A Leap of Fate Episode 5 The Journey Home

By G.L. Fontenot

Ron Allison and Cache Kuar are at it again, using every tool at their disposal to save a world from certain demise. This time though, it's Earth that needs protection. When Ron finds out his belief that his homeworld had been destroyed was a complete fabrication, he decides to return their to face his family and try to explain what happened to him on that fate-filled day so long ago. After comforting Cache through the birth of their daughter, he takes the Darlile to Earth and begins his long overdue search for his wife. However, fate steps in once again and unleashes new hurdles for him to overcome. When Cache is informed that Earth is facing an impending invasion, she drops everything to get to her love. Separated from one another, she must ally herself with the leaders of Earth and begin preparing for the attack even as those same "friends" betray the man she's desperately seeking. Running along parallel courses, even though neither knows where the other is, Ron and Cache tackle every obstacle they face until they are reunited. Following a harrowing battle, they finally meet again and then face the threat that Earth is woefully unprepared to defend against. Tremendous losses fall upon the nations of Ron's home planet but in the end they are saved.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G.L. Fontenot
• Release date: Oct 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311598196

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

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