A Leap of Fate Episode 6: The Games of the Triad

By G.L. Fontenot

Plucked right out of his ship while hurtling through space, Ron is thrown into a mining prison under the supervision of an Ultra-heavy-worlder; Draake Tarbold. He is forced to fight men to stay alive, the heavy gravity to perform his duties, and his own impatience with his situation...all while trying to find a way to escape. He manages all three long enough to recruit the necessary help to break out, only to find that it was all a plot to force into the most deadly set of athletic events in the galaxy...the Kreete Triad Games. From there, he must somehow find a way to get his team to pull together and fight their way through one hellacious trial to the next. Meanwhile, Cache sets out on a mission to avenge and free Ron from the lowly cowards who abducted him, only to find out that she too must yield to the wishes of the same mysterious new race. She follows Ron to each new venue, hoping to be of assistance, and manages to help keep them all alive when the Kreete try to eliminate them over and over. As the Games progress and Ron's team grows in fame and adoration, the Kreete grow more and more bold in their attempts to retain their portrayal of omnipotence, but that merely urges members of their own staff to help Ron and his team thwart them. The Games of the Triad will send you on a rollercoaster ride of wins and losses, triumphs and deaths that will have your heart pounding right up to the end...and then you will really be shocked!

• Language: English
• Publisher: G.L. Fontenot
• Release date: Mar 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310292767

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

Prologue

Aboard the Darlile, headed for Rauld;

Angela took another step toward the Portal and extended one hand to Ron, gently beckoning him.

Brushed aside was his previous dilemma, overwhelmed by those hopes, dreams, and plans that had come before. His mind was flooded with memories of their short life together…the deep, purity of their innocent hearts as they bonded with the fiery fervor of youth…their courtship and marriage…and the long, extremely passionate nights. Even though he knew for certain they could never be that couple again, he longed to touch her…to hold her…and to have her acknowledge that he still existed in her heart…that their time together had enriched her as much as it had him. After that, he was convinced he could move on without regrets.

Their fingertips were barely a foot apart, and the tug on Ron’s surging emotions was nearly too great to dally further…but still he hesitated. A slight, silent, yet nagging tingle held him back. Something just wasn’t right.

With incredible strength of will, he managed to break his wife’s gaze to glance at Cache.

Cache, how’s Sheyah? he asked pointedly.

The momentary hesitation and blank expression on her face was like an electric jolt, sending his mind further along into growing suspicion.

Fine, she said, restoring her warm smile immediately. She’s asleep! It’s nighttime here.

That simple statement sent a bone-rattling chill racing up his spine instantaneously.

Shit! he gasped.

Cache never used contractions…and there was no night on Rauld!

As quick as a flash, he spun on his heel and dove for the weapons’ storage, but a rope flew out of the Portal even quicker and looped about his broad shoulders, stopping him fast. He leaned against it, his hands on the compartment where the black sword was stored, but those on the other end of the snare snapped him back hard enough that his feet left the floor. His eyes soon flared wide as he soared through the transporter in mid-air.

Ron was blinded by an intensely bright flash of light an instant before his body struck a stone surface, squarely on his back. He felt the rope slip from his shoulders and so used the momentum of his motion to continue into a rolling maneuver, until his feet were once more beneath him. When his toes felt firm ground, he paused for a split lita.

His Caronian eye-glands immediately flooded in to restore his sight, but not quickly enough to allow him to react before a tremendous blow from an unknown weapon smashed against the side of his face. That strike took him completely off his feet again, and sent him to the ground in a daze, spitting blood.

Ron’s survival mode immediately jumped to the maximum, fast enough to let him scramble away on his knees and take a quick look around.

The air stank with an acidic tinge, having the reminiscences of the smell of ammonia venting from a chemical plant located outside his hometown. Oddly enough though, the stench actually helped him back to clear-headedness.

There were more than twenty men about him, forming a circle like a fighting ring, and one man (if you could call him that) stood inside it with him. He was a huge, thick fellow with a neck so powerful it seemed to be part of his gigantic, bulging shoulders. His attire consisted of a black skirt hanging to midway on his thighs with a rope tied across his thick middle, gauntlets of metal from his wrists to his forearms, and animal skin boots which ended just above the ankle. The skin tone of the brute was a deep red color. His arms bulged with immense, corded muscles and his torso was as solid as a rhinoceros’s, standing on the equivalent of tree trunks for legs. He stood atop feet which were broad…much wider than a normal man’s…and almost elephant-like.

That bizarre, menacing creature took two steps toward Ron and the ground shook with each of them. His face was fashioned much as the rest of him…wide, solid, and seemingly impenetrable.

Ron locked his glare on eyes that were misshapen brown globs of cornea set against a bright yellow backdrop, and no doubt would have inspired fear in almost any man. The fighter’s head was shaved bald, half of his left ear was missing, apparently having been bitten off from the shape of the remaining portion, and he was decorated with scars from a thousand battles.

Ron looked at his oversized hands, wondering what weapon he’d used against him on that first strike, and his mind received another shock. The man held nothing! It was a fist which had pounded him to the turf. Ron moved to stand and realized one more startling little tidbit. The gravity was strong there, far more powerful than Rauld, or even Caron.

I am Draake Tarbold…your new master! the giant croaked at Ron. This is Parkanick, the prison facility on the Cordonian Moon! And if you cannot fight…you will surely die!

Chapter One

Parkanick

I have no quarrel with you! Ron growled at the giant alien in what he thought was the creature’s native tongue. Leave me be!

Draake bent down and looked into Ron’s eyes for a long lita, and then broke into a fit of laughter. The men around the pair joined in somewhat, but theirs was more of a nervous chortle.

At that close proximity, Ron noticed a metallic-looking disk mounted to the giant’s throat, and when he finished his loud guffaw, he regarded Ron once again, pressing that disk with a finger the size of a salami.

You do not understand, the huge creature said, but there was a half-lita delay while the device reconfigured it into a more commonly understood language. However, his growling, choppy speech was clearly separated and so Ron’s own, much more sophisticated translator, began deciphering his species’ peculiar dialect.

There are only twenty-one cells assigned to our block. There are twenty-one of us. One food ration per cell…so only one man per cell. You make twenty-two! Get me?

Ron looked around at the motley group of hapless souls and began to comprehend the situation.

Why was I brought here?

How the dragen sart would I know?

Who’s in charge? Who can I…?

For an answer, Draake lunged at Ron again. For such a huge being, he was abnormally swift, and managed to swat Ron a solid blow to the shoulder before he could get clear. It felt like he’d be hit with a cinder block, and he was knocked from his feet again.

Ron carried his momentum through an awkward tumble and popped up facing Draake, his attitude turning dire and stern. This fellow was extremely strong, and no doubt as tough as he looked, but Ron Allison didn’t falter in his wish to defend himself. He slowly began to circle the giant, to gauge an enumerable amount of reactionary signals that would tell him what…if anything…was the man’s weakness.

Did you not hear me, little man? I am in charge!

Then you must know who…

Shut up, human! Shut your mouth and make your choice of who you will challenge for the right to survive here!

Ron didn’t fully understand how this new reality was going to work, but as he glanced from one face to the next, he could easily tell that they did. Every last man was now glaring at him as if he were a mortal enemy. One of them would have to die to allow him the chance at life…or vice-versa.

He saw ten male humans in the encircling pack, so he focused predominantly on them. The men were all large, at least as big as Ron, and there wasn’t a single individual that appeared less fit than the next. Undoubtedly this place culled out even the slightest weakness from the group.

Aside from the human men was a variety of other beings that would have made any Earthman question his sanity. Luckily for Ron, he had at least some forewarning of those species from his schooling on Rauld.

Ron counted another three individuals that stood out as Galacians. They had very widely spaced eyes with ears that looked like they belonged on a bat. Their hair was thick and straight, brown like milk chocolate, and grew out to about two inches in length to resemble a stiff brush. Their skin was dark as well, somewhere between burnt orange and charcoal, and they had only three fingers and a thumb, each showing inch-long claws akin to talons more so than a human’s nails.

Two others had dirty, short, dark-green hair and pink eyes. Their skin had a scaly, brown/tan mottled pattern to it. They were Cilicates, from a planet which was mostly marshy, wet, and humid. Ron fleetingly wondered how they could live in this environment, as dry as it seemed. They were bipeds, like most of the others in the gathering, but had webbed feet and fingers. Their snouts were longer than any other humanoid there, but not so overly pronounced that they could be compared with an Earth alligator. More like a common gecko.

The next alien group consisted of quadrupeds…Parmanians. They sent Ron’s mind straight to the Earth myths about Centaurs, but with some odd twists. These creatures weren’t hoofed on their supporting legs, but instead had heavily padded paws like a canine, only much larger. They stood about half the height of a horse and bore two arms very similar to a man’s on their torsos, which were short and stout. Another irregularity was that they had six digits on each of their hands, of which two were thumbs…on opposing sides. They alone wore no clothing, and their hides appeared to be armored, like a rhinoceros’s, except that they were multicolored. Their legs were thick and no doubt very powerful, and they stood calmly by as the proceedings took place, with no worry at all about their position in the group. Their faces were stern and solid like the rest of their structures, and bestial, giving Ron the impression of an orangutan.

And lastly, behind Draake were two more of his kind…making a total of three from whatever race he was…and one was holding the coil of rope used to snatch Ron into their realm.

Now, Draake continued, before you select, let me make something perfectly clear…just in case you aren’t too bright!

Ron’s irritation with Draake rose another level. He didn’t like the condescending manner of the giant.

Whosever place you take, you have to eat their food rations, which are specifically engineered for each race. And then you have to do their work…no slacking on the tally of ore! It must be met or none of us get fed!

Draake took a step toward Ron threateningly. Do you understand?

Ron nodded his answer as he continued his inspection…but that didn’t satisfy Draake.

Say it! he growled in a voice like rolling thunder.

That snapped Ron’s attention back to him in a flash. He was nearly vibrating from a mixture of anger, confusion, indignity, and stubborn determination. Everything inside him wanted to attack the colossal being ordering him around like a ten-year-old…but his reason was able to stay his rage. He didn’t know what to expect there, what went on there, or how he could possibly escape, so he saw little choice in his immediate future.

Yes…I understand! he hissed through clenched teeth.

Good! Now get on with it. We must return to the mine!

Ron quickly discarded all aliens from his target group and approached the throng of men off to his right. The assemblage drifted apart to allow each individual room to stand clearly free of the others, for the newcomer’s inspection.

The inmates were a rough-looking lot. Half were as large as Ron and the rest were bigger…four were much bigger. And the men all showed signs of a brutal life. They were well-scarred, filthy, wild animals who wore heavy-duty, yet tattered uniforms, and had a look in their eyes that showed their personal confidence. Fear could not be found in any of their number, so Ron picked one man who looked particularly excited. The fellow was practically drooling at the prospect of a death-match…he wanted to fight that bad!

You!

The fellow grinned and showed he was missing three teeth, with a crazed gleam in his eyes that could only be described as maniacal. Every other human man just shook their head and snickered softly, as if to suggest that the match was already over.

New guy’s dead! Ron heard from behind him, uttered by one of the bat-eared men.

The crowd stepped quickly to the side, and Ron wondered why. There was a great amount of murmuring and snorting from the small bands of aliens while Ron stretched his muscles and tried to adapt to the strange environment.

Ckess, you know the rules! Draake barked at the prisoner Ron had picked out. You!’ he snarled at Ron. This is a fight to the death!"

My name is…

You have no name! Now shut your mouth before you have to battle me!

Ron felt his fury building again in a rush. His pride was one thing, but he felt this creature’s clear disdain for him would one day force a clash between them…it already seemed inevitable.

Only one will walk away from this bout! Do you understand?

Yes.

There are no illegal moves or blows. Any weapon you have, you can use. Understand?

Yes, Ron replied as he picked up on what looked like the passing of objects amid hands in the human huddle. Shit! he grumbled. So much for a fair fight.

The ring of bodies quickly reformed about the pair of combatants, and then they began. Ron immediately dropped into a defensive, crouching stance, his fists up like a boxer, and his weight on the balls of his feet. Ckess moved in flat-footed, with no regard for protecting himself. He walked straight at Ron…his eyes wide and flashing a sick grin. He would test the new man’s mettle the old fashioned way.

Ckess’s first punch contacted Ron’s blocking arms and cleared them out of way. That knocked Ron harshly to the side and made room for the second blow, which struck solidly on Ron’s left shoulder, pushing him even further away and completely numbing that arm.

Geez! Ron hissed as he stumbled to the side, hurriedly shaking his hand to try to restore circulation. Ckess was amazingly quick and surprisingly powerful! A tenner for sure…maybe more, he concluded.

The adrenaline surging into Ron’s body suddenly kicked in full force as he realized this would not be a simple fight of who was the most experienced. They closed again and Ron returned to his strategy. He needed to know just who he was dealing with. Ckess’s shoulder lurched as if he would repeat the last attack, but instead, his left fist shot forward with startling speed, slipping in low to get under Ron’s block, and struck him in the stomach…lifting him off his feet.

A huge expulsion of air escaped Ron’s lips as he fell back…again scrambling desperately to stay on his feet.

Son of a…! he thought while sucking in air hard. This guy’s quick!

It had been a long while since he’d faced a truly formidable opponent, but his instincts were catching up fast.

Ckess didn’t rush the bout any. He looked to his fellows in the crowd and laughed.

Pretty boy’s just a load of fresh meat! he announced wryly.

Ron’s vision began to tint to a dull shade of rose while his opponent boasted. He stretched out his torso again, refilling his emptied lungs. Then he took up his stance once more.

Ckess closed again, but this time he attacked with a flurry of blurred punches that hammered against Ron’s forearms in a blistering barrage. Ron never took boxing lessons in his youth, but he didn’t need to be a genius of tactics or style to realize what he had to do; he had to survive! That meant absorbing an onslaught of blows that forced him back even though he leaned heavily against them, and it also meant keeping his arms in front even when the pain from every striking knuckle seared his brain. In merely a dozen litas, he could no longer feel his hands due to the pounding, and a few more found his arms quickly growing weary from the strain of the assault…so Ron made a desperate maneuver. He took a half step back and his right foot shot out to contact Ckess in the gut with a powerful kick that stopped the fellow’s attack cold, stunning him into obvious amazement.

Ckess was breathing hard by then, and Ron wondered if he saw more than surprise in his eyes…as if few had made it this far against him. Ron dropped his arms and shook them forcefully, trying to restore the blood-flow and the feeling. He didn’t have much time however, since Ckess wasn’t about to let up, so he danced away from his adversary nimbly, still evaluating him.

Ckess wasn’t a true boxer either. He was a brawler…a street fighter…and he smelled blood. He was a bit too hasty though, and rushed in to cut off Ron’s escape with a new round of blows. What he found however was a foe that was no fool…one who had fully anticipated that brash move.

When Ckess threw a huge left, Ron leaned out enough to have it graze his chin, but as that fist flashed by, his knee shot up to contact Ckess in the ribs with enough force to make his feet leave the ground.

Hooooooffff! released from Ckess’s mouth as he doubled over and fell back.

Ron’s stint in the Retribution Games had taught him that allowing his opponent any time to recover was a poor (and most often deadly) strategy, so he followed the retreating fellow immediately.

Now it was Ckess who strained to deflect a rain of incoming fists.

Ron still had little feeling in his hands, but his iron knuckles slammed against his adversary’s blocking arms with blinding rapidity, returning some of the punishment he’d just received.

Ckess didn’t need anyone to tell him to get out of that position, even though many shouts were saying exactly that, and so he opened his guard and lunged at Ron, receiving a solid punch to his nose in the process. Blood spewed from that broken feature but didn’t slow him down at all. He carried his attack through Ron’s waling offense and tackled him.

Onto the dust-covered stone surface they went, grappling each other like two professional wrestlers…only this was far from staged!

Ron was dazed badly from the impact of the crazed brute slamming him to the rocky ground, and with the weight of Ckess atop him, it was even more disorienting. Nevertheless, he managed to hang on to the writhing, kicking, twisting foe and keep him from gaining an advantage while he recovered his senses.

Ckess was a fiend of energy and muscle though, and so even with Ron’s incredible strength holding him back it was only a matter of time before he broke through. They rolled across the ground several times before Ckess shook free enough to get a forearm into Ron’s cheek, driving it home with his entire shoulder behind it.

Ron’s head snapped to the right viciously and he saw stars, but he still managed to jab his free fist into Chess’s throat firmly enough to make him break loose and scramble away, coughing and gasping for air.

As they both found their way back to a standing position, blood leaked down the two of them. Ron had a nice gash at the back of his head from being crushed to the stony ground, and Ckess spit and blew the thick red stuff from his nose and mouth.

They charged back together at that point, with Ckess delivering a loud, angry cry and Ron answering with the deep, primal growl of the Caronian wild-man within. The boxing was done, and they were into a full-out, no holds barred clash of flying fists, feet, knees, and even heads. Ckess could take the most powerful punches and kicks that Ron could deliver, and Ron did likewise, until…

Ckess saw an opening in Ron’s defense after connecting with a good right shot that made Ron’s head recoil. He followed that up with a perfectly positioned round-house punch that he’d used many times in the past to fell an opponent. It was only good though when his foe was at least slightly dazed because he reached back an extra bit to get as much power behind it as he could. With a guttural grunt, he brought that blow screaming in at Ron’s unprotected temple…a strike that surely would drop him, if not kill him, and he smiled inwardly.

As Ckess’s broad fist hurtled in at him however, Ron suddenly changed his appearance of unstable and defensive and squared his shoulders to the blow, dipping his head forward just enough to align it with that deadly punch. Instead of the relatively soft, vulnerable temple, Ckess’s fist struck the upper part of Ron’s forehead with all the power he could muster, and his knuckles shattered against the dense bone of Ron’s heavy-worlder skull. And to compound such a crippling injury, the shockwave of that collision transferred up his arm, compressing so violently that his wrist exploded as well, sending white-hot pain searing into his brain with instantaneous results.

Ckess screamed one quick, high-pitched yelp of utter agony and fell back straight away, staggering to one knee while cradling his destroyed hand. His eyes instantly changed from filled with bloodlust to overflowing with panic, his gut threatening to expel everything in it from a mind-numbing wave of nausea.

Ron too fell back, his vision doubling horribly due to the blow, and his neck feeling at least an inch shorter. He gripped his head tightly in his hands to calm the ringing, and breathed deeply…then he shook the fog from his thoughts. When he could focus again, he moved in against Ckess like a lion against a wounded gazelle.

The alien man stood to meet his attack, but now was sorely hampered, and Ron overpowered him quickly with a flying wheel-house kick that put him to the rocky ground again. Now it was Ckess who lay at the feet of the bystanders…all of whom were suddenly very quiet, even shocked.

Ron lunged for him, but never made it because a new twist leaped into the bout. One of those watching…an ally of Ckess’s…suddenly lashed out with his foot to connect with Ron’s ribs, and then another’s heavy fist smashed into his jaw. The blows were incredibly solid and would have rattled him even if prepared, but being blind-sided like that took him off his feet and destroyed any attack he’d planned.

Ron fell hard, dazed badly, but had enough of instinctual reaction to roll away from Ckess and his partners…to put distance between them so he might be able to regroup. But that wasn’t the plan for his foe!

A crude knife quickly slipped into Ckess’s good hand, a gift from one of his comrades, and so he pushed through his own unsteadiness to make a new attack.

Ron saw a blurry shape racing towards him just in time to let his body collapse backwards to the turf to avoid the collision. As it was though, Ckess slashed at his falling figure and raked his ribs with the blade, opening a foot-long gash across Ron’s chest.

Blood poured down his abdomen as Ron popped to his feet once more, and the red haze of fury was instantly full-on in his brain. These was no longer a necessary bout he needed to win; one that he would regret having been forced into, and lament the taking of another’s life in order to survive. Now it was a duel of absolute irrevocability and he felt no compunction whatsoever when he released the beast within.

With a quick shake of his shaggy head, Shartae of Caron was loosed…and a more deadly force had never been seen by his opponent!

Ckess wheeled about and charged Ron, but that was an incredibly foolish plan. The alien fighter was extremely strong, his body clearly showing fine musculature and his class 10.2 birthplace giving him an obvious advantage, but he’d never even dreamed of a creature like Shartae. That was because his previous adversaries had always been men, with at least moderate considerations of moral, ethical, or rational thoughts. Now unfortunately, what stood before him was something else entirely…something brutal, unforgiving, and completely merciless. The being Ckess suddenly found himself clashed with still looked like a man…yet what glared back at him was an inconceivably fierce, cunning, and vicious animal!

Adrenaline, fury, and sheer willpower aided Ron to excel beyond what a normal human could manage, and when that eight inch, hand-made knife whistled down at him, he reacted with speed, precision, and strength that could not be breached.

Ckess’s entire body was behind his thrust, and would have crushed any other man’s defense...as he always had in the past...but he was stopped cold, as if pouncing on a statue of solid granite. The knife managed to penetrate Ron’s skin about half an inch into his right pectoral muscle…but there it froze in space while a deep, rumbling growl issued forth from the broad chest of Shartae.

That utterance sounded like a different beast to each man, depending on what creatures they were accustomed to on their own planets, but to someone from Earth it would have mimicked a very large, very angry Bengal tiger.

Ckess was leaning into the attack so forcefully that his face and Ron’s ended up barely an inch apart, and held there for a long moment. In that time period, he looked into the ebony eyes of a pure demon…one whose dire expression bespoke volumes as to his intent. In that moment, Ckess Hirie saw his death!

Ron then moved with the swiftness of a leopard. His left knee shot up and into Ckess’s ribs with enough force to crush four of them and send them shredding his liver and lung with their splintered shards. His left hand then grabbed Ckess’s throat in its vice-like grip that collapsed the man’s larynx in an instant, and his right wrenched the knife around to plunge it to the hilt into Ckess’s heart.

Ckess’s expression was one of utter bewilderment, but Shartae the Invincible wasn’t done!

In the blink of an eye, Ron swapped his grip to Ckess’s head and with all the strength he could gather, he pivoted his bulging frame around the man’s body, snapping his neck with a stomach churning, sharply echoing crack.

Those forming the fighting circle all heard that explosion of bone and cartilage, and they all felt the same inner twinge of nausea at the sound, but two of them also felt an additional gut-wrenching response…fear!

Ron kicked Ckess’s corpse to the stone without another thought, but he was yet unsatisfied. The baritone rumbling from his primal self then erupted into a louder challenging snarl with his teeth exposed…his eyes now searching the ring of enemies that surrounded him. His deadly gaze instantly locked onto the fellows who’d assisted Ckess in the fight and he took a step toward the men, his body quivering and quaking with malice.

It was as if the Reaper himself had suddenly materialized to claim his pound of flesh, and those two men instantaneously threw their hands up into the air and began retreating.

We had to, man! one of the men blurted frantically. We owed him…but we don’t have a quarrel with you! It’s over! Okay? It’s over!

Thanks solely to Josylinia Gitove’s unbelievable patience after his time in Caron’s Retribution Games, Ron had managed to find a way to reign in the terror of those days…to bottle up the beast he’d been forced to unleash to survive those bouts. That ability was the only way the reasoning portion of Ron’s brain was able to quell his approach now. But as he glared around at those gathered, he fully expected the fight was not finished, and as the wild, bellowing call of the Aredanz Mountain Folk tore from his lips, he stood ready for that battle.

The human men who stared at him at that moment suddenly felt a new and profound feeling of awe. Ckess was the most feared and respected fighter of their entire group. He was cunning, strong, and vicious, and had proven himself in more than two dozen such bouts. None in their crowd…even the larger brutes…had ever thought to challenge him. Now this newcomer had accomplished what they felt couldn’t be done. Even while visibly bewildered by his sudden abduction and thrown into this new environment, taken off guard by a lowly and cowardly act, and a weapon was given to Ckess, this stranger had utterly destroyed him.

Just who was this man? Where did he come from? And more importantly to those who’d aided Ckess…what would he do next?

Those were the thoughts of every soul in attendance.

Draake stood off to the side with his arms folded across his enormous chest. His stare was emotionless, merely seeing and gathering information. What he had witnessed was promising. He’d never liked Ckess anyway.

Back to work you dragen whores! he barked. We still have ten billots of duty-time!

The crowd surrounding Ron suddenly broke from their positions with a startled jerk. Apparently, Ron gathered, Draake was not someone to ignore.

As they filed away, giving Ron a wide berth, the heat of battle began to ebb from his thoughts, and the haze of animal madness receded to allow the man to regain himself fully. His chest still heaved from the combination of the fight, the heat, the acidic air, and the gravity, but he didn’t fully loosen up until the strangers were all away…everyone except Draake.

You have done well! the giant told him. Ckess was a skilled fighter. Come with me.

Draake led Ron down a short, wear-polished path to a modest domed structure that appeared completely foreign to the barren world on which it rested. It was shiny metal, like polished stainless steel, and was perfectly round. Its width was easily thirty feet across and it stood almost twenty feet high, with no outward signs of ownership of just who’d built or provided it.

Draake stopped at the apparent entrance; it being marked by a distinct alteration in the outer surface which formed a large oval. It was big enough so that even Draake might enter without hindrance.

This is a med-station. It is autonomous. It will repair your damage to a point that you can work. There are no weapons in there and you cannot escape, so don’t waste your time in the attempt. When it is finished, you will report to the mine. Understand?

Yes.

You have twenty borts!

Draake then turned and followed the same path back to the hole in the ground where the others had gone.

Chapter Two

What Happened?

On Rauld:

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Cache Kuar screamed as she watched her only link to Ron disintegrate in a white-hot burst of uncontained plasma energy, shown on her viewer as a sensor interpretation of the event.

Her face was a mask of horror, of worry, of utter helplessness, and of nearly unfathomable anger.

You dragen cowards! she ranted in fury, slamming her small fists down on the counter. RON! she screamed again.

In the span of barely a few borts, her world had collapsed around her. All the hopes and plans she’d made over the past several santaris, since before he’d left for Earth in fact, had been unceremoniously ripped from her in mere moments. Some alien race had broken her personally devised safety protocols, hijacked her transport signal, taken her lover…her child’s father…and then blown up the only relay station connecting them.

Why…Guardian above us…why? she whispered as she slumped into a chair, her entire body vibrating from her adrenal rush. How could this have happened? she murmured…her mind spinning at what it all meant. How could this have happened?

She was shocked, bewildered, and heartbroken, and so she quickly drifted into a state of incoherent despair.

Aanlis, on the other hand, the most gifted communications analyst on Rauld, went immediately to work to find out the answer to that very question.

Half a billot later, Aanlis finally broke Cache’s mournful ramblings with news.

"I have reestablished communications with the Darlile! she announced triumphantly. The interstellar com-system of the ship could still send information the old-fashioned way, although without the immense boost from the Starflex relay station, there was some delay in the signal. It is safe and still under power…headed home."

Send it after them! she suddenly shouted, whirling around to her friend and colleague. Order the…never mind! I’ll do it!

Cache’s fingers danced hurriedly across a flat keyboard that was covered in Raulden symbols and gradients. She would have to perform that duty anyway, because no one could order the Darlile to do anything without her express authorization…or Ron’s.

There! she growled with a deep, gritty sound…one Aanlis had never heard in the astonishingly docile environment of Gammone, on the planet Rauld. It frightened her.

What did you do? she asked sheepishly.

Cache looked around at her with fire and contempt clearly in her glaring expression. "The Darlile will hunt them down. She will track them to the ends of the galaxy if need be…and then she will destroy them!"

She said it with a voice laced with unfettered hate and wanton revenge.

Cache! Aanlis whispered cautiously, somewhat afraid of her friend’s next response. You cannot!

Why not? she demanded in a tone previously reserved for those who had earned her loathing.

She and Ron had just completed the routing of an alien race bent on the destruction of the people of Earth for the sake of stripping the planet of its natural resources. They had done what was necessary…much of it being savage and brutal. She was in no mood now to show compassion like her Raulden brethren. However, looking into the eyes of her docile, naïve friend, she suddenly felt the overwhelming need to explain.

You do not know the ways of some of the aliens out there, Aanlis. They are vile and ruthless, and I…

No, no, no, Cache. I do not question your need to defend Ron, or yourself, or this planet. It is just that these beings are the only ones who might help us find him. If you kill them…

Cache’s fingers curled around until her nails bit deeply into her palms. Aanlis was absolutely correct. This was a bad idea. Her anger had overrun her rational tendencies and steadfast logic.

Yes, yes, of course, Cache acknowledged immediately, feeling a sudden reddening in her face, the result of that embarrassing moment of rash foolishness. Her brain quickly spooled back down from the spike of fury she’d felt and settled into a more productive track. I can adjust my orders.

She quickly rescinded her kill order and modified the ship’s objective.

"All right. The Darlile will track them, disable them, and then wait for my arrival."

Arrival? To where?

Wherever the ship stops. I will utilize the ship’s onboard transporter equipment to board her from here. Prepare to deploy the backup transporter relay station!

I cannot. It is not ready.

What? Why not? I thought we kept an operational spare at all times?

We do, but when those beings broke into the last one, the Central computer immediately began recalibrating the new one to fight off any further attack. However, since we are still analyzing what actually happened, it may take a while.

How long?

"Unknown. Whatever they used against the Darlile earlier, and against the station just now, we have been unable to identify. Somehow they have found a way through our shielding. If we send out another station vulnerable to their technology, it is possible that they might use it to back-track into our own system and infiltrate Rauld’s computers. That would leave us…"

Completely at their mercy! Cache finished Aanlis’s thought with a heavy sigh and another fist slamming down on the work station.

Aanlis raised a concerned eyebrow at Cache’s demonstrative release of pent up anxiety.

Cache caught the look and waved her off. Forgive me, Aanlis, please. I have spent too much time around primitives lately.

She then dropped into her seat again dejectedly, her head in her hands. Oh, Ron, my love! I have failed you again! she said as tears spattered against the control panel.

Aanlis ignored her grieving partner and began working on the strange technology the aliens had used.

Moralis, she spoke calmly into the air, would you please summon the team and send them here?

Of course, was the only reply. It came from nowhere, and everywhere. It was the voice of the neural network of the Central Computer. Aanlis called it by a name she liked to use…even though it had no formal Raulden title.

Aanlis was an extremely gifted analyst for that type of project, as were the ten Rauldens who arrived soon after the call. They all assisted the Central Computer in breaking down the code the aliens had used and searching each string of data for clues to the their technology.

For the next few billots, Cache joined in, but even as brilliant as she was, she was quickly overwhelmed by the sheer speed the true experts (Aanlis and her cohorts) were flying through the data, so she diverted her energy to a new goal.

She decided to search for the mystery aliens through the few known physical facts they had...the space-crafts’ design and the type of scanning beam they’d used.

By sifting through the accumulated information the Rauldens had stolen from the Kreete over the preceding few cycles, she eliminated two thirds of the surrounding galaxy. That was still a daunting amount of area to cover, but it was something, and she felt at least some relief that she’d made progress by the time the Darlile had returned confirmation of her orders. It was now a five billot delay that would soon be getting longer because the ship was headed away from Rauld again, streaking to the coordinates of the previous relay buoy.

When she’d reached a dead end, not having enough information to carry forward with any real confidence, Cache began fumbling around the com station, trying to keep busy without interrupting Aanlis’s concentration…which she failed to do.

Why do you not go and be with your daughter, Cache, Aanlis finally suggested. I will contact you as soon as we find something. I promise.

Cache started to argue, but she could see the concern on Aanlis’s face and knew she was only slowing the work, so she nodded reluctantly.

On Parkanick:

The instant Ron stepped into the med station, the softly glowing light inside jumped to a higher setting, almost too bright, causing the glands in his eyes to darken slightly.

Humanoid! announced a strange, alien voice. Biped…single heart…single brain.

Ron glanced about the interior and noted several things. First was the absolute cleanliness of the space. Second was that the walls were segmented into forty-nine green sections with a foot-wide band of light separating each of them from floor to ceiling. Those bands flooded the station with bright white illumination. Third was there were no discernable pieces of equipment anywhere within sight. Fourth was that the interior was at least five feet smaller in diameter than the exterior. Lastly, the floor was a perfect mirror.

His assessment took barely a lita, and then things began to change. One segment of the wall broke free and translated inward, its base sliding toward the center while it lifted off the floor with a single support pole pushing it up. The upper portion slid down the wall until both ends were perfectly horizontal. It looked like it was made of emerald slate.

Disrobe and lie down! ordered an odd voice, seemingly out of thin air. Ron did as he was instructed, finding the slab of rock-like material to be unusually warm…at least as warm as his skin. Once prone, he watched with deep interest as the medical unit continued its metamorphosis.

The smooth walls directly adjacent to the platform suddenly erupted in a flurry of movement while the others remained stationary.

Six half-moon-shaped, hovering robots drifted swiftly out of their docking stations and took up positions (flat sides downward) two inches above Ron…one at each thigh, one for each arm, one at his head, and one over his chest. Once set, those basketball-sized drones immediately proceeded in a synchronized survey of his torso and extremities.

The Mednauts were efficient and thorough, leaving no part of him uninspected. After a complete body scan, the units returned to their beginning positions, at which time they each unexpectedly deployed webbed restraints into the table which pinned Ron down with remarkable power. Next, a new smaller scanning probe, about the size of a softball, floated slowly over his body.

Ron didn’t care for this part in the least. The feeling of helplessness was more than a little unnerving, especially in this foreign environment, but his attempts at escape were less than hopeful…futile in fact. He was well secured.

The probe focused on the area with the long gash, apparently acting as a coordinator, directing another mechanical device…one which reminded Ron of a large jellyfish…to clean the open wound with its short tentacles. There were no pain-killing sprays or shots administered, so Ron had to simply endure the process as it came.

The mednaut’s leading set of four arms scrubbed and swabbed while the next row pressed the flesh back together, and the trailing group of highly dexterous limbs applied some type of adhesive that dried instantly to a flexible, durable coating. It then repeated the process on his left thigh, where Ckess had grazed him with the blade deep enough to warrant the aid. Next it moved to his left hand…it having a broken phalange. A warm, vibrating massage of the area felt good to Ron while he wondered about what it was actually doing. A couple of borts later, the jellyfish mednaut released him and returned to its dock. When its door closed, all restraints jumped free of Ron and the units glided noiselessly back to their walled compartments.

Closure of his most grievous wounds and repair of the hand he required to perform work were all that received attention. The other non-life-threatening injuries…oozing scrapes, deep bruises, and shallow gashes…received no attention at all.

The table began sliding back to its station without one more word to Ron, so he took the initiative to regain his feet and get dressed.

That was when he found his Raulden clothing was gone, replaced by a similar garb that all the other inmates wore. It was a one-piece, sleeveless coverall that had no insignias or tags whatsoever, so his jailers’ anonymity remained intact. Ron sighed once deeply, but donned his clothing all the same. He found it to be thick and sturdy material that left him with good mobility. There were no boots with the uniform, so just as everyone else, he was barefoot.

When all the high-tech machinery was stowed away, the door opened automatically and Ron lumbered stiffly through it feeling every powerful blow he’d taken from Ckess.

Out into the stinking, burning air he went, his eyes taking in all the empty scenery that there was, which wasn’t much. The sky was dirty orange-brown in color and looked as unappealing as it smelled. The stony, desolate ground held no plant life or water, and in fact it looked like it had been artificially leveled for a distance of about one-quarter hoz around the mine’s single entry point.

There were no watch towers, no guards, no fences, and no walls.

What kind of prison is thi… his comment died in his throat when his eyes focused on the horizon.

Ron then pivoted around in place in a near stupor, having just realized that the land he stood on was incased in an enormous dome! He stared and blinked at it a few moments, and his mind desperately wanted to explore that incredible oddity, but he didn’t have the time to go all the way out to investigate just then.

With no clear way to escape, and only the most rudimentary notion of what went on at this facility, Ron chose not to begin his new life in complete contradiction to the established authority’s rules. He decided to rejoin the group. They would be able to clue him in on the strange world where he now found himself trapped.

Ron strode back up the well-worn path…one that looked as if countless booted feet had tread over it for many cycles…and headed for the solitary entrance to the mine. He stopped only once, when he stood beside the single man-made device in the entire area…other than the med-station. It was roughly cylindrical, about the size of a small car, and was the color of a dark pearl. He gave it a shove and noted it was either affixed solidly to the ground or extremely heavy because it didn’t budge a bit and it held seven small focal dishes on one side.

The giant alien with the rope had stood beside it when Ron first arrived, and so he assumed it was the device that had opened the portal to this place. It was clearly not Raulden…their device being much sleeker and only a third the size…but it was impressive in the mere fact that they had somehow bypassed the Raulden safeguards and essentially hijacked their incredibly sophisticated transporter.

But why? Ron thought. If it were some bounty-hunters who’d tricked me, wouldn’t they have delivered me to a Kreete facility…or killed me?

His speculation would have to wait though, because he was out of time, and so he pointed himself back in the direction of the mine’s entrance and moved away. He didn’t even bother trying to figure out how the transporter unit worked because it was obvious that he wouldn’t have been left alone with it if there was any possibility of him using it to escape.

The ingress pathway to whatever mining operation lay beneath the surface was nothing more than a large hole in the ground (about fifteen feet in diameter) that had been bored into the planet by what appeared to have been a plasma drill. There was no door at all, no mound of dirt and debris, and no sign or marking of any kind denoting the facility’s designation.

Ron found the entire place extraordinarily odd…almost seeming to be intentionally baffling…and would love to have been able to investigate it further, but again, he had little time to contemplate such things so he merely continued onward toward his unknown fate.

The only route was perfectly straight and angled at approximately six degrees of slope, Ron guessed, so it was easy to follow even when the darkness fell all around him.

He advanced slowly, allowing his eyes time to adjust, and found he could see quite well even after the sunlight had lost its influence. That was possible because the ramp was lit on both sides by luminaries like he’d seen on other worlds…phosphorescent stones set into the walls.

Less than a hundred feet into the hole, Ron reached the end of the entry tunnel. At that point he stepped into a large round room that had apparently been cut out by the same extremely precise machine, excavating what appeared to be solid, unbroken rock to a diameter of twenty-eight peors (yards). The walls were vertical for nearly twelve feet, where the ceiling was formed into a perfectly arched, yet very shallow dome, which peaked at only about twenty feet. Those walls were as smooth as poured concrete too, with no cracks or breaks of any kind in their surface other than the lights.

The architects had kept a flat base for the floor, but time and use had dished out a slight trough into that surface that literally pointed the way for Ron.

That expansive room turned out to be nothing more than a congregation area, or foyer, that accommodated a set of three tubular elevators. Two were large and one was small. The doors to them had been clear at one time, but were now heavily scratched and etched by cycles of use, leaving them quite fogged.

All Ron could see in the two larger ones were empty shafts…the lifts being in service down below, he assumed. The elevators’ shafts were round, approximately ten feet in diameter, and they had no obvious means of operation.

At the entrance of the smaller one however, he saw the platform setting level with the rock he was standing on. It seemed evident that it was built for a single individual (not for someone as large as Draake though, it being only four feet across) so he approached it.

Ron looked about for instructions but found none, so he stepped up to it, guessing it might be as automated as the med station. He wasn’t disappointed. The door opened silently upon his approach and he entered cautiously, resuming his search for some directions. Nothing was written inside either. He paused there for a few litas before…

What level? asked a male voice.

Ron had no idea, so he tried a different tact. Much of the technology he’d seen on Rauld responded to different types of instructions.

Take me to Draake Tarbold.

The door whisked into position immediately and the cramp little device dropped out from under him in a flash.

Ron inhaled sharply, surprised at the incredible rate of his descent. It was at least equivalent to free-fall since he couldn’t feel any pressure from the floor whatsoever, so he expected the drop to stop fairly quickly…but it didn’t.

When he could breathe again, he began to count the litas going by.

He passed lighted levels twenty times during his descent, but much too fast to make out what was happening on them. At one hundred and sixty four litas, the ride began to slow as brakes kicked in and returned gravitational inputs to his legs.

Once he felt firmness beneath him though, it kept steadily climbing far past what he was expecting, and the weight finally spiked up dramatically when the small transport came to a complete stop, forcing him to struggle for his balance.

Ron nearly collapsed to the floor of the elevator because of the pressure being generated by the moon’s gravitational pull. This close to the center of the planet diminished the centripetal force of the globe’s rotation to the point that it increased his weight by nearly twenty percent!

The door opened a few moments later and Ron staggered out into a dimly lit cavern. The air was laced with dust from the non-stop operations in the bowels of the world, yet it retained the acidic quality he’d noticed on the surface…only here it was much stronger.

This way! shouted Draake, motioning at Ron to join him at the entrance to a black pit that angled down from the main shaft. You will work with them.

Ron followed his direction and joined five other humans in a narrow crevice that dove off down and away from where they stood.

They will show you what to do, Draake said as he walked away. And remember this! No fighting in the mine! Or else!

Ron turned to the fellow nearest him…a man whose skin was as dark as the tunnel. Or else, what?

The man snickered quickly…nervously. Or else you have to fight him!

Into the darkness they plunged.

So began Ron’s life as a slave of the Kreete Triad…or so it seemed.

Chapter Three

The Crew

What’s your name? Ron asked his ebony guide. He was easily seven feet tall, lean, broad across the shoulders, and well-muscled...and the chocolate brown tuft on his head looked more like fur than human hair.

I’ve been called many things, the man said over his shoulder without turning around. My true name is Dexratlige Marrsoman Ruubin. Most people call me Dex. Here though, Draake calls me Orty.

Ron’s translator chip converted that into the literal translation of night.

They continued deeper into the tunnel, and Ron made his way more by following the sound of Dex’s footfalls than by sight.

The light seemed totally gone at first, but after a few litas Ron discovered that there was some slight luminescence radiating from the surrounding walls. It was a much weaker form of the material from the top-most tunnel and he was certain the Rauldens used that same element inside their complex, just a much more refined variety.

He followed Dex and three others for over a hoz, passing fifty side-shooting tunnels that had already been played out for the ore they sought. They were simply dark, empty vanes in what seemed like an endless system of branches. Finally though, they reached an area that was more open and lit from dozens of lights.

I gotta go help with the cutter, Dex told Ron. Stay with that guy over there…Fraidze. He’ll show you what to do.

Ron nodded but didn’t move just yet, interested in what was going on where Dex was headed.

There were more than twenty men laboring in that location. Most were scooping up remnants of rock debris left over from where the digger had bored its way through the hard rock. The device appeared as if it were straight out of the nineteenth century. It was totally mechanical with no motors, electric, internal combustion, steam powered…nothing. Instead, seven seats were placed along its length, behind the gear drives of the actual cutter. They were all in a straight line and each was situated so that the person in the seat could grasp a rod that protruded directly in front of them. Ron saw that the rod was attached to an eccentric wheel; and that to a long shaft. It was a giant, thirty five foot long piston! From the view he had, he surmised that the piston’s movement back and forth spun a large flywheel, at least six feet in diameter and three feet thick. The inertia of that wheel was what drove the cutting edges of the borer.

A couple of the men were performing some type of maintenance on the borer, and apparently it wasn’t going very well because they were ranting nonstop expletives at the uncooperative machine.

What are we mining? Ron asked the guy Dex had pointed out to him.

The fellow was a large man, as everyone there seemed to be...possibly six-foot-eight, Ron guessed...and wore his sandy-blonde hair wild and tangled as if he’d spent the last six santaris trapped on a deserted island. His arms had as much girth as Ron’s thighs, and the sleeves of his uniform were torn off from the strain of trying to cover his huge, rounded shoulders. His jaw was as square as an anvil, but his pale green eyes looked young and full of energy. Ron immediately got the impression that he was as strong as an ox, but easy going.

It’s called mardiline #5, he said in a very deep voice. It’s one of seven base ingredients for septithonian…an alloy used to build super-light, super-strong, disruptor-resistant armor sheeting.

What’s the sheeting used for?

I don’t know really. To protect something or someone, I guess.

My name’s Ron…

It won’t matter what your name is, Fraidze interjected, until Draake tells us what it is.

Ron felt his face flush with anger. He didn’t like anyone having that kind of power over him. It was insulting and humiliating. Inwardly he vowed to find some way to break that creature’s hold over him.

Don’t even think about it!

What? Ron asked, returning his thoughts to the present.

I’ve seen that look before. I’ll tell you this as a warning. You can’t beat him! No human can. He can’t be hurt.

He’s got plenty of scars that say otherwise.

Yeah…and you know how he got’em? From fighting in the arena against foes that would slaughter twenty men without blinking. They say he even killed a Redalion Tracker with just a sword and shield! The Grays’ agony wands don’t even affect him!

Ron was clearly impressed, and nodded his understanding, reevaluating his position. Thanks for the warning.

They’d reached their work area by then and Ron’s guide paused.

My name is Fraidze, by the way, but they call me Shinte here. It means something to the Benoits that I don’t understand fully…but I don’t ask.

Benoits?

Yeah, the big guy who flattened you up topside. They come from an ultra-heavy world called Benoi, in the Palidini Sector. It’s a Class eleven world.

Eleven? I thought no humanoids can survive on planets above a 10.6?

Yeah, well that’s what the gray-skins like to tell everyone…to keep any other worlds from joining them against the Triad. If someone were to advance those monsters, the Triad would get their asses kicked all the way back to Kreete.

Really?

Yeah…sark man…the Grays don’t stand a chance against those guys! It takes two Reapers in exo-suits or at least five Master Killers wearing the same, to bring a Benoi down...if they go sword to sword that is. They’re at a huge disadvantage though…the Benoits…cause their race is barely up to the Industrial Age on their world. But if they weren’t so valuable for these kinds of mining operations, the Kreete would probably have wiped them out…except maybe for sporting events. They’re amazing in the ring!

So if the Benoits hate the Kreete like the rest of us, why are they working for them?

Because the Grays can hurt them in ways they can’t fight. Draake and all his fellow ultra-heavies have families back on Benoi. Ships with disruptors…poison gas, fire, and a dozen other hellacious methods are used to keep the big men in line.

Yeah, I guess there’s always a way, Ron nodded, and then glanced around at the chore before him.

Mole, Ron told Fraidze offhandedly.

Huh? Fraidze asked in bewilderment.

Shinte means ‘mole’ in their language.

Oh…really? Well, I suppose that’s about right. I can see in the darker places where no one else can. I’m from Coriolus. It has really long nights that are very dark. Our sun is a bright yellow star but the planet rotates slowly and the atmosphere absorbs much of the starlight. We had to adapt to thrive in both environs.

Fraidze began gathering rocks he could carry, and loading them into heavy-duty carts set on iron rails, just like the old mines on Earth. Ron mimicked his actions and they continued to talk.

Hey, Fraidze said suddenly, as a light went on in his mind, If you’ve never heard of the Benoits, how can you speak their language?

Ron didn’t like exposing too much of his personal information so he thought quickly.

I had to learn it for a job I was hired to do, he said nonchalantly. I pick up languages pretty quickly. Anyway, that job fell through, so I never used it.

A job, huh? What kind of work is it that you’re into?

Ron tried not to look too annoyed. I’m what you’d call a repairman.

Oh? For what?

Ron shot him a sideways grin with an intense stare. Whatever. I fix problems…you know…make them go away.

Fraidze felt a chill race up his spine as he gazed into Ron’s glittering eyes.

Guess your last job didn’t go so well, huh? Since you ended up here, that its.

Yeah. That’s still a wonder I haven’t figured out yet.

"And what was that freaky transport that