Horspaw

By Will Decker

Book 5 in the HEALF Saga. When Capt. 'Rod' Rodick defeated Lord Balzar in the deadly tundra of the Northern Fringe, he took every precaution possible to make sure there wasn't anything left of his nemisis's corpse. In his heart of hearts, he believed that Lord Balzar's demise was final. What he hadn't anticipated was Lord Balzar's cloned/genetically altered offspring; a being that could only be born in a lab, Horspaw. He was of superior strength in both mind and body; no mortal man was his equal. His mind was programmed with only one objective, ultimate revenge on behalf of his creator. With all the deadly stealth and apathy of a guided missle, Horspaw closes on Lote's backtrail, knowing full well that Rod will come running to her aid. And with no soul, no moral compass to guide him, there is no deterring him. His evil knows no bounds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Will Decker
• Release date: Feb 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458168320

Will Decker

Hello,There have been some dramatic changes going on in my life and because of them I am finding that I now have more available time. Yeah, that's a laugh. Now it seems like my days are even more hectic than they were before. Hence, I have decided instead of using the narrow sighted approach to marketing my books, I am going to use a much simpler approach. No longer will my books be available through Amazon markets, but instead, my plan is to make them all available through the Smashwords site as well as their affiliated markets for FREE. However, this will take time so if you have read any of my books and are looking to read more of them, bear with me, I promise you they are coming. I hope this works for my dedicated (few) readers. On a different topic, as you can see, most of my writing efforts have been serials.With that said, you will never find a Cliff Hanger amongst my works. All of the stories have beginnings and endings and can stand on their own. Their common thread might be the characters and in some cases, the planet, but all are Stand-Alone novels! I really despise Cliff Hangers with a passion. Can you tell?Thanks for taking the time to get to know me a little better, WillHope you have a great day.Sincerely, Will Decker

Book preview

He stands perched at the lip of the gateway, apprehensively studying the surrounding vegetation. It is warm and humid, large, glassy beads of sweat dripping unheeded from bright green leaves. Although the light reflecting from the two equidistant moons is subdued, he squints his sharp eyes against it. Never before in his relatively short life of just twenty-four years has he witnessed anything brighter than the dull fluorescence of the subsurface hallways or the flickering of torchlight.

He has been kept well hidden from the main hallways and the thriving hustle and bustle of activity beneath the planet’s surface. His trainers and personal protectors were diligent in keeping his life a secret from the remainder of the planet’s population, both above and below the surface. The orders to do so date back to before his inception; to before he was anything more than just a few genetically altered molecules of DNA in a recycling chamber. And although the orders are old, made by a man that is no longer among the living, they will never be questioned or disobeyed. There is always the chance that some of the old man’s flesh has survived somewhere and that someone might eventually stumble upon it. And whether intentional or accidental, it might end up in a recycling chamber where it will be recycled; there is always a chance, no matter how slim, that he might return. Unlike other planets inhabited by man, on Heälf, no one can ever be considered gone for good. Nor is Lord Balzar’s portent for evil ever far from their minds. It will take many years of his absence, probably centuries, before all will agree that he is not going to return. And even then, doubt will linger.

Unfortunately for Horspaw, his host and demented creator the sadistic Lord Balzar, who is wholly responsible for engineering his own genetically altered DNA into Horspaw’s living flesh and bone, died shortly after Horspaw's inception into this world and not a moment before, thus rendering Horspaw incapable of receiving or accepting the soul that was set free by Lord Balzar’s demise.

Of course, it could long be debated whether the reception of his host’s soul would have been for the better or not. The evil that resides within the powerfully built young man gazing out on the planet’s surface is incarnate with the flesh and fibers that grow from his demented, horribly polished, and highly developed DNA; Horspaw doesn’t have any more control over his natural tendency toward sadistic evil than he does over the planet’s orbit. And like the planet’s relentless revolutions around a sun that is much too near to render the entire planet’s surface habitable, creating a living Hell on more than half of Heälf’s surface area, so are Horspaw’s’ unrelenting desires to maim and kill. Just like the sun, he too will make the planet a living Hell if left to his own devices.

The genetically altered cells created a man of exceptionally broad shoulders, narrow hips, and a strong jaw-line with ruggedly handsome features. With his striking good looks and muscular physique, women are bound to be drawn to him, eager to do his bidding, to please him in every way possible.

And yet, there is something amiss, something difficult to detect until you look deeper into his clear blue eyes, or feel the wincing grip of his powerfully tendoned hands. Behind the straight white teeth and winning smile lies a ravenous thirst. It is nothing so simple that the dew from the vegetation can ever quench. But a thirst that emanates from deep within his soul-less being. Unlike any normal man, Horspaw possesses a thirst that can only be satisfied with blood. But not just any blood will do, of course. It needs to be warm, human blood!

With growing anticipation, he studies his new surroundings. This is the day for which he was created. If he possessed any feelings, any sentiment at all, he would be feeling a biting regret that his host and almighty creator Lord Balzar wasn’t present for this epochal moment.

Instead, he is experiencing only one sensation. He is being driven by just one force, welling up from deep within his bosom and pressuring him to finally move forward, to leave the subterranean tunnels and catacombs behind. It is a hunger not unlike his thirst for human blood and devastating destruction. Different from anything that could have been conditioned into his mind over the millennia, this hunger thrives deep within his bones, beyond his perfectly smooth yet tainted flesh, all the way to his core. It is the hunger for a woman; for the warm, tender flesh of a very special woman.

She is not just any woman!

Horspaw’s hunger has been Balzar’s hunger and can only be sated with the conquest of one woman, a very special and unique woman; Rod’s woman. Loté!

Looking into the grey light, Horspaw doesn’t see the beauty of the lush vegetation spread out before him. Nor does he smell the damp odor of decaying matter, the renewal of life upon the surface that permeates the fresh air, so unlike the dry and dusty medium that sifts through the subsurface tunnels and catacombs that have been his only home till now. He sees instead the vision of Loté’s lovely features, her lithe body and dark, creamily complexioned skin. He is looking beyond his immediate surroundings and deep into her dark brown pools that could capture any normal man’s soul with their tranquility and visible longing. The scent of her body wafts casually through his nostrils, though she is hundreds of miles away, maybe even thousands. It tickles his being, wetting his appetite. His body grows hard, an immense erection giving way to his heavily fore-skinned manhood. He will have this woman that he knows so intimately, although he has never met her, nor even so much as seen her before in his life. For reasons that he can’t know or understand, he is determined that he will have her like no man or being ever has before him. And by doing so, he will fulfill his master’s prophecy, the sick and demented legacy that he was specifically created to realize. With every fiber of his sadistic being, he is certain that when he finishes with her, she will never take another man to her bosom, or that she will ever know the feel and comfort of her soul-mate, Rod, again.

Horspaw is well aware of the fact that his cell-host, Lord Balzar, met his final demise shortly after he’d matured into a developing embryo. As was commonly believed among the inhabitants of Heälf, Lord Balzar’s death had come to pass by the hands of Captain Rodick, or Rod as his friends knew him. But Horspaw was also aware, though he wasn’t ready to share this with his teachers and protectors, of the little known fact that he carried enough of Balzar’s genetic makeup to initiate the recreation of Lord Balzar’s physical being. It would be as simple as offering a small sample of his flesh to one of Keazar’s unsuspecting labs for recycling. Despite the proclamations and decrees outlawing the recycling of unknown human tissue and cells for this very reason, Horspaw’s mentors and handlers had the contacts to make it happen. And if they had only known what Horspaw believes, they would have done it immediately upon Lord Balzar’s demise. However, they didn’t know or understand the finer aspects of recycling to be aware of this little known fact, but genetically altered cells reverted back to the original host’s structure when recycled using one of Keazar’s recently updated chambers. When Keazar discovered the secret to restoring fertility in his recycling chambers, he had also unwittingly modified the process enough to allow just such a catastrophic thing to happen. But then, he had also made it impossible for Horspaw to ever be recycled and renewed. Horspaw was destined to live only one life upon Heälf before growing old and dying, and this was a good thing for all of mankind.

Unfortunately for Lord Balzar, he never anticipated that his genetically altered offspring would be so self-centered that it would be impossible for him to consider anyone else’s needs or desires beyond the one that had been painstakingly engineered into his makeup; not even those of his self!

Licking his lips, Horspaw continues gazing at the still, subdued foliage. He is growing hungrier by the minute, and the few meager supplies that he carries are not what he craves. It is time to get moving, time to start hunting. Within a matter of time, his hunger will be sated. Of this one fact, he is certain. He sees no point in carrying prepared foodstuffs or the necessary utensils to prepare it. He harbors no fear of hunger. If it can bleed, it will fill his need!

**2**

Loté looks complacently out on the children playing in the small clearing made for their camp. Only a few short weeks ago, they left Keazar’s floating domain. Now, with the sun cooling at their heels, they are making their way west. The temperature is already several degrees cooler and the air considerably more humid than that of the Eastern Fringe they left behind.

Although they are a small group, they are well armed and amply supplied. And because they are relatively still near to Keazar’s recycling labs aboard the floating domain, they are also well known in the area, though there are relatively few inhabitants this far to the east.

A smile comes to her face, lighting up her already beautiful features with a warm glow. Since the birth of their son, Nava, life with Rod aboard the domain was good. They were surrounded by their friends and their friends’ families.

While anxiously anticipating Rod’s return from a short scouting mission to the north, she lazily thinks back on these pleasant times. Soon, they will be reunited. The scouts discovered a small encampment with several aged and frail members not far from the equatorial trail. Since they left almost forty-eight hours prior, it comes as no surprise, when she hears the sentries calling out their return. It is customary for Rod to return with ‘guests-in-need’’ that she can practice her nurturing on. And, as always, glean news and information from at the same time.

Realizing that he is returning and close at hand, she turns and retreats into the small hut that has been hastily thrown together. Their shelter is nothing more than a hodge-podge of limbs and loose foliage raked together from the debris left lying about after hacking out the clearing. It serves their needs as little more than a place to store their supplies and give her and Rod privacy when needed. Because the weather never varies much on Heälf, thanks to the equidistant moons and unvarying orbit around its too near sun, the hut was not built to protect its inhabitants from foul weather.

Moving with the speed and grace that always came natural to her, she gathers her tote of cloth bandages and medicinal salves together, quickly tucking them securely under her left arm, while a sheathed long-knife remains firmly gripped in the same hand. As an afterthought, she scoops up a flagon of distilled spirits, just in case she needs a general anesthetic. Although Keazar has long since developed medicines that are advanced to the point of easily alleviating pain and suffering, distilled spirits are always welcomed with a warm embrace by both those in need and those not so in need.

She also checks her supply of orange directional-sickness pills. Because Keazar’s powerful healing drugs do not keep well in the high humidity of the surface, Loté attempted to dry them further with a heat source powered by his wonderful solar panels. The panels produced a much drier form of heat than any wood source could provide. But when the gray pills turned a bright orange and became as hard as stone chips, the effect they had on the human body also changed. After much studying of their newfound characteristics, it was discovered that rather than heal wounds or re-grow limbs, they eliminated the physical and mental effects brought on by eastward travel, a sickness that only effects surface dwellers, and is also more commonly referred to as directional-sickness. Before anyone can be sent back to Keazar’s with remains for recycling, they must take a dose of the orange pills to avoid directional-sickness. Because the effect of the orange pills lasts only a few hours, it is necessary for them to carry a supply large enough to reach the labs, or wait until Keazar’s labs overtake them.

Even before Rod and his small band of missionaries can return to camp, the celebrating begins. As she snatches another quick glance out the opening to check on the children, she notices that the cook fires are already being stoked up with dried limbs. Heavy slabs of meat will be carefully positioned over them as soon as the high flames from the fresh fuel die down. Because most of their main staples are cured and dried against spoilage, fresh meat is always a treat that everyone looks forward to and savors.

These happy thoughts are at the forefront of her mind when a cold chill suddenly sweeps through her flesh, raising the small hairs at the nape of her neck and stopping her in her tracks. Despite the slightly lower temperatures here compared to what she is acclimated to, it is still far from cold. In addition, the increased humidity more than makes up for the lower temperatures, making it feel even warmer and more uncomfortable than the drier heat of the Eastern Fringe.

Her heart lurches for a moment before starting to beat rapidly within the close confines of her chest as a feeling of dread and uncertainty slowly creeps through her, chilling her even more. At the same time, her stomach grows taut and cramped in anticipation of some dreadful premonition, her bowels suddenly feeling loose while her insides twist into a tight knot of fear. She has never experienced anything like this before, and she doesn’t like it. The happy glow quickly fades from her beautiful face, leaving behind a rigid, pale expression of deep concern. But the concern isn’t for Rod or the hapless folks that he and his small band might be bringing back with them. Rather, the concern is for her. And although she can’t justify it or begin to understand it, she is deeply terrified of it.

With the back of her free hand, she wipes off the bead of sweat that has formed on her forehead. For the first time in her life, she feels small and fragile, uncertain of her own destiny and future. Suddenly afraid and not knowing why, she wishes for Rod’s quick return, realizing for the first time in a long while just how desperately she needs him.

Moving stiffly, she hurries across the clearing to Nava, their son. Dropping the tote and long-knife in a heap with the flagon of spirits on top, she scoops him up in her strong, limber arms, and holds him tightly to her chest. Mistaking the attention for an untimely feeding, Nava’s strong little hands search out her milk-laden breasts. Finding them, he pulls roughly at her flesh. For an instant, she holds him out of reach, while soothingly apologizing for the misunderstanding, her breath rattling shakily in her chest, feeling foreign and uncomfortable. His little body is warm and reassuring, quickly dissipating the unease that has come over her and yet, not quite explaining it away either. The chill slowly recedes; reluctantly relinquishing its grasp against the warm reassurances of Nava’s innocence snuggled securely in her arms.

Loté, is everything all right?

Fane’s voice snaps her out of her reverie, bringing her back to the present. She blinks at the bright moonlight, suddenly wondering if everything that just happened had really happened, or if it was just her imagination.

Loté, do you hear me? Fane persists. If you squeeze that child any tighter, you’re going to suffocate the poor fellow.

Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I guess my thoughts must have drifted elsewhere. Fane is a close and dear friend that was reborn in Keazar’s recycling labs. For unknown reasons, she took to Loté, following her around the floating domain and helping or assisting her whenever she could. She idolizes Loté and never bores to hear the tales of Loté and Rod’s adventures. Loté also likes and trusts Fane explicitly. They share secrets and almost everything else with each other. Fane also adores Nava, though she has no personal desire to be a mother. It is a commonly heard phrase of hers that although she loves looking after the child, she is equally glad to see his mother return so that she can be free of him. Loté trusts her with her life. But more importantly, she trusts Fane with Nava’s life. Excepting for a very select few, she can’t say that. Fane’s voice betrays her immediate concern, as she notices the tension in Loté’s blanched face.

Looking at the expression on your face, you should not make it a habit to wander there often, she remarks, trying to portray a sense of levity, but coming off sounding flat. You look as though you have just seen the evil Balzar, she adds concernedly.

It has become commonplace on both the surface and in the tunnels and catacombs of Heälf to refer to the ultimate evil by the name of ‘Balzar’. His reign of terror will remain in people’s minds for many generations to come. It’s okay, Fane. Really, there is nothing to worry about; I’ll be alright in a minute.

Then you won’t object if I take this little guy with me, she says, her voice sounding much more relaxed. I can see that you have your medicines and long-knife with you and are ready to go. She raises a knowing eyebrow as she glances at the flagon atop the tote. Without trying, Fane’s natural mannerisms are having a calming effect on her that she greatly appreciates.

Reluctantly, she gives up Nava to Fane’s strong young arms. Fane has watched him many times before, and yet, she can’t remember ever feeling this way about leaving him. Fane, sensing Loté’s lingering trepidation, quickly assuages her fears and concerns with a few words. I will put him with the other children and I promise to you that I won’t take my eyes off of him until you return. He will be safe, my dear friend.

I know he will be, she replies to Fane’s pledge, feeling more of the trepidation dissipating. I will return just as quickly as I can.

You always do, Fane remarks with a candid smirk.

**3**

Horspaw moves forward with growing desire and anticipation. Although the foliage on the planet’s surface is foreign to him, he moves through it easily, almost gliding without actually touching any of the dew laden leaves. The draw to migrate in a westerly direction is not ingrained into his blood, as that of a natural-born surface dweller. Instead, his modified genes instill an acute sense of direction, any direction. Without error or hesitation, he can find his way easily, despite the changing terrain. Now, only because he is drawn by her sweetly demure scent and the stronger aroma that reeks of innocence, which can only be her offspring, he moves against the natural flow of the planet’s surface by traveling in an easterly direction, his mind consumed by a keening of what the future holds for him.

Without giving thought to his actions, he slides forward, moving silently toward his prey, thinking only of the great satisfaction that will be attained when he finally catches up with it. No mortal man is his equal, and none can protect his quarry. The moment he awoke from the recycling chamber, she was as good as his. She will not slip through his ironclad grasp as she did his creator’s. He will not fail, as his creator had done before him!

Without warning, he pulls up short, his senses abruptly bringing him back to the present. Not moving, he listens intently. Something, or someone, is moving through the foliage ahead of him. Yet, unlike every other living, breathing creature on Heälf’s surface, it too is traveling in contrast to the setting horizon. Like he, it is moving against the natural flow of traffic upon the planet’s surface, which can only mean that its origins stem from the subsurface, or it is not human! And like him, it too is on the hunt.

Subconsciously, he realizes that if he hadn’t been moving with such speed and stealth, he never would have overtaken it. But unlike Horspaw's own movements, which are swift, silent, and sure, the thing ahead of him is moving brusquely, slogging along and deeply intent on a quarry of its own. Yet, despite the sluggish sound of its movements, it covers ground with a fair amount of speed. Whatever it is that he is overtaking, it has to be much larger in size and stride than that of a human male. The speed with which it is moving is clearly indicative of a creature consisting of considerable size. This conclusion also indicates that his first hurried assessment of the thing ahead of him having originated below the surface because of its easterly direction of travel could also be wrong. To his knowledge, which is quite extensive, thanks to his plethora of teachers, there are no subsurface beings larger than that of a human male. With the exception of some misshapen clones and grotesquely large men, it is physically impossible for a being of any great size to move about within the close confines of the tunnels and catacombs.

However, there are several rare creatures upon this god-forsaken planet’s surface that do not possess an ingrained instinct to travel westward to the same degree of dedication as those of a human. These are the scavengers and predators that move in whichever direction the scent of their prey takes them. Unlike Horspaw, however, these creatures still possess the westerly driving instinct, just to a much lesser degree than their surface born brethren. The instinct is little more than enough to keep them from being scorched to death by the rising sun.

This knowledge and more, Horspaw subconsciously digests, quickly formulating a mental sketch of the creature moving ahead of him. It is easy to determine from the sound of the being’s heavy footfalls and lapse of time between them that it is a large, heavy creature with a long stride. Yet, he cannot be certain whether or not he is overtaking a creature of human origin, since so many deformed clones somehow survived the devastating holocaust that supposedly obliterated almost every living thing beneath the surface. As a direct result of all the experimentation that had been done leading up to the infamous Clone Wars, a plethora of strangely absurd human beings have been turned loose, both on and below the planet’s surface. Although a large percentage of them have been hunted down and exterminated, many are still running wild, wreaking havoc on their more normal kin.

And then again, it might simply be a large, surface-dwelling beast of a species that is rare and infrequently seen, going about its routine business of survival.

The scent emanating from it quickly grows overpowering in his nostrils, momentarily masking the softer, sweeter scent of his former prey. Even before he realizes that he has determined it to be so, he knows that he is closing in on a carnivorous beast and not a man. It reeks of rotting flesh, decay, and old feces. But with his highly tuned senses, he also detects the scent of blood intermingling with the other cloying fragrances. This latter scent is many days old, indicating that the beast hasn’t eaten for the same period of time.

In a sheath over his left hip, he carries a long-knife. This is standard subsurface armament. Over his right hip, he sports a drastically modified skinning knife. Unlike the standard fair carried by almost every male and some female surface dwellers, his skinning knife has a two-parted blade secured by a lock-hinge that allows the leading half of the blade to pivot downward, creating a scissors action against the rear half of the blade. Yet, the hinge is designed so that the blade can function as a standard skinning knife when needed, which, in Horspaw’s case, has proven thus far to be rarely.

In addition to these formidable weapons, he carries yet another, smaller blade. Strapped securely to his back and generally hidden beneath his long locks of thick wavy hair is a narrow-bladed dirk for close-quarter fighting. Perfectly balanced, it is also a lethal projectile when thrown, the effective range dependent upon the terrain. He is more than proficient with all of these weapons. But unlike most men, he doesn’t carry them for survival. Because unlike most men, Horspaw doesn’t just kill for food or in defense of his life, he also kills for the pure joy of it, the entertainment factor. And he kills whatever and whomever he desires without compunction!

Yet, he is most dangerous with his bare hands, and thus, doesn’t feel the need to draw a weapon now, as he closes in on his new quarry. After pinpointing the exact source of the spoor, and instinctively calculating a course to the south and then back to the north that will bring him directly ahead of it, he sets off, moving even swifter than he had before, and yet, all the more deliberately and silently.

Within a matter of minutes, he estimates his position to be parallel with that of his immediate target. In even less time, he is ahead of the blundering beast and waiting anxiously in anticipation of his first blooding on the planet’s surface.

This is not his first kill. Nor will it be his first human kill, if the creature is human. On his journey to the surface, working his way methodically through the tunnels and catacombs of Heälf’s subsurface, he took many lives, almost all of which were human. Much of the killing could easily have been avoided. Unfortunately for his victims, Horspaw found great pleasure and satisfaction in killing, and even veered from his predefined route when he picked up the scent of solitary travelers. He was careful to avoid large groups. Not for fear of being overpowered, because he wasn’t capable of fear, but because he couldn’t afford to leave a trail that might draw attention to him. And a trail of dead and decaying bodies would not go unnoticed during this time of prevailing peace!

It isn’t a long wait before the creature breaks out of the underbrush before him. Upon seeing Horspaw standing directly in its path, it draws up short. Curious, but not afraid, it studies him for a long moment, its massive bulk dwarfing Horspaw. It sniffs the air inquisitively, confused that it didn’t notice this strange being’s scent before coming upon him.

After a while, it grows edgy, fidgeting its stance from one front paw to the other; clearly unable to comprehend why the small creature is standing its ground and not fleeing for safety. Never before had anything or anyone stood in its path, so subtly hindering its freedom of movement.

With a mighty bellowing of its chest, it lets out a thunderous roar, challenging the small creature before it. Saliva hangs in thick slimy threads from the ends of long, sharply tapered fangs. Horspaw, although never having laid eyes on such a vicious creature before, admires its naturally evolved weapons of death and destruction with a keen eye. He, of all the creatures both on and below the surface of Heälf, can appreciate the strength and capabilities of the massive beast standing before him. It never occurs to him that like he, the beast is also not intimidated by the other’s presence; this is a trait that he finds most appealing.

Growing impatient with the lack of movement from Horspaw, the beast feigns a forward lunge, intending to startle the smaller creature into flight. But when Horspaw doesn’t so much as twinge, it again draws up short, the distance separating the two of them now less than three meters. Although the enormous beast can easily rend Horspaw with a lethal swipe of its massively clawed forepaws, for the first time since discovering Horspaw, it gets a strong whiff of his scent, and it fails to recognize the all too familiar smell of fear. Everything the beast has ever smelled before has always reeked of fear. It finds this knowledge unsettling.

Although the creature is huge and ungraceful, it possesses a limited ability to reason, without which it never would have survived as long as it has. Failing to discern any trace of fear in Horspaw, it studies him anew. It is quick to realize that there is something different about the small being standing its ground. Instead of simply wanting to kill and trample the small creature before it, it feels a strange and unfamiliar need to investigate him further; its curiosity has been piqued, much like a cat toying with a mouse before boring of it and killing it.

Horspaw is also studying the beast standing before him, but in a new light. He has moved beyond the first appraisal of the creature’s massive, heavily muscled stature. He has also gotten beyond the long fangs protruding from its broad jaw, and the sharply pointed claws, each again as long as the blade of his skinning knife. He has progressed beyond all of that and is studying the creature’s large, oval eyes. Staring intently into the yellow irises and the fathomless midnight of it pupils, he senses a bright and alert intelligence lurking within. Without realizing that he is doing so, he assesses the creature’s value to him, swiftly determining whether he should kill the beast or dominate it. Is it worth his efforts to harness such brute strength to his own end?

Neither laziness nor dependency lay harbor in Horspaw’s vocabulary. He has no need of the beast for ease of traveling, though he could easily ride upon its broad shoulders. Nor does he desire the beast for protection, as he firmly believes that he is capable of taking care of himself in any situation.

Yet, he cannot shake an ingrained desire to ally the beast to him. Although not nearly as strong as his drive to hunt down Loté so that he can take her for the twisted ends that Lord Balzar programmed into his genes, there is another need, something deep within his subconscious that is urging him to take this beast under his wing and teach it to be loyal to him. It is a strong desire to make the powerful creature another weapon in his already mighty arsenal. Any other man would have found this a desire to ‘befriend’ the beast. But ‘befriend’ isn’t in Horspaw’s vocabulary! Subdue, conquer, abuse, and dominate are words he can appreciate and understand. These are words that describe his intentions toward the beast most accurately, or so he believes.

Still, he asks himself if the effort will be worth the gain, or will he be wasting valuable time that can be better spent in the pursuit of his primary objective. These are not easy questions with easy answers. Though he is engineered to possess lightening reflexes and superior strength, his brain capacity does not exceed that of a normal man, even if he generally believes otherwise of himself. It was on Lord Balzar’s list of priorities to create a man that could out-think and out-smart any opponent. But to his great dismay, it remained the one aspect of all the genetically modified specimens that he engineered that he was unable to overcome. All of his best attempts could only render subjects that were limited in mental capacity to that of his own mental prowess, which, like Horspaw, he also believed to be superior to any normal man.

**4**

Horspaw quickly comes to the conclusion that the beast is worth more to him alive than dead. But before he can prove to the creature that he doesn’t intend it any harm, he has to catch and subdue it. The quickest method that he comes up with is to simply tie it up, restraining it from injuring him or itself until he can prove that his intentions toward it are not hostile. As he studies the surrounding terrain for a suitable length of vine with which to immobilize the beast, a slight movement in the foliage just beyond the creature’s massive bulk catches his eye. There is no wind on the planet’s surface, which immediately makes any movement of the heavy, dew-laden leaves suspect.

Before he can ponder the situation further, however, the answer steps forward, appearing from behind the concealing leaves of the thick foliage. With a long-knife held at the ready, she is quite an impressive sight. Tall and dark complexioned, her flesh is firm, her limbs lithe and well proportioned. She makes a very appealing silhouette with waist-length, jet-black hair, framing a strong, handsomely beautiful face.

Almost before Horspaw can move to intervene, she lunges forward, intent on attacking the beast from its rear. Clearly, she mistakenly believes that he is in trouble and she is coming to his rescue. He finds the notion quaint, but very inaccurate.

Moving even faster than she, he leaps the incredible distance separating them in less than two bounds. Passing by the beast, he deftly lashes out with an open palm, striking the huge creature a stunning blow to the side of its massive head. It collapses in a heap, landing on the ground almost at the same moment as he lands just paces from the young woman. Close up, her features are even more striking. For the briefest of moments, he is taken aback by her beauty, as any normal male would be. But he is not any normal male, and before she can accurately assess his hungry leer, he regains his senses.

Like both him and the beast lying upon the ground, she too is momentarily stunned. But like Horspaw, and unlike the beast that will remain immobile for some time to come, she recovers her composure swiftly. Facing him, she brings the edge of the long-knife to bear, suddenly assuming a defensive stance against the man she thought she was going to save, and embarrass in the process. Much to her chagrin and surprise, however, the man that has just leaped an incredible distance to reach her while simultaneously taking down a formidable opponent with one fell swoop, simply and innocently grins back at her. Her surprise and chagrin is quickly replaced with anger and humiliation. Never before has she met a man that isn’t immediately intimidated by her, and she isn’t sure how to react to this one, whom she believes to be the first.

Horspaw studies her intently for a moment, never concerned that she might actually try to hurt him. And besides, even if she does, for all her apparent speed and agility, she is no match for him. He can easily over-power and out-maneuver her. Yet, he is intrigued by her, the unconscious beast lying behind him suddenly all but forgotten. For reasons that he can’t begin to fathom, he feels certain that she can be much more valuable to him than the huge beast; for the same reasons that he feels the way he does about the beast, and some others that he can’t quite yet grasp. Although Horspaw is immune to the notion on a conscious level, and his maker would have been appalled to learn of such a fact, Horspaw is only answering to a deeply seated need for companionship. But such a brazen thought will never enter his mind; he is much too strong and independent for such trivial weaknesses.

While he openly studies her, she returns his gaze, appraising him in kind. She is not immediately smitten with his handsome features or strong, muscular build. A man has to offer more than mere looks to impress her. If anything has made an impression on her, it has been his amazing agility and strength that she’s just witnessed firsthand, as well as the unconscious beast laying immobilized on the ground behind him. Yet, she is determined not to let him know that he has made such a favorable impression upon her. Although she isn’t nearly as angry as she imagined she should be by his blatant impunity toward her, she isn’t ready to let what anger she does possess evaporate too quickly. First, she wants to show him that she is an equal to him, that she can be dangerous too, and that she is someone worthy of respect.

Moving suddenly with uncanny speed and agility, she leaps up and forward, diving head over heels, her feet gliding gracefully over her head. At just the right moment, she strikes out with the balls of her feet, intending to give him a glancing blow across the forehead. It is a move that she practices frequently, since it never fails to impress and intimidate opponents. She is very good at it.

The hilt of the long-knife, grasped almost delicately in her right hand, swirls around in her palm, working as a counter-balance to her flowing momentum. She has never used the weapon against anyone during this stunt; it is simply for show and dramatic effect. But when the hilt suddenly slips through her fingers and is gone, she realizes that something is wrong. Dreadfully wrong!

Horspaw watches her leap toward him as if she is approaching in slow motion. Her reflexes are no match for his genetically altered sinews, and he almost laughs aloud, the grin broadening across his face, his white, even teeth now fully exposed. Tilting his head just the slightest, her callous-hardened feet barely missing his forehead, he deftly grabs the blunt side of her long-knife and holds on, easily pulling it from her grasp. It is almost too easy, and for just the briefest moment, he reconsiders her worth to him as an ally. But it is only for a fleeting moment, and then her heel catches him in the nape of the neck, just above his broad shoulders.

No one has ever struck him before with such startling intensity. Stunned, he lets the momentum of the impact rock him forward before nimbly regaining his balance. The blow is much more than a tap to display her prowess to him. She has been intimidating superior opponents for a long time, and has worked many contingencies into her every move. This one is no exception. While twirling through the air above his head, she realized instantly when he sidestepped her. Instinctively, she guessed his move to the right and lashed out viciously with a back-kick to his left, no longer content with merely impressing him, but now intent on inflicting pain. She is suddenly more determined than ever to make an impression on this handsome man. When her heel solidly connects, she almost cries out with glee, the long-knife suddenly forgotten.

Landing lightly on the balls of her feet, she spins about to face him. To her surprise, he is already lunging toward her, her long-knife held comfortably in his left hand. Before she can react, he has his right hand around her throat, gently squeezing off the flow of blood to her brain. Although her breathing isn’t impaired by his grip, her surroundings grow darker, gradually closing in on her as her brain cries out for oxygen. Consciousness is quickly slipping away, despite her best efforts to lash out at the strong arm that easily holds her at bay. Through the encroaching fog and darkness, her last vision is that of his broad, inviting smile, and then she slips quietly into oblivion.

Holding her upright by the throat, Horspaw once again reconsiders her value to him, and wonders why he doesn’t simply kill her. She will regain consciousness when he is ready for her to, and not a moment sooner. In the meantime, he has things to do. The beast has dropped to a low priority, and has gone from being a potential ally to being their next meal, as well as provisions for the journey that lies ahead of them. He suddenly realizes that he is thinking in terms of more than just himself. His thoughts and plans for the immediate future now include the unconscious woman that he holds at arm’s length before him.

With a gentleness that doesn’t feel or come natural to him, he slowly eases her limp form to the ground, studying her long, smooth and shapely legs, and the easy rise and fall of her full, firm breasts beneath a scanty leather harness.

He studies her for several long moments before he is able to turn away from her sensuous form. Using long, powerful strides, he hastily moves around to the front of the unconscious beast and, using her long-knife, tests its edge against the animal’s throat. The blade is incredibly sharp, slicing through the heavy fur and thick skin with relative ease. Although he doesn’t like admitting it, the blade is on a par with his own in both quality of steel and fineness of edge, and he has been trained in metallurgy by the best metal smiths of the subsurface.

After wiping the blade clean across the dead carcass, he returns it to its sheath and, with it held loosely in his right hand, strides back to where he left her lying. Returning her sheathed weapon to the ground beside her, he can’t help his eyes drifting to her lithe and innocent pose. To his surprise, he is again taken aback by her beauty; she is a stunningly beautiful woman. Much more attractive than any he ever came across while growing and studying in the subsurface, or even during his journey to the surface. Most of the women that he’d met were squat and heavy in stature. Perfect beasts of burden for the chores that needed doing within the close confines of the remote tunnels and caverns.

As he studies her sensuous form, his attention is drawn to the rise and fall of the vein running along the side of her throat. Her pulse is quickening. He has underestimated her will to resist the tranquility of unconsciousness. Placing his thumb and forefinger against the vein, he quickly returns her to a deeper state of oblivion. For the second time since meeting her, he has underestimated her strength and determination. He makes a mental note not to be so careless in the future. The next time he underestimates a mere mortal, it might cost him his life, and he has much more to do before he can let that happen.

If there is one thing that Horspaw has no illusions about, it is the finality of death. For anyone born conventionally, eternity is almost a given, thanks in great part to Keazar’s advanced science of recycling. No longer is a complete corpse required for recycling to be effective, as it had been in the early days. Today, as little as a single molecule containing a complete DNA chain is sufficient to recycle an entire human. Moreover, unlike the early days of recycling, where a finished body was left sterile, even that tremendous hurdle has been overcome. Now, not only are people reborn to the healthiest state of their being, they are also able to give birth to healthy offspring, thus increasing the overall population of the planet. It is a good time to be alive. Thanks in great part to Rod’s heroic efforts to wipe out tyranny and establish a new and just hierarchy that is free of slavery and oppression, and Keazar’s great advances with the recycling process, Heälf has a promising future.

However, Horspaw's existence is a fluke of both science and nature. Unlike anyone before him, he doesn’t possess a DNA chain of his own. If a sampling of his DNA ever went through the recycling process, the outcome would not be what anyone expects. Because of the manner in which his DNA has been altered, only the host DNA will survive the recycling process. Instead of a renewed Horspaw, a renewed Lord Balzar will be reborn in his entirety, complete with his demented soul, memories, and desires. The evil obsession would be real once again. Of course, although Horspaw suspects all of this, he has no real interest in it. His only interest is in keeping himself alive for as long as he can. He doesn’t possess any inborn desire or will to perpetuate Lord Balzar’s future. He holds no loyalty to the man that created him, beyond the drives and desires that have been sewn into his genetic makeup, and they are not of his choosing!

Since she had been careful not to leave any evidence of her passing, he is forced to follow her back trail by scent alone. Still, it doesn’t take him but a few moments to hone in on her carefully stashed bundle. Assuming that it contains nothing more than a few meager supplies, he doesn’t bother wasting time looking through it. Instead, he simply slings it over his shoulder and retreats to where he has left her lying unprotected on the ground near the dead beast. In her unconscious state, and with the scent of fresh blood hanging heavy on the air, he doesn’t want to leave her any longer than is absolutely necessary. All sorts of wild beasts and scavengers could be honing in on their location, or so he tries convincing himself. If the truth of the matter were known, he would be forced to admit that he is actually worried about her. It is an unfamiliar feeling and therefore, he doesn’t immediately recognize it for what it is.

As he approaches her, she slowly stirs, her instincts warning her of approaching danger. She is strong and willful, and he admires her spirit.

Dropping the pack next to her weapon so that she will find it when she regains consciousness, he again places his thumb and forefinger over the vein, cutting off the supply of blood and oxygen to her brain. When he finally allows her to waken, except for a throbbing headache, she will suffer no long-term ill effects.

Again, he catches himself studying her prone form, her vulnerability. Starting at the base of her heavily calloused feet, he slowly drags his eyes up her supine form, not missing any detail. She is wearing a leather halter, which he carefully undoes