A Leap of Fate: The Raulden Gambit

By G.L. Fontenot

A Leap of Fate is a story that will take you from the far-flung planets of Caron and Rauld, to Earth and back, intertwining the inhabitants of the different worlds in miraculous fashion. The characters of these three planets meet only by fate, but then must join forces in a battle against an omnipresent foe of horrific evil...the Kreete.

Half of the lead character is Kaskle Dangarth from the planet Caron. His home is a world in the developmental era when swords and bows ruled the armament and travel was by wagon, ship, animal, or foot. This planet has been overrun by a powerful alien culture known as the Kreete, which rules with brutal, merciless supremacy and demands payments from Kaskle’s civilization in the form of slavery and pleasure, gladiator type conflicts and total submission. Kaskle is a rogue mercenary once in the service of the evil planet lords but has since escaped and pledged to scour the surface of his world clean from the plight of those beings.

The other half of the lead character is from Earth. Ron Allison is a run-of-the-mill guy with a normal job, a newlywed wife, and all the regular plans and worries that go with that. He is accidentally plucked from his ordinary life and whisked across the galaxy by a society of pacifist technological geniuses who find themselves in direct threat from the evil empire of ruthless beings...the Kreete Triad. Their plan for survival forces an impossibly chance combination of the body of Kaskle with that of Ron. Ron maintains his mental individuality after the fusion with Kaskle, due to the untimely death of the fierce warrior, and must quickly come to grips with what has happened to him in order to survive. He must surmount his doubts and fears, and use his newly acquired gifts to their limits so he might return to his own planet and the peaceful existence he once had.

Ron teams up with the heroine of the story, Cache Kuar, one of the techno-wizards from the planet Rauld. She is also a formidable individual in her own right and is the person who caused both Kaskle and Ron to be recruited into the intergalactic struggle for planetary dominance. Initially she is out to protect her home planet from impending doom, but fervently intends to help liberate any others that might need her assistance. As proof of her commitment she offers them her people’s incredible advancements, as well as protection in the form of a superior fighter spacecraft which she has developed. It is the only known weapon that might stand up to those of the Kreete. All she needs is a worthy pilot! Cache helps Ron learn about his new abilities, trains him in the use of those gifts, and schools him in the history of Rauld and the villainous Kreete. Together they embark on a perilous mission that is fraught with tension and suspense as they fight both the enemy that threatens to destroy them and their own attraction to each other.

The final battle high above the planet of Rauld is a blow-by-blow, pulse pounding blast...and the ending will make your jaw drop.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G.L. Fontenot
• Release date: Jan 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301699476

G.L. Fontenot

I am a middle-aged man, born and raised in Louisiana and now living in Georgia. Married with two children, my wife and I have been together for 30 years. I've been writing for fun for the past 15 years and got serious about it in the last six. I am extremely excited about Smashwords. They have finally given me the avenue to reach a broad audience, and to see if anyone might find my work of some value. My niece did the artwork for the book cover of "A Song for Daddy". That is a work of fiction I wrote to show the world how far a father might go to save the life of his child. I also have a Science Fiction series titled "A Leap of Fate", which is where my imagination truly lies. Please let me thank you all for the phenomenal support you have shown me for each of my books! I appreciate your interest so very much. If you have any comments or questions, please email me at [e-mail]...or [e-mail]

Book preview

Chapter One

Kaskle Dangarth

Pace! he mentally screamed at his exhausted muscles. You must maintain the pace!

On he ran, his weary legs never faltering under the tremendous demands he placed upon them. The rhythm of his footfalls was smooth and methodical, nearly imperceptible over the sound of his labored breathing. His chiseled body glistened, drenched in sweat, salty droplets spraying off his skin with every step and swing of his arms…a consequence of the arduous predicament in which he now found himself entrenched.

He forced his way through the dense underbrush at a blistering speed with no regard for the obvious trail he left in his wake. Caution and stealth could help him no longer…distance from his pursuers was all that would save him!

The fugitive cursed his dilemma while he ran, as he surely would have preferred to stand and fight. A warrior’s end would have suited him just fine…but since the recent turn of events, there was so much more at stake than just his pride and honor, and that set of circumstances forced his most recent move. The future was in his hands, and not that of a few mere territories, no, this had all escalated to a point that encompassed entire worlds and their inhabitants. He must survive this day, at any cost.

The current hell-bent flight was the result of at least one of those he’d befriended deceiving him…and that fact ate at the runner’s perception of whom, if anyone, he could still trust. This man lived his life primarily by instinct, having always taken solace in his ability to read the character of another, and see through any facade of pretense, but that comfort was gone now. A young man who he once thought needed his aid in learning the ways of a woodsman ultimately used his trust as a weapon against him.

His thoughts drifted back to that incident as he ran…

The attack came without a hint of warning…a testament to his betrayer’s capacity to delude his mentor. It was well planned, expertly executed, and should have worked perfectly, but it did not. The runner found himself surrounded, trapped weaponless…or so they thought…and only by his sheer will and the grace of the Guardian was he fortunate enough to escape in one piece, still able to make one last dash for freedom.

On that day, seven soldiers ambushed him at his presumably safe, secluded home, high up in the treacherously rugged mountain country of his youth. They arrived clad in light armor, ready for a fight, each sporting a pulse-laser weapon at their belts, as well as a more grisly and much preferred tool of death, the long sword. It was a bizarre combination to be sure, but those beings enjoyed the surge of battle most when it was up close and brutal, so the disrupter guns were only carried as a last resort. The energy weapons were illegal, and to even brandish them without proper authority was to invite the death penalty, but they had every intention of stopping him, one way or another, and that overrode all other orders, or penalties.

As the runner recalled the event, he felt fortunate he was such an early riser, since he had at least been fully clothed and fed when his friend arrived. The lad joined him that fateful morning for a hunting excursion, presumably to scout out the best locations for the upcoming migration of pravort…a large herbivore sought out by the local inhabitants for the use of its meat and hide.

The day began bright and blustery, the wind bringing with it a sharp chill in the air, and the distinct scent of moisture that always accompanied the ground-hugging clouds in the lower valleys. It was a beautiful, early spring dawn, laden with possibilities, but destined for only one outcome.

The attackers desperately wanted to make certain their prey was unarmed before springing their trap, so they sent in their informant to assess the situation. The leader of the band was gambling that they might be able to capture him alive, extract some valuable information which they were certain he possessed, and use it to their advantage.

The young traitor succeeded in luring their quarry out of his home far enough to allow them to encircle him…but they overlooked one major detail, which quickly cost them their prey, three of their men’s lives, and their informant. That detail lie under the skin of the man who now ran onward to save his own life, in the hope that he could save others’. His keen, unflappable mind, orchestrating through his body’s perfectly honed nervous system, combined the density of his heavy-worlder’s bone structure with the sinewy, corded muscle operating that framework. Willpower as strong as granite synchronized them all into such an ideal alliance that his body converted into a blurred weapon of unstoppable fury the instant he realized his peril.

At the first sign of the enemy band, the intended victim looked to his friend in shock and disbelief, but the sly smile on the face of that young man told the runner all he needed to know. He morphed into a maniac of utter rage so quickly the traitor didn’t even have time to react before the impact of the large man’s fist against his chest snapped his sternum and stopped his heart. Their prey then used the dying fellow’s body as a shield against the charging enemy soldiers…and for a short while was able to stand against them. But finally, when the momentum of the brawl began to teeter, the sword their quarry wrestled from one of the troopers vanished in a disrupter blast that nearly ended his fight permanently. At that point the runner leaped down a steep, rocky embankment and set off on the first leg of his flight, which currently, was into its third day.

The body of this man was a model of perfect muscular development, having been acquired and maintained by virtually nonstop physical exertion from an early age. His life had been one of hardship, turmoil, and pain, but he knew no other way so he simply accepted it all in stride as just the way things were.

This fellow was a large man but by no means a giant among his peers. His shoulders were somewhat broader, his arms thicker, his chest more heavily adorned with muscle than the average male of his height, that’s true. But one who didn’t know him, or know of him, wouldn’t have considered him overly ominous…and that was a possible advantage for him.

His calm, almost gentle demeanor easily masked the dangers that lie within. The eyes are a window to the soul would not fit this fellow either, as his irises were black as pitch, his gaze controlled and unwavering, almost docile…an outward facade belying the unimaginable ferocity beneath.

To the enemies that did know him however, he was an unforgiving adversary, a killing machine who could, when required, take a life without remorse or so much as a rise in his blood pressure…and he knew absolutely no fear!

Scorching across the craggy land, high in the hills, the running warrior did what he could to take his mind off the pain that pounded in his skull from every neuron in his overtaxed body. This almost trance-like state of autonomy allowed his mind to drift even further back as he plowed through the forest toward his objective. His thoughts raced back down the long path which had eventually led to this moment.

His ancestry was that of the Piercellione (the mountain clans), a primitive group who chose not to associate with many other natives. They were mysterious, and presumed to be unsavory, hard and cruel, with many rituals and beliefs too shocking and frightening for outsiders. His way of life was that of a wild animal, pure and unspoiled…survival!

One thing must be said about this man however. Apart from his time in the ‘Games’, he never took the life of an animal not needed to either fill an empty belly, or to protect himself. He killed out of necessity, not sport.

Men were different however. He’d slain many in battles, unknowingly fighting on the wrong side…but he left that all behind cycles ago, resigned to kill only when he must, in defense of his own life or that of another. And he totally disdained the thought of anyone even striking a woman or child. In his world females were highly respected, intelligent, and of extraordinary beauty.

Once grown, he’d ventured out of his hallowed mountains seeking excitement in his youth. He was brash and eager and quickly found more than he’d bargained for. His physical, as well as mental abilities promptly drew the wrong sort of attention and led him down an accelerated path that gained him great victory, notoriety, and achievement…and eventually even greater misery.

The life he so effortlessly attained was famous and far-reaching, but it did not last. His meteoric rise in status propelled him into the mainstream of a foreign society which he did not, and could not, fully understand. But he was no fool, and in only a short time he learned that he’d made a pact with the most vile and ruthless beings ever known.

Once the light of reason and morality shined on him again he escaped them…something until then unheard of…destroying much of their insurmountable, invincible mystique when he left. And due to his escape…that simple show of defiance demonstrating a proverbial chink in their armor…a revolution against their rule quickly arose, with him as a prominent figure.

The uprising didn’t last long however; quelled through the horrible, brutal methods of their superior foe. All who dared to follow him in those days were either captured or killed, their bodies mounted on pikes outside every city’s gates. As if fate itself was keeping him for some new, unknown purpose, he barely survived to slip away, gravely wounded…to heal and bide his time for a better chance…one he felt certain would come.

That mighty fighter faded into the wilds of the untamed land until the searchers grew confident of his death, allowing him finally to return to his beloved, lofty peaks…to his home. But his homecoming wasn’t what he expected. He quickly found himself banished from consorting with the mountain clans in those ancestral lands, and forbidden from marrying within them…having broken the codes of his people. However, many of the elders acknowledged that he had been their greatest warrior in his youth, and so they allowed him to live in peace as none would dare fully condemn him.

Those who knew him best revered and respected him. Kaskle Dangarth, Champion of the Rokore Clan of the Aredanz Mountains was a hero; he was a legend!

The ostracizing forced him to interact with the citizens of the nearby territory of Pelyarn, for trading, companionship and the like, so he quietly tried to blend into that life as well as he could. It was an equitable arrangement which worked for a good while, until politics inevitably interceded.

Many of the inhabitants of Dargone, the predominant city of Pelyarn, where he had most of his dealings, quickly grew to admire Kaskle, and would have him as their leader in an instant if he would just allow it. But this man refused to consider himself as others did, and he did not share in their plans. He no longer sought the praise of his peers, or of strangers…his days in the circuit had broken him of that. He thought of himself as just one of many, a good hunter, provider, warrior for the communities, no doubt, but that was all. It was always others who saw more in him. He was a natural leader.

When an important decision was to be made, many sought him out because his voice carried tremendous weight, as his views were solid, thoughtful, and unbiased. Several times he even spoke out against his closest friends, when a differing opinion was for the better of the whole. Such admonitions were something to draw respect and admiration by many, but not all, as a few of the group tended to let their own agendas and jealousy broil deep inside, quietly biding their time to consummate their personal goals.

These plotting, conniving, pitiful individuals finally took advantage of an opportune moment to remove him from their pathway to power, and made their move…but they had failed…he still lived.

Kaskle gritted his teeth at their traitorous act while he ran, taking time out in his thoughts to thank the powers of nature for having granted him the body that he was now taxing to its very limits. He knew if he had not been so favored, he surely would have been recycled long ago, back to the soil from which all living things originate.

For the past two days this hunted man had been forced to go without sleep or food, granted little rest, and that respite gained only by nearly superhuman efforts on his part.

At the onset, he led his pursuers on a merry chase by winding his way from his high altitude, hideaway home through the most treacherous terrain he could find. Down gorges with vertical cliffs that even experienced mountain men would not have dared descend without an armload of safety equipment, he willingly pressed. Up and over narrow passes that had long since closed from winter snows, he forged. He used every trick he could remember or invent, to evade, slow down, or wear down the posse that followed…but they proved themselves relentless.

The runner smiled wryly as he recalled the ease with which he had always eluded them in the past cycles…taking to the wilderness he knew so well. Once in those jungle-like environs, he could evade the sophisticated electronic devices they relied so heavily on as effortlessly as the ceatary soared the thermals.

He saw one of those enormous birds of prey at that moment, while he gazed up at the deep blue sky through the trees. It was slowly circling above and to his left, on a hunt no doubt, as he was, although undeniably at the opposite end of it.

Onward he raced, flashing through the thick forest in a blur and scattering every tiny forest-dweller within earshot. Normally the runner felt he was in complete control while within the confines of his beloved woods, but that was not the case this time. He finally realized during this nightmarish chase, just how badly he had miscalculated, failing to allow room in his safeguards to deal with the level of treachery his enemies so readily orchestrated, as well as their newfound determination. Four separate times over the previous two days, he felt certain he’d escaped them only to detect the sounds of pursuit shortly thereafter.

He was aware; at least, of the reason they were so tenacious this time. In the recent past, relatives of his old comrades discreetly contacted him, and he agreed to rejoin the fight due to a tremendous opportunity miraculously becoming available. This new prospect blossomed through the acquisition of a new ally…a race even more advanced than his former masters. Their species’ common enemy, those that trailed him now, was resolute to stop him from reaching the rendezvous point with this mysterious collaborator…the extraction of information instantly becoming a nonissue after his initial escape.

The pursuers’ spy network stayed well informed, managing to find out when the meeting was to take place, but, to the runner’s satisfaction, failing to get the exact location of where. He knew not how many had suffered and died for that information, but he was familiar enough with his adversaries to imagine they spared no one to get what they wanted.

They must be more afraid of us than I thought, Kaskle told himself after the second long day of this dogged pursuit. Either that, or they fear what awaits me at the rendezvous! he growled as he plunged onward, bolstered by the thought of anyone putting fright in those nearly omnipotent beings.

Chapter Two

The Tracker

Down another ravine Kaskle flew, across another deep stream he forded, and up a steep, rocky cliff he scrambled like a deep forest monkey. The champion of the Aredanz drove himself forward as if the Reaper himself was on his heels…and that was not far from the truth. No relief was in his future…no more stops for planning or sustenance…this was a pure race for survival.

His conscious thought then returned to the present. After such an agonizing, unyielding, horrendous hunt, and another day’s exhausting flight, whichever reason the posse had for his capture made no difference to him. He needed to keep his concentration on the task at hand…the goal and the chase.

The goal was rapidly approaching, which should have given him a glimmer of optimism, but a new obstacle added to the runner’s problems, barely a billot’s time in the past. This latest wrinkle was one that instantly erased all but the slimmest thread of such a luxury as hope.

Earlier in the afternoon, after heaving his battered body over the edge of a huge outcropping boulder, he collapsed to the ground at the upper rim of a deep canyon. He attained that summit only after half a day’s arduous climbing, and his body trembled from the strain. He needed a long stop in his rapidly worsening condition, but knew he wouldn’t get one. Exhaustion, combined with the lack of sleep and a real meal, were taking their toll, closing the time span between mandatory…but momentary…rests.

He expertly used the cover of some large, knotted tree roots to camouflage himself as he scanned the floor of the canyon for those who followed. Nothing could be seen moving in the peaceful, thickly wooded stretch of land, but that, in itself, was not surprising. Stealth was the very reason prompting him to take that particular route in the first place.

The breathless, expert mountain man attempted to put his finely honed sense of smell to the test, hoping to detect the pungent, almost acrid odor of the posse. The wind however, was less than helpful at his location, so he abandoned that idea straight away and just lie there listening. That seemingly simple undertaking turned out to be not an easy one to accomplish over the sounds of his ragged breaths…but he concentrated until he could manage the task.

The hunters were good woodsman as well, but a group of fourteen armed soldiers were hard to keep quiet, especially on a hot trail, and he was positive they would not be able to escape his surveillance. After a short while, having caught his breath and feeling convinced he had finally shaken the hunting party, he sat up, reveling in his celebratory moment. Even if they still followed, there was enough distance between him and them to allow some slight relief of the pressure. From his position, it was only a short distance to the rendezvous point, and plenty of time to get there.

He reclined comfortable, thinking; I can probably walk it from here and be a bit refreshed for the meeting.

He had won!

There’s no way they can overtake me now, he said in a loud, confident voice, the first words uttered by him in the two days following his escape.

Kaskle’s self-assured declaration barely left his lips however, before his dream was shattered as completely as the serenity of the surrounding forest. A long, horrific, piercing shriek ripped through the cool, midday air and struck him like an energy blast. The echoing resonance of that cry provoked an instant, panicky outburst from every creature close enough to hear it, and shook the man to his core.

Birds took to flight as if a bomb had gone off, filling the air. Animals, small and large could be heard clambering to find safe refuge from the unfamiliar, yet terrifying utterance.

No! he cried as he leaped to his feet again.

He whirled around to face the canyon at once, his body forgetting the pain his muscles had felt just moments before…every neuron of his senses awake and focused.

Kaskle Dangarth was a man who did not frighten easily…one who had never felt the queasiness of panic normal men inevitably experience at some point in their lives. Only once in all his cycles could he recall an event even close to fright…one which left him to suffer the agonizing feeling of utter helplessness. Fear brushed past him just that single time…and it was not for his own safety that he had endured it.

His entire life in the harsh lands of his forefathers subsisted under the threat of constant peril…be it man, beast, or nature…yet he always evaluated each encounter and reacted to it with skill and purpose. Nonetheless, at that moment, as the reverberations of the bestial wail died off, he revisited the mind numbing wave of dread. His whole body trembled due to a flood of adrenaline sweeping through his system from head to foot, and it was so unnatural to him that he stared at his hands and searched himself over, trying to understand it.

A tracker! he stated, breaking the spell that gripped him.

The howl of the tracker did not repeat, but the experienced frontiersman didn’t need a second one to know his conclusions were correct. He’d roamed the mountains for too many cycles not to be able to recognize the cry of a creature so foreign to his home that it stood out like a beacon of light on a moonless night. Though he had never seen one and had only overheard some talk about one of the beasts, given his present circumstance, he knew exactly what was now on his trail.

Kaskle froze where he stood for several long litas, recalling the tales shared by his former masters’ recounting of the rare beasts…of their abilities and strengths. Their stories stated plainly that no one had ever escaped from a tracker in the history of his planet. Such recollections narrated how men of great courage and skill had simply given up and lain down to await their fate when they realized what they faced.

These thoughts caused an instant wave of despair to pass over him…but that wave flowed out of his being as quickly as it had come because this was not a normal man. He was not the type to dwell on a sense of foreboding. The mountain clansman was the sort who used his brain and body to escape clearly overwhelming situations countless times before, and in his mind this was just another challenge he must overcome. Kaskle firmly believed that as long as there was life in his form, there was a chance to prolong that life.

He then drew in a deep breath, purging all emotional or irrelevant information from his thoughts, and evaluated his position with cool determination.

The fugitive knew the animal was fast, faster in fact than anything he’d ever seen, so speed on his part was also a necessity. Furthermore, he had to reach the meeting place on time, yet unaccompanied by the beast.

At that point, he returned to his spying position and watched intently as the creature moved through the canyon forest below at an incredible pace. Kaskle was unable to actually see the tracker, but could make out the swaying motion of some of the smaller trees as it pushed its way through the denser areas. If the stories were true, the brute would have little problem finding a way to scale the canyon wall as well. It was suited best for the open plains of its home world, but it was adaptable to any terrain, even adept at taking prey from trees when necessary.

The beast was powerful as well, big and tough, practically unstoppable. In fact, the smallest weapon ever known to have brought one down was a Level-80 pulse cannon, and that had only rendered it immobile, not killed it.

The runner smirked at himself as he briefly considered his chances of commandeering an armored vehicle with such a weapon…not likely up there in the wilderness. He then snapped out of that outlandish fantasy and surveyed himself once more. Without so much as a blink, he began removing his heavy mountain boots. They had provided him protection from the rocky terrain he’d traversed, but now he was in the forest again and the need for speed was great. He also slipped out of the thick jacket he wore, knowing at that moment he would not have to spend another night in the frigid mountains. He would either make it safely to the allies, or he would be dead.

With the drastic reduction in weight, the runner set off at an even faster pace than before. He took a circuitous route that he hoped would add sufficient distance to his trail to keep the tracker busy long enough for him to make the rendezvous and escape.

The heartrending knowledge the animal might soon overhaul him lent energy to his gravely fatigued body. Even at his increased speed, he was able to preserve his pace up to this moment, late in the afternoon, when he finally found himself within earshot of the river, which was his goal.

Almost there! he told himself, The pain will be over soon!

He wove his way through the underbrush, his breath now coming in ragged gasps, every intake of air a burning ordeal to his lungs. He glanced at the chronometer on his wrist and read the countdown sequence. It was a foreign item to his people and even though he had experienced such technology during the training, he was uncomfortable with it as were his friends.

It’s going to be close! he grunted out loud, pushing through the foliage.

Finally he lunged free of the surrounding brush and out onto the blinding, sun-drenched riverbank. For just a moment the brightness was overwhelming to him however, as his optical senses immediately commanded an insurgence of a thick, ultraviolet absorbing liquid to the surface of his eyes. That fluid instantaneously fractionated the inundation of light from the blue-white star above, bringing it to a tolerable level.

Kaskle didn’t hesitate even for an instant, pivoting at the edge of the water and dashing upstream. He continued a short distance until he reached his final destination…a huge, jagged shard of rock jutting out of the sparkling, green tinged water.

The peak of that monolith was the pickup point for his next journey, one that should prove to be fascinating if it came to be as his information boasted.

The rock thrust upward three times his height from the turbulent waters and he scrambled up it to the summit as quickly as he could. The way was steep and he had to use his hands and knees to attain the peak where he collapsed to the hard surface, rolled onto his back, and checked the timepiece once again.

Six borts early! he gasped before he allowed himself the luxury of some long, slow, cleansing breaths.

He laid his head back and looked up at the sky, his body spent and his arms and legs flat out on the smooth, hot surface of the giant slab of rock. He lie there as still as the stone catching his breath and collecting himself while the time quickly counted down. The sweat from his overheated body ran down the face of the rock in tiny rivulets, carrying with it some of the caked-on dirt, grime, and blood which had accumulated on his deeply tanned skin over the past few days.

After a bit, the mighty warrior envisioned the impression he would make on the reception committee. His nearly naked body was covered in filth and dried blood, since the last few miles saw his light clothing shredded from his body by the thick underbrush he’d traversed.

With four borts left on the counter, he sat up, his head reeling from the combination of fatigue and relief…and then he managed to take a standing position. Kaskle pulled off his ragged shirt and tossed it aside absentmindedly while he listened intensely and scanned the area carefully. Feeling safe for the moment, he made his way down to the stream for a drink from the cold snow melt.

The water was sweet and clean, and raised his spirits even more, until he saw his reflection in the pool. He was a horrible mess, and looked more like a refugee than a stalwart warrior. So, hoping to improve his disheveled appearance and revive himself, he waded into the thigh deep water of a small eddy. Dunking his head and splashing his face and torso with the rejuvenating liquid, the Aredanz champion attempted to create a more affable impression. He would have taken a swim had the current not been so strong and time so short, but instead, he just climbed back up the rock again and sat at its peak, his head drooping.

Per his instructions, with only one bort left, he pressed the locator beacon on the underside of the chronograph and set it down on the rocky shelf beside him. Feeling weak and drained, as well he should, he waited for the timer on the little device to sound.

Well, Kaskle, he said softly, taking one last look around at the glorious mountains of his homeland, I suppose you finally managed to win this round.

He took in the beautiful surroundings with a slight feeling of nostalgia, not knowing when he would be able to return. The river was high from the recent rains and he knew the game in the region would be plentiful all cycle, since it had been a mild winter. His friends would have ample supplies throughout the coming summer and should be well prepared before the snows in the fall. They would be fine without him…of that he was confident…but he would miss his native soil.

At that instant, his daydream of victory was ripped from him a second time when a crashing sound tore through the forest and the tracker burst forth from the woods at the same point he had just emerged. Its head immediately swiveled around to face its prey standing on the boulder, barely eighty paces away, which was much too close for Kaskle’s liking.

It opened its enormous jaws and let out another piercing scream, signifying the sighting of its quarry. The utterance was a powerful blast that vibrated the leaves on the nearby trees and even sent ripples across the fast flowing water.

The fugitive man stared at the creature from atop his perch and could not believe his eyes. A Redalien Tracker! His people knew the general description of the monster, but few had ever seen one in person, and all of them were now deceased.

It had eight legs, arranged in pairs, which were long but extremely muscular. It also possessed the remarkable capability to run on either set of four by tucking in the others, thus enabling it to continue a hunt for days without losing its pace. It merely alternated the workload whenever it needed, switching to a fresh, rested set of limbs. And, when it eventually overtook its victim, as it always did, the fiendish brute could implement all eight to insure a swift kill or a short fight, whichever case applied.

The beast’s body spanned twice that of a man’s height, from its nose to the root of its tail, which was long and thick to give the creature outstanding balance. Its body was feline in appearance, Kaskle noted, having thick, short fur of multiple colors that dramatically changed as its muscles rippled back and forth. That dense coating quivered with excitement as he stared at it in awe; first appearing dark orange, then shifting to almost a violet tint at the end of its transforming spectrum.

It had heavily padded feet with long, retractable claws, and as the man watched, the beast flashed those weapons in and out twice…flexing…preparing. Reputedly, the tracker’s claws were able to slice through a reinforced battle suit, a supposedly impenetrable garb, with no problem. And according to the stories, it was not unknown for as many as ten warriors so adorned to die while trying to capture one…massacred like a group of helpless women.

The creature had five hearts, requiring only two working ones to sustain a lengthy battle. They were also completely regenerative, so, if the beast survived the fight, it could heal its damaged organs and return to full strength if given enough time.

The tracker had only a singular brain but it was extremely large for an animal, lending credence to the belief the beast was extraordinarily intelligent. That organ lie tucked away in a skull that was heavily protected against assault, having a massive, heavy-world bone structure surrounding it. Its head was another dramatic oddity of the beast. It was clearly canine in construction, seemingly misplaced on the feline body, thereby inhancing the beast’s terrifying, alien appearance. Its snout was as long as a horse’s but much wider…more powerful looking…and it sported four nostrils on either side. Each of those was attuned to a specific scent range that allowed the animal a level of olfactory perception unmatched by any other creature.

Its spine also was a marvel of biology. The stories claimed the tracker’s vertebrae could withstand even the blows of a heavy battle-ax wielded by a professional warrior, but Kaskle had no way of putting that to the test. As he stared, his fingers itched for the feel of his sword, no matter that he knew it was a fruitless wish. It was just that he would have much preferred to meet the Creator fighting rather than being slaughtered like a lowly chinch.

The animal was equipped with four eyes, each deeply imbedded in the structure of its skull for protection during battle. Two of those visual organs were forward facing while the others were arranged on either side, far back along a ridge of bone. With such optical accessories, the beast was able to see in nearly all directions at once, and its eyesight was exceptionally keen.

Under Kaskle’s glare, the tracker locked onto him and stared back with a look of malevolence that would have wilted any other man. However, the great champion merely released a deep rumbling growl as his teeth ground together, mentally preparing for battle.

Kaskle’s inspection continued onward to what was said to be by far the most fearsome part of the animal…its jaws. He guessed that such renown was likely earned because they had no fleshy covering for its teeth, giving the impression of an oversized, gruesome grin, with double rows of five-inch-long fangs meshing together when the upper and lower halves shut. Those jaws were alleged to have the power to crush a man’s chest as if it were a pile of twigs.

The tracker came from a giant, class-eleven planet with a surface predominantly consisting of open plains, having virtually no cover save the tall grasses that grew there, and that sphere was plagued with extreme temperature variances. Its home was a place where it would be impossible to survive unless it was as cunning, tireless, and as fierce as it was…and there it thrived!

It could see perfectly in the dimmest starlight or the harshest glare of the white star solar system unto which it was born. The animal’s genetic evolution had honed its sensory package to such a degree that absolutely nothing could fool it or escape its detection. And once discovered, no method of elusion other than by air or sheer speed, could evade it…and even the speediest of prey would eventually fall victim to its dogged persistence after a long pursuit.

Combining its vast array of attributes with the fact that the beast’s native world was such a massive planet left a truly harsh reality…there was almost nowhere that it did not flourish. It was the ultimate hunter in the known universe.

The creature’s latest prey stood atop his granite perch, all of this information blitzing through his mind in the briefest of time the animal paused at the edge of the river. He had contemplated this meeting hundreds of times while he fled from it, always resigning himself that if he were caught out in the open he would have no options. Flight, however futile, would be his only recourse.

His brain spun through his choices in a mad rush.

Possibly a tree could save me, he thought, or deep water…the beast’s only weak point, he added, knowing it could not swim in water of this lesser-gravity planet.

Neither was within reach now, however. The river, although flowing heavily, was just chest deep, and the tree-line lay in the direction of the beast. Nonetheless he coiled himself for a dash.

Kaskle never saw the small, oblong-shaped probe glide out of the forest across the river from him and hover over the rapids. His eyes saw only one thing…the creature that meant to end his life.

The tracker suddenly flashed into motion…all eight of its legs churning up the ground, belying its size with the quickness of its movement. It covered the distance separating hunter from prey in less time than it took for the man’s heart to beat twice.

Gone were Kaskle’s hopes of making the rendezvous, of helping his people, of any thoughts other than Run!

He whirled and leaped out over the river as far as he could at a sharp angle to the incoming beast, hoping it would miss him…a last, desperate attempt at self-preservation.

As his feet left the rock’s edge, he could hear the sound of claws on hard stone screeching as they fought for traction. Then came the ear-piercing cry of the creature ripping through the air once more, completely drowning out the tiny chime that was sounding from the chrono at the man’s feet.

Chapter Three

Where am I

Another place: another world...

Iiiieeeaashitt! the man shouted, grabbing the back of his neck before jerking his body violently into a sitting position and frantically looking about…expecting the tracker to eviscerate him at any second.

Oh, jeez! he added as the bright light struck his sleep-filled eyes with stabbing pain, causing them to water heavily, and forcing him back to his previously prone status.

That pain was only part of what turned out to be an onslaught of sensory overload hammering away at his brain. Seizing his head with both hands, he forced himself to lie still; listening as best he could over the incessant thundering in his ears. The blood rushing through his veins was excruciating, as if every nerve was raw and exposed.

The man fought against his internal assault and, after a brief time, was able to focus his thoughts and managed to calm himself, forcing his body to relax a bit.

A dream! he told himself. Just a dream! There’s no river and there’s no creature…a tracker? What the hell is that?

The man who lie there on his back, slowly regaining control of his frantic breathing, and trying to rub the pain out of his overexposed eyes, was wearing a uniform of dark gray material. The name Ron Allison stood out clearly on the front of his shirt, embroidered in fine black script on a bright yellow label.

Man! he croaked, feeling a throbbing ache from every conceivable tissue of his body. I don’t know which is worse, that dream, or reality.

He remained still a while longer, and then began to search his memory of the recent past.

I guess I made it to the beach, he concluded, assuming the incredibly bright light burning its way through his eyelids could only be generated from the sun bearing down on him. The reflection off the water and white sand of his previous destination would easily account for his blinding situation.

Very carefully he picked his head up off the ground. Then, as he kept one eye shut and squinted harshly with the other while shading it one-handedly, he took a look around. When he peeked up, through the cracks between his fingers, he couldn’t believe what he saw.

Son of a …! he blurted, finding himself under the overhang of a large tree, plush with leafy foliage.

If I’m in the shade, I’d hate to get out in the sun!

He abruptly discounted the apparent abnormality, assuming his eyes would adjust after a while, and ventured a cautious inspection of his surroundings.

By sitting up and turning his still pounding head to the left, a considerable challenge to his battered form, he found himself resting at the edge of a forest to his back, with a huge open field to his front. As he looked a short distance off to the right, he caught sight of what he was searching for…the helicopter. Actually, he saw what remained of it…a twisted heap of partially painted aluminum, more than thirty yards away in the tall grass.

The sight of the wreckage put him back prone again.

Now I know why I feel so baaaad…I can’t believe I even lived through that.

He lie there slowly concentrating his mind again, a monumentally difficult task in his present state, until he got a clear picture of what he had to do. He then sat up once more and systematically began to check himself over.

Gingerly he moved all of his limbs, finding nothing obviously broken and not nearly as much general damage as what he felt must surely be the cause of his pain. But he did notice something odd. His work uniform, which had always been very loose on his lean, six foot tall, one hundred and sixty pound frame, was now extremely tight. Even his leather work-boots had clearly shrunk.

Other than that, he felt relieved to have gotten off with only one casualty…his belt had broken. He discarded the thin leather pieces, not giving it much thought since his pants were no longer in any danger of slipping.

Next, Ron stood up slowly in order to get a better look at the area, finding his legs to be a little shaky. He was adjusting for their insecurity when he saw another odd sight…his shirt was missing the top five buttons, and didn’t cover his chest or reach his waist anymore…and his pants were an inch short of his boots.

How do you like that? This stuff isn’t supposed to shrink.

Having bigger problems to concern himself with though, Ron shrugged off the uniform irregularities and began tentatively stretching all the muscles he could for the next few minutes, probing for signs of some internal injuries all the while.

Something seemed different to him as he looked down at himself again, but the light fog in his mind wouldn’t allow him to get a clear picture of what it was that troubled him. In short order, he ignored that feeling too…after all, he was lucky to be alive.

There was a cool breeze drifting through the forest, so Ron allowed himself the pleasure of enjoying it for a while, which was no easy task considering what he’d just been through during the previous night. He drew in some of that refreshing air deeply, embracing it, and letting it revive him. It was laced with the sweet scents of far-off flowers and moist greenery, and he was almost giddy to still be in one piece.

After a bit, he forced himself back to the present and stood once more surveying his environment. By the sun’s position, the day was well under way, so he twisted his wrist around to check his watch. It was not there. His memory then clicked into motion, reminding him of the day-old broken band, which he ruined before leaving for work the morning previous. He fished it out of his pocket and regarded it. It was registering four thirty four, A.M.

He thought back to the last time he looked at it, just before the alarm sounded, back on the oilrig. It had been almost three in the morning.

The damned thing must have stopped for a while, then restarted, he guessed when he saw that it was functioning fine now.

By using the sun as a reference, he faced north. In that direction was the forest, at the edge of which he was standing. The trees growing all around were of the hardwood varieties, with no sign of pines or firs anywhere, which struck Ron as unusual since he was in pulpwood country, or rather, should have been. He stood under what he thought was an oak tree, and as he gazed at it, he noticed that it, as well as all the trees in the forest, were covered with leaves…of a deep, blue color.

He blinked hard and shook his still throbbing head delicately, not believing what he was seeing.

Man, those trees sure have a lot of leaves for it to be the first of March, he said, casting aside the obvious color nonconformity, but unconsciously adding it to a growing list of unsettling findings.

His concern swung to the west, along the tree line. Off in that direction, the woodlands continued for a few miles, ending at the base of a precipitous cliff-face, part of a range of mountains that went southwest to the horizon.

What the… he muttered.

Ron turned to face east, finding another range in that direction, slightly further away. He quickly looked to the south where still more mountainous terrain lay far in the distance, beyond the grassland in which he’d crashed.

How the hell did I get to the mountains? The only mountains around Louisiana are up in Arkansas, and that little chopper couldn’t have flown that far, especially without me knowing about it!

He looked again at the snow-topped mountains reaching high into the sky all around him, denying what his brain was telling him.

This is too weird!

He remained there for several long minutes, trying to calculate the distance he would have to have covered, coming to the only conclusion his grasp of reality could fathom. He just flew at least three hundred miles.

There were fifty gallons of fuel on the chopper when I left the rig, he told himself. "So, since the helicopter’s engine consumes twenty-five gallons of fuel per hour, and since I have to be in either Arkansas or Tennessee, I must have averaged over one hundred and seventy miles an hour! Then, I climbed to an altitude high enough to clear those southern peaks before crashing here.

That must have been one hell of a strong tailwind! he added, as memories of the unbelievable happenings he’d heard of and read about over the course of his life steered his thoughts to the Bermuda Triangle legend. I guess stranger things have happened…just not to me!

Ron turned to view the wreckage of the small aircraft that had saved his life, but his attention was quickly drawn away from the wreck by the tall grass. Again he found himself blinking hard and rubbing his eyes twice before acknowledging yet another unbelievable sight. The long stemmed plants growing in the field for miles around, and what he had originally thought to be wheat, was a dull red color, and it had yellow buds on the tips of each stalk. He whirled back to face the forest and quickly reached up and plucked a leaf. On close examination, he found the leaf, which he thought had a bluish tint to it, was in fact blue.

Geez! Blue leaves and red wheat? What’s going on around here?

Once again he glanced at the mangled helicopter, which gave him a viable explanation...a concussion.

I must have bruised my optic nerves, he thought, feeling almost relieved at that plausible explanation. Either that or I have amnesia and can’t remember what colors go where.

Ron looked up at the tree above him. He followed the limbs to the trunk and down to the earth.

Nothing wrong there.

He then surveyed the sky, which was a deep blue, almost indigo, reminding him of the high altitude air he’d seen above the Rocky Mountains during a trip to Colorado with his family two summers past.

I suppose everything will be back to normal in a few hours, he told himself, not knowing what to think, really.

He then decided to concentrate on the duties he needed to take care of. Everything else would have to wait until he went to the wreck and recovered the aircraft’s logbook and emergency kit.

The Federal Aviation Administration would want the log for their records, to do a proper report of the crash, and the emergency kit would be valuable to help him signal for help if someone might be out searching for him.

He laughed at that thought. Searching for me! he said out loud as the notion crossed his mind. They won’t even know I got off the platform! he added, feeling instantly depressed about his predicament. And if they did, there’s no way they’d go this far to find me.

Ron grew even more depressed as he thought of venturing out into the direct sunlight, especially after that initial shock to his eyes. His hesitation didn’t last long though since he knew he had to find the log, and the emergency kit was essential until he could secure some help.

Bracing himself for further punishment, he struck out toward the wreckage.

He made it no more than two steps before stopping abruptly. With the normal effort of his stride he’d nearly left the ground, as if eighty pounds of weight were being lifted off his