Nomads the Risen God

By Gary Mark Lee

Nomads, the Risen God, is the third and the last in my sci-fi adventure trilogy. In the final book, the Nomads of Gorn face powerful enemies from within and from the unstoppable army of the Mac-Mar Alliance that covet the riches of their world. We follow Arn, Andra, Osh, and the rest of the Outlanders as they face the harsh winter and then travel to the Western Sea to meet old friends and hunt for the gigantic Leviathans that rule the waters. But things are not what they seem, and a force that once keep them safe is now turning against them, and a war is coming that will decide the fate of Gorn forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gary Mark Lee
• Release date: Jun 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370542963

Gary Mark Lee

Gary dedicates all his books to his loving wife Margaret who always believed in him. Gary Mark Lee was born in Pasadena California in 1947; he graduated high school then went into the entertainment field. He worked for many special effects companies in the mid 1908's then went into the theme park design business, he has worked for the Walt Disney Company, Warner Brothers and Universal Studio's and others. All three of his "Nomads of Gorn" trilogy are now uploaded and have many 5 star reviews, we hope the you will enjoy them. He and his wife live comfortably in the Riverside area of Southern California and enjoy watching old movies and having friends over to enjoy their extensive backyard where Gary has constructed a full size version of the Nautilus submarine from the Disney movie "Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea". Gary has written a number of movies scripts and short stories, all the illustrations in his books were done by him.

Book preview

Chapter 1.

The Hagars.

The people of the North are not humans. Although they have many similarities in looks and movements, their viciousness and instinct to destroy make them outcasts to any civilization. From what I have seen of their remains, they appear to be an offshoot of the Nomads but lacking in a higher form of culture than a primitive will to survive. The Outlander spat at the mention of their names and called them Hagars; in their old language, it means people without a soul.

From the writings of Oshismarie Inastro Sistashion.

Down from the lands of the North thundered those that knew no Gods. They were not demons but knew their ways; they were not Sandjar but fed on the bodies of the dead, they were not immortal, but they did not die quickly.

They were Hagars.

Creatures without souls were as old as the Outlanders, older, some said, but they never heard the word of the Goddess and killed all those that were not of their kind. They lived in the far ice-covered reaches of the harsh Northern lands and did not come down from their frozen fortress homes till the Great sun Karus grew dim, and all the lands of Gorn were shrouded in ice and snow.

The Hagars were bulky creatures, and their hard bodies were covered in thick hair. The color of dirty snow looked closely resembled the Galu from the jungles of Yug, but they were far larger, half again the height of a tall Nomad. Their heads were thick with bone, their eyes were small and set deep under heavy brows above a large mouth filled with jagged teeth, their arms were knotted with dense muscle, and their hands were broad and could easily crush a man’s skull.

They wore furs with plates of steel armor tied here and there to their massive bodies with strong strips of Rimar hide, and they carried weapons taken from slain Nomads or sometimes crudely made from bits of metal from fallen Dropships or ancient machinery of the Outlands.

They rode huge four-legged beasts covered from their large thick-skull heads to their massive hind legs with thick fur. These creatures are called Hagar-Ran; they are very powerful and use their huge teeth and sharp claws as efficient killing weapons. They feared almost nothing and could stand on their own, even against a Whiptail. They lived in the North and killed whatever they found for food, be it Ice-worms, or Sea-sliders, or humans; it was all the same to them; they had only one fear, fire. But a wise Nomad will listen for their roaring and pray to the Goddess that they were not the ones being hunted. And around the campfires, they would sing.

"Fear those that dwell in the Northern lands.

For they will come with steel in bloody hand.

When Ice-Gods scream with frozen breath.

Warriors know the skies will fill with death."

The Eternal Goddess will dance in the light.

We stand beside her and join the fight.

And with her gift, fire shall fill the sky.

Then all who fear the sun will die."

Death to the Hagars! Arn shouted as he dug his long iron spurs into the armored flanks of his roaring Whiptail, Show no mercy, for you shall find none!

The sharp claws of the King’s Whiptail dug deep into the soft ground sending up clouds of snowflakes as it charged for the oncoming icemen; it opened its gaping mouth and emitted a roar in anticipation of the carnage that was to come.

Kill them all! cried the woman that rode by his side. Andra, or Moonbud, as the Outlanders called her, lifted her war ax high above her helmeted head and made herself ready for the battle. She, like her mate, was filled with the killing madness, and neither of them would turn away.

In front of them rode a hundred or more Ice-warriors; their animal cries could be heard echoing through the narrow icicle-shrouded canyon that the two armies now raced down. The Nomads were the same in numbers, but when it came to fighting skills, they far exceeded the primitive instincts of the Icemen. But they knew that many would be killed; then, as the canyon walls rumbled with pounding feet, the two sides met in a din that echoed in the chilled air.

At first, the warriors from the North had the advantage, for the weight of their beasts was greater than the mounts of the Outlanders. They crashed full force into the oncoming Whiptails, and their claws began to rip them deeply. Several of the Nomads were killed outright, and Hagar’s victory cries could be heard above the chaos, but it was not to last long, for the Outlanders had a weapon that could not be beaten.

Fire.

Behind the first wave of Nomads was a row of mounted warriors, each holding a chain that was attached to a large clay pot of burning Eul and oil; they swung them over their heads around and around, making ribbons of flame and waited for the King to give the order to release them.

Force them together, Arn called out to his blood-mad warriors as he hacked right and left with his heavy ax, and with each mighty swing, a Hagar died screaming. He glanced over to see his mate being attacked from both sides by two howling Icemen, so he pulled on the reins hard and, turning his Whiptail around sharply, he saw its long spike tail strike out and rake the side of one of the Hagar-Ran, wounding it gravely. With a roar, it rose on its heavy hind legs and shook the massive iceman from its back, and then it brought its huge paw down upon the warrior’s head, crushing it like a field melon.

Now with only one Iceman to deal with, Moonbud faced her opponent. His features were a mask of animal fury, eyes burning with hate, and a gaping mouth that showed sharp teeth ready to rip into her soft flesh. Any woman of the Outer Rim would have screamed in terror and waited for her life to end, but Andra was no such female. Trained as a soldier and accepted as a warrior of the Almadra, she killed many enemies and earned the name Moonbud, the flower that kills. Now she evaded the crude weapon of the roaring Hagar and swung out with her deadly ax, her aim was true, and it caught the Iceman in the neck and sent his thick skull flying through the air and showering her with its blood.

Seeing that his mate was safe, the King shouted out to his warriors behind. Let go of the fire! And hearing his command, the Outlanders obeyed; with one last swing, they let go of the holding chains, and the firepots sailed over the heads of the forward warriors and landed in the middle of the charging Icemen. When they hit, the soft clay broke apart, and fire spewed out like a rain of death; the Icemen roared in fury as the oil engulfed their hairy flesh; in an instant, the battle turned to the side of the Outlanders, and they charged forward shouting their terrifying battle cries.

Enraged by the fire, the Hagars began to turn and run, and those that stood their ground were cut down and their bodies trampled over by the oncoming Whiptails. Now it was only a matter of watching the remaining Icemen run from the canyon and disappear into the mist. Arn and his warriors watched them go, and when nothing more could be seen of their enemy, they shouted out the victory cry of their tribe.

For a moment, Andra wanted to race after them. But her soldier’s training had taught her to think before she acted, and knowing that more of the Icemen might be lurking just beyond the mist made her lower her weapon and breathe in the cold air to cool her hot blood.

Are you hurt? asked Arn as he shook the blood from his war ax.

No, I’m fine, Andra replied as she wiped the dead Hagar’s life fluid from her face.

Seeing his mate covered in the blood of an Iceman made the Nomad King feel very proud; she is a strong warrior, he thought, and she is mine.

And it was true that Moonbud was indeed the mate of the King, and there were no warriors who would challenge that, and although she was not one of their kind, she had proven herself repeatedly in battle and with her wise words.

And Andra was content to share a tent with the Nomad; she loved him very much and would have gladly given her life for his. Now they sat easy on their mounts and waited till the warriors of the Almadra were gathered around them.

See to the wounded and gather up the dead, the King ordered. And his words were obeyed quickly, for Arn was the son of a King and possessed that unique power that gave him control over his people. After the King made sure the narrow canyon was safe, he sent word back to their camp to tell everyone that the Hagars had been defeated.

The Almadra had wandered through the Outlands since they had left the emerald forests of Caltarine, and they did this without the King, for he had left them to find his way through a dark time in his life. But they did not give up hope, and when the first snows of winter began to fall, he returned to them, rescued by Andra, his mate. He needed the healing powers of the Touchtenders and the magic of Grana, the green salt, to make his body strong again. Add to this the love of Moonbud, and he was brought back from that place beyond pain, but it was done, and now he was King once more; now all prayed to Isarie for her mercy and wisdom for the return of their wise leader.

And none prayed stronger than Egmar the Holy Mother, for it was her son that was brought back from the pit of despair.

The speaker of the Gods sat in her chamber surrounded by her loyal Thungodra; it was warm inside, for the outside openings had been closed, and small braziers added much-needed heat to the great wagon. Still, the old woman wrapped herself in a long fur cape and sipped a freshly brewed cup of Deep root tea. The rare tea was very hard to find and should not have been drunk by a Holy Mother, for it would have been seen as an indulgence by the faithful. But Egmar saw it as only a little sin and always prayed very hard afterward to satisfy the Gods.

She took another slow sip of the delicious brew and then put the delicate golden cup on the small table before her; she sat there for a moment or two, letting the taste of the tea fill her senses. Then she turned to look at the ornate book lying before her.

The Book of Isarie, she told her mind, its wisdom is complete; it was not an easy thing she did now, for the former Queen still remembered her madness when she turned from the face of the Goddess and walked in the darkness of sin. I was forgiven by Isarie herself.

And it was true, for the Goddess did indeed show herself to the old woman in the forests of Caltarine, and there she told her of the love that would always be hers and why the Gods had used her to save her world.

As the old woman placed her hands on the ancient scriptures, she looked over at a small wooden table in the corner of her chamber; sitting beside a small golden statue of the Goddess was a strange sight. The quarters of the Holy Mother were for her comfort and a place where she could reflect on the writings of Isarie and the wisdom of the Gods, so in keeping with that tradition, it was furnished to suit those ends, a soft bed, a few tables and chairs, a chest for clothing and many well-carved statues depicting all the different Gods and Goddesses that the Outlanders prayed too.

It was not a place of luxury and did not have the trappings of a King’s tent or even those of a wealthy family. But it was enough for Egmar, for she found riches in her faith but nevertheless, the thing that sat on the table was strange indeed, for it was a severed head.

You would have thought it was a helmet of some kind. Well fashioned from steel and iron and made to fit the whole head rather than the helmet that most Nomads wore. It had no horns like most Outlander’s armor possessed, and it seemed a bit too large for a human head, but the most startling thing about it was its eyes. They were not the eyes of anything natural; they were made of glass and steel, and you saw no soul looking into them.

My son, Egmar said in her mind, my forgotten son. And it was true, for the strange metal head once belonged to the one she named Rahash but was known to others as the Darkman, the Shadowman that caused so much pain and death before being destroyed by his twin, King Arn.

The Holy Mother found the ruined head on the smoldering battlefield and brought it back to be buried, but she found that she could not bring herself to entomb the last remains of her abandoned child in the cold earth. So, breaking the sacred laws of her tribe, she placed the relic in her chambers so that she might look at it and remember the great wrong that she had done to her dead offspring. I am sorry, my son, she whispered, but I had to choose, and the Gods guided my hand. But her words did not ease her pain, for she knew that the choosing was hers and hers alone, so turning away, she opened the book of the Goddess and began to read.

Some distance from the Holy Mother, another wagon sat alone, it was not a large Karrack, and only one small Trofar pulled it. But it was far greater than what should have been needed for only one man and a companion. Beside it was a tent that was also very plain in appearance, without markings or symbols to ward off demons or other dark creatures of the Outlands. The wagon itself was not ornately painted like all the others of the tribe, but it did bear a simple appearance that told everyone that it was the home of the wise man from the stars.

For all its plainness on the outside, the inside was a treasure-trove of knowledge, for the old man was a gatherer of wisdom. Filling much of the wagon and the necessities of life were artifacts and samples of the many places and things that the Callaxion had seen and done. There were baskets full of carved stones and rare animal bones, racks of different plant species and minerals, glass bottles of colored liquids, and powders of all kinds. But what filled the greater part of the Karrack was a large amount of Rimar hides scrolls, all of them written by the Off-World scholar. The information contained in those parchments would have been greatly prized on any planet of the Outer Rim. It would have garnered the author a richly deserved prize by any of the great universities, but for now, they would belong to a little-known seeker of truth who sat huddled against the bitterness of winter.

Osh was not used to the cold, for his Homeworld had a constant temperature and saw no winter or summer, and although he had spent considerable time on other worlds, he had never adapted to the extremes that Gorn was subject to. Now the old Callaxion sat near a burning fire of Eul by his tent, trying his best not to let the cold wind chill his tired bones.

Why do the Gods always find me to torment? it was not a fundamental question, for the old man knew that the cold wind and the adverse climate were only the results of the planet moving further away from its primary star and not the wanton act of vengeful deities. But knowing this did little to cool his anger. Endo, Endo! Where is that boy? then he remembered that his adopted son was no longer traveling with him, for he was mated now and had his tribe to care for.

You are getting to be a silly old man; he told himself as he pulled the thick fur robe tighter around his slim shoulders and took a deep sip of his tea that gave him some comfort against the biting cold. But knowing that the odds of seeing his son again were very small made the chilling wind seem even colder.

The aged man did not travel alone, for with him was the strange girl born from the body of the Kings mate. She was called Niana; it was not a name that a Nomad would give to a female of the tribe, but her mother was Andra, the name of her mother. And Moonbud loved her mother very much and saw the same look of love in the eyes of her daughter, and being a mother, she overlooked the other things that set her apart.

All Nomads, no matter what tribe they belonged to, were similar, tall, strong, and able to withstand the hardships of their world without complaint, they lived off the land, and the land cared for them. They sang and danced and loved the feel of the warm suns on their faces.

Niana did not. The young girl was small and thin with pale, almost translucent skin; her features were delicate and bore a resemblance to the images of the Goddess Isarie. And while the eyes of the Outlanders were dark, her eyes were a deep blue and seemed to look beyond into a world that only she could know. She did not venture out in the light of day; only when the moons rose in the night sky would she emerge from hiding and walk under the stars. She spoke very little, and her answers seemed to have a hidden meaning, but what set her apart from all others was the fact that she did not eat.

Nomads relished the taste of fresh Rimar and the smell of warm Kasha bread; they ate heartily and drank deep of well-aged Po. But the strange girl would not fill her mouth with such things; she only consumed the precious green salt called Grana. The crystal was considered a gift from the Gods, taken with ceremony, and used as an offering at religious gatherings. The Salt of the Earth, they called it, and no living thing on Gorn could survive without it. That was because of the Plague that infected everyone and had no cure; consuming Grana at regular intervals was the only way to keep the Angel of Death at bay. All these things and the fact that she was born from a union of a King and an Off-Worlder made her an Outcast, someone that should be avoided. And seeing that she would be in danger if left on her own, Moonbud asked her old friend to let her ride in his wagon and make sure she was not alone. And to make certain that an overzealous Nomad would not harm her, the King ordered that no Almadra should cause her harm under penalty of death.

The young girl sat quietly in the back of the old man’s Karrack; near her was a small Washa, the indispensable stove that all Nomads carried with them. Mainly used for preparing meals, it now occupied a corner of the vehicle and sent out a radiant heat from the Eul that it burned. But Niana did not feel the heat or the cold. She sat and looked into nothingness, but that nothingness was filled with wisdom that only she could understand.

When the battle with the Hagars was over, the Nomads gathered up their dead and bore them with them as they returned to their camp; they would be washed and dressed in their finest armor and laid to rest. The golden Journey-nail that hung around their necks would be driven into their hands so that they might hold their weapons as they moved into the Afterlife. The Handmaidens would sing songs, and the Holy Mother would bless their devotion to the Goddess and write their names in the Book of Isarie so that generations to come would remember their names and know that they died defending their tribe.

Then the King would speak of their strength and how they had fought well and died well and ask the Goddess to give them a place of honor in the Golden Hall. And when all was done, they would put them into the earth with a cup of Well-aged Po and a plate filled with succulent Rimar and fresh Kasha bread. And then all the members of the tribe, old and young, would place a stone on top of their graves, weep for them, and ask the Gods to welcome them.

So, it was done, and when it was over, the Elders returned to their tents, and the children went with them, but the warriors sat long into the night and told stories of their courage.

Andra sat near a large fire of burning Eul; she had removed most of her armor but retained the closely-knit chain mail worn over a woven bodysuit of a soft cloth. On her feet was a pair of heavy skin boots with fur lining, and over her shoulders hung a warm cape of white fur. Like all Nomads, her war ax, or Tooth as it was known, lay near her, always ready in case of attack; she sipped a tankard of warm Po and listened to the other warriors as they recounted the events of the day.

I was the first into battle, said one warrior as he took a deep draft of his sour brew.

That is because you were behind me! said a tall female near him.

I had already killed three Hagars by the time you both entered the fight, bragged another as he bit into a chunk of juicy meat in his thick hand.

Moonbud had to smile as she listened to the talk around the campfire; no matter where you go, all soldiers tell the same stories of courage and bravery. And having been a lieutenant in the army of the Selcarie, her words were true; she had fought in many battles, sat around many campfires, and listened to men and women tell of their heroics. She also knew that it was mostly to hide their fear and the sorrow that they felt for those that did not return.

Next to her sat the King; he was listening to the stories of bravery and how they had defeated their enemy. He still wore his armor, and here and there, it was stained with the blood of a Hagar; on his head, he wore the horned helmet of the Nomads, and around his waist hung the two daggers that the Outlanders called the dragon’s teeth. Over his broad shoulders hung a dark fur cape, and it seemed to add even more size to his muscular frame. He took a deep drink of his Po, then he turned and looked into his mate’s eyes and suddenly stood up and spoke in a loud, clear voice.

We are victorious, but we have paid the price, he lifted his cup to the night sky, may the Gods smile on those who died, and may they sit in the golden hall of Isarie until the end of time.

And hearing the words of their wise King, the warriors stood up and lifted their cups skyward and spoke as one. Isarie roc torgo, Isarie is great! Andra had also said the words, for she was learning the ancient language of the Nomads; she found that certain words held more meaning than the common language of the Outer Rim planets, which was how most humans communicated now.

When the toast was over and the warriors returned to their tales of courage, Arn suddenly got up and moved away from the blazing fire, and seeing her mate do this, Andra did the same. They both walked some distance from the others and then stopped by a large jagged boulder that had fallen from the high cliffs; they did not speak for a time but looked up at the night moons that moved slowly through the star-speckled heavens.

It will be a clear sky tomorrow, said the King in a soft voice, and he was glad that the skies had been strange lately and hard to predict.

Yes, it will, replied Andra, but she knew that the weather was not what was on the mind of her mate; ever since they had lain together in the Hollow Hills during the Burning Time, they had shared the ability to know what the other was feeling. That power had proved itself a blessing and a curse, but it was something that they had together, and now the Off-World girl reached out and saw the image in the mind of her mate. Darkness, he sees only darkness.

It had taken a very long time for the King to return to what he once was; when he had eaten the Death Shadow flower, he had forgotten all that he was and became a warrior of death and destruction. He had wandered the Outlands killing all that crossed his path and would have continued on that dark road if not for Andra finding him and returning him to his people. All through the long dark winter, she stayed by his side, nursing him, talking to him, forcing him to remember all he once was. Sometimes it seemed that he would never see the light of reason again, but their love was strong, and, in the end, they were reunited.

With light, there comes darkness, and no matter how hard she tried, the shadows were always near. Look at me, she said.

Slowly Arn turned his gaze from the night sky and looked into her eyes. She lifted her hand and touched his cheek.

I will always be here for you her voice held more than words; it was filled with love.

The King did not speak, but he took her into his strong arms and held her tight; as they stood there, high overhead, the tiny moon that had risen when the Goddess gave birth slowly moved through the night sky. The Nomads had named it Andra after the mate of their King, and all who looked at it knew that Isarie was watching them and that they were not alone.

Chapter 2.

The Golden cup.

DATE:19776-3, reference point central registry.AA1.

PLACE: inter-chamber of the Mac-Mar Alliance.

PURPOSE----RESTRICTED.

All further inquirers must have a LEVEL ONE or above to have access; knowledge of the subject is coded with an active recognition hunter; upon finding a non-cleared inquirer, it will TERMINATE said person or persons information of their existence will be erased from Data-coms.

By order of the Supreme Chairman of the central ambassadorial representatives of the M-M-A.

CONTINUE.

The Outer Rim consortium of the Mac-Mar Alliance was used to having things their way; after all, they were one of the most potent inter-planetary transporters and had a majority share in the first and secondary commodities exchange of the gathering of civilized worlds. It also had agreements with the Prymax trading unions and the Markins. Its wealth was not easily estimated, but it was indeed on the same level as the Supreme Believers in Capitalism or the underground vaults of the Trolons; even a single share in that vast organization would have granted you a lifetime of pleasure having your every wish granted. To some, it was not enough.

A wise man once said, Greed is a golden cup that cannot be filled there are some who would argue that point.

The commerce planet for the profit organizations of the Outer Rim had once been an

An unremarkable world without any inherent value or worth. But its location put it in a perfect orbit to be used as a gathering point for trading unions and other profit-motivated consortiums. What had once been little more than a barren orb was now one of the most luxurious worlds ever inhabited; great houses built from the rarest of materials were typical, and nowhere did you see the slightest sign of decay. And by far, its most imposing structure was the Great Hall of Prosperity.

Why have our efforts proved futile, and who is responsible for this failure?

Those in the ornate chamber of the inter-counsel were very reluctant to answer the Chairman because they remembered the last person who had failed and what had happened to him.

After an uncomfortable silence, one nervous official spoke up.

The fault is not with our efforts but with the obstacles that must be overcome, my lord. The person who spoke was a Margalian named Cortus-Tor, tall and razor-thin; he had a hook nose and unrevealing eyes. He was one of those countless officials that littered the chambers of the Outer Rim governments, intelligent, calculating, and unwilling to take the blame for anything. He now stood with his head bowed, hoping that his words would not offend the Chairman.

The Supreme Chairman was named Vocarus-Prodonus; his homeworld was a planet called Negodra 4, a rather unpleasant biosphere where only those who could take what they wanted would stay alive and rise to the top. Having raised very high, the Supreme Chairman did not take failure well. He was not a tall man by any means, but his girth and demeanor made him a formidable opponent; he had a fat face and a broad flat nose, and behind closed doors, they referred to him as a Borbo. A name given to a sizeable foul-smelling grub eater of the Outer Rim planets, but few ever dared to utter that name lest they vanish without a trace.

Vorcarus leaned his massive golden-robed bulk over the huge conference table. They stared down at the holographic map showing a great primary star with a smaller secondary sun and a large planet with several orbiting moons.

How can this one little world stand between us and our profits? then he turned to look into the face of Cortus once more, send in our collectors and take what we need. If the planet is acquired, I will be able to complete the agreements with the Prymax and double my profits, he thought.

Again, there was silence, then another official came forward, and this one was a Callaxion, a humanoid with the ability to interface with the powerful Trolacian computers and Data-Coms. His name was Prodor Morgan Dorporcorian, and like all of his species, he had a large head with an import connection and slim nail-less fingers; he cleared his throat then spoke in a soft intelligent voice. If I may clarify, the celestial body you refer to is not an ordinary planet; it has a unique Electro-magnetic pulse that renders all advanced mechanical systems useless. All efforts to place a permanent station on the surface have ended in disaster.

Have these losses been substantial? having the Chairman ask this was not good, for if the losses were too great, it meant that someone would pay with their life. But luckily, Cortus-Tor found the courage to speak.

The losses have not been sufficient to warrant retribution. We have acquired substantial profits by using the world as a depository for unwanted populations and outmoded warships. Our agreement with the Markins assures us a more than adequate growth margin.

This seemed to satisfy the alliance leader, so the Callaxion moved to the table and adjusted several knobs so that the image of the planet was enlarged. As you can see, the planet has deep oceans, large fertile plains, and a vast amount of valuable mineral deposits; we place its wealth at a level two or above. Anything above a level four made the Chairman’s mouth water and hearing that it could yield a level two or more in riches made him even more eager to acquire it.

Simply bring in the orbital enforcers and blast whatever is sending out the pulses and destroy it! the Chairman said. We have done this many times before, and the profits have been worth it. His voice was slowly filling with frustration, and everyone waited for the Callaxion to remain the target of that anger, and they were happy when he spoke again.

I am sorry to say, but the pulses emanate from deep within the planet itself, a naturally accruing phenomenon, some say, while others have a theory that it’s due to some kind of lifeform. Again the Callaxion manipulated some dials. Several moons appeared in the image, we have been monitoring the planet for some time now and have sent down jumper-ships to collect samples of animal life and scientific information. We have more than one thousand genetic cross-references starting with a very interesting form of….

Yes, all very well and good, the Chairman’s voice was becoming angrier, but are there any obstacles that we need to eliminate?

The word obstacles was a polite way of saying if there were any intelligent creatures that might put up a fight when they came to take what they wanted. At this time, a General of the Combined Forces of Peace stepped forward. His name was Ivar-Anoon, known throughout the Outer Rim as Ivar the victorious. This name fits him very well because he had never lost a war and prided himself on the casualties he could inflict on his enemy. He was not a tall man, and if it was not for the overly ornate uniform that he wore, you might take him for a seller of hover ships or perhaps a dealer in pleasure perfumes, his face was impassive, and with his shaven head, he looked rather forgettable for the most part.

But he had practiced long and hard before a reflection plate and could cause fear with just a glance. He marched up to the Chairman, and after giving an overzealous salute, he spoke.

I have studied the intel-coms and can say that the indigenous humanoids now inhabit that planet are little more than savages and would be of no concern to a contingent of well-armed pacifiers. Victory would come quickly.

Again, the word pacifiers was not a truthful interpretation, but it was more easily excepted than an invading army of well-paid mercenaries trained to kill anything in their way.

Then I don’t see the problem? the Chairman smiled.

Once more, the Callaxion stepped forward, Might I remind you that the electromagnetic pulses would disable any machinery, targeting devices, and directional equipment, and then there is the matter of the plague.

Plague? Vorcarus asked; for all the Chairman’s forceful mannerisms, he was dreadfully afraid of diseases, so much so that he had long given up his sexual activities. At least he caught CMA or Vermanyon syndrome. But he still used his personal gratifier, of course.

Prodor tapped more buttons on the holographic table. A molecular configuration appeared, this disease infests all creatures on the planet. It has no cure, but regular intakes of a certain complex mineral will stave off death and restore good health; the natives call it Grana.

And this Grana will enable our pacifiers to complete their assignment? the Supreme Chairman’s voice sounded hopeful.

Yes, it would, the Callaxion replied, but it is only found on the planet and cannot be duplicated, and without mass-drilling equipment, we cannot extract it from the ground.

The Supreme Chairman began to move away from the table and pace up and down; it was a sign that he was thinking, and everyone understood not to question him. At last, he returned to the table, looked at his officials, and spoke; this time, his voice was soft, but it still carried a great deal of menace.

So, our problem is this; we have a planet rich in wealth but with no way of extracting it. Is this correct?

That is correct, replied the Callaxion.

THEN WHY ARE YOU WASTING MY TIME! he yelled, pounding his fat fist upon the Hologram table, causing it to short out for a moment. Fools, I’m surrounded by fools and wasting profits.

There was silence for a time, then Prodor found the courage to speak, If I may, my lord, as I said, we have been monitoring the planet for a great deal of time now, and we have detected something that may work to our advantage.

And what is that? Vorcarus asked with a frown on his face.

The Callaxion adjusted the Hologram until it showed a clear picture of the world in question, the Electromagnetic pulses are declining. For a moment, the information didn’t register in the mind of the Chairman. Then with a sudden flash of understanding, he smiled. So, you’re saying that soon we will be able to land on the planet and reap its rewards? Prodor nodded his large head (yes). How soon? the obese creature asked.

The orbit of the planet has reached its furthest apogee from its primary star and is now moving into a closer proximity; if the magnetic impulses continue to subside at their current rate, we should be able to take control in six-point nine standard time references.

Knowing what the Supreme Chairman was about to say, General Ivar stepped forward, I can have a fleet of our most powerful enforcer ships in orbit over the planet filled with our best men when that time comes it will be a glorious victory. Vorcarus-Prodonus began to rub his thick hands together in anticipation of the wealth that would soon be filling them. Seeing that their chairman was content, the officials in the room began to smile.

Then the wealthiest man in the Outer Rim gazed at the world’s image that would soon be his, and turning to the Callaxion; he asked, And what is the name of this prize?

The planet is in the Gornogal section with a file number of one, one, nine, seven, six, U,P,O, but commonly known as Gorn.

Gorn? The Chairman asked, A rather silly name. And hoping the head of the Alliance had made a jest, the others in the room began to laugh softly.

The world of Gorn was emerging from its frozen sleep; its orbit had taken it far from its primary sun and was now returning it to its warm embrace; the heat of Karus, the larger sun, was welcomed by the creatures of the world, now they could come out of there hibernation and live in the brightness once more. Micos, the smaller secondary sun, had traveled with Gorn as she moved through the outer darkness, but her meager light was only enough to keep life going and not strong enough to grow. Together the two brother suns would join, and the land would flourish.

Rimar, Ax-breakers, Doff birds, Dagger-mouths, and all the other strange life forms that made Gorn their home began to move over the hard ground; even the all-powerful Earthshakers rose, filling the sky with their awesome presents. Bark Bees, Blaze ants, Arrowtails, and even the tiny Burrow Babies began to scurry about in their never-ending search for food. From the far-off forests of Caltarine to the shores of the Western Sea, life was waking. But there was one place that the twin suns never shone, the place the Egan-Mar called home.

Deep beneath the ground was the domain of the Earth-Eaters; they spent their entire lives toiling with hand and tool, and without the warmth of the sky, they ate Brillcaps and any creature that crossed their path, their bodies were heavily muscled, and their skulls were thick, to look at them you would see, little difference between the males and females other than the fact that the females were a bit smaller. Their jaws were massive, but their eyes were small and of little use, for they relied on smell and hearing rather than sight; they wore the dried skins of the Giant Rockworm, the vicious creature the Sandjar miners call Gorno; to this, they added small bits of metal for protection, their tools consisted of crude picks and shovels and other digging devices.

They dug endlessly, for that was their nature, but there was one other reason, Grana, the green salt that all creatures of Gorn must consume to live; most animals obtained it from eating the grasses or roots that absorbed the mineral, others, like the Norgonie of the Caltarine forests got it from eating worms that burrowed in the ground, but the Nomads had only one way of obtaining the needed salt, they traded with the Ergan for it. The Miners dug it out and gave it to the Outlanders, and in return, the diggers got loaves of Stone Bread, heavily spiced baked dough that the Nomads made just for them; to them, it was a fair trade, for they relished the taste of the hard fare. The Miners lived throughout the lands of Gorn, but no one had ever ventured into their underground homes and returned to tell what they had seen; if they did, they would have seen a marvel of construction, miles upon miles of intricate tunnels and caves, endless levels that went from just below the surface to far below if they had not possessed the same power of direction that the Nomads had they would have been hopelessly lost. The tunnels were lit in a dim glow by Starfall, an organic moss that gives off an incredible light and allows the Ergan to see a little in the darkness.

Now a small band of Miners dug in a section of earth they had never ventured into; the group was led by a large man whose name was Tark; names mattered little to the Egan but having a label meant that you were strong and a leader and Tark was that by any standard, he was a head taller than most of his kind and his strength was massive, he could do the work of any two of his species and took the pick of the females in his tribe.

Hunnnk! the leader growled as he swung his heavy pick, and as he did, the chunks of rock spun through the air and showered the other miners with choking dust; again and again, he attacked the hard stone, and more fragments fell to the ground, then with one last blow a large section of earth gave way and tumbled to the floor of the tunnel. One of the miners was crushed to death, but this had little effect on the others, for death was expected, and they paid little notice.

When the dust had cleared, the Earth-Eaters saw a strange sight, for there before they were a large metal door. Ergan-Mar had no use for doors or anything; their tunnels were always open unless there was a cave, so seeing such an obstacle momentarily stopped them from their work.

Then after a moment or two, Tark moved forward and placed his large hand on the steel access; it was rough and cold to the touch, the surface was pitted with age, and there was no sign of a handle or latch, again this meant nothing to the miners, and with a growl, Tark swung his