounding structures in large numbers by then and he could see the anxiousness in their expressions. Were they excited and happy to be rejoining their brethren, or worried and apprehensive about that reunion?

"How much might have changed in a century of separation?" he wondered.

Soon there were a hundred and sixteen persons ringing the large courtyard, awaiting their people's ferry, and Ron had to begin planning a new tactic.

### Chapter Thirty-eight

### Lt. Colonel Sam Weeks

The large group of mostly men surrounding Cache passed a quick glance around the room at one another. It was President Garner who finally broke the silence.

"But you said you were locked out of it...that there was no way."

"I know...I know. But something will present itself. I am sure of it!"

She made her announcement with great outward confidence...but inwardly, she felt all was lost. If only Ron were there. She needed his unbelievable luck badly.

"Take her to the emergency hangar," President Garner told his Air Force commander. "See what you can do to get her into that ship...whatever it takes!"

"Sir!"

They whisked her off immediately to the impregnable hangar facility of the VIPs, and he handed her off to the ranking man in the complex.

Lieutenant Colonel Samuel Weeks met them at the entrance and introduced himself.

"If anyone can get you through that hellfire out there, ma'am, Sam's the guy," the General told Cache. "He can fly anything with wings, and is our finest test pilot. Sam, take care of this little lady! Give her whatever she needs. Anything! That's straight from the President!"

"Sir!" Sam acknowledged with a crisp salute.

"I've got to get back to the Command Center...good luck you to...and may God go with you."

Cache and the Colonel immediately set off on foot toward a line of fighter aircraft.

"You are the leader of the 'Guardian Angels'," Cache said to the Colonel, "who provided air cover for me on my trip over the last couple of weeks, are you not?"

"Yes ma'am, I am," he replied, hurriedly walking her to their transportation. "We'll take one of the F15s. It's the only type we have here for two persons."

"Would not the combination of our weights slow the aircraft down and present an easier target to the enemy?" Cache asked innocently, not wanting to sound too forward.

"Well, yes," he replied, wondering just what kind of scientist this woman was that she would be alerted to account for such things. "But how else...?"

"I am an experienced pilot myself...on my world. Perhaps two airplanes would be better than one."

"Of course, but my squad is charged with the escort of Air Force One...the President's plane. We can't just abandon that duty."

"If he chooses to fly in that huge craft in the middle of this war, he will last approximately four borts at best...a little over five of your minutes."

The Colonel realized the truth in her statement. He'd been monitoring the fight and knew she was absolutely right. Also, he had standing orders to get her "anything" she required.

"Very well then...this way!"

They angled off to the right, towards some other planes that appeared to be much more dangerous. They bristled with armament and seemed poised for attack even while sitting in the hangar.

"These are the newest birds we have...the F22 Raptors. Nothing on this planet can out-fly these babies!"

"I wish we were fighting others from your planet then," Cache said solemnly.

The Colonel's face went from bursting with pride to the stern look of soldier in battle. Bravado could only take you so far, and he'd been in enough aerial conflicts to know that.

"These birds will get it done, ma'am!"

"Then we had better get moving."

The Colonel nodded and hailed the ground crew's Chief. He came running over immediately, his eyes locked on Cache's exquisite figure.

"Sir!"

"Get this lady a flight suit and clear the deck...we're going for a ride!"

"Yes sir!"

He saluted his superior and then returned his attention to the delicate, and quite comely, charge he'd been assigned. Sam stepped over to the side to give orders to prep the planes.

"This way, ma'am. What size are you?"

"Please call me Cache...but I do not know your sizes."

"Well, I'll just get you to the requisition station and we'll see."

"That sounds like it could take a while, so first, tell me what G-rating your aircraft can maneuver at."

"Well that's an odd question for someone who's trained on the bird," he told her with a puzzled expression. He glanced quickly back in the direction of the Colonel, "Uh, the Raptor can pull quite enough to get you killed, miss...that is, Cache. I don't..."

She felt the situation's urgency driving her to more aggressive ways to cut the delay, and so she grabbed him by the front of his coverall uniform and picked him up to the length of her arms.

"Holy, shit!" Colonel Weeks said, catching the change in the conversation out of the corner of his eyes.

"I am not from around here!" she told the crewman.

"Ma'am...yes ma'am! Ten Gs ma'am!"

"Is that all?" she asked, still holding him off the ground. "What about safety margins?"

He was shaking from her treatment, but kept his head. "Typically, there's a two hundred percent margin built in...to make the bird last longer...you know?"

"Then I shall not require a suit," she said as she placed him on his feet once again. "I can easily sustain fifty of your gravity quotients before encountering distress."

Colonel Weeks just stared at her, mystified. "But how can...?" Then he recalled his security briefing stating one of the aliens was with the President, coordinating the defenses against the Rheckors.

"You! You're one of the alie...the other-worlders helping us?" he said.

"Yes, that is correct," she replied as she detoured in a more direct route to the airplanes.

She hated to do it, but felt she needed to shed her extra weight if the plane was going to have a chance, so she removed her long coat and held it out.

"Please take this and get it to President Garner," she instructed the Chief. "Ask him to keep it safe for me and I will return for it when I can."

The man looked astonished that she would even suggest the "President" watch her coat, but when he took it from her and it dropped him to his knees, he began to understand that she wasn't the usual sort of girl. He quickly motioned for two of his technicians to take care of that little task. (Her coat, even though much smaller than Ron's, was still well over a hundred pounds.)

"I will require oxygen however..." she continued when the Chief regained his composure, "at a higher ratio than you normally use. Also, we need to make some enhancements...that is...modifications to the systems of the aircraft."

"Ma'am..." the Chief said, "I'm not at liberty to begin 'modifying' these planes. They're cutting edge technology. We don't have anything..."

He saw the calm, patient, not quite condescending look in her eyes and stopped himself in mid-sentence.

"Yes ma'am. Right this way!"

They approached the designated craft and the Chief called over to a couple of his men. "Guys, this is Cache. We need to work fast and take care of whatever she requests. And no questions! Got me?"

The group all looked shocked...not at all used to taking orders from a civilian, and a gorgeous one at that, but gave a conjoined "ay"!

"First I shall need to access the engines' electrical power source...also, the engine management computer, the radar, and the weapons systems' controllers."

The crew jumped to it and opened all the access panels for the noted areas. She pulled out her little satchel, which looked like a laptop case, and removed several small, oblong components, each differing in color. There were no markings on any of the devices but she knew what each was for...after all, she had designed them.

"Disconnect all the feeder wires on the generators!" Cache instructed as she began placing some of the little units on the management computers.

"What?" one of the technicians asked.

"Just do it!" the Chief told them, feeling equally confused at her demands.

The techs were very efficient and had everything disconnected and stowed in short order, stepping aside when they were done to allow the little blonde room to apply her equipment.

"I know this seems a bit strange to you all but the transfer of power and data information through copper wiring is terribly inefficient and uses valuable energy. These nodes will transmit the electricity as well as the engine's vital information with no loss of energy and by using only a tenth the power. That way, I can utilize all the remainder of the generator's output to support my shield matrix."

"Shield matrix?" asked the Chief.

"Yes...here, I will give you a demonstration. I need to verify the functionality of the modifications anyway."

Cache quickly scampered up the stairs and into the pilot's seat. (Not one of the airmen blinked until her spectacular figure disappeared into the ship)

"The power plants will need to be turning to get the readouts working, so someone will have to operate that machine," she said, pointing to the air moving "start-cart" setting next to the Raptor. "Everyone else, gather in close or stand back clear of the wings."

"Wait! You won't be able to interface with the computers!" the Chief announced. "The maintenance teams and designated pilots are the only ones with authority to logon and access the software," he added before turning to shout at the ground crew. "Airman Goosman, could you please...?"

"Assistance is not required," she stated simply as she triggered a small device she pulled from her carry pack.

A few moments later, "My readings are good...now could you please spin the engines?"

The Chief merely stared at her in bewilderment and nodded to his men. The start-cart was all ready to go, so as soon as she was set they began the procedure.

Cache found the high pitch noise of the air unit to be quite an irritation, but went on with her duties flawlessly nonetheless. At the moment the engines began to turn, she started receiving feedback, and watched it closely on her portable screen. The Chief couldn't comprehend the Raulden characters though, so it appeared like nothing at all was happening, even as she began calibrating her sensors.

"You won't get any juice from the generators until you actually fire up the turbines, Cache," the Chief shouted to her over the whine of the cart. "They don't reach a high enough speed to produce the desired level of..."

Suddenly the instrument console of the fighter came to life, overlaying the normal cluster with a totally foreign arrangement he didn't understand. The Chief was hanging in the side of the cockpit at Cache's shoulder and couldn't resist reaching out and touching the projection. It looked absolutely solid but was just an image...his fingers poked right through. It looked like they'd been engulfed by the image...and it tingled.

"Damn!" he whispered, completely fixated.

"These devices do not require the same 'juice' as your Earth gauges. My sensors can operate with so little power that it is nearly imperceptible to your tools."

She quickly cycled through the vast array of functions to verify all was ready, and then glanced around the ship.

"Okay, I will initiate the shields now!"

Cache touched one section of her console and the world around the ship suddenly flickered and then stabilized. It was completely clear but the static charge could definitely be felt.

"Chief, would you please ask one of your men to throw something at this aircraft?"

He looked confused, but did as she asked.

Airman Goosman was running the cart and pulled out a wrench from his back pocket.

"Are you sure Chief?"

The Sergeant Major nodded.

The wrench struck an area of the invisible barrier three feet from the fuselage and was propelled twenty feet away at a sharp angle.

"Shit!" the Airman said as he jumped back.

"Now...if you would not mind...please have him fire his weapon at us."

Everyone whipped their heads around at her with deep concern in their eyes.

"I am quite certain that nothing will penetrate the shield."

"What about the bullet? Will it be deflected like the wrench? Someone out there could be..."

"A high speed projectile such as the bullet will not be redirected, but rather disintegrated by the matrices."

The Chief nodded once more and the Airman drew his side arm. He fired his pistol at the nose of the Raptor and they all watched as a small section of the shielding glowed green, and then returned to invisible.

Colonel Weeks whistled a long note and then, "Son of a b...gun! That's sure a sweet little gadget, isn't it?"

Cache confirmed her readouts once more and then shut off the shield generator.

"What all can that thing stop?"

"Well, it depends. At full strength, it can handle solid projectiles of every size your world has developed, as well as missiles, shrapnel, explosions, etc. It also should stop the plasma blasts that the Rheckors are using. The only drawback is that each particle the matrix has to destroy, or absorb, is a drain on the system, so if too many hits are sent my way, the shield generator will fall behind, begin to weaken, and eventually fail, leaving the ship vulnerable to attack."

"What about your own weapons?" the Master Sergeant asked. "Won't they be destroyed when fired?"

"No, the barrier is one-way permeable, so whatever is going out will be free to do so."

"Man, we sure could use about ten thousand of those!"

"I am sorry, but I only had time to create the one...and it is only designed for two types of your fighters...the Raptor here, and the Joint Strike Fighter. I do however have a replication decoy which may be quite effective."

"A what?" asked the Colonel.

"It is a device that can mask the physical and thermal signals from your craft and make it appear to be somewhere else...say, a hundred feet to the side of your actual position. The enemy's sensors would target that instead of your actual airplane."

Sam smiled at her. "That would be great!"

"Alright, just let me finish up here."

The last thing she checked was the scanners hooked into the plane's radar dish, and when she did, she was able to see through the steel hangar doors and out into the open air beyond. The scene was as clear as if they stood on a ledge outside, and that really got the attention of the maintenance crew.

"Okay, uh...that was cool!" the Chief told her as he climbed down and allowed Cache to exit. His version of "high-tech" was radically altered from that moment on.

"Sergeant Major, here is the decoy transmitter for the Colonel's craft. Have one of your men press it onto his electrical generator."

"That's it?"

"Yes. It will operate automatically, scavenging power from the motor's magnetic field."

"Sweet!" he said with a grin. "I wish all our components were that easy. Airman Sing...would you do the honors?"

He passed the decoy to the technician and then turned to Cache again. "Anything else I can do for you?"

Cache thought for a second, her brow stern from the worry she felt at the situation...and then she softened.

"I really need to pee," she admitted with a devastating smile.

Sergeant Major Raymond Constance, Crew Chief of the maintenance staff, couldn't resist returning her grin, instantly realizing that she was not what he would normally consider as the garden variety "alien", and showed her the way to the facilities.

Five minutes later Colonel Weeks was assisting her into the restraints of the aircraft while the ground crew prepped the area for launch. He reached in and helped her cinch down the slack at her shoulders, then her waist, and moved onward to the crouch strap dangling from the front of the seat. But when his arm passed between Cache's thighs, grazing them in the close proximity of her nethers, Sam found his arm clamped in a grip that may as well have been attached to a three hundred pound weight lifter. At that same blink in time, he felt a sharp, cold object at his throat.

His face went ash-white and he let out a grunt from the pressure on his forearm.

"What exactly are your intentions, Colonel?" Cache asked through gritted teeth.

Her beautiful violet eyes were radiating fire as she spoke, and he knew he was in a very unstable situation, but he didn't submit to the twinge of panic in his gut.

"Your safety, ma'am," he replied as calmly as he could, his eyes locked with hers and only inches apart. "The last restraint is located at the forward point of the seat.

Cache returned to her placid demeanor immediately, releasing his arm and withdrawing the blade that had seemed to literally sprout from her small hand.

"Oh...I see. Yes, of course. Please forgive me, Sam. I guess I am still a bit unsettled about being here alone on such an alien world."

"That's alright, Cache," Sam told her after a strong gulp. "I understand your worries. I wouldn't want my wife off on a whole new planet...especially during a war. At least you seem to be well trained in self-defense!" he added, rubbing his arm.

"I am truly sorry. Are you all right?"

"Yeah...yeah...no harm done," he said as his heart tried to settle down from that surge of adrenaline. "Now let's get you finished up."

"May I ask why you guessed that I was married?" Cache inquired in an attempt to lighten the tension permeating the cockpit.

Sam glanced at her and blushed a little.

"I don't know...I...well, you seem comfortable around a bunch of guys who ogle you constantly, like you're already spoken for, and are quite content about it...you know, 'off the market'!"

Cache smiled coyly at his expression, surprised that it showed so clearly.

"Are you married?" she asked.

"No, but I hope to be soon...assuming of course we live long enough!" he replied with a sarcastic grin. "She's great...and her little..."

"Okay, Colonel," yelled the Sergeant Major as his men removed the last of the safety covers from the plane and unplugged the fueler truck, "we're good to go!"

Cache was set by then too, so he passed her a helmet and explained the oxygen system, showing her how to increase the pressure to the mask. She opened it up to the max and gave it a good huff, finding it fine before moving on.

Cache turned to the Colonel and said, "I am ready."

"Very well then," he acknowledged as he dropped quickly to the ground and bounded off to his own bird.

His ship was already warmed up to his normal specs...the supporting crewmen being well accustomed to how he wanted everything set...so he cinched himself in and looked to the Chief. The "ready" signal of a sharp salute told the ground crew what they needed to know.

"Ay, Sir!" called the Chief below the Raptor containing his superior officer. Turning to his crew..."Fire em up!" he shouted to Airman Goosman at the start-cart.

"Yes Sir!"

The two airplanes were running less than two minutes later and then the ground crew hooked onto the Raptors and hauled them into takeoff position, side by side.

### Chapter Thirty-nine

### Into the Fray

The route out of the underground facility was quite unique. It was a wide tunnel built through the mountain, which exited from a sheer-faced cliff wall into a deep, wide canyon. The "runway" was fairly short, but was downhill and completely hidden from outsiders by camouflaged doors at the opening. As soon as both the aircraft were running at flight idle and the communications had been established, Sam "Sabre" Weeks gave Cache a sharp salute and shoved the throttles forward.

The F22 Raptor leaped forward violently and he was off, leaving a trail of fiery jet-blast in his wake. Cache followed him down the narrow tunnel, relishing the increasing speed like a school kid in her first hotrod. The doors at the end slid neatly aside as they approached, and the glare of the midday sun poured in with a vengeance. Cache reached up and flipped her visor down just before the roadway ended, and then she found herself airborne.

The aircraft with the name of a cunning, lethal bird of prey known to be quick and lithe dropped at first, as the gravity of the planet tried to pull her down, but Cache made the needed adjustments smoothly, and the plane suddenly snapped into a climbing attitude before she angled off in pursuit of Sabre's craft.

They soared through the canyon at a moderate pace, conserving fuel and allowing Cache to familiarize herself with her new ride. She swung the ship side to side, up and down, and stood it on the edges, just feeling her way around the nimble fighter.

"What do you think?" Sam asked as he snapped his own craft around to feel it out too.

"Is it always this sluggish?" Cache inquired.

She was of course comparing the response of the Raptor's airfoils to the instantaneous inputs of more sophisticated thrusters and energized, morphing technology. The air flowing over the stabilizers was manipulated extremely quickly, but still had to compress air to get the desired results, whereas in vehicles like the _Darlile_ , the vectoring of thrust all along the wings, the ability to alter the shape of any surface of the ship, and the exploitation of gravity waves were far more effective.

Sam was surprised by her comment. Having the very best Earth had to offer critiqued to be somewhat less than hoped for was disconcerting, but he merely took it in stride. After all, if she could handle fifty Gs, there was no telling what she'd flown in the past.

He watched her slap the controls around hard enough to have made him puke, while executing precise, angular changes in attitude. At one point, she had the warbird turned completely on edge, looking at him through the top of the canopy with the tail kicked over perfectly to counter the natural slip of the maneuver, and he just shook his head. She rolled left, then right, and then snap-rolled the plane so fast she was a literal blur...and all the while, she kept right beside him. Her altitude never dropped, nor did her speed...and that absolutely astonished the Colonel.

"Okay, I think I have it," Cache finally told him as she brought the Raptor into normal flight once more.

"No kidding?" he returned, marveling at the down-play of her abilities. "Where you come from, are you the best pilot of your armed forces?"

"Well, actually there are only two of us. Our world is completely peaceful and we have no armed force other than him and me...and no, my partner is far superior."

"Holy shit!" Sam thought. "Far superior? What does the guy do, fly the thing backwards?"

At that time a warning sounded in Cache's cockpit.

"We have incoming fighters at thirty-six degrees to the southwest and sixty-two degrees above...coming down from the stratosphere. Twenty seconds to weapons' range."

"My scope's clear, where do you...?"

"The sensors I have are a bit stronger than those in your aircraft. You should see them in three seconds...two...one."

"Okay, I've got'em. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Then let's rock and roll!"

The wave of Marauder fighters was made up of six ships, flying in two staggered rows of three each. They swept into the canyon smoothly and then barreled right at the two Earth planes.

Cache waited until she and Sam were within range of their plasma weapons before she initiated her jamming device. Instantly the enemy aircraft began erratic maneuvers as the shields they utilized to stabilize their flight ceased to function and the air began dragging over their skins.

Colonel Weeks didn't hesitate even a second as he rolled hard to the right, stopped in an inverted attitude which gave him the clearest point of attack, and cut loose with his chain guns. The front two pilots were so consumed with the change in their crafts' characteristics that the volley of ultra-dense cannon fire strafed them unimpeded, cutting through their thin shells like rice paper. The leader's vessel shuttered, tore, and finally exploded from the near supersonic air cramming its way through the damaged sections. His wingman had a similar fate, but his right wing also ripped away and struck the next fighter in line, sheering off a third of its left airfoil. That craft spiraled into the canyon in an unrecoverable spin, and down to a fantastic, blazing demise.

The second wave of the Rheckors were startled as well, but were given just enough time to split up. They then broke away at angles so severe that the Colonel gasped, unable to comprehend the G-forces they were pulling. He maintained his composure however and returned to Cache's side, watching the three of them on his scope.

"Do we have a plan?" Sam inquired of his petite partner, not used to asking another for that sort of thing, but acquiescing to her broader experience with the foreign enemy.

"Yes. There is no way we can get behind them...they're simply too maneuverable...and we can't fire to the rear, so when they attack, put your ship on the treetops with the maximum speed you can maintain and don't look back!"

The Sabre, acknowledged her and checked his restraints once more. This was going to get scary!

Less than ten seconds later, the Marauder fighters slipped in behind them and a moment afterward, their cannons lit up. Just as ordered, their plasma rounds flew wide to Sam's right while he snapped his Raptor on its left edge in a flash, kicked it over in a near eighty degree dive, and pushed his bird for all it was worth.

Cache's aircraft enjoyed the added safety of the shielding which absorbed the hits well, but she wasn't satisfied with that, so she pulled up hard, cut power to the engines and flew belly first into the wind, her speed dropping like she'd thrown out an enormous anchor. Two of the trailing Marauders blasted past her and pulled up as well, but her Raptor's nose was facing the sky already and she let go with one of her Slammer missiles. The high speed killing rocket gave chase promptly, overhauling the retreating ship she'd targeted (and making extremely tight turns in doing so) to finally catch it, explode, and rip a quarter of the aft end of the craft away.

Before the deadly impact was made though, Cache was already back in forward flight, having used the wind's drag to carry her stalled warbird all the way around to face downward, where she took advantage of the Earth's gravity to gain enough speed to get the airplane back under control.

She pulled out of that perilous dive merely a hundred feet from a crystal clear, meandering river at the very trough of the valley they'd been flying through. As if out of years of experience, she was already throttling up hard to give chase to Sam.

The crackling exhaust of her powerful jet fighter shattered every window within half a mile, sent an entire herd of livestock racing for their respective barns, and whatever ranchers still chose to be around diving into their cellars.

Of course the whole world had been told of the coming war so the nearby folks were aware of what was happening outside their quaint little valley, but no one ever really expected to see any of the battle right at their doorstep. Sentries were posted nonetheless at each end of the mountain refuge and along with them was the single monitor of the only HAM radio in the area.

Two teenage boys who were standing guard against any ground assault moving up the roads were in deep discussion about the comely delights of one of their high school classmates who just so happened to live right down the hill.

One of the young men glanced upward at exactly the right moment though, and caught the first bit of Cache's aerial dogfight. His friend's head snapped upward as well, after a slap to his shoulder, just in time to see the Marauders' first two fighters explode.

"Geez!" he said to his partner. "Did you see that?"

They stood totally awestruck after that, mentally willing their own best wishes toward those brave pilots in the Earth planes. When the one Raptor broke away from the fight and the other stood itself on its tail while blasting the escaping Marauder ship into oblivion, the pair of lads held their breaths in quick gasps. Then, as the aircraft somersaulted backwards and headed straight down at them, they prayed they weren't seeing one of their countrymen meet his valiant end.

They didn't even have the thought to take cover as that fifty thousand pound war machine plummeted at them like a huge, broken toy. All they could do was mutter; "Come on...come on...come on!", pleading for the plane to somehow right itself. And when Cache had the turbines up to speed again, and pulled back on the control stick for a twenty-G kick in the pants, those two boys leaped in the air as high as they could.

"YEAH!" they screamed in unison, shaking their fists in the air. "KICK THEIR ASS!"

Cache was completely unaware of the anxious cheering section but she sure had their intentions in mind as she ripped through the valley at a tremendous rate. She also got a good look at why Lieutenant Colonel Sam Weeks had the call sign; Sabre. He knifed his way along with razor-edged precision, dipping and diving so low to the ground that the vortices off his wingtips were creating swirls in the river's surface.

She quickly closed in on the attacking ship chasing right behind him and unleashed her own Vulcan Cannon in a white-hot flurry of phosphorus-coated bullets, immediately climbing out of the debris path in a surge for more altitude. The enemy ship came apart and slammed into the next ridge in a fantastic, blue-tinted ball of fire.

"Okay Sam...you are all clear back here!"

"Thanks!" he grunted as his body strained hard against the inertial forces he was imposing on it.

He didn't let up however...in fact, he pressed even harder now, trying to get a shot at the last fleeing Marauder who was now in front of him, having overtaken his aircraft in a mad rush to escape Cache. That alien fighter was already slightly damaged and not able to fly at its ultimate ability, but it was still quite a bit more nimble than its Earthly pursuer. That fact aside, however, Sabre wasn't about to let it get away. He simply pushed his own bird further and faster...along with himself.

Cache saw a good deal of resolve in the man ahead of her, and allowed him to continue instead of pressing past him and finishing off their prey. She could hear his wheezes and grunts clearly over the com and smiled as she noticed a change...the moment when he finally got his chance. An AAMRAM missile lock-tone rang out in her headset and then its bright white rocket propellant was vivid as it streaked forward. In another few seconds the fleeing ship was a cloud of shrapnel.

"Well done, Colonel!"

Sam's aircraft then ceased its evasive moves suddenly and dropped its speed to conserve fuel, instantly turning the harried flight into something more akin to a fast cruise through the beautiful landscape.

"Thanks," he replied, "but I have to return the complement."

Cache could hear him breathing very fast, like a runner after a quarter mile sprint.

"That was one hell of an impressive display you put on back there," he told her. "How in the world did you keep the engines from stalling out?"

"Oh, that? My control module manipulated a bit of the shield's energy and created a snorkel-type inlet cone, so my forward speed kept ramming air down to the compressor no matter the angle of attack. I had to let it spin down to flight-idle though when my airspeed slowed." She chuckled quickly. "I was unsure if it would recover in time during that dive...at least for a while...and I have to admit this craft is quite well constructed."

They quieted down then as they tore through the mountains, not wanting their communications to relay the enemy their location. Cache was certain the Marauders would be able to see them on their scanners, but two planes would seem insignificant on a global scale...or at least, that's what she hoped for.

The next thirty minutes was a fun jaunt for the two pilots, and the beauty of nature was not lost on them either as they took as many opportunities as they could to enjoy the wonders of the winter landscape.

Pike's Peak was well behind them when Cache got another warning, just before they blasted out of the southern foothills of the Rocky Mountains.

"There is a battle straight ahead, above the city known as Amarillo."

"What do you want to do," Sam asked, "go around?"

"What is your assessment?"

"Well, we'll add time to our trip and eat up our fuel faster if we divert and try to steer around it, but we'll have to refuel anyway before we get where we're going, so it's just the time factor that's the key. The fight however might give us a chance to take out a couple of those alien bastards though, and I..."

Sam suddenly realized what he'd just said and instantly regretted it. He surely didn't want to imply any of his anger was geared toward all "aliens".

"Cache, I'm sorry. I don't want you to think..."

Cache hadn't even noticed the slur, feeling the same way about the despicable group of heavy-worlder beings, so it took her a moment to realize what he was apologizing for.

"Colonel, please do not be alarmed. I am not offended by your anger at the enemy that is out to exterminate your race...believe me. I had many thoughts that were much harsher than that when 'my' homeworld was under attack!"

Sam breathed a sigh of relief and got back to his question.

"Alright then. What's it going to be? Into the fray, or around?"

"How close can you tuck in behind me?"

"Close enough that if you waggle your rudder, you'll clean my windshield!"

Cache smiled again.

"Good. The shields of this ship will clear away any debris we might encounter, and the thick black smoke will keep us from being seen...at least visually...they will still be able to detect us electronically, as you know. Also, because of the quality of my own sensors, I will be able to see perfectly as well, so stick tight!"

"Yes ma'am!"

The battle over the city was spread out to a diameter of sixty miles and Cache set her course to pass right through the heart of it. The Marauders had fifty fighters engaging in aerial combat with over three dozen Earth fighters...F-16s, Hornets, Warthogs, a few F-4s, some F15s, and at least three Raptors. They represented two Air Force bases and one Army station close by, and were waging war as valiantly as they could. One of the Raulden jamming devices was still in operation there, emanating from a facility to the south of the city, and the aliens' chief objective appeared to be to destroy that device.

Cache and Sam heard the desperate chatter from the Earth pilots and knew they were in way over their heads. The Marauders were overwhelming them with their larger numbers, their ability to bank harder, see better, and track all of the contestants of the fight.

"Attention Earth aircraft!" she announced suddenly as her fingers danced across the console in front of her.

"Who is this!" demanded the squad commander of the defending planes.

"This is Cache Kuar. I am going to initiate a pulse that will blind the Marauders' sensors for a few litas...that is, a few seconds. When that happens, you must attack quickly! Do you understand?"

"I don't know who you are," growled the commander, "but if you..."

"This is Lieutenant Colonel Samuel Weeks! You men prepare yourselves! Cut out the damn whining and fight!"

Dead silence followed Sam's angry order.

"Ready?" Cache announced, triggering the pulse. "NOW!"

There was an instantaneous reaction from the Marauders. They froze when their scopes went blank, forgetting the evasive maneuvers they were making just for a brief few moments while each of them tried to reset their instruments.

The Earth pilots did the exact opposite, lunging forward with their arsenals of rockets and heavy machine guns. The next ten seconds saw two thirds of the attacking squadron go up in flames, or spiral downwards into the remains of the burning city.

Cache had her targets primed, and launched four separate missiles at once while diving down on a pair of Marauder ships flying twenty degrees below her and to the southeast.

Sam rolled his Raptor to an inverted attitude so his missiles wouldn't hit Cache's plane, and launched five of his own, pulling up hard to follow his lovely partner in her dive. It was a good thing he was so tightly glued to her too when the shrapnel from the multiple explosions filled the sky. The green bubble of protection around Cache's craft glistened brightly for the next thirty seconds, absorbing and deflecting thousands of small pieces of metal that would have, at the very least, choked his engines into flameout conditions.

She finally pulled out of her lethal plunge at about two hundred feet, and the two of them continued along, leaving a much more jubilant, and confident force to carry on with the skirmish.

"Our refueling tanker is waiting for us, an hour away, over the southern desert west of Corpus Christi," Sam told her. "If we can make it there before the Rheckors know what we're up to, I think we'll be home free."

The ships in low orbit had other plans however, seeing the readouts on their sensors...readouts signifying a technology level far surpassing what they expected from the "simpleton" natives. They tracked that solitary, shielded airplane closely now...and made some assumptions, as well as decisions, of their own.

During Cache and Sam's raced across the desert over New Mexico and into Texas, six new fighters were made ready and dispatched to eliminate them. Those new war crafts were much different from the common fighters. They were shaped like the Greek God; Triton's spearhead...the center spire containing the pilot and the outboard sections yielding immense plasma cannons. They were very maneuverable, unlike their configuration might suggest, and the ability of their pilots was exceptional...both in combat experience as well as physical attributes.

Cache picked up their signatures on her scope a few minutes after they entered the atmosphere and her stomach tightened. Her computer plotted their intercept course instantly and as they sped up in a long sweeping dive from the upper atmosphere, the other Marauder aircraft moved aside to allow them free reign at their targets.

"Colonel!" Cache said to her partner, looking over at him flying just off her right wingtip.

Sam stared back at her but of course couldn't see the expression on her face through her black-tinted sun visor.

"I have some bad news! They just dispatched a squad of Tri-Stars to intercept us!"

"What exactly are they?"

"In this fleet, they are the finest aerial combat group they have. They fly their best, most advanced fighter vessels, and are outstanding pilots."

"And I suppose they didn't much care for us wasting their buddies back there?"

"No, I have no doubt that is true, but they surely must have noticed the shields that I incorporated and want to destroy, or capture this airplane straight away."

"How much time do we have till they reach us?"

"They are coming from the European theater, so just over thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes? How can they possibly..." he then stopped in mid-sentence, realizing that it didn't matter how, just that they could. "And we still have to refuel! Damn!"

"The tanker is only five minutes out. How much time does it take?"

"More than we have!"

"Well, we will just have to make do."

The pair of Raptors slowly climbed to the needed altitude and rendezvoused with the KC-135 refueler ship. Sam slipped in first, his plane much lower on gas than Cache's, due to her more efficient shield-modulating system, and he stuck the fuel probe on the first try. He watched his tanks anxiously, his thumbs drumming nervously the entire time, and finally broke off with two thirds full.

"Okay, get in there!" he told her as his ship banked hard to clear the way.

Cache copied his actions and had no problem finding the link, her own guidance system easily bulls-eyeing the target. She had already calculated the distance and estimated the amount of kerosene her aircraft would require to reach her goal, so when the Tri-Stars came in at them, she was good to go.

Cache broke free and dove immediately, ordering; "Follow me, Sam!"

Over the sun-baked expanse of the Texas desert there was nowhere to hide from the deadly attackers, but she planned to at least keep them from totally surrounding her and the Colonel.

The twin Raptors pulled out of their dives so tight to the ground that they could easily have flown under any bridge or overpass, their bellies barely five feet off the flat, dry land.

The enemy ships didn't alter their flight paths, but as they streaked past the tanker, a single plasma burst from each of the two lead crafts vaporized the airplane and crew in a white-hot blast of exploding energy. Following that, they soared after their primary prey.

When their first volleys reached the fleeing birds, Cache snapped her aircraft up and over Sam's protectively, her shielding taking the brunt of the blasts to save her partner.

The squad of Tri-Stars hammered away at her, dropping into a holding pattern above, as well as behind the Earth planes, and Cache quickly collaborated with Sam for a retaliatory strike. Before they closed, she'd placed her jamming mode on standby, hoping to lure them in close enough to surprise them, and now had her opportunity.

"Sam, on my mark, apply full spoilers and fire on the ship to your left!"

"Gotcha!"

"Ready...now!" she shouted as she flipped on the jammer once again and hit the brakes, immediately setting one of her own rockets racing against the enemy at her right.

The two Tri-stars pilots hesitated a fraction of a second too long, assuming their shielding would protect them, but when they saw it falter, even their remarkable reaction speed wasn't quite up to the task. The missiles slammed into their exhausts and ripped out their main engines, catapulting them into unrecoverable cartwheels, and the debris from their high-speed destruction was ultimately scattered across four miles of open desert.

Cache's highly adaptive instincts then suddenly sparked an idea when she noted the intensity of a thunderstorm building off to the south of their initial trajectory, so she hastily ordered a change of course.

"Colonel, head for that thunderstorm to the south! I have a plan that might help us out!"

"Roger!"

The Sabre pressed hard against the controls, no longer worried that his petite partner would have trouble keeping up...nor did she, matching his move like a shadow. They raced along the ground again, using the natural terrain to give them what assistance they could get, even tearing through a small city, hoping the buildings might provide a few extra seconds of cover.

Cache watched her shields drop dangerously low however, as the enemy stuck to them like a cape of death, and if it hadn't been for the sporadic moments of protection they got from the skyscrapers of downtown Houston, she knew they'd have been finished by then. As it was though, the pair of Raptors managed to stay in the air long enough to reach the expanding wall of black clouds spreading out for two hundred miles.

The thunderheads were soaring at heights upwards of forty-five thousand feet, and were already pummeling the ground with huge, round raindrops and occasional hail. Lightning was nonstop inside the dense clouds, and if the Doppler radar had been working, the weathermen would have been warning the area residents of possible tornadoes.

"Okay, we're here!" Sam called to Cache. "What now?"

"Well, this is quite a gamble, but from the readings I have on our 'escorts', it is entirely probable that they will have a difficult time of avoiding the static discharge of this weather system. That fact may very well be a weak point of their defenses...especially with my jamming device in operation."

"Great, but what about the damage to our own planes?"

"Not to worry. Where I come from, we used to have enormous storms, five times this size, producing tremendous bolts of lightning, so my people had to factor those dangers into their defensive strategy. The shields I am using actually absorb that discharged energy and strengthen...but what is truly a gift for us is the ability to be able to alter the polarity of sections of the barrier to literally fire the energy back out. Essentially, we should have a crude, yet powerful plasma cannon!"

The first lightning strike didn't take long to hit Cache's bird and she smiled as her power ratings jumped back up substantially. The Tri-stars were still pounding away at her, but her shielding was gaining strength faster. When her levels were over ninety percent, she took the offensive.

The Raulden instrument screen targeted the nearest Marauder, so when the next bolt of energy struck...one capable of incinerating a full grown tree and was five times the temperature of the surface of the sun...it was relayed directly at that enemy fighter.

The result was miraculous! The left arm of the three spire craft sheared off cleanly and it slammed into the ground directly. His partner saw what occurred and tried to put distance between his prey and himself, but the power of the storm struck again...and so did Cache. That Marauder warbird took a full on hit, directly in the cockpit and every system in the ship exploded. The fighter was down in another moment.

The remainder of the squad banked tightly and sprinted out of range, opting for a new approach.

The Rheckors' intelligence group on the command ship was certain by then that the Earth crafts were attempting to reach the infamous submerged spaceship, so they ordered the surviving Tri-Stars to race ahead of the storm and lie in wait. Their fuel would last far longer than the Earthlings' fighters' would and so they felt no need to endanger more of their aircraft.

Cache watched them peel off and go ahead with full knowledge of their intentions, but there was little she could do, so she just took some deep breaths and relaxed. She and Sam were more than happy to settle in for a short break of fighting as they came up on Corpus Christi, and then streaked out across the Gulf.

The storm was drifting to the northeast though, and so could provide them no more cover when they were still fifty miles from their target.

Cache quickly calculated multiple scenarios for the impending battle with serious doubts as to just how they would possibly survive that long.

She and Sam performed a thorough inventory of their remaining weapons and then braced themselves for the coming melee.

### Chapter Forty

### The Dawn of Life

The vessel inbound to Kimmshea's command post wasn't the typically accepted appearance most people would expect from an alien race as advanced as the Rheckors. It wasn't sleek and shiny and fast. It was large and roughly rectangular, reminding Ron of an eighteen wheeler's trailer...very box-like and uninviting...only four times as big. There were no airfoil surfaces, no windows along the sides, and no visible means of flight whatsoever. It was a drab, unremarkable flying box!

Ron guessed the simplistic design served its purpose well enough though and was probably not on their list to update. And if what Brijette said was true, they rarely left their main spacecrafts anyway, so why bother with such minor trivialities? After all, how much time would they ever spend inside one anyway?

The forward end of the craft was quite discernable since it had a thick plastic viewing panel completely across it, and the aft section opened up with a wide loading ramp which was instantly put to use.

Part of the flight crew stood there with portable scanners and verified each potential passenger before granting access to the ship. There was no cheering fanfare, or teary-eyed reunions. It was all very efficient and orderly...and boring. Ron even saw the woman jogger he'd saved from that out-of-control car, back in Flagstaff. She smiled wryly and winked at him as she boarded the ferry.

Every passenger was handed a gravity suit made of a material which acted much like the vacandin the Rauldens used. It was somewhat bulkier, but worked well enough to keep them "grounded", so to speak.

Ron decided that he would go with these people and try to understand what was actually happening. After all, there wasn't much else he could do where he was anyway. He was still guarded by those armed men too, and even if he escaped, where would he go? The _Darlile_ would be the logical choice, of course, but he didn't know where he was, or how far away it was. And if they did have some barrier established, he had nothing to break into it with.

He considered commandeering the transport, but if he could somehow gain control of it, what could he do with it? In the end, he merely stepped onboard, wriggled into the gravity suit they gave him, and sat where he was told. Nonetheless, all the while his adrenal level maintained a high alert status and his mind constantly searched for opportunities.

One thing about the transport did impress him right away. The interior of the odd craft was very different from the outside. It was appointed with luxurious, padded seating for four hundred, with a large galley area in the center and nice, wide aisles. Even the walls were padded...for turbulence, Ron guessed...and holographic video screens could be utilized at any position. Those were put to use immediately, as the formerly Earth-bound members began trying to contact relatives and loved ones from their previous life.

There was plenty of headroom across the width of the transport too because of the square construction, and stowage compartments for personal items were large and retracted flush with the outer wall. All in all, Ron had to admire their accouterments.

They kept him in the rear section, well insulated from the rest of the passengers, with guns trained on him at all times. He feigned a dosing sleep, as if bored with the whole matter, but he took in everything from the guards' exchange with the cockpit, to the designs of their weapons.

When the ship broke ground, there was no possibility of seeing just where he'd been kept, since the cabin had no windows, so he fumbled in his pocket quickly and found the detonator of his explosive charge...and pressed it.

The height of the ship wasn't too far to prevent the concussion of the blast from being felt by the crew, and so they all immediately turned to the vid-screens situated throughout. One guard near Ron flipped his on and it showed the base below, and the general position of its location. He could just make out the coastal outline of Panama, and then he understood why it had taken so long to drive him to the facility.

The explosion was of no consequence to them however. They were leaving...and really didn't care why Kimmshea had blown up her former command post. She on the other hand understood precisely what had happened. She blushed heavily and ground her teeth together...but said nothing. She didn't want to appear less than fully in control.

Ron just smiled to himself.

The flight to space was mundane and slow, forcing Ron to wish for the captain's seat of the _Darlile_ , where he could really get a rush, but they did at least have a direct com-link to their primary vessel which was streaming information to them in a video-audio format.

It was like being at a professional sporting event, the way the Rheckor announcers were giving a blow-by-blow description of the attack already underway. The viewers followed the initial landers down to the surface, watched as they began boring into the planet's crust, and then laughed at the pitiful measures the Earthers used to stop them.

Ron's anger began to swell.

"Welcome home, members of the _Rasp of Fire_!" sounded an announcement through the transport. "The consumption of this planet is now underway."

"Consumption?" Ron asked to his sentries. "What does that mean?"

They snickered at him and shook their heads.

"It means that this piss-hole will soon be nothing but a mining and collection station," replied a man to Ron's right, his eyes showing the contempt he felt.

"Look at their little toy weapons!" a different guard laughed, watching tanks firing at their borers, and the launching of aircraft all around the globe. "What do you think they plan to do with those?"

"Yeah," piped in the another fellow, "once our ships are at their stations, it won't be long till we're the only players left on the field!"

Their jovial nature evaporated almost as quickly though, when the jamming antennae suddenly erased their impenetrable shields and they saw those borers immediately destroyed. The announcer grew very quiet as well, eventually muting his microphone.

"I guess those little toys pack more punch than you thought, eh?" Ron smirked at the once boisterous gang.

"It won't matter long," one of them snapped. "Our fighters will swat them like the insects they are!"

So began the air war from the vantage point of the Rheckors. Half a day later, when the shuttle began its final approach to the mother ship, hundreds of the alien aircrafts had been destroyed and dozens of their pilots had ejected. In those dozens of places around the planet a tiny beacon would begin blinking...showing those men's positions for future rescue...but one by one, each of those little lights eventually went dark. Ron followed it all on the screen his guards were using.

The Earthers, as they were known, were apparently less than hospitable to the Rheckor pilots than they'd assumed. By that time the alien leaders had finally figured out what was happening, and one person on the transport in particular was exceedingly upset over it.

Kimmshea Goan came storming back to where Ron was being held and screamed at him. "They've come up with a way to disrupt our shields! This has something to do with you, doesn't it? DOESN'T IT?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he replied innocently.

Her fury was quite evident on her once lovely face, and she couldn't contain it, slapping at him with all her strength, only to have her hand caught in his larger one easily.

The guard to Ron's left lunged in with the butt of his rifle, making to strike the prisoner who had the gall to touch a Mistress. Ron's defense was a blurred barrage of half a dozen blows coming from his feet, as well as his fists. The guard was left unconscious against the back bulkhead, and the primal 'Shartae' stood glaring at Kimmshea Goan.

"Do not attack me unless you are prepared to die!" he told the other two sentries, pointing at each of them while still locking eyes with Goan. Her searing stare bored away at him. "I did not agree to stand idly by when threatened, or attacked!" he growled at her.

The rear rows of passengers were by then all staring at the spectacle, wondering how far this would go.

After a few moments of nervous, fast-paced breathing, Mistress Goan, Captain of the _Rasp of Fire_ , spun about and marched back to the forward compartment. Ron watched her depart, and then took his seat once again as if nothing had happened.

Soon afterward, the transport entered the hangar bay of a ship as large as a Kreete Destroyer Class vessel. It was designated _The Dawn of Life,_ was circular in shape, and was multilayered, radiating and slimming from the center, which had the thickest cross section. To Ron it resembled two roulette wheels glued together at their bottoms, and the sector they were entering was at the very outer edge. The entire ship was spinning like a giant wheel, which was how their artificial gravity was created; Ron assumed...it being absolutely crucial to the health of any population living in the zero-gravity expanse of space. The areas moving toward the center of the ship undoubtedly were less and less populated and more and more automated.

The hangar was spacious, with room for ten shuttles like the one they just arrived in, and there were a multitude of different crafts parked all about. Some were small, personal, single occupant hovercraft no bigger than a sports car, while others were two, three, or even ten place carriers. Each was dramatically different in shape and obviously tailored to whatever designated role it played.

As they drifted slowly to the indicated berth, Ron heard an announcement stating a startling fact. They'd spotted one of the Earthers' fighters which was protected by an energy shield...one which they could not penetrate! Ron's hopes lit a flame inside him at that instant, and he knew precisely who it was piloting that bird...although he had no idea how she'd gotten there.

"Cache, you little angel!" he thought, secretly glowing with pride.

As the shuttle opened and the once Earth-locked Rheckors disembarked in front of a dozen armed security guards, Ron watched two fighter escorts land off to the right. They were sleek, single place ships in a somewhat similar design of an Earth-made ski boat, although quite a bit larger. The outer hull was smooth, pointed up front and squared off in the rear, with a clear, domed cockpit cover which parted in the center and then slid in opposite directions. The bottom of the craft was flat, and there were struts extending to the ground to keep it a foot off the deck.

Ron pretended to have some difficulties getting out of his gravity suit while he watched with ardent interest as the pilots shut down their systems and climbed out, heading off to the nearest doorway and into the primary structure of the giant Rheckor vessel.

An automated fueler robot rose out of the floor, merely yards away from each fighter, and quickly attached themselves to the ships, replenishing their tanks unassisted. Another robot, smaller and slimmer than the fuelers also materialized up from the smooth hangar deck and attached itself to the two crafts.

"Diagnostics bots," Ron guessed.

"This way!" said a large fellow who was in command of the escorting group.

Ron was then separated from the main throng of the Earth consortium and was surrounded by disruptor-toting, armored military men. Apparently, someone had called ahead and reported him as dangerous. He grinned at them.

They escorted him a hundred yards to the hangar wall before veering off and heading toward a wide opening which led into a spacious corridor designed for ground vehicles. Several of those zoomed back and forth down that pathway beside the long procession. The array of carts and transports were undoubtedly electric because when they passed by, there was the faintest hum of a motor, and Ron's curiosity was peaked at the simple novelty of this totally unique society. He was very impressed by the whole thing...an entire race of beings living permanently on deep-space ships! The level of understanding they must have about the effects of space travel on the humanoid body and mind would be fascinating, he thought. It was too bad he couldn't stay.

Three steps before Ron would follow the long parade into the corridor, his guards found out what his previous captors had already learned.

The centrifugal effects of the spinning ship established a gravity quotient roughly equivalent to Caron's force, possibly a bit stronger. Ron subtly adjusted himself to factor such matters in as he moved. So when his body dropped to the floor, spun, and lashed out, he was perfectly balanced to sweep two of the guards' feet out from under them...and before that dumbfounded pair struck the metal deck plating, Ron rolled to his right, grabbed another fellow's ankles, and twisted.

The quickness of their captive was shocking to the well-trained men, but as the first two flew upward, the man on the left jumped aside, tracked Ron, and fired. Half a second was all the time spanning those three events...but he wasn't quite fast enough to hit his target.

The armored suit encompassing Ron's hostage lit up from the energy discharge it was hit with, and the man inside was sent into instant cardiac arrest...his body jerking and vibrating until the energy dissipated. Ron didn't wait that long though, before grabbing the fellow's hands which were locked onto his own weapon, and using him to fire at his partner. That guy flew twenty feet and slid to a stop against the wall, unconscious.

Two more times did Ron's newly acquired energy weapon belch out death, point blank at the pair who were scrambling to recover from his first move. They almost made it too, but the bulk of their protective garments slowed them a fraction of a second too much, and so they lost the race.

Ron tossed the deceased guard off him immediately, ripping the gun free and picking up one of the others' lost weapons as well. When he whirled about to defend himself against the rest of the procession's escorts, he was wielding much more than his usual razor-edged armament.

The remainder of the military detachment sent to escort the Earth group quickly moved to safer vantage points inside the corridor and prepared to repel this attack...but they had no idea that he wasn't attacking.

Ron felt confident in his understanding of what every opening to the hangar bay would undoubtedly contain...some sort of emergency protocol system to protect the main body of the ship. In the event of a decompression, fire, explosion, or anything of that sort, there would have to be a sensor at each aperture where such a catastrophe might propagate inward. Along that theory, such a sensor would be directly adjacent to the subject portal, so he began blasting everything around the corridor's doorway until he saw the blast doors sliding shut...and then he ran!

Straight back to the pair of fighters Ron flew, leaping into the nearest one's cockpit while chancing a glance about for attackers. The initial Rheckor reaction to his rampage was to hide and assess the threat, so now they were only just beginning to respond and plan a retaliatory assault on him.

"Just a couple of seconds!" he growled as he swept the cockpit for familiar controls.

The instruments were all blank, and nearly every one of them displayed no notation of their use, or how to activate them. His eyes scorched across the panel twice, glancing out into the hangar at each pass...and then he saw it!

When Ron was watching the two flyers shutting down their ships earlier, each of them opened their canopy, paused for a second, and then reached out for one touch to the panel. Ron now saw a single point on the flat instrument cluster showing evidence of prolonged, repetitive usage...a defined, etched circle. It was off by itself and the glare of the hangar lights clearly showed multiple smudges on and around it.

Ron pressed that point on the blank panel, and while doing so, caught a glimpse of five men off to the right making their way toward his position. He fired a volley from his disruptors to force them to rethink their avenue, and had to duck down from a similar strike at his left. The blasts struck the ship but did no real damage to its skin, no doubt constructed to withstand the rather minor levels of energy the handheld weapons produced. The static crackle of those blasts however, reminded Ron he really needed to hurry, so he focused again on the panel to his front.

The instruments were at last showing life, and with their glow he read each of the primary systems while more energy flashes singed the area around him. The ozone from the bursts was pungent to his nose, and a very close blast jolted him like a strong static shock just as he triggered the primary engine. At once, a rapidly building hum could be heard, like a capacitor charging, and a second later the power-plant of the ship erupted into life.

Around to the rear of Ron's position, a flashing strobe light gave evidence of the emergency crews dispatched to quell the escape, and a large, low riding vehicle roared into the hangar with a big cannon mounted to the front.

At the instant it was in full view of Ron's fighter, the fellow manning the weapon squeezed down on its trigger, belching out a huge, purple blast of super-intense plasma energy. The level of power it wielded would have easily shredded the small craft had it landed the blow, but the lethal bolt of energy never reach him, absorbed totally by the newly formed shields surrounding the ship.

Ron let out a big sigh of relief and continued his work. Five more seconds and he had the cockpit closed, the struts retracted, and his own cannon powered up.

"Surrender now," bellowed a voice over their intercom system when he slipped the lightweight headgear on. "You are surrounded and the hangar is sealed! There is no escape!"

"Oh, really?" Ron said, squeezing down on his weapon's control.

The inside of the hangar was quickly transformed into a massive destruction zone as each of the twenty or so spacecrafts in the area were turned into an explosion that littered the space and ignited even more equipment. The local fire suppression systems kicked in but were never designed for such wanton devastation and quickly fell behind.

Ron had a definitive plan, so he just kept on firing, spinning his ship in a slow circle until it was the only thing left undamaged. The personnel in the facility all ran for safety, retreating hastily from the maniac as well as the fires that raged, and when they were finally out of harm's way, Ron got his wish.

The best way to fight fire in space is to remove the oxygen from the fuel...and the greatest, quickest way to do that is to decompress the area...which is exactly what happened. The containment shielding to the massive hangar suddenly vanished once the threat to the ship was large enough, and everything in the bay was blown out into space.

Ron was already at full throttle before he cleared the mother ship, and he tore back toward Earth with all haste, heading for the one blip on his screen that was drawing all the attention.

### Chapter Forty-one

### Battle Royale

When Cache and Sam broke out of the safety of the clouds, they met up with a veritable hornets' nest of combating aircrafts. Every remaining fighter plane within a thousand miles that the US Air Force could get airborne was ordered into their vicinity to provide support, and two Navy carrier groups were off to the southeast. More than two hundred aircraft swarmed into a space barely twenty miles in diameter.

"The navy boys are with us," Sam relayed to Cache, "and the entire southern reserves of Air Force planes are launched as well. They'll try to hold off the Marauders until you have a chance to make contact with your ship!"

"That is as good as I could hope for, Colonel. Now, are there any naval ships that could deliver a few missiles to a set of coordinates I give them?"

"Yes, five."

"Good. When I send out a pulse, they will have thirty seconds to hit that spot with as many high yield, conventional weapons as possible...understood?"

"Affirmative!" came the response from the fleet.

After that, things began to get busy!

Cache and Sam held back long enough for that huge multitude of aircraft to hit the Marauder perimeter, and then a wild free-for-all began. Two of the Navy's light cruisers fired up their radar systems with the special modifications Cache had given them, and the shields of eighty percent of the alien ships dropped to a tenth their normal rating, leaving them unsteady in the air and only lightly protected. Missile strikes rocked them hard and two direct hits could bring them down.

The Marauders held their airspace well though, and Cache found she was going to have to pound her way through if she was to make it at all, so she set her jaw like she'd seen Ron do so many times and radioed her escort.

"This is where I have to leave you, Sam," she said quickly while being buffeted harshly by the enemy.

Sam, "Sabre" Weeks didn't even pause. The entire flight down, he'd saved every bit of firepower he could manage and now he was determined to guard his wingman till the end.

"No ma'am, I don't think so. My orders are to see that you get to your ship, and that's what I intend to do! So you just get to it and I'll cover your six!"

Cache couldn't help but smile. "These Earth men may not be as powerful as the heavy-worlders," she thought, "but they sure make up for it in pure determination!"

Into the lions' den they blasted, intentionally grazing the heaviest fighting, hoping the madness would somehow aid their passage. Cache strafed two Marauders who were whizzing past on the tails of three Earth ships and slowed them enough for another pilot to drop them...but then she spotted her own assassins closing in again.

She rolled, and slipped, and darted her craft through that insanity of meshing planes, rockets, bullets, and cannon fire...sometimes getting slammed off course by the exceptionally well aiming Tri-Stars, but finally she reached her mark.

She'd been gaining altitude for a while too, to prepare for her final assault...a do-or-die scenario...and at that point she cleared her mind of everything else. A quick press of her delicate finger sent the pulse out to the fleet below, and then Cache Kuar punched full afterburners.

Her rockets were gone and her cannons' last shell expended as she pushed the nose of the Raptor towards the water in an apparent suicidal dive.

Sam watched her roll over inverted and blast off...and was shocked. What was she thinking? Didn't she just call for a full attack on that point? Was she dead? Did she black out?

"Cache! What are you doing?" Sam asked in desperation, unable to follow her maneuver that maxed out the capabilities of the jet.

"You have to trust me, Sam! I know...watch out! Incoming fighters eighty degrees to your right!"

Sam saw them immediately. It was their old buddies screaming in for the kill...and he also noted they weren't after him...they were after her! He took a quick huff of oxygen and punched his own burners, wrenching the control stick around to point himself straight at them.

One AMRAAM was away and he raced after it. The missile shook the lead fighter hard but didn't stop it. It was blasting Cache with an unrelenting barrage of plasma energy, joined with his cohort...and then there were two more blazing at her from the east, as well as a pair of normal ships. Sam fired his last missile at the nearest enemy, and then squeezed down on the trigger of his 20 MM cannon, hot on the tail of the next. He peppered the trailing Rheckor fighter heavily, right down to his final round.

The two attacking birds to the right couldn't stand up to the firepower and fell away, eventually into the Gulf waters, but the others, the stronger Tri-Stars, went on unimpeded. They viciously hammered away at Cache's aircraft until the shimmering green bubble collapsed and she took a direct hit to the left wing.

The wing exploded and spewed flaming fuel in her wake, but did not sheer off, and Lt. Colonel Sam Weeks felt tears welling in his eyes as he knew nothing could stop them from vaporizing her...but then!

One of the Marauder ships sailed past his left wingtip so fast he barely saw it, and nestled right up to the Tri-Stars...merging their shields with his. The newcomer then emitted enough of their red plasma energy at point blank range to completely envelope the two attackers, crushing their defenses instantly and blowing them into a billion pieces. That newcomer then changed direction so fast Sam couldn't truly comprehend it.

"Jeez! That's impossible! No one could survive that!"

Sam continued to watch since he was still following Cache's plummeting bird, and he saw that new Marauder fighter corkscrew its way around her, firing at anything even close, forming a barrier around her damaged plane that was completely impenetrable. It even blocked her from the eastern Tri-Stars with its own shields...taking a tremendous amount of pounding in the course of it.

"What the hell? He's protecting her!"

At that instant, the ocean turned white. Of the thirty six missiles that were fired on the target she'd specified, seven got through and the result was amazing. The crystal blue water bulged for half a mile across and then burst upward like Old Faithful, three hundred feet into the air. And when it fell back down, Cache Kuar's fighter was right behind it.

"Pull up, pull up, pull up!" shouted a voice into Cache's com unit just then, on the frequency that the _Darlile_ normally used.

She recognized that voice instantly and yanked on the stick hard, cutting her afterburners, and pulling back on the throttles. Her shield generator managed to reestablish itself just then and so aided her in the incredible turn she was attempting, barely clearing the undulating ocean beneath. Twenty-seven Gs of force tried to shove her petite frame through the metal seat she was strapped to, and the aircraft groaned and shrieked at the abuse...but it held...and then it flew.

Cache changed frequencies to isolate it immediately. "Ron?"

"Yeah, Blondie...it's me! Oh, crap!"

Ron whipped his craft into a spin that would have snapped a normal man's neck and fired anew; repelling two more alien fighters that were taking a run at Cache.

"Why did you stop me from..." she tried to ask.

"They were ready for you!" Ron cut her off. "Those isolation probes are impervious to our missiles, and as you may have noticed, didn't even waver."

"So what are we going to..."

"I'm working on it!"

The jamming field the Earth crews had generated was by then completely non-existent. The loss of which allowed his craft's shielding to be at its optimum, but still, he was outgunned, outnumbered, and out of time to think about it, so he did the only thing he could...fight!

Ron pointed his aircraft at the incoming group and opened the throttle, hoping to catch them by surprise...after all, who in their right mind would attack? He soared up at them with his cannons blazing and disrupted their strategy, however slightly, forcing them to break up their tightly grouped squad to avoid colliding with him.

The Tri-stars were extremely maneuverable...much more than his own ship...but Ron wasn't about to let something so trivial shake his confidence. Whipping his stolen fighter around in a gut-wrenching turn, he took up pursuit.

On the way down from the _Dawn of Life_ , while he was exploring the parameters of the small ship, Ron accidentally happened across an option for his power-plants under the heading of "calibration". He was familiar with the way it worked on many of the Rauldens' engines and so he investigated.

"Yes!" he exclaimed when found it served a similar purpose.

That particular setting was a way to cycle the energy outputs of the thrust-drives to a "maximum-plus-thirty" level...to check for overload containment of the generator core. And it just so happened that he was able to leave the diagnostic sequence running while he flew. It was ill-advised to be sure, and would severely shorten the life of the engines, but it also permitted them to run at one hundred and thirty percent their normal output. And Ron used every ounce of thrust it produced too, thrashing the little craft about in an absolute frenzy.

The hail of incoming fire was everywhere, but he danced and darted so quickly that half of it sailed past. His own cannons could do little to hurt the heavier shields of the Tri-stars though, so only a minute into the fight, he changed strategy. He pointedly broke off that avenue and began a reign of terror on the rest of the attacking aircraft...those continuing their bombardment of the Earth planes and naval ships.

Ron was determined to do what he could for as long as he could, so he threw open the doors to his own school...and taught the Rheckors what his version of war was all about.

Into the densest group of the battle he dove, and did a remarkable amount of damage to the Rheckors' air-fleet, saving a great many Earth planes as he went...but the Tri-stars had a differing idea and doggedly maintained their hell-bent pursuit.

As Ron baffled and infuriated the thick waves of common Marauder aircraft, making moves even they couldn't possibly copy, the more lethal alien vessels took out four of their own brethren in their mad, high speed chase of him.

"I WANT THAT MAN DEAD!" roared a commander over the Rheckor com system.

Ron smiled his most sinister smile and mentally flipped them the bird as he destroyed eighteen Marauder fighters before that pack of wolves could finally segregate him from the melee`.

"Oh, shi..." Ron suddenly grunted. "Cache, get outta there...NOW!"

Cache was still flying low and circling her trapped spaceship, doing everything she could think of to break into and override the barrier probes' commands, but with little progress. She knew he was keeping the Rheckors away from her to give her more time, so when she heard his panicked order, she quickly searched out why.

She'd been following Ron's fighter on her monitor and saw him suddenly disengage his aerial battle and accelerate away straight up, pushing it for all it was worth...and then she saw why.

From one of the thousands of new satellites the Rheckors had deployed to encompass the globe, came a threat that made her gasp. It was a Pyre...a kinetic energy weapon like the ones they'd used to obliterate Chicago and so many other cities...and it was headed straight for the _Darlile_!

"Oh no!" Cache squeaked.

"Ron! That thing will destroy the ship!"

"I know...I know...I know!"

Cache began racking her brain for some possible...or even insane way to stop it...but on Earth, there simply wasn't the technology to do it.

"Ron," she said with all the despair she was feeling, "the _Darlile_ is the only hope we have!"

By then, the spearhead-shaped weapon was streaking through the troposphere and gaining speed. By the time it reached the slumbering black ship, it would have the energy of a ten megaton atomic bomb, and even the super-metal the _Darlile_ was made from would be totally annihilated.

Cache watched in horror as that destructive Pyre approached, and tears couldn't help but burst from her violet eyes. "I will never see Sheyah again," was her only thought.

She continued to fly her wounded aircraft in a circling arc around her doomed ship, her mind in a fog, but at least the Rheckors' fighters had vacated the area, so she wasn't under fire.

But then a new change in the scene took place. She saw Ron's spacecraft quickly change course! He put his ship into a dive that paralleled the giant plunging death-device, and then accelerated after it!

Down the two raced as if it were some kind of game...and every eye on every ship in the Gulf locked onto that duel with increasing wonder.

"Ron," Cache said when he was directly beside the massive device. "What are you...?"

"Just a second!"

"Can you shoot it?"

"No, it's shielded against disruptor fire."

"Then what...?"

"Ha-a-a-a-a-n-g...o-o-o-o-on!"

The turbulence coming off the weapon was horrendous at the speed they were moving, pushing a shockwave that extended for ten miles. As he closed, the vibration was so bad he couldn't even read the instruments anymore, but Ron just clenched his chattering teeth and fought through it until he was inside its wake, nestled right up beside it...and then he shoved.

When his stolen ship physically touched the huge, deadly Pyre, the vibration doubled, totally erasing any attempt at reading his console, but he'd thought of that. He'd set his reticle to zero in on the isolation probe that was farthest away from the _Darlile_...hoping that distance would be enough...and now he just had to follow its verbal instructions. Luckily, his translator chip converted the alien increments to something he could comprehend.

"Fifty thousand feet...Six degrees starboard," the ship said.

Ron kicked all the rudder he could manage.

"Forty thousand feet...five degrees starboard."

"Shit!" Ron grunted. It wasn't working fast enough.

The alien device was capable of minor course corrections to account for wind and other atmospheric influences, plus the rotation of the planet, so it was fighting him hard to maintain its original heading.

There was nothing he could do but fight back.

"Thirty thousand feet...four degrees starboard."

Cache then began to hear a familiar sound over the com...the growling of an enraged beast.

"Come on, you sorry...no good...pile of sh..."

Suddenly a violent shift occurred, but the vibration increased again.

"Twenty thousand feet...two degrees...one degree."

Ron couldn't even think anymore as pieces of the Rheckor craft he was piloting began to crack, and shriek, and tear all around him...yet still he held on.

"Ten thousand feet...one degree---boooooooooooooooo!" rang the targeting tone.

At that instant, at barely five thousand feet, moving thirty five thousand miles an hour, Ron broke free of the enormous spike and pulled out of his insane dive, streaking away from the weapon at a furious rate and braking for all it was worth. The console returned to a viewable state again immediately but that just showed him how fast he was racing toward a watery death.

At the speed he was moving, he might as well have been headed for a granite bluff.

"Pull up, Ron! Pull up!" Cache was now screaming at him, unable to fathom how he was going to survive...but then something wonderful happened!

The terrible, destructive force that had been fired to crush any hope the Earthlings had, slammed into the ocean floor and erupted with all its awesome energy, creating a bulging surge in the sea that soared a thousand feet in the air and extended for five miles.

The scene behind him was the last thing on Ron's mind at that instant, but when his ship struck the downhill side of that enormous bulge and skipped like a stone, Ron could have cheered. However, the shock of that contact knocked every ounce of air out of his lungs and compressed his spine with an excruciating jolt.

Ron couldn't even comprehend what had happened for several seconds as the ship went airborne once more, even though its engines were totally dead, but before it could crash back into the water, Ron triggered the eject button.

Instantly, he was rocketing away from that broken fighter inside a shielded emergency pod barely large enough to envelope him.

It took a few seconds, but with a sharp shake of his rattled head, his cognizant functions returned and he took careful note of his surroundings while his seat finally slowed and then hovered effortlessly in the air.

The Gulf waters were surging magnificently for as far as he could see, and were seething with foam. It looked like the photos he'd seen from some underwater nuclear bomb tests back in the sixties.

"YOU DID IT!" screamed Cache, so amazed that he could almost see her jumping up and down. "Ron! It's down! The barrier is down!"

Ron was always the skeptical one though, and broke into motion immediately, fully expecting the Rheckors' technology to compensate.

"But how are you going to...," Cache began to ask. "Look out! Four Tri-Stars are right on top of you!"

His hand lifted as he spoke one order; "Darlile...send the probe!" and then it slammed down on the kill switch to the hovering safety seat.

He was freefalling before he even heard confirmation from the ship, and struck the water half a second later. His heavy-worlder body sunk like a stone and sped along even faster than he would have expected because of the metal chair he was still strapped into.

The protective bubble of that emergency device would have provided him air if he'd so chosen, but would also have kept him on the surface where he was vulnerable to attack, so he'd opted to do without it. Also, time was against him and he knew it because the satellite that had fired the Pyre still had two more ready to go!

Down he plunged, his entire focus on calming his body's need for oxygen, so that he might last longer...and then he prayed.

Up above the surface, Cache was still airborne, circling the area and waiting for news from her beloved ship that Ron had been picked up, but that was only a quick few moments, because what he had feared became reality immediately.

"Oh, no!" she groaned, seeing the second weapon leave its berth and begin streaking downward.

"Cache Kuar!" chimed a message over her headset. "This is Admiral Keach, aboard the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan. I've sent every fighter I have to cover you, but you must vacate that area immediately! There is another of those..."

"Affirmative, Admiral! I see it!"

A quick calculation showed that Ron wouldn't have enough time to be rescued, return to the Darlile, and then start the engines before that building-size bludgeon could reach him, so she had to act.

"Admiral. Fire a dozen of your S.A.M.s at me immediately!"

"What?" he returned, completely dumbfounded.

"Do not worry. I will override their targeting protocols and redirect them as I need!"

The Admiral couldn't really believe he was doing it, but he followed her orders nonetheless. After everything he'd been told about her, he had to assume she knew what she was doing.

She checked her fuel and gauged that she had less than five minutes of flight left in her one operating tank, and then she shoved the throttles forward and pointed the nose of her Raptor straight up.

Her fingers flew across her console as she climbed, and at twenty-thousand feet, she banked hard into a barrel-roll that put her on a collision course with that newest, heinous device. It was scorching earthward like a meteor, and even though it utilized thermal shielding to protect itself, it blazed through the atmosphere as if it were a piece of the sun itself.

Ten Rheckors fighters were closing in on her as she lined up for her run at the Pyre so she sent the missiles she'd requested right for them. Four were downed and the rest scattered quickly, leaving her pathway clear.

Timing was absolutely critical as she approached that falling spire, but she was one of the most precise humanoids of her era, even on her own gifted world...and she would not miss!

At half a mile to collision, Cache ejected, and the thirty-thousand pound aircraft flew straight and true when she did...right into the path of that evil weapon. Then, just as she'd programmed it to do, at the instant the two met, the power module in her portable unit exploded with miraculous results.

The kinetic energy weapon fractured and split into two sections, and at the speed it flew, those pieces tumbled apart and exploded instantaneously, showering the sea with a thousand shards of hardened metal. One of those fragments cut completely through a Navy frigate and sent its crew scrambling to seal the breach, but luckily it was not large enough to sink the vessel.

The shockwave from that violent explosion crashed into Cache with extreme force, driving her head back into the stout structure of the pilot seat hard enough to knock her unconscious and cartwheel her rocket-propelled seat into a crazy tumble. A moment later though, the parachute on that evacuation device opened and stabilized the seat, leaving her floating calmly earthward at the whim of the breeze.

She didn't see the last Rheckor weapon follow its two siblings from the satellite however, nor could she tell that she was directly in its path!

### Chapter Forty-two

### The Tide Turns

The water Ron had fallen into was extremely aerated from the Pyre's detonation, and "soft" due to that fact, which actually aided the speed of his plunge, so when he reached the deep stuff a few moments later, he was only three hundred feet above the _Darlile_.

He triggered the release latch of his restraints and allowed the ejection seat to continue on without him, and then scanned the sea for his ride.

The _Darlile_ was a ship of wondrous advancements and mind-blowing capabilities. Unfortunately, the raven spacecraft did have limits. It couldn't open its hatch, hold out the thousands of pounds per square inch of pressurized water, and allow him in all at the same time, so he'd have to return the same way he'd exited, of which he was fully aware. But of course, there was a drastic problem with that plan...the probe was not designed to purge itself of water.

The special transport probe that had delivered him to the Gulf's shore mere weeks in the past, shot out from its berth at the forward section of the fuselage, banked hard, and then tore through the sapphire water with all haste, slowing at the last to nestle up just beneath Ron. He was still sinking quickly, even at that depth, and plopped down onto the long metal torpedo firmly, straddling it like a horse while he searched for the hatch.

The mini-sub though, had even more constraints than the _Darlile_. It contained no way to generate a force-field at all, so when it opened, the weight of the ocean instantly rushed in and flooded the compartment.

The burst of escaping air from its interior was substantial, and nearly unseated Ron, but he had expected it and so his legs were latched on tightly and he rode out the surge like a veteran cowboy. He even had the presence of mind to catch a fair sized bubble of air in his flight helmet before the rest of it shot out of range.

His lungs were screaming as he expelled the used up oxygen from inside him and ducked his nose up into that heavenly pocket...inhaling all he could in two great gulps. His body was really desperate by then for replenishment of that life-giving gas, and his extremities were tingling and shaking by the time the rush came in.

Ron's fading mind cleared again and he didn't hesitate a moment, tossing the head-gear aside and diving into the tube. Even though he'd managed to force himself into that snug spot before, he found the chore quite different in the frantic situation he was currently in. But after mentally berating himself for his lack of dexterity, he finally accomplished it, and then the missile-like craft accelerated away in a rush.

The trip took less than a minute, but by that time, with only the relatively small gulps of air from his helmet to sustain him, Ron struggled yet again for control. His thoughts grew cloudy and his body was listless as the probe backed its way into the dark ship.

Up on the surface, the Naval commander of the U. S. fleet watched stoically as both Raulden Ambassadors were taken out of the fight in less than five minutes, and a fresh wave of Rheckor fighters banded together in a conjoined attack. There were at least a thousand of them, and his own aircraft numbered less than fifty. He couldn't help but lower his head, his once idealistic optimism falling faster than the newest alien Pyre.

He took a shallow breath just then, his hopes for a miracle suddenly gone, and pressed down on the com system for the ship. It was a wide-band signal that could be heard by every vessel in the Gulf, both air and sea.

"This is Admiral Donovan Keach," he said with a firm voice, hiding well the feelings of despair that filled his whole being. "You men and women have fought valiantly! And you truly are a credit to your country, your family, and your faith! I feel honored to have fought with you, and hope to meet you all in the next life. May God grant us..."

It was at that time that the entire battle took a dramatic, fatal turn...fatal that is, for the Rheckors!

Like a Titan missile launched from a nuclear submarine, the sable hull of the Raulden super-ship, the _Darlile,_ broke free of the Gulf's surface in a vertical ascent that made every Marauder pilot jump in their seats...and every earthling hold their breath.

Hundreds of gasps from the startled aerial warriors buzzing about overhead coincided perfectly with the very next event...when Earth finally witnessed the true firepower of that ebony ship!

The first order of business was that kinetic weapon plunging to earth. Ron snapped the ship over hard and accelerated straight for it, forcing Admiral Keach to blink twice and shake his head, convinced his vision had somehow tricked him. Ron was at mach three merely five hundred feet after he'd punched it, and gaining speed even faster.

Ron locked onto the Pyre immediately and caught it two seconds later, hammering it with a single, full power blast of the _Darlile's_ forward cannon at point-blank range. Even though that maniacal device was heavily shielded against attack, against heat, and against the elements, it shattered as if made of glass and laid waste to every Rheckor vessel within a five mile radius.

Two of the super fighters...the Tri-stars that had nearly destroyed Ron's previous vessel...were obliterated in the explosion. They were followed quickly by half a dozen other craft that Ron targeted next before he noticed a single object floating earthward more than twenty miles behind him.

If it were not for the incredibly advanced sensors of Cache's personal design, which could pick out her unique figure at such a distance, Ron would never have known that tiny object was his partner...or that she was as good as dead because one of the Tri-stars was barreling down on her. As it was though, the _Darlile_ identified its maker in a flash, and Ron's heart paused only long enough to call for all the power the sable ship could deliver.

He tore through the Earth's atmosphere like a bolt of lightning and sent a sonic explosion racing across the water that was so powerful the ocean waves were laid flat for a mile on both sides. Then, at the very earliest instant, he put a fully charged blast into that Rheckor attack ship, incinerating it in a blink.

Unfortunately however, the enemy pilot had succeeded in getting off one shot that destroyed Cache's parachutes so now she was plummeting earthward at a deadly rate.

Ron slammed on the brakes with full reverse thrust, guiding the _Darlile_ directly over the falling seat, and then pitched her down to give chase, completely ignoring the thirty enemy aircraft raining their cannon fire upon the impregnable warbird. His only thought at the moment was for that single, all important little woman.

The _Darlile_ went into a dive on the trail of Cache's plunging body when she was barely two thousand feet from the water, catching her, slowing abruptly to match her speed, and then dropping his shields on the left side...the entry-door's side.

A Tri-star attempted to make use of that narrow window of opportunity by firing upon the seemingly vulnerable ship, but the _Darlile_ instantly extended its umbrella of protection outward to shield Cache. With a vicious snarl, Ron's reacted with a squeeze of the cannon's trigger. That fighter, plus two others in the vicinity, was vaporized in another full power volley of green plasma.

He opened the entry door from his pilot's console.

" _Darlile_ ," Ron spoke to the vessel. "Guide me in...and be careful!"

Instantaneously, the left half of the forward screen became a perfect view of the doorway's opening with its exact dimensions outlined with a bright red box.

Ron couldn't suppress a sigh of relief as he lined up his target and then nudged the dark lady over to engulf her. At the moment she was inside, a phenomenal Raulden safety system kicked in and grabbed Cache's figure in a specialized net of energy designed to stop any object from flying about the interior of the _Darlile_ during combat. The ebony ship reentered the salty water half a second later and began decelerating sharply under the insulating protection of the sea.

When they were leveled off and motionless once more, Ron flew from his chair and bolted to Cache's side to check her out. It took barely a moment to trigger her release straps and toss the aircraft seat away to have access to her, gently easing her down to lie prone on the floor.

He quickly identified bruises and abrasions from her recent conflict, but all told, she appeared to be fine. A Mednaut then swooped in and scanned her thoroughly, looking for any trauma, or signs of adverse effects of her high altitude ejection, but reported all was well.

A few seconds inside the futuristic warship allowed Cache's body to be saturated with oxygen again too, and at the proper pressure for her heavy-worlder body.

Due to that aiding combination she soon opened her eyes, and as light struck them, her other senses sprang back into full speed and she sat up unexpectedly, grabbing Ron by the shoulders and rolling quickly. She had him pinned under her an instant later and a knife was at his throat...and then she blinked.

Her mind balked at the vision. "Ron?" she queried, completely astonished.

Her knife-wielding wrist was locked in his iron grasp as solidly as if it was set in cement, but she paid that no mind.

"How could this be?" her mind puzzled. "I saw you fall into the water!" she told him forcefully. "You should be in the ocean...trying to get to the..." She then closed her eyes tightly as if trying to reset her memory. "Wait a minute! I ejected! The Pyre!" she shouted.

"Gone!" Ron assured her. "Your completely insane attack worked!" Then he laughed up at her. "And you say I'm reckless!"

She blinked hard again, certain this was some kind of trick, but the sight was the same. A hasty glance around confirmed her location but confused her even more.

"Ron?" she repeated, trembling atop the man beneath her. "Is it really you?"

He smiled up at her then, no longer afraid she might be gravely injured. He could see that she was comprehending where she was...and who he was.

"Yes, Cache...it's me! You're aboard the _Darlile_. You're safe!"

Those sparking gray eyes couldn't be faked. That look of absolute trust and love couldn't be faked. She was there...on Earth...with Ron...and they were back aboard the ebony starship!

"You're all wet!" she told him with a quizzical look.

He just flipped a dangling lock of hair out of his eyes and smiled back. "I didn't think you'd want me to take the time to towel off."

"How did I get here? What about the third Pyre? Is the attack still...?"

"I can explain it all to you later, Cache. Right now we have a battle to fight!"

Cache grinned down at him with a welling feeling of joy inside her and then he sat up and pulled her to him tightly, crushing her in his powerful embrace.

"God, it's good to see you, Cache!"

He was on his knees by then and suddenly stood, hauling her up with him. They then both let out a huge sigh. The _Darlile_ was back! The Earth was saved! Nothing the Marauders had in their arsenal could match that of the Raulden fighter! He placed her feet back on the deck and cupped her beautiful face in his hands, just taking in her delicate features.

"All right then," she told him, "Let us begin!"

A few moments later the two Raulden ambassadors were securely in their seats, and Ron nudged the powerful engines into forward motion once more. He didn't want to completely decimate the marine life in the area, so he held back until the _Darlile_ broke the surface and hovered ten feet above the swells.

"I guess you're here to save my planet's people from extinction?" Ron asked Cache casually, as if it were just another day's work.

"Well, since you were kind enough to do it for me..." she replied with a shrug and a grin.

The overhead flurry of enemy ships spiraled down at them quickly, unleashing every bit of concentrated disruptor energy they could muster. The _Darlile_ simply sat there. Her shields were impenetrable to the attack, glowing bright green against the backdrop of the blue water. Ron checked all the parameters of the spacecraft, taking note of the drain on the black ship's defensive barrier...it was barely ten percent.

"Cache, open a com channel with a wide enough bandwidth so all the Earth communications will hear."

At a nod from her, Ron began his speech.

"Earth vessels, planes, ships, submarines, and ground troops...give me your attention please! This is the pilot of the Raulden spacecraft, the _Darlile_! This fight is now over for you! We will dispense with the Rheckors! Save your men and equipment! They will be needed badly when this is all over, rescuing your people and rebuilding your countries! I know this is a bold claim, and sounds too good to be true, so I will demonstrate!

"Okay, Cache...let's get to it!"

The _Darlile_ blasted off with such a start that the closest Marauder crafts had to check their sensors to confirm it hadn't simply vanished. There were eighty Tri-stars and four-hundred and fifty three common fighters in the area, plus three hundred on the way to assist them. Ron and Cache never batted an eye. As fast as the capacitor could replenish itself, the _Darlile_ vanquished her opponents. Cache even dialed in the exact amount of energy each blast would require to destroy the fighters, so that the rapidity might be maximized...and then they dealt out pure carnage!

The skies above the Gulf of Mexico soon gave way to the worst one-sided fight in Earth's long history of warfare, and the Marauders fell into its placid depths in droves...but that wasn't about to placate Ron Allison. Up...up...up, he spiraled the _Darlile_ , her plasma cannons flashing so fast it looked like a laser show gone berserk, and the targets she destroyed appeared to be light bulbs flashing in the sky...as if invisible paparazzi were swarming around the shadow-ship. Each demise of a Rheckor craft resulted in a loud "pop", making the entire scene into a Fourth of July fireworks show...a display that greatly rallied the Earth troops, and sent unparalleled fear into the attacking horde.

" _Darlile_ ," Ron said as he snarled at the enemy, "report the Earth losses please...starting with the United States."

"New York City to Washington D.C. is a total loss...twenty million dead!"

Ron and Cache both reeled at the devastating numbers scrolling across the screen...their stomachs twisting and knotting from the images the ship's sensors relayed.

"Los Angeles, San Diego...total loss...ten million dead."

"San Francisco?" Ron suddenly asked, his heart lurching to a stop.

"Total loss...eight million dead."

Ron's face turned beet red at that, and his fury sent his temperature spiking. "Atlanta?"

"Total loss...three million dead."

"Ron..." Cache began, laying her small hand on his large one...a darkly tanned set of digits that had every knuckle white with the pressure of his steely grip. "I am so sorry!" she said to him softly, with sorrow and empathy exuding from her words.

"Westlake?" he asked shakily, almost too afraid to mouth the query.

"Minimal damage. No direct attack."

Ron huffed audibly in relief at that small conciliation, and began to breathe again. He didn't even know if his folks were there, but it gave him hope...and that was enough for now.

"Continue your report," he ordered the ship.

The list just kept on going, until the country he'd once called home was covered, and the computer moved on. From continent to continent, the incredible, horrific swath of destruction seemed to be unending, "Beijing...total loss...twelve million dead. London, Tokyo, New Delhi, Berlin...the death toll mounted without end.

As hours passed, the dark ship did all it could to even the score...its pilot grinding his teeth the entire time. Ron didn't leave his chair once, making use of the emergency systems of the ship for water and his bodily needs. He used his growing despair and anger to fuel him onward without relent, to attack and destroy his world's enemy with no compunction, no remorse, no quarter, and no pity.

At the upper limits of the atmosphere, Ron escaped the smaller, single pilot fighters and entered the realm of the larger Rheckor ships. At that point the usual darkness of space was eliminated...lit up in every direction from thousands of cannons all trying to track and destroy the single assailant approaching!

Cache shared Ron's wrath and initiated her supplemental restraints to be ready for what she knew was about to occur...and he didn't disappoint her!

The _Darlile_ began to dance to the rhythm of disruptor fire...and the heavy, automatic guns on the main ships simply could not keep up. Hitting the black ship was like trying to swat a fly in mid-air with a pool cue...if they connected, it was by pure luck. The bigger problem for the enemy though was that even when a plasma burst did land, the _Darlile_ merely shrugged it off and kept coming...and her bite was much worse than her bark!

Two of the Rheckor's enormous carrier bases were in flames before Ron reached his intended goal. At last however, when he brought the _Dawn of Life_ into the range of the dark lady's cannons, his vision was cloaked in pure crimson.

" _Darlile_ , what's the compliment of that ship?"

"Three hundred, fifty-six thousand, four hundred and twelve humanoids."

"Cache, open a channel to their fleet."

"Ready."

"Rheckor Armada! This is the Raulden spaceship, the _Darlile_! Recall your fleet and end this attack immediately, or we will destroy every ship in this solar system!"

In response, the flag ship of the malicious horde fired a massive salvo on Sydney, Australia.

"Direct hit," the _Darlile_ computer reported, "two million dead."

Ron's finger on the ship's cannon control had squeezed down before the plasma even struck the Earth, and the static discharge enveloped a third of the Rheckor vessel's shielding. That strike sent a feedback surge into the generating system of the massive ship and blew out twenty percent of it, vast sections going dark and life support failing. The next connecting burst sheared off the huge focusing array used to fire their main gun, and ignited fires on a hundred levels. Two more blasts destroyed its fuel cells, which started a chain reaction into the enormous thrust-drives...and when they blew, the Marauder city-ship was divided into six large sections, all of which streaked toward the planet below.

"You wanted Earth?" Ron growled at those doomed fragments, "Well you can go straight to Hell. And when you get there, tell them I sent you!"

Ron pushed the Raulden spacecraft hard, moving as fast as he could to eradicate the enemy entirely from one region so that he might race on to the next. Three more of the Rheckor's colossal, spinning warships, (twenty miles in diameter) went down under the lethality of the black warbird before the rest were powering up their mammoth engines in emergency retreat.

"Ron, the remaining fighters are attacking areas where the Earthlings are seeking refuge! We have to..."

"I know...I know...hang on!" Ron snapped the _Darlile_ around into a dive that would have made a meteor appear slow in comparison, streaking back to the surface to continue his extermination of the fiendish Rheckor kill squads.

He was fully aware that their tactics were intended to sacrifice themselves to give their fleet time to escape...but with no other means of stopping them, he and Cache resigned themselves to the task.

The _Darlile_ moved with blazing speed over the United States in the next several hours, coming to the rescue of every city under attack, and restoring hope to the survivors who had all but given up. Many municipalities were utterly destroyed...those hit from the kinetic weapons or the monster blasts of the Marauder "mother ships"...and when Ron and Cache over-flew them, it was difficult to keep from being emotionally overwhelmed by the damage. Even half a day after the strike, the blackened earth still glowed on their thermal displays.

On the other hand, those metropolises still standing saw their streets lined with cheering crowds when the skies were at last swept clear of the harbingers of war from outer-space.

Once Ron's home nation was secured, he and Cache dashed to the European campaign and began again. The Marauders continued their reign of slaughter over much of the earth's surface, buying their larger, slower crafts valuable time to accelerate. Almost sixteen hours later they slowly began to recall their fighters, but by then the _Darlile_ had destroyed more than half of their flying ports, leaving a great many with no refuge to return to. Those who found themselves trapped merely fought to the end, refusing to surrender themselves or their crafts.

In many cases though, they couldn't have retreated fast enough to completely escape anyway before the relentless, ebony vanquisher hauled them into its range.

Over the twenty-four-hour period following the emergence of the _Darlile_ , the Rheckors saw two thirds of their remaining forces decimated by the black ship. They never asked for mercy, and neither Ron nor Cache ever thought to offer it. Those that still could, quickly broke orbit before the invincible black ship reached their area, desperately attempting to join their larger forces before they reached jump speed into transoptic flight.

The Rheckors had already established many automated mining facilities and collection points in the lesser developed...and less protected...parts of Earth, so Ron and Cache could not pursue. The two warriors consoled themselves with what they had accomplished, and even though it wasn't as much as they would have liked, it was truly a phenomenal amount.

After the deadliest threats to the human population were quelled, the heroic pair relentlessly pressed on, ignoring the mind-numbing effects of lack of sleep. They raced from one unmanned station to the next, obliterating each in turn as if squashing insects, constantly being called upon for help at the next point...and the next...and the next.

The fight wasn't what Ron was used to...the Kreete being so much more formidable opponents, but it was a vast campaign, and took most of the next four days. Nonetheless, the lack of real resistance did at least allow him and Cache the chance to get brief periods of rest...swapping piloting duties when exhaustion crept in too powerfully.

The translator aboard the _Darlile_ made communicating with those on the ground effortless as they moved from nation to nation too, and those that normally would have been up in arms about intruders in their highly contested airspace were delighted to allow the once terrifying menace to sweep up the Rheckors' scavenger ships.

From France, to China, to Iraq, and even the Philippines, every offer was greeted with warmth and enthusiasm. When one area was cleared, and Cache had given him the go ahead, Ron would scorch the skies getting to the next. The _Darlile's_ avatar even drew out a grid to keep up with the war, showing every hot spot and eradicated area, so that their time was utilized to the utmost.

### Chapter Forty-three

### Journey's End

The broad spectrum of ships and equipment the Rheckors had sent down to Earth blanketed the planet so heavily it took nearly another week to eventually remove or destroy the lot of them, even with the amazing Raulden assets at Ron and Cache's disposal. Luckily, the alien attack had been brief and therefore their equipment hadn't become too entrenched.

And by the time the last alien threat was finally destroyed, the Marauder fleet was out of the solar system and well on their way. They'd been badly beaten, their numbers decimated, and so they limped off to a new part of the galaxy to lick their wounds and regroup.

That was when the recovery phase began, and soon the Earth found out something they hadn't considered during the years when they'd worried and schemed about the frightening black ship. As well as the _Darlile_ destroyed, so did it rescue.

The giant machines that had raped the land were greatly outdone in sheer devastation by those used to extinguish the cities. Many of the largest urban centers around the globe had been targeted and attacked from the colossal ships in space seeking to quell the will to fight from the natives...but they hadn't understood the beings of Earth. The rivalry, corruption, and pettiness that normally caused so much everyday sorrow and strife between the nations were replaced by a simple, ancient, and often times necessary edict; "the enemy of my enemy is my friend!"

When faced with such a foe as the Rheckors, with the real probability of total extermination, the peoples of Earth were as one, and now they were proving it at every turn.

People were drawn to the damaged sites in droves. Hundreds, thousands, and in some places even tens of thousands of men, women, and children began the largest search and rescue mission ever seen...and with them came the black ship.

As Ron and Cache arrived at any new site, they first eliminated whatever danger was there, and then they scoured the area with the enormously superior sensors from the Rauldens' advanced engineers. They looked through debris, through the ground, even through solid rock to a depth of two hundred feet, and when there was the sign of a survivor, however faint a heartbeat might be, they marked the spot with a flare.

Cache had the ship's manufacturing station working nonstop every moment, and they fired flares in the tens of thousands before they were finished.

Under certain circumstances Ron would even land and assist those on the ground when emergency situations called for it. He moved slabs of concrete that would normally take the power of a large crane...or lift a car or truck...anything he and Cache might do when all haste was needed. But too many times they had to simply move on and hope the diggers and their crews would make it in time...their services being far too valuable to dawdle for any extended period in one place. And then there were hundreds of locations that were just mass graves...people buried by the thousands, like in the larger cities.

It was heart-wrenching to Cache, especially when she'd see the vast numbers of children who'd perished. So many of the communities had gathered them together in bomb shelters or emergency bunkers...places they prayed would protect them, but could not.

Over that long, often agonizing period, Ron and Cache slept very little... too distraught over the plight of the Earthlings to truly relax. The only respite being when Cache would transport back to her home to visit Sheyah...every other day...but those breaks were kept short because she knew Ron was in deep despair. Although his parents had survived, he'd lost one of his sisters to the Rheckors' bombardment of San Francisco, and didn't know the fate of the other. His world stood in near ruin; at least when compared to its former state...and his original mission still remained unfulfilled.

On Valentine's Day, the two off-world heroes finally completed the rounds, confirming the last alien menace was incapacitated, and were returning to America. They were flying across the Pacific Ocean where there wasn't a single sign of the devastation that had crippled the rest of the world, and they sighed in unison. It was an unusual few minutes of peace and they both sat quietly in their seats trying to bolster their sorrows. They were already so comfortable with each other that the quiet didn't seem strained or tense. They just gazed at the viewer while passing over a couple of fishing boats which were well out from land in the deep water, performing their age-old duties.

It was so calm and quaint, so utterly opposite to everything they'd encountered of late that it hit them as completely surreal. It almost made them smile.

The _Darlile_ never rested though, and constantly monitored every radio frequency still producing chatter. So when it caught a snippet of conversation concerning a person Cache had mentioned when recounting her experiences to Ron, it sorted and allowed it through. Cache zeroed in on one conversation immediately when it reached her ears.

"Rescue Seven, this is Sabre, do you copy?"

"Roger, Colonel, this is Rescue Seven...go ahead."

"We're done here, Sir. Is there a new rally point I need to get to?"

"That's a negative, Sabre. Return to base for immediate redeployment. It looks like you're going home! Apparently Air Force One needs its Top Gun back."

"Roger that!" Sam replied with a grin.

"Sabre," Cache spoke up when the channel cleared...her voice nearly vibrating, so thrilled that he had survived, "this is Cache Kuar, of the _Darli_..."

"I know who you are, little lady! Holy cow! I can hardly believe you're still alive. I mean, I knew the black ship had somehow escaped, but the last I saw you, you were nose down at six hundred knots, with both burners lit. How in the world...Hey! Where are you?"

"We are just flying over a group of islands...Kwajalein...in the Pacific Ocean. How are you? I lost touch after I found out you separated from me in the Gulf skirmish."

"Skirmish?" he scoffed, "Geez, Cache...If that was a skirmish, please don't invite me to a full-on battle!"

Cache just smiled over at Ron, who was staring at her with a curious expression.

"Yeah, I never made it to land. Had a couple of E.T.s glued to my six, and got hammered a hundred miles off the Yucatan. Rode the rocket into the waves and a fishing boat picked me up two days later. I was lucky though, cause a make-shift army base was only a hundred miles west and needed a chopper driver.

"Looks like I'm headed home now though."

"Congratulations! I know your fiancée will be glad to see you back safely," she said before realizing what might have happened during the war. "She made it through all right, I assume?"

"Yeah! She's fine! A good friend of mine made sure she got to a secure facility before things got outta hand."

"That friend, anyone I know?"

"Maybe. I heard you met him on a golf course...ha-ha-ha!"

Ron's eyebrow lifted at that too, and Cache waved her hand to brush off any peaked interest. "Tell you later," she mouthed.

"Yes, I recall the encounter. We are headed to a meeting with him and his staff now, would you like a lift?"

"In your ship?"

"Well, riding outside would be unwise...do you not think so?" she chuckled.

"That would be fantastic!" he replied like a child waiting on his first airplane ride. "I'm located at latitude 18 degrees, forty two..."

"I have you on my screen!" she cut him off.

"How can you possibly...strike that...never mind. How long till you get here?"

"Twenty min..."

Ron smiled at her and flashed his hands in the air.

"Make that ten minutes!" she replied a half second before Ron slipped the throttle forward, pinning her to her seat with a rush of exhilaration.

"Ten minutes? No way! Are you serious? You can't...no...never mind that either! Forget I asked. See you in a few!"

The base com-operator heard the conversation with their pilot, and even though such communications were supposed to be confidential, in a matter of seconds, the entire population of the place was standing outside, watching the skies to the west with every camera they had. And when the Darlile entered their visual range they were not disappointed.

Ron did a high speed pass at mach three, flashing across the runway five hundred feet off the ground. Normally, such a demonstration would have destroyed every window, cracked every stone wall, caused a mild earthquake, and made everyone deaf, but the shields of the ship reconfigured the aerodynamic profile so well that those witnessing the flight only heard a pop loud enough to sound like fireworks, and then Ron stood the _Darlile_ on its tail and rocketed out of sight, straight up.

A couple of minutes later, the watchers, raucous with chatter about such a show, were startled nearly off their feet as the _Darlile_ eased over the larger buildings to the north, and settled to the ground.

Ron stayed aboard the ship while Cache went out and greeted Sam and all his new friends. It would have turned out to be a lengthy stay had it not been for their high-priority meeting, but as it was they merely shook hands and said quick good-lucks and goodbyes.

Sam then gathered his personal gear and they waved to the admiring crowd, posing like celebrities for the resident photographers before the hatch slid shut once more and the seemingly omnipotent black vessel drifted upward.

Cache strapped the Colonel into a seat in the cabin and returned to her position at the helm.

"All right, Ron," she told him as her restraints took hold again. "But," she cautioned quickly, reaching out and grasping his arm firmly, "remember, he is..."

"I know...I know," Ron told her with a grin. "Colonel," he called to their passenger. "How many Gs have you been up to?"

"Nine, that I know of...but I..."

He didn't have a chance to finish before the _Darlile_ leaped forward and all the air in his lungs rushed out in a long howl of excitement.

Taking things slow and easy, the ride to Colorado Springs was a longer one than normal, at least for the pair from the stars, but they saw no need to rush, so they simply relaxed.

After they were well on their way and at a good cruising speed, Cache called the Colonel up front to see the command post of the fantastic space vessel.

"Sam, I would like to introduce you to my partner, Ron A..."

"It's good to meet you, Sam!" Ron said, cutting her off intentionally and giving her a quick look that subdued any further elaborations of his identity. They had discussed keeping such information private until he'd concluded his reunion...wanting his family to be the primary bearers of such news. "And please accept my deepest thanks for keeping Cache safe."

Sam didn't notice Ron's deception in the least and spent the next hour asking every question that Ron had asked when he first sat at the controls. Cache would have let him take her seat, but it was custom molded to her much smaller body, so that really wasn't an option. He would have loved to take the controls too, even if only for a few minutes, but was forced to be content at just being a passenger. After all, even if he couldn't fly it, he was still the only Earth man ever to have set foot inside the mysterious, fantastic craft.

The _Darlile_ swept along the Central American continent smoothly as they chatted and Sam asked question after question about the ship. Ron remained mostly quiet though, and gazed out at the wide open desert of Mexico with his own thoughts and questions at the forefront of his mind.

Things were finally slowing down a bit with regard to the aftermath of the attack...at least in the sense of life-threatening urgency...and he really wanted to check on his family...and revisit a certain little house in Flagstaff. It was almost painful to him that he hadn't already done so, but with the entire world clamoring for his and Cache's help, he just hadn't been able to justify it.

Ron intentionally stayed clear of any cities during the flight, preferring the tranquility of the wild landscape to the constant reminders of tragedy and death, so he glided the sable craft over the Sacramento Mountains and then broke northeast toward Colorado. He had a flashing recollection of his road trip with Regina when he noted Roswell sliding by, and made a mental note to find out about her too.

Winter showed a good hold on the western High Plains north of Springfield. That seemingly unlimited expanse of level ground was covered in a thick layer of snow with only sporadic points dotting its smooth blanket, where a tree or scrub brush managed to break through its fluffy white surface. Out there where people were few and far between, it appeared as if all the horrific events of the past two months had never even happened.

Soon afterward, their destination loomed in the viewer and so Ron sent Sam back to his seat and eased off on the thrust.

By the time they'd reached their intended stop, the ship was almost floating in its elegant approach, so silent and graceful did it move. And when it finally rested on the cleared concrete apron of the Colorado Springs airport, the feelings of Cache, Ron, and Sam were those of a long overdue homecoming. They had all been "on the road", so to speak, for weeks without seeing a single person they really knew.

There was a sizable crowd there too, gathered and huddled out in the windswept openness of the high altitude plain. And they looked positively jubilant too, as if they were safe and comfortable in their own living rooms instead of freezing in the twenty degree temperatures of the airport. The event was that filled with anticipation.

The gathered group was from a very diverse background of occupations, both military and civilian, with a great majority of them being part of President Garner's staff and their families. And they were just as mesmerized by the spacecraft as everyone else had been.

Even though they were all so close to such powerful people, it was still an incredible feeling for each of them...being able to say they were there at the _Darlile_ 's first official "social" landing. And standing next to the black ship from the stars that had saved them all was an exceptionally exhilarating thrill. Faces were covered with cameras of every size and style for easily ten straight minutes as each person in the crowd produced their own in order to capture the event.

"Ron," Cache said when she felt the firmness of the ground under the ship, "I have a surprise for you." She was beaming with a delightful smile he hadn't seen in a long while. "I radioed ahead yesterday and told President Garner we would be returning today...and I asked if he could possibly arrange for your parents to be here when we landed."

"Really?" he asked...his face transforming into the "old" Ron she loved so dearly. "You did that for me?"

"Of course," she replied with a look of total adoration. "I checked as we landed. They are out there now."

He reached across and gently cradled her cheek in his large hand.

"Thank you, Cache. You really are an absolute angel!"

The Colonel was at the back of Cache's chair by then and Ron could tell he was going to start in with Cache about the _Darlile_ again, so he gave up his position to the officer and went to the doorway alone.

The crowd stood absolutely still...hushed...with every eye locked unblinkingly at the spacecraft that had turned the world's perspective upside down two and a half years previous, only to return so recently and snatch them from the jaws of death. They were all certain this scene would be a "once in a lifetime" chance at being so close to the "good aliens" who piloted the craft, so again, cameras stood at the ready.

A rectangular section of the black ship's hull suddenly separated just forward of the wing, and everyone gasped. It had appeared where no such opening could be detected...as if by pure magic. A half second later, a tall, dark-haired man stood in the doorway looking back at them, sweeping his gaze over the crowd...scanning as if looking for a single individual...but they wondered at who it could be. Who might an alien being possibly know here on Earth?

The fellow adjusted his long, tan trench coat about his shoulders and then dropped a wide-brimmed, light gray hat upon his head. Lastly, they watched his hand slide a pair of dark sunglasses over his eyes...no doubt to protect him from the harsh glare of the snowy region. They had no idea that their sun was dim in comparison to the ones he was used to.

It was shortly after noon on a cloudless, spectacular day as Ron paused briefly at the entryway of the _Darlile_ , dressed once again in the garb specially designed to help keep him grounded. He felt fortunate that Cache was so careful in her planning because the morphing, full length coat he'd arrived with was gone...apparently lost during the Rheckors' inquisition. It was now replaced by another...a spare she'd had made during one of her visits back to Rauld. New also were his wide-brimmed hat and dark glasses, each fully as capable as the originals. He didn't need the glasses of course, but didn't want to take the chance of freaking out the natives with his Caronian eyes. The winter glare off the snowy ground could easily have caused a "black-out" reaction.

He'd just flown many hours through it but still couldn't help but scan the deep blue of the sky above him, and breathe in that crisp mountain air...ultra-thin though it was.

Ron let his gaze drop to the men, women, and children who lined the terminal, and he started at one end, scouring the group for those familiar to him. He was a total stranger to all but a few, so he brushed off their audacious stares while he searched.

Just to the right center of the throng, he latched onto a pair (a man and woman) he would recognize anywhere. He then stepped down without hesitation and strode quickly across the flat, frozen landing pad...his heart beginning to beat fast at the long overdue reunion. He could clearly make out his mother, standing in front of his father who was waving at him now.

They were held back by a heavy rope strung through portable, weighted poles, which were guarded by a string of military men...mostly cadets and their instructors from the Air Force Academy. Those young men and women looked like they'd explode from within, so excited were they.

Ron threw up his hand to wave and saw his father turn to a person behind him, stepping aside and then bending down. He thought that was curious until the older Allison stood again, holding a little two-year-old boy in his arms, bundled up tightly...and then he saw "her"!

Angela Allison slipped forward to stand at the front of the crowd, and Ron's quick gate dropped noticeably, too stunned to believe his eyes. She was there...right there...with his folks!

The breathtaking perfection of her features struck him hard...just like the first time he'd ever laid eyes on her. The shape of her cheeks, her eyes, her delicate nose, and those lips..."My God, those fantastic, soft, delicious lips!"

Ron swallowed hard, feeling the pounding of his heart like a bass drum, and inspected his love.

She was enveloped in a thin layer of eye-catching insulated material that conformed to her exceptional figure extremely well...an outfit made for skiing. The pants were black, snug, and had accents of yellow ribbons swirling along her contours in a playful display that drew his eyes. The jacket was bright green and canary yellow, with matching boots that had a band of fur around the tops, and a similarly decorated knitted hat. Her long dark hair was braided down her back with a bright yellow bow tied onto the end...like the ones used to show support for loved ones in the armed forces. Even though the temperature wasn't extremely frigid, her hands were hidden beneath thick mittens, and Ron recalled effortlessly how she'd never liked the cold...and being from Louisiana, she'd never been forced to get used to it.

Cache was only partly listening to Sam's nearly nonstop questions as she followed what was happening outside the ship. She saw Ron stutter-step and then she focused down his line of sight. Her own heart skipped a beat too just then, when she noted exactly who it was he was fixated on, but she was more ready for it than before, and so managed to eke out a bit of joy for finally rejoining the pair who were never meant to be apart. It was mostly a great relief that she felt, although a mix of sorrow was intertwined as well. She and Ron both knew he could never truly return to his old life, and the mandatory future parting would be difficult at best.

Sam sat in Ron's seat to get even closer to what it felt like to fly such an incredible vessel, and when he peered at the view from that chair, he took in the scene outside as well. The picture quality alone was phenomenal to him. It really looked like he was staring out a window! It was so sharp, so...

"No way!" Sam said suddenly, "I don't believe it!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"She's here!" he blurted as he jumped from the seat and ran to the hatch.

"Who?"

"My fiancée!" he called back to her, trying to figure out how to escape the ship. "How's this door work?"

Cache shut down the viewer with a press of her finger and moved aft to help him.

"Here you go," she said as she triggered the hatch.

"Come on, Cache. You have to meet her! You'll love her, and I want her to meet you too! I can't believe she's here! I thought she was in Flagstaff!"

"Just a lita, while I get my coat." (She'd retrieved her long coat from the President weeks ago)

He looked out the door again, his adrenaline searing through him.

"And she brought her little boy too!"

Cache's blood instantly froze in her veins.

"Oh, no!" she thought...trembling at the notion of it. "Sam, what is her na..."

"Come on! Come on!" he yelled as he bolted from the doorway.

"Wait!" Cache cried.

### Chapter Forty-four

### Fate Rues the Day

Ron took her image in thoroughly...absorbing it completely, and then she looked right at him and a startled, questioning, half smile turned into one of absolute elation.

"Oh my God," he thought. "She recognizes me!"

After all the time, the dangers, and the distance, she spotted him right away! He was so filled with a rush of emotion that his chest heaved from the excitement. He could feel the softness of her, feel the smooth skin of her tender areas which only he had ever seen, touched, and kissed. His memory was so strong he could smell the alluring perfume she'd spent weeks picking out just for him...searching for the one scent that drove him absolutely mad with desire.

Unexpectedly though, a running form flashed past Ron's shoulder just then...and he saw her gaze flicker. It was ever so slight, but instantly it was as if he weren't there at all.

The next few seconds seemed to slow down to quarter speed...and his mind stumbled as he tried to switch gears...from wonderful, magical euphoria, to confusion, and finally to gut-wrenching, nauseating understanding. She wasn't looking his way anymore at all. She was fixated on the running man. Every step the fellow took closer to her, she shined with delight all the more...and then they met!

Into his arms she leaped, smothering his lips with hers. HIS lips!

Ron stopped where he was, fifty feet short of a goal he'd spanned thousands of light years to reach. His feet suddenly felt too heavy to take another step, as if they'd been locked in quick setting concrete. The weight of his leaden heart compressed inside his chest firmly but would not release...and that drained him quickly, until he felt the once gentle pull of the Earth would now crush him entirely. His insides threatened to expel out his mouth, and a bone-shaking chill ripped through him in a blinding rush, turning almost immediately into a pounding, splitting headache. His grasp of reality faded and blurred as his mind fought for control.

Several seconds dragged by before his brain accepted that his agony would not destroy him, even though in many ways he wished it would...and then there was a presence beside him.

"Ron," Cache said softly, her two hands wrapped around his limp arm. "I did not know! I am so...so sorry!"

He couldn't acknowledge her...couldn't speak...couldn't think. He just felt...and what he felt was absolute and utter despair wrapped in a red veil of anger. After what seemed like an hour, but was merely moments, he realized his right hand was on the hilt of his sword...his iron grip squeezing that impenetrable metal until his knuckles were glaring white.

"It would be so simple," an almost inaudible whisper said, deep in his thoughts. "He is nothing! One swing!"

But Ron Allison was not a murderer...no matter the pain he felt. This man was unarmed and of no threat to his person whatsoever...only to his purest, deepest emotions. A second later his fingers relaxed...and then he felt his heart pump again...and then he heard the man say something so ironic he wanted to laugh.

The two lovers parted lips and Lieutenant Colonel Sam Weeks said to Ron's wife...to the mother of his son...

"Sweetheart, I want you to meet some friends of mine."

The guards let Angela cross the barrier along with Sam, leaving the Allisons looking on, dumbstruck. Ron's mother was weeping...shedding tears for her son and knowing her boy was inconceivably devastated at the sight of the two of them together.

"Angie...this is Cache Kuar," Sam introduced, "She came here from her own advanced world to aid us against the Marauders. If it hadn't been for her, we'd all have been exterminated."

"There are no words!" Angela told Cache with tears welled in her eyes. "Thank you so very much!"

She reached out with her mitten-encased fingers before realizing, and then pulled them free of their warm little capsules to clasp Cache's hand in hers. She held onto the slightly shorter Raulden and searched for words to convey what she felt...but that didn't seem to suit her, so she finally pull her into a strong, friendly hug. "I'm...I mean my family...that is...our entire planet is forever in your debt!"

Ron wanted to smile at that. Angie had always been a hugger, so warmhearted, so compassionate.

"And this is her partner, Ron..."

"Ronin Dangarth!" Ron interjected before he could finish.

With sheer determination, he forced his stiffened legs into motion and approached. Pausing for a second, merely arms' length away from his wife, he tried to remember his former life which was now a jumbled, tangled mess of gloom and heartache.

Ron towered over Angela when he stopped...now fully four inches taller than he had been. He took a moment to inhale deeply, and then release it...to purge his mind of the negative feelings which clouded it. Then, noting that the sun was at his back, he removed his hat in the fashion of a southern gentleman, and then his glasses, stowing them in his coat pocket.

Angela was mesmerized by him, as was everyone else. His every movement seemed so smooth and fluid, so...kingly! And when her hazel-green eyes (highlighted perfectly by the sun's position) locked with his steel-gray ones, she felt a pronounced shiver race through her body. That gaze! He was so...masculine...so gorgeous. And there was something else too...a familiarity she couldn't place. His appearance had been quite different at her house.

Cameras whirred nonstop at the pair, preserving every moment of the meeting in high-resolution digital memory. Every other person in the crowd of over four hundred turned green with envy at the personal interaction...especially the women!

Ron had rehearsed a dozen different versions of what he would say when the moment finally arrived...but now they were all meaningless. His words could never convey what he wished to tell the woman before him...and with Sam in her life now, he saw no reason to try.

In perfect Caronian, Ron said, "I have traveled across the galaxy to find you again, my love...to explain and set right the happenings of my leaving you...and to help you understand what duty the hand of fate has pressed me into. But it matters not anymore. I can plainly see that you are well and happy now...and that is all I ever wanted for you...so this is goodbye, my darling wife. I will always love you!"

With that, he took her hand gently in his, lowered to one knee, and kissed the back of it with a single, lingering press of his lips. Then he rose once more, his hat and glasses already back in place by the time he was erect, and walked away without once locking eyes with his son. He knew if he did, he would be unable to keep up the ruse.

Angela Allison was left totally speechless, even when the rest of the crowd all broke into hushed whispers. His smooth, deep voice was almost hypnotizing to the young woman, and tinged heavily with undeniable familiarity that made absolutely no sense. Too, she felt he'd told her something extremely important and heartfelt, but was totally lost as to what it might be. She turned to Cache with a question in her eyes.

Cache could barely speak, so choked up at what Ron had said, and at what she knew he must be feeling. Her heart bled for his sorrow.

"Whatever did he say?" she inquired sweetly.

"He said," she began as she fought back a choking sob, "he remembered you from our first visit and deeply regretted frightening you and causing you so much trouble. He said your beauty is beyond description...and that Sam is a very lucky man. Then he apologized for his need to go, but you see, there is still much to do."

Angela smiled and blushed at the complement, but inside she felt Cache had not truly translated the message verbatim. Her eyes flicked back to Ronin, and she wondered about that...but why would Cache...a total stranger...lie?

Kurt and Jessica were forced to watch in dismay as their son was so deeply wounded, and followed him with their gazes as he walked down the line of onlookers toward the President's entourage.

"This is Derek!" Sam told Cache, collecting him from his grandfather and holding up the little boy for her inspection.

She took him gently, a bit afraid of damaging his tiny body, but found him to be quite sturdy, quickly holding him close. "Well, Derek Allison, what do you think about all this? Would you like to ride in our spaceship?"

He grabbed Cache's face with both of his small hands. "Pretty!" he told her, staring intently into her violet eyes.

"Why thank you," she told him with a kiss on his chubby cheek. "You would like my daughter, I bet."

She then handed him back to his mother, smiling brightly. "He looks exactly like his father!"

"That's what everyone says," Angie responded with pride...and then her expression turned confused.

"It was very nice meeting you," Cache then said quickly, realizing the slip of her comment, "but I am afraid I must go as well." She shook Sam's hand once again and waved. "Good luck to you both."

She then hurried over to Ron's side and together they were surrounded by the high officials and quickly whisked away to their conference.

"Did you tell her my last name?" Angela asked of Sam when they'd moved away.

"No, I...well...maybe...I don't know. I guess I must have."

"And how would she know what his father looks like?"

"Maybe she thought he was mine," Sam guessed, although instantly realizing his folly.

"Sweetie, your blonde hair and blue eyes could hardly be seen in Derek, with his jet black hair, dark skin, and brown eyes!"

"Yeah, you're right...and why didn't he speak in English? In the ship, he spoke it as clearly as I do."

They were left to just stare at the retreating pair and ponder it.

For Ron and Cache, the rest of the day was spent in top secret discussions about the next phase of recovery. Communication was a key factor in coordinating the efforts around the country and the world, so President Garner and several other countries' leaders begged for help in reestablishing what they could.

After those talks concluded, which went on until nearly midnight, Ron and Cache headed back to the _Darlile_. It was a great surprise to see a car parked out on the ramp next to the ship with the engine running, and an even bigger one to discover who was inside.

General Kurt Allison and his wife climbed out of the sedan at the approach of the President's cavalcade carrying the two Raulden Ambassadors, and Ron finally felt assured the day's shroud of despair was at an end.

After greetings were exchanged, and Ron had introduced his folks to Cache properly, the Allison clan was invited into the starship, so they dismissed the caravan at that point.

"Oh, wait...I have something of yours," Kurt told Ron, moving around to the trunk.

He opened it up and Cache's eyes flew wide with surprise...as did Ron's. There in the dimly lit hold was the weighty coat, pack, and hat that had been so hastily discarded next to Angela's driveway.

"How in the world?" Ron questioned, scooping up his possessions to verify their authenticity.

"I just followed the trail I knew you would take, but arrived about a day too late, of course. Angie was so distraught about the way the police had treated you that she went down to the local precinct after work and complained. That's when she found out that no police had been dispatched to her neighborhood, and that no car chase had ever been reported.

"Well then, with the whole ordeal sounding like some kind of abduction at that point, an officer met her afterward to interview her and investigate the scene, and that's when he found your things. Angela told me the officer took them with him, so I paid his supervisor a visit and simply asked for them...and what-do-you-know...having the voice of the President really comes in handy sometimes!"

"Thanks, Dad," Ron said with a strong hug of his father. "Come on in," Ron then told them as he moved to the black vessel which now appeared to be a giant shadow in the night.

"Just a second, son," his mother told him before returning to the car.

She leaned in and fiddled with something for a few moments before standing once more...only she was not alone any longer. A limp little man was in her arms, still bundled in thick insulation from head to toe.

Ron's jaw dropped open in surprise. Cache smiled dazzlingly and completed the entrance codes for the ship while Ron strolled over to his mother.

"This is your son, Ron," she told him. "This is Derek."

The child was dead asleep...his little head drooping like a limp doll's. Ron accepted his boy from his mother and carried him into the _Darlile_ directly...out of the frigid night air. They spent the rest of the night catching up on everything that had happened in both their worlds.

When the uncomfortable topic of Sam Weeks finally arose, Kurt tried to soften the news. They'd brought Angela and Derek to the airport earlier in the day to meet Ron...to begin the period of adjustment between them which they conceded would be shocking, to say the least. Of course he and Jessica knew about the relationship between Angie and Sam but had no idea the Colonel would be on the _Darlile_...and were lost about what to do when he suddenly popped out of the hatch and raced to her.

"It's completely understandable," Ron told them, trying to ease their guilt-riddled consciences. "I know she thought me gone forever...long ago. I do want her to have a life, and find love again. And I'm sure I'll be happy about it...after a while...but it was a hell of a surprise, that's all."

Ron spent the entire night with Derek sleeping in his arms, but when dawn approached, he knew their time together was at an end. Jessica Allison was slumbering comfortably in Ron's bed, Kurt was still awake, looking like he'd been up for a week, but Derek was just waking...and he was restless and hungry.

Ron held him up to look into his eyes, and the boy grinned and cooed. With innocent curiosity he scanned Ron's face carefully, side to side and up and down, while his hands felt every feature.

"Daddy!" he said after a while, giggling hysterically and holding onto Ron's nose.

Ron played with him for a few minutes until his mother awakened and began shuffling through the baby's huge supply bag. At the clink of two food jars, Derek's attention shifted sharply, and he reached out for his grandmother.

It took everything he had to turn loose his child, but Ron did so nonetheless, and then watched as that little man packed away three jars of food.

"Well that proves he's your son, Ron!" Cache said jokingly while patting Ron's belly.

Once Derek was full, Cache made a call to her military escort and arranged for one of the guards on duty to escort the Allisons back to their hotel, and then she and Ron managed to get a couple hours of rest before the political talks continued.

### Chapter Forty-five

### Restoration

That same afternoon, the _Darlile_ lifted off once again and went back to work. Six countries had satellites ready for launch, just waiting for their respective transport systems to schedule the flights, but since the Rheckors had destroyed every launch facility on the planet, that was obviously not an option. So Ron and Cache provided the service for them. Within three days, limited worldwide communications was up and running once more, using military grade uplinks which were mobile and therefore had been hidden during the conflict.

But after that task was done, there was a grave (and growing) new one at hand. The war had been extremely brief...that's for sure...but too, it was the most costly in loss of life, loss of industry, and loss of services. Nearly every city was struggling to maintain water and food supplies, and for the most part, they could simply forget about electricity. That was a pipe-dream!

With the Rheckors' mechanized threats all but a memory, Cache and Ron began a wholly different campaign...spreading supplies, medical aid, and all forms of necessities to the war-ravaged regions. Luckily, they were no longer the only ones in the air, although Earth aircraft were severely limited due to massive amounts of destruction at nearly every airport around the globe. Helicopters were the most utilized air transportation system going while reconstruction of those facilities began in great haste.

Ron and Cache took only one morning off of their duties during the next two months, and that was a very solemn time for Ron. The purpose of the short break was to attend a memorial service for Ron's sister, Tyrhan. Nothing had ever been found of her, but fifteen of the Rheckors' Pyres had been used against the population of San Francisco, and she'd lived in the very heart of that devastation.

There were several high-ranking military officers attending because of their friendship with Kurt and Kyle, and so Ron blended in with them, appearing as part of their security team. He was however, forced to watch from the back pew of the large church as nearly a dozen people arose to offer some memories and stories of their time with Tyrhan. She had been well liked in their small community before moving out west.

Afterward, when the crowds had dispersed and only the family remained, he followed his wife with his eyes as she and Sam packed Derek into their car and drove away. He was no longer crushed at the sight of them together, thankfully, but still wanted to keep his existence a secret from his wife. She didn't need that kind of upheaval in her new life.

Cache was like a shadow at his side the entire time, holding his hand for comfort and stability in that emotion-charged setting, and it gave him great solace. She didn't need to speak words of comfort. Her mere touch spoke volumes.

When the last of the grieving well-wishers had left, and Sam's car pulled out and rounded the corner, Ron finally approached his family. Kyle was patting Kurt's back as he tried to pull himself together, and Clare was in a tight huddle with Jessica and Ainsley. Ron's sister had luckily been at her home, thirty miles from Atlanta when it was attacked, and so had survived unscathed.

The women were hugging each other tightly, tears still dripping from their eyes, when he first spoke.

"Do you believe in miracles, Ainsley Painsley?" he asked.

That irritating nickname her brother had so often used to get a rise out of her struck her like a sharp slap on the butt, and her tear-stained face jerked back from her mother's shoulder as fast as the snap of a whip. She whirled about in a flash, searching out the source of that remark, and quickly found a huge man looming over her, his face cast in the shadow of a broad-brimmed hat.

For just a second, Ron stared down at her, absorbing her expression at his teasing, and then he reached up and stripped himself of his glasses and fedora, smiling at her like it was Christmas morning.

She recognized his grin instantly, but it was the other differences that forced a bewildered twist to her brow. She didn't say anything, but her study of him was intense and carried on for several long seconds while her parents merely stood by and watched; now grinning themselves.

"Do you remember the time, when you were fifteen, that you 'borrowed' Tyrhan's low-cut silk sweater so you could look more grownup for Tommy Durham? It was his seventeenth birthday party, he was drunk, and he threw up on it and ruined it. You came home crying and desperate, and I took..."

"Pity on me and drove me to town and bought another one with your own money to replace it!" Ainsley finished, her eyes now wide and astonished. She stared another moment before..."Ronnie?"

"Yeah, Baby-sister...it's me!"

She looked to her parents and they nodded, and then she turned back to Ron. "But how...?"

"I'm afraid it is quite a tale...but let's get to Mom and Dad's house first."

She wanted to leap at him, but couldn't make herself do it. He was just too different. She rode back to her childhood home with her parents, grilling them nonstop. Ron and Cache followed behind them on one of the Rheckors' specially modified motorcycles.

(After repeatedly finding the need for ground transportation during their travels around the planet, Ron had returned to the holding facility in Panama and confiscated one of them. They kept it in the cargo hold of the Darlile.)

Ron spent the next three hours with them, introducing Cache to Ainsley, Clare, and Kyle, and telling his unbelievable story once again. It was a deeply emotional time for all of them, but Ron's extraordinary return helped dull the pain of losing Tyrhan, whom they talked of often during the visit.

Ainsley sat very close to Ron during the visit, many times just staring at the impressive and imposing man he now was. She couldn't get over his deep, baritone voice and his gray eyes either, and she found herself admiring him very much. After he'd finished his fantastic tale, she just shook her head.

"I can't believe that 'my brother' is the most badass man on the planet!"

Cache grinned and silently held up three fingers.

Ainsley's eyes flew open even further. "Sorry...three planets! That's just crazy!"

"Sorry, Ains," Ron said softly, "but I'm afraid you can't tell anyone."

She stared at him as if he'd just said the moon was really made of cheese.

"No shit, Sherlock?" she finally remarked. "Like anyone outside this room would believe me!"

Everyone had a good laugh over that, and then she began telling Cache stories about Ron's "less impressive" side, from when they were all growing up. That went on for a good while because Cache seemed extremely interested in those, and kept prodding her along.

The gathering ended up as more of a visit than a memorial, of which everyone welcomed.

Also, with the disbanding of the ROF, the truth about Angela and Derek's disappearance had at last come out and the whole family felt like a shroud of gloom had been lifted from their lives. In fact, they could see it in the entire town, and that too aided them with their sorrow.

Finally though, the weight of what needed to be done could be ignored no longer and Ron was forced to tell them goodbye. It was immensely difficult, but everyone understood the duty he and Cache felt, so they did what they could to ease the tension. Just like the old days when Kurt's leave was up and he had to return to his command, they put on their happy faces and bid Ron farewell.

"I am so very sorry about your sister, Ron," Cache told him on their trip back to the _Darlile_.

Ron patted her hands that gripped him around the waist. "Thank you, Cache. Now I know a little better how you must have felt when Bnolt was taken from you, the day we met."

She leaned her head on his shoulder and nodded, recalling that day clearly.

Over the period of another two months, the _Darlile_ covered the planet yet again, helping those who needed it most. Cache was converted once more, from warrior to doctor, and she saved thousands more lives in that capacity. Through the onboard Starflex Portal, Fortell and his assistants poured fantastically advanced medicinal supplies. Those medicines were custom designed for each individual and their particular affliction, and the once feared black ship was soon heralded as a miraculous mercy center.

The Portal also allowed Cache to continue returning to her daughter every couple of days, and that alone kept her going and her spirits high. She even brought Sheyah to the _Darlile_ on occasion because Ron would not leave the ship unmanned on a planet so far from them...their near loss of the craft having taken a heavy toll on his wariness. Ron enjoyed those visits tremendously, getting at least some brief periods to forget his Earthly responsibilities and simply play with her like nothing else mattered, and it also eased the pain of not having his son in his life.

Slowly, the Earth's social, as well as physical, infrastructure took shape once more and the planet began to return to a semblance of normality. Roads reopened to join communities that had been separated by the war, and trade and travel began to pick up.

When the large-scale electrical grids finally began to operate again, the first thing on the government's agenda was to try and salvage their economic framework, but the outlook was bleak. With every major city on the face of the planet destroyed, it would take decades to validate claims and disputes of so many different varieties.

Once more though, Cache stepped up and informed the world's leaders that during the preparation phase, she had feared such a calamity, so she'd downloaded it all to a Raulden computer node. Nothing had been lost. As soon as they could get things running and stable, she began sending it back.

Yet again the world thanked the heavens for their incredibly fortuitous allegiance.

Of course, with such a remarkable leap forward in abilities, the Earth peoples quickly began to lean too far toward the wrong attitude concerning the Rauldens. New religious fanatics found ways to twist the high level of technology into spiritually divine intervention, especially since their purely coincidental, yet miraculous salvation came on December 25th. Along with that, even experienced, highly competent doctors flooded the _Darlile_ with requests that they would normally have handled themselves, feeling the Rauldens could do so much better, so much faster. In a very short time, Earth's new ally was becoming a precarious crutch...and both Ron and Cache recognized it.

They spoke at length about that very thing to the Raulden Planetary Council, and it was decided unanimously...the aid would have to stop. Too much of a leap forward was not a good thing for the advancement of any species, and would undoubtedly result in even worse social problems.

Cache arranged an appointment with the U. S. President and his cabinet members on May 1st, and together, she and Ron informed them in person about the decision. Garner and his advisors pleaded with them to reconsider, which led to many discussions of just what "acceptable" help would entail. It was then that the U.S. leader finally got a truly good look at how delicate the situation was turning.

At that meeting, fifty of his highest advisors were on hand to state Earth's side of the predicament, each delivering heart-felt, compelling scenarios. He sat back and listened...really listened...and then he understood.

When the talks turned to anger, he suddenly stood up and slammed his hands on the huge, boardroom table.

"ENOUGH!" he shouted, bringing the raucous chatter to an abrupt end. "We, as a race called Earthlings, owe Ron and Cache our freedom, our future...Hell; our very lives! The Raulden people have shown us nothing but sympathy, compassion, and generosity over this entire, horrible time...and our response sickens me!

"One more word about what we need from them, or what they should do for us, or, God help you if you utter the phrase, 'what we deserve', and I'll have you removed permanently from your position!"

He glared from one individual to the next, his anger and revulsion to the way things were going clearly evident on his face.

"These two put their own lives on the line! For what...this? To have us try and turn things around until they feel guilty? THEY ARE RIGHT! The Raulden Council is right! We have to get back to self-sufficiency! We are not ready for what they have! Hell, we spent more than two years devising subversive ways to steal any technology we could if their spacecraft ever returned! We're too short-sighted...too much in a rush for the easy way out. If we take too big a step forward it would be dangerous under the best of circumstances...and I think we all can agree that these are far from the best. We...Earthlings...are quite simply not ready!"

He stood motionless for several more seconds just thinking, and his supporters did the same, feeling his words sink home inside them. Finally, he turned to Ron and Cache.

"Forgive us...please! Let this meeting end here...now...at least the political part." His eyes then relaxed a bit and he turned his expression from harsh and irritated to a happier, lighter tone.

"We should turn it into a celebration!" he added. "When you leave our world to return to your own, try to forget our pettiness...I beg you! I am eternally grateful for even meeting you...but I am even more blessed than almost anyone else, because I feel I've gotten to know you. I will pray every night for the rest of my life that our society might one day, somehow, become what yours has, Cache!

"Thank you! Thank you both, from the very depths of my soul!"

The following evening, at a new meeting of the U.N., Ron and Cache announced the news, and the expected uproar developed instantly...accusations flying about the amount of support they'd given certain countries in lieu of others. It became very heated and dragged on for two solid days...but in the end, there was little they could do and so were forced to accept it.

Ron enjoyed one last day with his folks before he informed them of Cache and his plans to leave. He landed the _Darlile_ on the bank of a bayou in the middle of a six-hundred-acre sugarcane field, twenty miles outside of town, where no one would be able to bother them. There was only one access road to that riverside oasis and very few people even new it existed.

"Mom...Dad...please promise me that you will never tell Angie about me."

His parents' reaction amazed him, because they were not at all surprised at the request. It was the most logical thing to do, so they agreed immediately with no argument whatsoever.

Cache insisted on one thing though. She talked them into accepting a micro-portal...a device the size of a small television which operated on the same principles as the Starflex's system but was confined to just transmit voice and video messages, not move objects between the two worlds. That way, they could keep Ron apprised of his son's life.

At one point, Ron decided to take a stroll outside the ship with his father, talking about the wonders of the cosmos, but Jessica Allison placed her hand on Cache's arm to hold her back. She was of average height for a woman yet still stood several inches taller than the little blonde Raulden.

Cache gazed up at her quizzically while she waited for the men to move farther away. Then Jesse smiled the warmest smile Cache had ever seen.

"You're in love with my son, aren't you?"

Cache smiled back with the same exchange of emotional bonding. "Yes. Yes I am. Is it that obvious?"

"To a mother it is," Jesse replied, moving in and hugging her tightly. "I'm so happy for you both," she added when they separated once more. "Ron will need someone to help him through this transition period."

"I know," Cache admitted. "It has been extremely difficult for him. He feels so guilty for destroying his former life...as if any of it was his fault. He grieved for his old life...for Angela...terribly after our first visit to Earth. Even now he misses her dreadfully. He is resigned to his future away from here, but I know he will never fully release his ties to Earth."

Jessica studied Cache's face as she gazed at Ron and his father. "Ron said you are a mother too...is that right?"

Cache nodded and grinned a dazzling smile. "She's the most precious little girl in the heavens."

"And she's Ron's...isn't she?"

That made Cache blush heavily...her eyes darting from Mrs. Allison to her son and back. "I...why...well...yes...yes, she is!"

"And he doesn't know?"

Cache was amazed. She shook her head nervously. "It is all very complicated. Please do not..."

"I won't say a word, sweetie...but," she stared into Cache's violet eyes deeply, "I would like to meet my granddaughter."

Cache burst out in a breathtaking smile. "Then I shall make certain that you do."

Cache then led Jessica to the aft section of the Darlile, walking arm and arm with her.

### Chapter Forty-six

### Going Home

Ron and Cache set off on the journey home together in the _Darlile_ , soaring out of the atmosphere in full view of the Earth's limited operating radar stations, and with millions of witnesses. The satellites the two Raulden Ambassadors positioned for them worked spectacularly well, and order was already taking hold once more around the globe. Ron felt tremendous hope for his former planet as they passed the moon and saw the tiny American flag still planted firmly in its pockmarked surface...an eternal visual indicator of what they could accomplish with so little, if and when they chose to.

The _Darlile_ flew past the Kuiper Belt soon afterward, and Ron ducked the ship into the shadow of Mars where he stopped. Cache was anxious to get home to Sheyah and the Portal could not safely be used with the ship in motion.

"Ron, are you certain I can't talk you into coming with me? The _Darlile_ can make it home on its own you know?"

Ron really didn't want her to go at all. He needed her companionship badly with his heart in such discord, but being back on Rauld right then, around so many strangers, was not at all what he wanted. He did miss little Sheyah, with her bubbly disposition and her sweet little smile, but he was in a mood to brood, and he knew himself well enough to know the only cure for that was time...alone!

Even if Cache stayed, she would be forced to show an extreme amount of patience as his emotions burned themselves down to at least a smolder, instead of the red hot fire of sorrow currently stoking inside him. That was too much to ask of her. She needed to be with her daughter.

What he really wished for was Josy. Of all the people in the three worlds that he knew, she was the single person who had always been able to smother the flames of his soul's furnace. She was like ice to a burn...and so much more. But he felt he must make it through this himself first. It was the only way to be free of it for good.

"No, Cache," he told her with a forced smile. "Thanks though. I'll see you in a month. By then I might be able to act civilly again."

She hugged him hard, her compassion reaching out to ease his pain with all the love a woman could possibly offer. She pressed her cheek to his broad chest, listening to the beat of his broken heart, wishing she could somehow mend it for him. Then she released his iron-hard body and stepped back with a glorious smile across her face. Her eyes sparkled like violet gems on fire, and for just a brief moment Ron marveled at the exquisite beauty standing before him. She truly was a remarkable woman.

A second later the Portal signaled that it was powering up, so she turned from Ron and faced it. The space two feet in front of her shimmered, brightened, and then as if an invisible window suddenly appeared, they found themselves looking into the Raulden laboratory where the signal originated. Hoaldniz, Fortell, and the rest of the Council were there waiting, and Sheyah was cradled in the arms of Aanlis, her own eyes shining brilliantly in the dazzling room. As soon as she saw her mother, she smiled as big as she could and burst out in a gurgled giggle.

Cache waved to her tiny girl, and then glanced back once more.

"Are you sure?"

Ron's eyes were locked on that little lady too, and she tugged at his heart-strings with a pull he didn't fully understand. He'd been drawn to her from the moment of her birth and he knew she would eventually have him wrapped around her dainty little finger, but even the innocence of the young couldn't wash away the turmoil he felt. He didn't want her to see the anger and the loss he felt, so he simply nodded.

"I think I need this. You remember the first time?"

She agreed understandingly. "Good luck, and be well!"

Cache took two steps forward, and then she was gone.

With the disconnection of the transport link, came an instantaneous feeling of solitude...but not the peaceful, almost joyful freedom of any and all intrusion that he would normally have welcomed. Right away the quiet of the _Darlile_ 's cabin was deafening to Ron, and he knew exactly why. His inner thoughts were terribly conflicted. His brain was torn in three directions...Earth, Rauld, and Caron. He had great loves on each world, and duties and responsibilities as well, but he had to choose one...and so began the mental debate.

He stepped quickly to the pilot's seat, strapped in, and shoved the throttles forward. He would decide in due time.

Thirty-four and a half days later, the _Darlile_ was close to the point when it would drop out of transoptic space and rejoin the physical universe. Ron was brimming with anxiousness, which had him pacing the _Darlile_ like a caged animal. He'd spent too much time in isolation, and needed to roam free once more.

The first two weeks had been the most difficult. With the lack of companionship and no real duties to focus on, his mind kept returning over and over to the instant when he knew he'd been replaced in his young wife's heart. He exercised like a madman, and sparred incessantly with the onboard dueling partner the ship could generate, trying to distract himself in any way he could.

As he struggled through that gloomy stint, he was confident that if forced to face Treage Vitrauge once more he'd have soundly slain him...such a powerful, dire state was he living in.

But the saying, "time heals all wounds" proved itself true during the following stretch as the flaming cauldron of grief began to die down and burn out. His mind eventually grew numb to it, and the throbbing inside his head from the constant emotional bombardment finally gave way to calmer, more logical thoughts.

Ron didn't let up on his workouts though, even adding extra pull to the simulated gravity of the ship to give him one more foe to fight...to drain his mind and body...and that worked pretty well. By the third week, Ron was able to go for hours at a time without visualizing his first love in the arms of another man. He was instead able to concentrate on other things...like his future with Cache and Sheyah, and his open-ended relationship with Josy.

His Earth-born heart felt the need to have the stability of a permanent, committed bond, with a home and a family, but yet, it wasn't so easy as following his own wishes. With his new lifestyle, his obligations to the Rauldens' plans, and the danger they all entailed, he couldn't help but hesitate moving forward with any domestic scenarios.

His predicament, while almost maddening in its scope of overlapping and intertwining problems to consider, at least took his mind off his earlier issues, so in some ways he was making progress.

However, that was not the case everywhere!

Back on Earth:

On the front porch of a cozy little three-bedroom, brick house, on a quiet street in the town of Westlake, Louisiana, three individuals nervously discussed who should be the one to ring the doorbell. Two young women, one with long brown hair and the other with a coif as black as pitch, were accompanied by a man who dwarfed the pair of them, towering a foot taller than they did, and weighing much more than the combination of the two of them.

"I should do it," argued Regina, "since I went to school with him, and..."

"But I was the first one to..."

"Bam-bam-bam" echoed the sound of Frank Denk's large knuckles against the wooden door, ending the debate between the flustered women.

"Just a minute," called a woman's voice from deep within the house.

A few seconds of apprehension preceded the click of the door latch, and then it swung inward. A lovely woman in her early fifties stood framed in the opening, her dark brown eyes showing the obvious surprise she felt.

It was perhaps foolish to open the door without first having the visitors identify themselves, but she'd lived her entire adult life in that home and never once had cause to worry about such things. The community was that open and friendly. In fact, the only reason the door was even latched in the first place was to keep a certain little toddler corralled.

"Yes?" she asked sweetly. "May I help you?"

"Mrs. Allison? Jessica Allison?" Rhena inquired.

"Yes."

"I...that is, we...have come to bring you something!"

Jesse just stared at her blankly.

"It's for Ron!" Regina interjected quickly.

"Oh!" Mrs. Allison replied, quite startled at the use of that name by strangers. She stepped aside quickly. "Please come in. I'm in the middle of lunch with my grandson, so you'll have to come with me."

The two ladies were vibrating with delight as they entered, and Frank felt a bit overly excited as well...especially when he considered who these folks' son was, and what he'd done for the whole world.

"Kurt!" Jesse called out to her husband who she could here washing up in the back bathroom. "We have visitors!"

"Visitors?" he queried as he rounded the hallway's last corner.

"Sir," Frank spoke up, extending his massive hand, "it's an honor to meet you!"

General Allison shook the offered hand firmly, staring up at the imposing stature of the truck driver...completely at a loss for words...until a light snapped on in his mind.

"You're Frank," he then said exuberantly, suddenly grinning madly, "Frank Denk...right?"

Frank positively glowed at the acknowledgement.

"You're the guy who saved our boy in the ravine...in Texas!"

"Oh, my Lord!" Jessica gasped, suddenly understanding exactly who these people were. She instantly lunged forward and gave the big, burly man a warm hug. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Ron's parents turned then to the ladies.

"You must be Rhena," Jesse said, opening her arms to the slim intern. "Your innovative thinking and quick action saved him in the hospital! Thank you too, sweetie!"

"And that leaves only, Regina Millson, Ronnie's high school friend!" Kurt announced, shaking her delicate hand with both of his. "You got Ron out of a tight spot, eh? Thank you darlin. And thank you for going with him on that long drive. I'm glad he wasn't alone."

"It was my pleasure. We had a really exciting trip and...oh yeah!" Gina suddenly blurted out. "I was so excited, I almost forgot. Here!"

Kurt grinned wide at what she held out, and then accepted the keys to his car.

"I filled it up and washed it!" she added with an expression of mild trepidation. "Sorry it took so long."

"It's fine, sweetie...really. And to tell you the truth, I was afraid you might have...uh...never made it back...you know...with so much destruction everywhere."

"Well, after I left Ron at that hangar, I did like he said and went to the closest airport, but all the planes were grounded, so I took off driving. I made as far as Jasper, Texas, where my uncle lives, before the whole, "intergalactic war" broke out...and I just got home day before yesterday."

"Well, we're so glad you're safe, sweetie!" Jesse told her.

There were more hugs all around and at least a dozen more "thank yous" before the story of the reason for their visit began.

"I apologize for not coming sooner," Frank began, "but with everything that's happened, I've been buried with work. The company I drive for was forced to change from pipe delivery to food and supplies...government orders, you know...for all the relief efforts...so I haven't been able to get back here till now."

"And I've been travelling around the entire state to assist with all the medical needs," Rhena added. "Gina looked me up and left me a message as soon as she got in, so when I finally got back to my apartment, we decided to meet."

"And as fate would have it," Frank jumped in, "I was making a delivery to the National Guard unit in Lake Charles, so I rang Rhena as well...and...well...here we are!"

"Well, we're truly honored to have you!" Kurt told them.

"We very much wanted to meet you face to face, Mr. and Mrs. Allison," Rhena told them, "to return this," she added holding out the transforming credit card she still possessed. "And also to tell you what a wonderful son you have...and how much faith we had in him during this entire mess!"

Kurt and Jessica beamed with pride. It was nice to know there were others who were aware of what part their boy had played in the war.

"The three of us already discussed it, and we all felt the same way. After the attack came, we knew that his entire situation...you know; with everything he's been through...was preparation for this moment in Earth's history. He was taken and changed so he could save another world, and then come back with his new friends and save us all!"

Jessica and her husband nodded in full agreement. That's about how they'd figured it too.

"We'd like to see him get the credit he's earned," Frank added, "with your permission, of course! He could be the greatest human ever to have been born on this planet, and his name...his "real" name, should go into the annals of history for all time...right up there with Washington and Jefferson, Di Vinci and Einstein. We want to tell everyone that Ronin Dangarth, the Ambassador from Rauld, is really Ron Allison...your son!"

"What?" came a soft, feminine voice from just inside the foyer? "Ron? Ron who? My Ron?"

They all immediately turned toward that sound...toward a woman hidden behind the broad expanse of Frank Denk's figure. Angela Allison stood there holding a small bag marked; Victoria's Secret, clutched in her hands.

The only shopping mall in the city of Lake Charles had just reopened and she'd been out shopping for a wedding night surprise for her soon-to-be husband. She walked in shortly after the three strangers, wondering who it was that was visiting the Allisons. She and Derek were staying there for a few nights and Ron's parents had graciously instructed her years before, that there was no need for her to knock anymore. She was like their own daughter...and she could come and go as she pleased.

"He's...a...a...alive?"

Her expression was one of blank, utter surprise...astonished into a stupor by the words she, herself, had just spoken. She stared into the eyes of her in-laws and saw the confirmation of her question in the stunned, somewhat worried, and shameful responses on their faces.

Everyone was motionless...petrified...not knowing what they should do next, until they saw her move again.

Angela's thoughts came slamming back to the present, and she pulled her left hand up slowly, staring at the glinting diamond on her ring finger...a promise of betrothal to Sam...and then her eyes shot to the little child still munching happily on his lunch of crawfish etouffee' and bread which Jessica had so carefully chopped up for him. Her eyes flooded with tears in an instant, and as those salty drops struck the carpeted floor, her lids fell shut and her body followed them down.

A week later, across the galaxy:

During the final day of the transoptic journey back to Rauld, when his confinement seemed to be weighing heavily on him, Ron recalled the words Josylinia Gitove had once said to him.

"Through the ages, across the eons, on planets scattered throughout the universe, men have gone to war; to place themselves in harm's way for innumerable reasons. And along with that were the women and children they were forced to leave behind. They were no less loved and no less happy, even though the distances separated them from their families. Men, women, beings of all sorts are called to fates that either compel them, or entice them into such lives."

And then that emotional pledge she'd made to him before he left for Earth:

"I love you Ron Allison...with all my heart and soul! I would gladly bear your children if you desire them, and make you a home to be proud of. I would make my life with you, Baushe`...and we would be happy...I know that we would."

Ron's memories of her warmed his heart to a staggering degree, and the closer he got to his destination, the more that warmth pushed out the cold dread and grief that threatened to wrap him in despair. He was able to start looking forward again...to the people he'd grown close to on Rauld and Caron alike. Thoughts of little Sheyah's face and budding personality made him smile, and when he closed his eyes he could smell the river at the Gitove farm...and the scent of shavassy...passion flowers!

When he thought of Josylinia he was at peace.

The following morning, the _Darlile_ sounded a warning during his sleep cycle, announcing the approaching end of the hyper-light phase. That alarm gave him enough time to eat and attend to his needs before the beginning of the long episode of constant pressure which would return him to normal space and time.

Once the ship was stable in that transitional mode, he spent those long hours of confinement randomly scanning the ship's archives and delving into the histories and peculiarities of the differing species the Rauldens had catalogued over the hundreds of years they'd been in space.

At one particular point, he saw a comparison of ages the various beings lived to, and was amazed at the variety. Some only survived thirty to forty Raulden cycles...others up to fifteen hundred...although they barely qualified as sentient beings, and were more like tortoises than humans.

During his investigation, he also noted the wide variety of reproductive differences, and the corresponding gestation cycles of those aliens as well. Each was notated as either plus or minus a given number if dactrais, as they related to the baseline model...the Raulden female. He gave it little thought until a couple of correlations made their peculiarities known to him. The first was that most of the other-worlders had a much shorter lifespan that the Rauldens. The other was the fact that nearly every species' maturation and incubation lengths mirrored their overall length of life. If they lived short lives, their offspring were born more quickly...consequently if they were multi-centenarians, their children developed much more slowly, at least to their physical maturity.

That was curious enough to entice him to look up the Earth comparison...a decision which would eventually change his entire concept of his future.

The chart showed Earthlings at barely half that of the Raulden period. He read it once and then went back a second time to confirm the facts. The _Darlile_ 's computer verified the results in Earth quotients, so he would be certain.

"Wow! That would really suck!" he said, remembering the miserable conditions his mother had gone through while being in her third trimester during the oppressive, hot and sticky summer months of Louisiana. Ainsley had been born in early September.

He moved on to another topic...the effects of heavy gravity on a being from a lesser planet...and then his mind clunked into gear.

"Wait a minute!" he scolded himself. "That doesn't add up!"

He returned to the previous screen and queried the computer for the exact count of dactrais the Rauldens needed for gestation.

"Five hundred and twenty six dactrais; plus or minus two dactrais," the serene voice uttered smoothly, "if the berthing cycle is started on time with either an estrogen injection or sexual intercourse."

At that instant, Ron's entire body became a monolith of motionless cells. Minutes went by as he sat there, his mind racing across the history of his time on Caron.

From the moment he was captured to the day of Sheyah's birth, his memory counted up each day, each week, and each santari. He double-checked his total and was fairly sure he was accurate to within three days.

" _Darlile_! Overlay Caronian days with Raulden dactrais."

The information flashed onto the screen and his calculations surged anew. He quickly punched in the days he'd recalled and converted them to Raulden time...and then he just stared at the results.

"That can't be right," he concluded.

He counted backward again, through the aftermath, through the war, through the gathering of his army...all the way back to that horrible day in Tabey. That was the day before she met Jorin, by her own admittance...but that was also easily eight santaris short of her normal pregnancy cycle.

"She couldn't have even known him when she got pregnant!" he concluded a minute later. "So Sheyah has to be...HOLY SHIT! _Darlile_! Who is Sheyah Kuar's father?"

The ship was always up to date with any information contained in the Raulden central computer since that was where their main library of knowledge was stored.

"Ronald Allison, of Earth-Caron origin," the ship replied simply, as if it were written on the walls of the cabin and known to all.

Ron knew what it would say and yet it still hit him like an anvil falling from a ten story rooftop.

"Me?" he blurted in a daze. "She's 'my' daughter? Are you sure?"

"The genetic tracers were confirmed upon birth. She is the collaboration of the genetically engineered female Raulden, Cache Kuar, and the technologically created Earthling-Caronian, Ronald Allison. There is no chance for error."

"Why didn't she tell me?"

"Unknown."

Ron huffed at the ship's response, never intending for it to try to explain, and sat there for another billot, just letting that news bounce around inside his skull like a pinball. Why on Earth would Cache not have told him? Who else knew? What about Jorin?

He didn't know what to concentrate on first...and then realized the order of answers didn't even matter. He was flabbergasted though, at the incredibly precarious and sensitive position he was now in. Just days ago, he was set on a path that would have led him straight back to Josy. He had finally settled his doubts and worries, and would take her as his wife. Now...what was he to do?

He'd never completely stopped loving Cache, even when he thought she'd betrayed him...of that, he was positive. Many months were spent trying desperately to drive those feelings from his heart, but they'd stayed there, deep down, rumbling in the deepest crevices of his psyche until they had burst free once more, way back in Gardilane. His bond to that gorgeous little woman had been fully restored once he found out the truth about what her part in his capture really was, and her subsequent efforts to help him.

"Oh, man," he groaned...his hand at the side of his head. "What the hell am I gonna do?"

Josylinia or Cache? How could he possibly choose...and how could he not? His feelings for each were so strong that he knew either would be easy to unite with...but what about the other? How could he crush the heart of a woman he loved? Or would he have to?

"Cache married Jorin," he suddenly remembered...but then he questioned even that, "or had she?"

His nearly photographic memory replayed some of the conversations he'd witnessed on the subject. Cache had seemed confused when Ron referred to Jorin as her husband, and when Ron congratulated Jorin on being "the luckiest man alive", Jorin was excessively somber, almost bitter in his tone. "No, I believe that honor goes to you," he'd replied. Again and again Ron recalled subtle expressions and comments which ought to have given him a clue to her actual situation. Unfortunately he'd always been too distracted...as well he should be considering the instability of their lives and the impending battles that had occurred. But in hindsight, he cursed himself for not seeing it.

Then he plugged Josy into the picture, as the woman in his life during that terrible, tumultuous time, and it got even more convoluted. He could only imagine what Cache felt, seeing him with another woman...especially Josy, the offspring of their enemy.

"But wait a second," he told himself, "I saw her and Jorin together. Maybe she did...does love him, and is only the mother of my child by accident of timing!"

By then, the decel, or braking phase ended and released Ron of the tremendous burden against his body, but left him still fighting the one in his mind.

He relished a few minutes of easy breaths while he checked his location and the ships bearing, along with any scans for enemy vessels. The way was clear and the heading was normal. Rauld was merely four billots away.

At that moment, he was startled from his deliberation by an announcement from the _Darlile_.

"Incoming message from Rauld!"

Ron instantly understood it wasn't a normal communiqué. It was a very powerful signal, almost strong enough to transport someone, and wasn't directed to the cockpit's com. He got up and went back to the main cabin, to the point of the Starflex Portal. A moment later the aperture opened and revealed a sight that made his heart skip a beat. It was Cache. She was standing at the entrance to the transporter and was absolutely stunning, her smile so bright and warm that Ron's initial thought was she was reading his mind...that she knew he was finally up to speed with their history, as well as their future...Sheyah.

The portal's opening wasn't large enough to pass through...only about two feet square...enough though to see what was happening on the other side. Cache's petite little frame filled the opening and the expression on her face was as if she were ready to explode with some wonderful, marvelous news.

Ron took note immediately that she was dressed very formally, a fact which surprised him very much, and gave him pause before he spoke.

"Ron," she said, her voice vibrating with excitement, "I have something fantastic to tell you!"

"Cache, I know Sheyah is my daughter!" stayed locked away at the back of his throat as he tried to imagine what she would say.

"The normal vocal communication just would not suffice."

"All right," he told her while his own smile grew to match hers. He was so happy to see her...to gaze at her exquisite face and witness the fiery passion of her entire existence. "What's up?"

For an answer, she merely stepped aside and held out her hand, as if showing him the way. In that instant, Ron Allison received the greatest shock he possibly could have without a weapon actually skewering his heart. Ten feet in front of him was the spectacular figure of a woman...a woman whom he knew extremely well...who he'd loved for years...who he had married!

Angela Allison, his wife, was standing in the Raulden laboratory. She wore a perfectly tailored, off the shoulder sun-dress that was powder blue and scandalously short, displaying her gorgeous, shapely legs spectacularly. The sandals on her feet matched the garment with perfection and her full lips practically mesmerized him in the deep red color they were painted with.

A wave of emotion rushed into him like a blast-furnace, and Ron's chest swelled as he scoured her with his eyes. His mouth literally watered from the memories of the woman in his arms. She was absolutely breathtaking!

"Angie?" he asked.

The vision before him did not speak, could not speak, so overwhelmed with elation was she. Her hazel-green eyes glittered and sparkled in the bright room, filling with tears of joy and love. She took a step forward and opened her arms to Ron, as if welcoming him home.

As she did that, the Portal expanded...becoming large enough to be a door instead of a window. Ron moved forward immediately, but then stopped, hesitant about continuing due to Cache's previous warnings about transporting while the _Darlile_ tore through space at such velocities as it did. The positional lock was stable enough for voice messages, but not to move people.

"It's all right, Ron," he heard Cache say. "We're boosting the signal and the lock is well within the safety margin. You can pass through!"

While on Rauld:

"Why is he not responding, Aanlis?" Cache asked her fellow Raulden. "The Portal com is open and stable...but we are getting nothing...no reply at all?"

"No...but look at these readings," Aanlis, the transport specialists replied. "Something is going on out there. Information is passing through the relay probe...a great deal of information...like a visual link!"

Cache's mind raced with anxiety. "How could that be?" Their Raulden technology was too good...too advanced. It was...

"A vessel is approaching the probe. It is similar to the type that overtook the _Darlile_ on its way to Earth."

"Destroy the probe! Quickly!"

"I cannot! They have blocked our com-link...and taken over control of it!"

"Cut the link!" Cache ordered, frantic now.

"I have, but they are providing power to it now! They have locked it open...and the power is increasing."

"Oh, no-no-no-no-no!" she uttered with increasing ferver. "May the Guardian protect us...they will take him!"

Her heart jumped to four times its normal beat in an instant and her eyes grew wide with horror. Her fingers gripped her head out of frustration, and then Cache screamed in uncontrolled panic, her hands slamming down onto the console. "THEY WILL TAKE RON!"

Her mind spun furiously, in a mad race to find a solution to this unbelievable occurrence...a race she knew she could not win. After a few litas of mind-spinning exasperation, she swooned and slumped limply into a chair, hardly able to breathe at all.

"I have read your reports, Cache. Ron cannot be captured that easily, surely!" Aanlis surmised. "He will be suspicious when they open the portal. He knows that is not the procedure and will be ready for an attack."

"They would not try abducting him by force," Cache mused dispassionately, as she panted for air and considered other ways of capturing a person.

"He could not be fooled into voluntarily going...could he?"

Cache considered his situation...the level of brilliance the aliens had demonstrated...and the information stream they'd gleaned from the _Darlile_ 's computer during their first attack.

"What was it that you and Hoaldniz found accessed on the _Darlile_...when those bounty hunters violated the ship?"

"Nothing of value. That is, nothing which would compromise the vessel, or Rauld. The security measures were never breached."

"But did you not say that they had access to lower class information?"

"Yes, the star charts, biometrics status...but not control of them...the ship's log, and..."

"The log?" Cache broke in. "The running record of events aboard the _Darlile_?"

"Yes. Why?"

Her heart sank. If they spent any time analyzing those records, and the interaction between her and Ron, they would have everything they needed.

"Yes," she whispered in utter despair. "I think he could be duped with that!"

Back in space:

Ron hesitated at the very threshold of the Portal. He was shy of it. After all, it had irrevocably changed his life once already. Also, he felt compelled to stay with the ship, knowing the _Darlile_ could face challenges before getting back home, like those bounty-hunters, but...

"The ship will be fine, Ron," Cache told him easily, totally unconcerned with any dangers that might be posed to it. "The _Darlile_ will be able to accelerate and maneuver much more aggressively without having to keep from damaging you."

He knew she was right. The ship was only caught previously because it had to manage his health.

Angela took another step toward the Portal and extended one hand to Ron, beckoning him.

Brushed aside was his previous dilemma, overwhelmed by those hopes, dreams, and plans that had come before. His mind was flooded with memories of their short life together...the deep, purity of their innocent hearts as they bonded with the fiery fervor of youth...their courtship and marriage...and the long, extremely passionate nights. Even though he knew for certain they could never be that couple again, he longed to touch her...to hold her...and to have her acknowledge that he still existed in her heart...that their time together had enriched her as much as it had him. After that, he was convinced he could move on without regrets.

Their fingertips were barely a foot apart, and the tug on Ron's surging emotions was nearly too great to dally further...but still he hesitated. A slight, silent, yet nagging tingle held him back. Something just wasn't right.

With incredible strength of will, he managed to break his wife's gaze to glance at Cache.

"Cache, how's Sheyah?" he asked pointedly.

The momentary hesitation and blank expression on her face was like an electric jolt, sending his mind further along into growing suspicion.

"Fine," she said, restoring her warm smile immediately. "She's asleep! It's nighttime here."

That simple statement sent a bone-rattling chill racing up his spine instantaneously.

"Shit!" he gasped.

Cache never used contractions...and there was no "night" on Rauld!

As quick as a flash he spun on his heel and dove for the weapons' storage, but a rope flew out of the Portal even quicker and looped about his broad shoulders, stopping him fast. He leaned against it, his hands on the compartment where the black sword was stored, but those on the other end of the snare snapped him back hard enough that his feet left the floor. His eyes flared wide as he soared through the transporter in mid-air.

Ron was blinded by an intensely bright flash of light an instant before his body struck a stone surface, squarely on his back. He felt the rope slip from his shoulders and so used the momentum of his motion to continue into a rolling maneuver, until his feet were once more beneath him. When his toes felt firm ground, he paused for a split second.

His Caronian eye-glands immediately flooded in to restore his sight, but not quickly enough to allow him to react before a tremendous blow from an unknown weapon smashed against the side of his face. That strike took him completely off his feet again, and sent him to the ground in a daze, spitting blood.

Ron's survival mode immediately jumped to the maximum, fast enough to let him scramble away on his knees and take a quick look around.

The air stank with an acidic tinge, having the reminiscences of the smell of ammonia venting from a chemical plant located outside his hometown. Oddly enough though, the stench actually helped him back to clear-headedness.

There were more than twenty men about him, forming a circle like a fighting ring, and one man (if you could call him that) stood inside it with him. He was a huge, thick fellow with a neck so powerful it seemed to be part of his gigantic, bulging shoulders. His attire consisted of a black skirt hanging to midway on his thighs with a rope tied across his thick middle, gauntlets of metal from his wrists to his forearms, and animal skin boots which ended just above the ankle. The skin tone of the brute was a deep red color. His arms bulged with immense, corded muscles, and his torso was as solid as a rhinoceros's, standing on the equivalent of tree trunks for legs. He stood atop feet which were broad...much wider than a normal man's...and almost elephant-like.

That bizarre, menacing creature took two steps toward Ron and the ground shook with each of them. His face was fashioned much as the rest of him...wide, solid, and seemingly impenetrable. Ron locked his glare on eyes that were misshapen brown globs of cornea set against a bright yellow backdrop, and would have inspired fear in almost any man. The fighter's head was shaved bald, half of his left ear was missing, apparently having been bitten off from the shape of the remaining portion, and he was decorated with scars from a thousand battles.

Ron looked at his oversized hands, wondering what weapon he'd used against him on that first strike, and his mind received another shock. The man held nothing! It was a fist which had pounded him to the turf. Ron moved to stand and realized one more startling little tidbit. The gravity was strong there, far more powerful than Rauld, or even Caron.

"I am Draake Tarbold...your new master!" the giant croaked at Ron. "This is Parkanick, the prison facility on the Cordonian Moon! And if you cannot fight...you will surely die!"

Look for the continuing adventures of Ron Allison and Cache Kuar in:

### The Games of the Triad

