The Way of the Matring: Book One

By Chelle McNally

Shyann Dinico was ready to leave her planet. Behind her, there was nothing but pain, tragedy, and lossthe loss of family and the loss of love. In an effort to escape, she agreed to take part in a voluntary mission to a new world, far from home. She would act as a chaperone to a group of young women. She would help them learn and assimilate to their new culture; they would help her move beyond past pain.

She never dreamed shed meet Commander Sarden Nemarco and fall in love with him, after all she had lost on her own planet. Nemarco can hardly believe it himself. A man of duty, he does not have time for love. Even so, there is something about Shyann that he cant turn away from, and his passionthe Matringcannot be appeased without their love.

When one of his kind is found murdered, however, Nemarco finds himself investigating the visitors from Shyanns planet. It is believed that one of the exchange women from space may be to blame. Nemarco cant believe Shyann could be involved. Can he protect her from his own people, or will tragedy strike again in the form of death and lost love? Only the Matring knows.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Mar 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781458202574

Chelle McNally

Chelle McNally’s first love was Edgar Allen Poe; she has always had a fascination with mystery and intrigue. She currently lives in New York.

Book preview

Prologue

Kylar? Kylar, are you okay? Where are we? she tried to keep the fear out of her voice. It wouldn’t help them to be afraid.

She flinched, raising an arm to the light as a sparkle of electricity flashed on the console beside her.

I’m okay. Just stay put. The co-pilot wasn’t in his seat, neither was the rest of the crew. Uncle Seamus? he called for him, but there was no answer. They had went back amidst the turbulent flight when the trouble started to see if they could fix the frozen controls.

I can’t move, she tugged on the straps.

They could hear the creaking of metal and cries of the other people. They sounded so distant, and terrified.

She coughed, her lungs burning with the acrid taste of sulfur and burnt rubber in her nose.

Smoke was filling the compartment fast, and then the fire system kicked in sucking it all away.

I couldn’t…I-I couldn’t control the landing, he unbuckled his harness painfully. We crashed, Annie-bug.

He always called her that. Don’t move until I check you out. Are you hurt, do you hurt anywhere? he was more concerned for her welfare than his own.

No, I’m okay. You’re bleeding, though.

He swiped at the drop of blood on his temple, It’s just a little cut. He didn’t want her to worry over him. She would, if she thought he was hurt bad enough. The power relays must be broken, it’s getting cold already. Where‘s your coat?

He helped her from her harness, it was too tight across her chest for her to get the latch to release. He pulled his knife and cut it, holding her so she wouldn‘t fall.

What happened? she asked as he did.

We hit a micro shower. It was too…, the second belt, doing its job too well, was crushing her to the seat, and he was having a hard time getting his knife between her and the belt, …the debris was too little for the radar to pick up. Hold it in, I don‘t want to cut you.

She sucked in her stomach and he pulled the blade hard. The belt gave way under the sharp edge. Kylar made his way to the cargo hatch after helping her down. The ship had landed at an angle and her seat was tilted on the higher side. The tiny rocks had passed thru the hull at enormous speed triggering an avalanche of failures in the systems all throughout the ship.

He tried the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

It’s jammed. It must be off center. The ship twisted when we crashed, I think.

There were faint noises on the other side.

Shyann put her ear to the door, Oh, god, Kylar, they’re in pain. I can hear them, they’re in terrible pain.

I can’t get the door open! he was getting angry, he could hear them too. There’s nothing we can do for them now, not until I can cut thru this door. He cursed, The torch is on the other side in the cargo bay.

He half-heartedly pounded the door with a fist and then looked at her. Annie-bug….

He had to stay focused and in charge. They were depending on him, she was depending on him. He peeled off his coat and put it on her shoulders, You need to stay warm.

Kylar, she put her hand to her mouth as she listened, her ear pressed harder to the cold steel. Kylar? her eyes focused on him.

The cries of pain nearest the door, turned to cries of horror and fear. What is that? he heard the sound of a voice he didn’t recognize. As far as he knew this planet was uninhabited. Too cold to sustain life. Was someone already here to rescue them? He banged on the door, Hello? We’re in here!

A sharp scraping sound drew down the length of the door. Must be one of the passengers, she could hear the voice of a man against the other side, who had crawled up to it hoping to get thru.

Stay calm, Kylar yelled, we’ll try and get thru.

His muffled voice was in a panic. The echo of his pounding fists passed thru and then it sounded like he threw himself against it. A large thud followed by a sudden piercing scream vibrated on the door and then silence.

Kylar? the dreaded question was on her lips, He’s not…

Sh, sh, sh, he quieted her with a concerned finger to his lips. He was trying to hear. His head jerked away from the metal door as another sound scraped like nails on a chalkboard, down the same area as the other noises.

Over and over.

He backed away, pulling her with him. It’s trying to get in.

What is it? she was afraid.

I don’t know, but whatever it is, it doesn’t sound friendly.

And then the endless banging began.

Shyann startled awake from her dream. An older man, dressed in a uniform and wearing a silver medallion decorated cap stepped out from the cargo hold carrying a crate full of bottles and wrapped packages. He had shut the door firmly behind him.

She was still tired, but okay, having just fell sleep, her head jostling in the corner of the head rest of her isle seat. She wasn’t afraid this time. Her brother’s memory cast a calming influence over the usual shadows. Shadows that normally deepened during space travels.

No one was watching her, no one knew. The dreams came and went at will, some more intense than the mild one she just woke from.

He reached in as he walked down the aisle and took out one of the clear bottles filled with a yellow-orange fruit juice. Nalada juice they called it.

Care for a refreshment? the older man held one out for her to take. The shadows melted completely away.

No thank you, Captain. I’m fine.

He smiled politely with a nod and continued on. Yep, she relaxed again, everything was going to be okay.

Part One

There was no one left, but her.

All the others had left the ship and assembled in the yard, while she slowly--and purposely--took her time to gather her things. Even the friendly gray haired Captain was nowhere to be seen.

The man reminded her of a cherished uncle she’d lost so long ago, and like her uncle, he was so easy to talk to. All he did was to offer them refreshments and she gathered her conclusion of him in the few moments he’d spoken to her. It was strange, but he didn’t feel like a stranger to her.

As she had listened to the passengers she began to wonder. Could the rumors actually be true?

She thought she’d be more anxious on the trip, in this craft, but his presence was strangely soothing and calming. Like the familiar feeling she would get as a very small child, when her father would cradle her in his arms to comfort her during the nightmares. Or like her brother did the times she would grieve for her parents after they died. They died when she was a little girl during a trip not so unlike this. He took it upon himself to raise her, taking her on every trip he made.

Her brother…now he was gone, too.

As she hung back, a slight anxiety filled the pit of her stomach and subconsciously she wondered where the Captain was. It took a lot of courage and hard work for her to make it thru the interviews and then the training. More especially the flight thru space. But the trip had ended safely and sooner than she had expected.

She had craved for something new, and this venture seemed promising. The interplanetary exchange program. A peaceful exchange of knowledge between the cultures and planets. A planet much more civilized than her own, so it seemed. Her hopes were set on it being true.

Volunteering to join the program as a chaperone for the younger girls--until they became accustomed to the new environment, that is-- gave her a way out. Or so she hoped it would.

She prayed it would.

But the moment she stepped foot in the transport, it was much more than that. A never look back kind of thing.

On the trip over, the people were all excited about the new adventure they would have and eagerly awaited the landing, so they could begin. But the air was tense, hushed, in the beginning.

The three school age girls had huddled in their corner, talking non-stop about winning the tickets to see the new world for a whole week.

They joyfully chattered the whole way in the transport from the sky platform to the planet’s loading platform. The Admiral’s daughter was there to meet them and show them the way to their quarters the moment they landed. And to their surprise, she had a daughter about their age waiting there as well.

New comers and children were not the only passengers onboard the transport. Half a dozen, strangely dressed people, who had been visiting another world -her world- sat together in another part of the cramped quarters. They looked no different than the rest of them except for their clothing.

The well-dressed ladies, returning home, carefully hid their identities behind beautiful veils or scarves, while the men talked quietly to each other. The sheer material was drawn down to cover only their eyes, leaving the readily curls of their lips exposed.

Colloquial mannerism that reminded her of the stories she’d read, situated in the seventeenth century. A humble beauty almost as extinct as the wild life--a graceful doe, perhaps--back where she once lived. And they occasionally pointed and smiled at the young girl’s excited behavior like it was something to be cherished.

The men on the other hand, hid behind darkly tinted, or mirrored retro glasses, their lips barely registering above a whisper.

The strangers were so very polite, but all of them distinctively avoided direct eye contact with any other than themselves. Not wanting to cause suspicion or have to answer unwanted questions.

The question itself sat in the back of her mind for some time during the trip. Like herself, what secrets did they have to hide?

Not everyone was thrilled to have such young enthusiastic passengers in the completely filled transport.

There was the angry man in the corner, stiffly seated between two enormous stern faced men dressed in plainly labeled --but unmistakably --military uniforms, a tiny half-moon crescent on the button-down collar to signify rank. One moderately large and unusual, etched symbol wrapped around each of their left arms in a distinctive glowing pale green on black. A mark, she assumed, of the new world’s peacekeepers, their version of military police.

A gruff looking pair not to be trifled with for sure.

The man was dressed in much the same way as them, except for his lack of brass. He had no medals of honor or rank on his shoulders. His collar and chest were bare, too.

Now, to his disgrace, the worn bare spots once proved he had carried them before.

Furtive glances his way were met with scowls, and not just from the man’s lips. His eyes held some secret to them--the luster of some hidden charm and the pull to stare into them was irresistible.

Strangely, she thought she heard one of the soldiers threaten to blindfold him if he didn’t get it under control. He looked away to appease his captors, but only momentarily.

It added to the intrigue of the rumors she had already heard.

Rumors she had just left to the prejudices of the ones who were sent back involuntarily --like this one. But he was going home, while we were coming to visit his world.

One of the beastly large men even smiled at her, when she looked his way, but only after elbowing the other in the side to firmly put him in his place. A genuine, closed lip smile but it put her at ease.

The angry man had said something he didn’t agree with.

But what was most unusual, was the manner in which he was being transported. With no physical restrictions. No cuff, or manacles, or anything of that manner. And the officers each only carried one small pistol of some kind, holstered to their thighs.

How very strange…

How much of a hardened criminal could he be?

On her world, the military cargoed—for the lack of a better word-- their chained prisoners on specially designed transports, with many other soldiers or police, not just two--and carrying more than one weapon of choice, I might add.

And what difference would a blindfold make, after already scornfully scrutinizing and watching all the other passengers this whole time.

Should he escape, would he come for us…or me?

The whole affair was being duly noted in the picture journal she was drawing in right then, of course.

She looked down at the rough picture but it took a minute to realize the man’s face was--

--missing?

Not just missing, blank. No. Distorted.

It was all shadows and not just the six-o’clock rubble that needed a good shave. His deeply piercing eyes, his rogue smile, his rugged handsomeness. The youthful mischievousness that played around his face. She could see them plain as day, but they stubbornly refuse to appear on the dull paper.

For some reason she couldn’t see his features, or her fingers couldn’t at least. She looked at the man again and caught him staring at her.

Her eyes widened as it took her by surprise, but she wasn‘t afraid. The fear --that very moment-- was being drawn out of her for reason‘s she didn‘t understand. He didn’t glare as he did at the others, he just focused on her from under his brow and then his lips slowly curled up into a playful smile.

She smiled back. It seemed to be the right thing to do. He was flirting with her --that was until he got a painful knock to the ribs as one of his guards elbowed him again.

The prisoner looked at his guard with a scowl, but the man only shrugged his shoulders, and then snorted out a laugh.

"This is going to be a long trip," the prisoner snorted impatiently, and then he closed his eyes and leaned back his head onto the seat with a huff.

She turned back to the drawing. The picture, like so many others on the ship, didn’t want to be recognized. It felt so strange to know that--to know that the picture seemed to have a mind of its own. She put the lead to the paper again, but still the face wouldn’t appear. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. A few of her other drawings had the same feeling…a feeling of incompleteness.

She sighed and closed the book.

Every seat was taken, but the pilot had lifted the restrictions once the craft was in open space.

The courteous Captain Dey offered refreshments to everyone soon after lift-off, the capable co-pilot at the helm. The room slowly erupted with conversation, young and old alike.

The nervous tension between the newcomers, that was felt earlier, when all came on board, soon diminished. It seemed to diminish on its own completely as the Captain generously finished his task and moved on. Even the timid, girlish giggling laughter faded underneath the rest of the voices.

Not everyone fit in with the jolly mood. Dressed in the drab sandy fatigues of the Dirt-Hounds (as so many of her war-torn and tired people had so scornfully come to name the army soldiers), there sat the military exchanges, packed neatly, in a perfect row along the far wall, a dozen in all.

In slightly less than perfect condition. Each with their own internal affliction written in the lines on their faces. Under appreciated by those who benefited by their efforts.

Six of them sat with their backs to the window, and six with their backs to the rest of the transport facing their fellow soldiers. Their duffle bags lay squarely between their feet on the floor, tipped on one end. The older ones look haggard and exhausted, as if just coming from off the battle field. A few of the others, not much younger, bore the scars of a recent battle, and sat quietly, staring off into space as if lost somewhere in their thoughts.

One of the soldiers was leaning forward, his forearms resting on his knees. He was holding a medallion of some sort between his dark palms and his lips were moving silently as if he was speaking to himself.

Hey, Rooster, say one for me, man, the soldier next to him murmured respectfully as he nudged his arm lightly with an elbow and then sat back into his seat.

The one across from him caught his eye and nodded, What’s his story? There was no hint of disrespect in his tone, and more than a slight understanding in his eyes after.

The man named Rooster made a sign and then kissed the medallion, stuffing it back into his shirt and then returned upright into his seat.

Unlike the prisoner with his contemptuous anger, his eyes held the angrier images, and remorse, of deeply pitted human suffering, We lost the high ground, and the rest is history.

He sighed regretfully and then closed his eyes and leaned back his head to rest. Yes, he understood.

The war was still raging on, somewhere, as it always had...as it always would. As history would and had always chronicled it. Our people had begun to record history by naming the wars and then the most famous of lost souls who died in them. Soldiers were not the only casualties, either.

Only one of them stood when the Captain lifted restrictions. Tall, lean, slightly peppered short crop of hair, a distinct air of authority--typical military type, and he walked with a subtle limp. The Officer casually ambled over to where the youngest of them sat. He couldn’t have been no more older than just out of boot camp, and he was impatiently shuffling a deck of cards in his hands on his duffel bag.

His hanging dog tags tapping the metal clasps of his open jacket sounding like a dog scratching at fleas while he did.

His moving hands slowed nervously as he was approached.

The Senior Officer quietly addressed him, So what did you do to earn the honor of an off-world excursion, private--hmm, second class?

He murmured something respectfully to his superior and then he lifted up his shirt to show him a large and jagged, angry red scar that ran down the side length of his chest and curved down around his back. It was still in the early stages of healing.

She heard him whistle softly between his teeth and shake his head in disbelief, as he squatted down to get a better look. Son, you’re lucky to be alive, much less be in one piece. What medal did they give you for your troubles?

None sir, he shook his head. My squad was sent to recon the next village being evacuated because of a flood. My first deployment as a soldier, a slight inflection of pride surfaced briefly, "We were sent because it wasn’t a combat situation. It was supposed to be an easy assignment." Next came the imminent sigh.

But his superior knew, nothing was ever an ‘easy’ assignment.

I-I didn’t get this in combat, he confessed guilty, I was attacked by a hungry lion hiding in the field we went thru between the villages.

His shoulder came up tensely, After it got a taste of me, it wouldn‘t back down and we had to kill him. Sir--, he looked up, uncertainty in his eyes, I-I was almost demoted for killing an endangered animal.

You did what you had to do, son, his hand came to rest on the young man’s shoulder, He probably would have come back for more if you left him to live. He stood with a sympathetic sigh, There’re no more natural habitats left, I‘m afraid. It’s all being destroyed. Even the animals are just trying to fight to survive, these days, he added emphatically. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

Wonder what, sir?

How much that’s left that’s worth fighting for. But still…its survival of the fittest these days…no matter the species…or the better armed.

"We won’t find peace until it’s all destroyed and then there’ll be nothing left that’s worth fighting for, other than our lives, a voice came from the end of the row. I have scars, too," he said bitterly.

They turned their eyes to him and listened.

I returned a spike grenade to its owner, but a zinger landed against the front of the wall I was hiding behind and a piece of Rebar got me when the wall fell on me. I didn’t throw hard enough, either, and the surgeons took a few spikes out of my leg as well,…General, sir. He wasn’t as mindful of his superior than the other.

Where were you? the officer patiently asked the disenchanted soldier, who woke to tell his story.

Well Of Springs. It was nothing but a desert wasteland with a single oasis for a watering hole. The people built a wall around the well to protect it. My company was sent to occupy the area to keep the water supply out of enemy hands.

He readjusted his crumpled jacket under his neck, pounding it with his fist once, "I was buried for two days before the natives dug me out. But by then the enemy had dropped a few bio-grenades down the hole and poisoned the whole underground lake bed. And for what?"

He sat up, suddenly uncomfortable, and grabbed for his jacket as it fell to his lap, Just to destroy something they didn‘t want anybody else to have.

The soldier lifted his sleeveless shirt to reveal a perfectly round area, still scabbed over on his side. My scars not as bad the one that was left on those people. I didn’t save nobody and I got a medal for nothing but a failed mission.

He cocked sideways in his seat, filtering his hair with a hand and a tired sigh, his booted heel coming to rest on the edge. He took the cold bottle of juice from the Captain with a grateful expression, Thanks.

The deck of cards hesitated, My C.O. said if we struggle together, we can survive longer. No man gets left behind, a well ground in motto.

He’s right, son, the older man agreed. Men that only fend for themselves, live very short lives, the Senior officer added his experienced wisdom.

"Us soldiers are treated like the enemy most of the time. Even from our own people. I swear! No one likes to be helped." Rooster flicked his lid at the top of his duffle and it caught in the dip there.

I’m afraid not, son. Compassion is like a curse word, for this generation, I think.

Compassion, huh, he’d been listening quietly for long enough, I took a bullet from a four year old cause I didn’t want to kill no baby, the soldier turned in his seat to face them, his parents had been murdered in a cleansing that had nothing to do with ethnics. It had everything to do with greed. By the time we got there, there was nothing left but the salt beds and a few children.

His neighbor tapped his arm, Ha! he added his as well, we were ordered to scorch the earth but all we did was burn bodies before the diseases came. Someone had done wiped out the whole village before we even got there.

That was on the eastern beach, right? another soldier asked, I heard about that on the news band. It‘s going on everywhere.

This craps happening so much, we’re not even being ordered to keep it quite anymore. People have forgotten what the meaning of life is, if you ask me, the next in line flopped back against the bench throwing his hand in the air in disgust. The young man focused on the bottle of juice that just appeared in his hand.

With the crate empty, the Captain of the transport slipped thru the door again for another full one.

Easy there soldier, just let it go, the commanding officer ordered kindly. His raised voice was attracting too much attention.

There was a tense angry silence for a moment, in an awkward sort of agreement among the soldiers. They all had their tale to tell. It was broken by the somber recall of another:

‘Chief Captain Websters. It’s a go!’ the memory of his commander’s voice was still fresh in his mind.

I was stationed above the Sea of Glass before it fell. Scariest thing I ever saw. The soldier turned from the window he had been listlessly staring out of. His voice was too somber, uneasy, full of pain:

‘Captain?’

‘Orders can’t be right, can they? Too many civilian‘s down there. What’s our goal, here, base? ’

He didn’t appear to have any visible injuries and his chest was covered in as many medals of different colors as his arms were stripes. His eyes remained empty and glazed over as he finished his story. An unsettling hush came over them all. Even the sleeping man opened his eyes for a minute or two:

‘You’ve a go! Deliver the nukes, Captain!’

‘Negative, we‘re not out of range. There’s civilian‘s on the ground….!’

‘You have your orders. Target is confirmed! Repeat, target is confirmed!’

Our airship was thrown up into low orbit almost and the blast was so bright, I couldn’t see for a few days after, the slow words tumbled quieter from his lips, as they each bore a hole in him, and the rims of his eyes turned red:

‘ "Negative, we‘re too low!" I can’t--!’

‘Enemies on the go, you have your orders--deliver the damn nukes, Websters--now!’

‘Sir, yes, sir, Admiral!’ His thumb rubbed along his fingers looking at them, he remembered how hard and cold the button was to his skin, his touch. The resounding click so vivid in his ears. ‘Bombs away…oh, my god!! We‘re too low!!’

Not all of the lower quarters were lead shielded, only the top decks. He came further out of his trance as he finished, Half the crew died of radiation poisoning in the first week. All those…a whole country of people, all of my team…gone, his breath shuddered involuntarily, in an instant. I had my orders, it made no sense.

We did that, his shaking palm rubbed down the back side of his head, "I did that, the subtle cry was there, I can’t go back to that--I just can’t…," his voice suddenly trailed off as he looked at Captain Dey. The Captain’s eyes bore into his without accusation.

His expression went blank and then he made a slight smile as the Captain handed him a bottle of juice and continued on down the row with refreshments.

The exchange happened so quickly no one noticed the change in the soldier’s demeanor. As if he had forgotten what he was saying a few minutes before. Forgotten what had happened altogether, like it had been buried deep in his memories somewhere.

I‘m hopeful we’ll learn some ‘meaning of life’ thing from our new friends we can save our world with, the deck in the young soldiers hands started moving again.

We all are, son. So are we all. Deal me in…

Me, too, another soldier poked at him. Soon after several more joined in atop his bag and they were too involved in the game to engage in more soldier talk. All the refreshments handed out, the Captain returned to the front.

The soldier always got the blame on our world.

The wars were not their fault, they were just forced to fight them. So named Dirt-Hounds for the way they dug their trenches. Fighting from within their own lonely, ready-made graves, should they fall.

No stones, no markers, no time for a proper burial. A few carried their own crosses, beating them into the ground behind the hole, just in case. So their families would have a place to grieve. To find closure.

The imagined ghost of a solider---it appeared out of nowhere in her head. His helmet’s straps dangling unbuckled at his chin, a thick cigar hanging from his determined lips, pounding a stake into the ground in a small cleared space at the back of his well dug, waist-deep hole with a large hammer. His smug smile plastered on his lips.

The loose mound of dirt held back by a thin plank of wood tied loosely to a thick string around his waist. A possession more precious than the weapon he used to defend himself with.

If he fell the wood would release and the grave would be covered automatically. The enemy would not take the time to retrieve him, and neither would his men.

Only his soul would be rescued…by his maker.

General Sohni pulled the empty food crate between his legs and sat. It was he who she saw, digging his grave, pounding the cross, expecting to die. But not without a fight.

She shivered involuntarily on the inside, the picture was too real this time. And the angry man was staring at her again and she at him.

This time the guard nodded with obvious discontent and without a word towards the cargo hold door, and the man’s eyes widened like a child caught in the act of bad behavior.

He passively lowered his head and studied his hands, pretending to ignore the passengers, but a mischievous smile made its way to his lips. I’m bored, she heard him mutter to himself.

The soldiers were appearing on the paper with ease. She’d opened her book and started drawing again to counter the uneasy feeling of being watched.

These survivors were called the heroes of war. Under appreciated and dedicated men who fought so bravely for people they had never met, and never will. Here to share in their trade of skills and mastery of the blade, as her brother once told her.

The one soldier seated on the end huffed as he changed positions to face the window, before he closed his eyes again. Like him, another of the other riders, wishing to catch up on their sleep during the long ride, wished they had ear-communicators like the pilot had --it had noise deafening qualities to them.

The transport flew thru the stars and then veered smoothly downward toward the land. This one was more accommodating than the ship that had carried them from her world to the space platform outside the atmosphere above the planet.

The planets were millions of light years apart.

It was fate that brought the two worlds together. An accident of destiny. We needed a new world to inhabit. Ours was crumbling and overcrowded. Our scientists had explored many, many others before finding this one. A little blue speck just outside our solar system.

We had almost given up hope of finding a suitable planet when scientists discovered one with a tolerable atmosphere, but the biggest surprise came when they discovered it was inhabited with people like us.

They looked like us, they could speak our language. Or we could speak theirs, depending on how you would see it. And according to the strangers, there were other inhabited planets like theirs nearby, as well.

The excitement that ran through us could not be told, but we needed a body to govern and custom the newly formed space travel program.

A platform for the whole planet, not just one nation to control.

All our disgruntled leaders came together in a four day summit and responsibility was tentatively agreed upon. It was an exciting venture, for sure, but no one really wanted to be responsible for things that could go wrong. There were varying degrees of disagreement among the nations, too.

The Company was born.

The Company was established as an interplanetary intermediary between the two planets and thru them the Exchange program was governed.

A mixture of all the races of the planet, the Company was neutral territory, no one government was in charge, nor did any hold more authority than the other, and the Company decided who was allowed to travel to the distant world, and who was not.

Since the recognized ownership of the South pole was still debatable, the interplanetary platform was built there, in Antarctica. It became registered as an international land mass. The jolly old man turned in his sleigh for a spaceship.

At this point, it really didn’t matter, all the central governments of the nations on her home world were all systematically falling apart. The world was in desperation. It had been for some time.

We sought for some bastion of hope and believed we had found it in them and their generosity.

Like the prisoner’s unexpected stare, she didn’t like surprises.

The Company required the Exchanges to under -go classes to prepare them, and the history of the Company was detailed in the class as well. The tight-lipped instructor said there were some things they had to learn on their own, which made her believe they had secrets they didn‘t want to divulge.

All the things that no one wanted to tell, were thrown in the stewing pot of ‘Classified’, and not even the people who were supposed to know could find the truth in the boiling waters.

He hinted that the Company had made their share of mistakes, and it was expected so. There was no protocol on how to approach people on another world. Setting the record straight, we learned from our mistakes and moved on. It granted us a learning opportunity and an ally we could have never dreamed of finding.

Nobody would admit it, but it also gave us a chance to save our world from an inevitable and unrecoverable financial collapse and total destruction. Our eco-system was failing, our governments were failing, we were failing.

We were the desperate ones here.

Or had been. Hanging on to hope by a silken spider web. One with the tensile strength of a bungee cord. We were holding on and we wasn‘t about to let go, no matter how long or rough the ride.

She lifted the lead from the finished drawing. The familiar lines of a receding perfect pentagon filled the page, and a single thread hung from the six legged creature that appeared in the center.

Okay, Annie-bug, I get the picture, she sighed to herself. The only thing missing was the hour glass on its back. She couldn’t bring herself to fill in the symbol the poison represented.

The true poison…time. Something her world was out of.

The landing was so gentle, none of the passengers knew they had been on the ground for a few minutes until the transport doors slowly opened. The Captain appeared and with a stick-like key, he lowered the plank for departure from his craft. He smiled as he greeted each one at the door as they left and then he followed after.

The prisoner was in the mix as well and he gave her one last surreptitiously longing smile as he was led away.

She watched anxiously as the exchange soldiers helped the people gather their belongings and lead them to the final stage of the embarkation. The soldiers would then be shipped off to another base for training. Every off-worlder was to be assigned to a host world soldier for their own safety. The Dirt-hounds were no exception, either.

A Protector, they had called them.

She didn’t move from her seat, not even after everyone had left. The blank face kept chewing at her mind long after the prisoner had walked the plank.

Lost in thought, several long minutes passed.

A scraping noise from the other side of the wall, where the cargo was stored, passed thru. It brought her out of her trance and back to the present, but the face lingered like it didn’t want to be forgotten. Unseen, but not forgotten.

To be feared in your dreams, just like the Mauler. It left an eerie feeling in the back of her mind. Finally, brushing it aside, she stood and came to the doorway of the transport. Her steps echoed like an empty heartbeat in the abandoned transport.

She hesitated to join them in the yard.

No one would want her, it was a question of stigmatic’s. She was old compared to them, a minute streak of grey at the temples.

Besides intelligence, youth and beauty were highly favored on her planet, and she thought it would be no different here.

The Company had set no age limit, and she was grateful for that. She didn’t expect to be chosen at all, she had just come for the sake of leaving nothing behind on her home planet. No one to miss her.

A new world, a new life.

Everyone had secrets. Did they know hers? Maybe that’s why they let her come….

The well-dressed soldier unhesitatingly stepped up to the mic.

We want to welcome and thank you all for coming. I am Lieutenant Maaken, and this, he motioned toward a Commander standing stiffly in a mildly decorated starched white uniform next to him, …is Commander Nemarco. He will be leading the CP’s….I mean all the Combat Personnel, to the shuttle for immediate transport to the training base. The rest will congregate here until everyone is assigned.

Commander Nemarco stepped up. He was right to the point, "Thank you, Lieutenant. What you see here is a Military hosted civilian base.

We have all the amenities of a small city, but if you so desire, ladies, there is the city of Claarvil a few hours journey from here. We are quite informal and do not require a uniform dress code for the non-military. Those here for combat training will receive their required cam’s when you reach the Training Base. Any questions…?Feel free to ask… Well then, let’s move out, he firmly ordered.

The soldiers hoisted their duffle bags onto their shoulders and followed the two uniformed officers, in two perfectly straight lines, to the far end of the field to a waiting transport. Within minutes everyone was aboard and the large shuttle lifted off and disappeared over the trees and was gone.

Another Officer dressed in wine colored camouflaged pants and slightly salt and peppered hair, stepped up to take their place.

My name, the mic squealed, …is Officer Arsen. His deeply tanned skin stood out from the brightly colored muscle shirt he wore, with his perfectly smooth muscled chest and arms. He spoke without hesitation, getting right down to business, I will be doin’ the assigning.

He stepped away from the mic and onto the field where the baggage had been left. His strong commanding voice carried just as far without the microphone.

It’s easy to see why they’re called ‘muscle’ shirts, one of the girls delightfully commented to another. Behind him were a few lines of soldiers of various ranks, dressed in their military best, standing stiffly at ease. Officer Arson looked out of place in his casual wear.

As each of their names were called one would step forward.

"Luce, Daga, Shum-la Pal-lan! the brisk officer called their names. You are in the scientist wing…," He grouped them according to their fields of study, even though they were all staying in the same building.

"That’s Lala Puh-lawn,...um, sir?" she corrected and he looked at her sharply, but then smiled. His tone suddenly became less brisk and more gentlemanly.

Officer Arsen will do just fine, Miss Palahn, he said it correctly this time. Ladies, if you will step forward please. These are your assigned protectors. Gentleman help these fine ladies with their gear.

Yes, sir. Yes, sir, they answered back. There were so many bags to carry, and not knowing who’s was who’s they just picked them up and began walking. Only two cases were left on the field and Luce picked hers up. The last Officer of the three stepped up and picked up the last heavy case as if it weighed nothing and then he turned to her.

Uh, Ma’am, if you‘ll permit me….,