Shadows of the Stars: The Children of the Arks

By A.T. Quinn

Almost a thousand years after the mysterious evacuation of Planet Earth, human beings are widespread throughout the galaxy, intrepidly venturing to many distant stars. But we have become an endangered species.

On Planet Orion, stubborn survivalists seek to endure the freezing eclipse of their suns.

On Planet Midgard, an inquisitive young scientist is sent on a decisive journey of discovery.

In the vastness of space, a crew of infamous mercenaries attempt to defy the cruel inevitabilities of the void itself.

But the shadows of the stars are cast far into the interstellar abyss... We have become a highly endangered species...

If you are a fan of science fiction and fantasy, this story is for you. It is full of mystery, intrigue, suspense, action and a dash of eccentric British humour. Almost three years in the making (that includes the plans for the rest of the series), it takes inspiration from many ancient myths and legends and has also been heavily influenced by the works of Frank Herbert, Douglas Adams, J.R.R Tolkien, Terry Pratchett and Iron Maiden, to name a few (Yes, Iron Maiden! Their music was also influenced by their favourite stories).

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as a have writing it.

WARNING – This book contains coarse language, brutal violence, explicit sexual situations, drug use, subversive satire and potentially disturbing imagery.

IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR CHILDREN OR THOSE OF A NERVOUS DISPOSITION.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.T. Quinn
• Release date: Mar 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463449080

A.T. Quinn

Well, what can i say about myself? Happily a man of few vocalized words. But, instead, a man of many written words. A self confessed bibliophile since I first learned to read, I have also been called a 'dark horse' and a 'polymath' by those close to me. My passions in life are music (heavy metal) and books of all kinds, ranging from philosophy and poetry to history and myths, and an awful lot of fantasy and science fiction. I have been a skateboarder in the past, and a rock climber I have dabbled in martial arts and swordsmanship, and am a keen archer. I play guitar (not as well as I used to after re-discovering my passion for writing), I play video games, and enjoy nothing better than hanging out with my friends, either indoors or wandering around the countryside. On a slightly darker note, I have struggled with depression and anxiety issues for a long time, but getting back into writing has been wonderfully cathartic for me, working on my novels has really helped sooth my troubled psyche. That's about it, really. I may upload a proper profile picture if I can ever get rid of the shadows under my eyes XD I hope you enjoy my books as they come. A.T. Quinn. Rock 'n' Roll!

Book preview

Shadows of the Stars

Book One

The Children of the Arks

A.T. Quinn

Shadows of the Stars is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental, and any references to other media (e.g. films, books or music) are out of respect for the source material.

WARNING – This book contains coarse language, brutal violence, explicit sexual situations, drug use, subversive satire and potentially disturbing imagery.

IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR CHILDREN OR THOSE OF A NERVOUS DISPOSITION.

Copyright © 2018 A.T. Quinn

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means - electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise - without prior written permission of the author.

CONTENTS

A note from the author

Overture

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

CONTENTS

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

A note from the author…

I learned far more out of school than I ever did in school, not to say that I learned little in school, I actually learned a great deal, though much of it seemed rather pointless at the time. What stuck with me most was what I learned of people; pettiness, shallowness, closed minds and following blindly out of a need for admiration. It was a rude awakening to say the least, and sad. I have never stopped learning and I have never stopped reading (people and books). Out of school I learned about things I never had the chance to in such a stifling environment, everyone has a good heart, no matter how buried it may be by life’s inevitable suffering; there is such joy to be found in the little things, like a good hot meal or a comfortable bed, friends and family, no matter how estranged or misunderstanding they may be can brighten your day with little more than a smile or sharing a strong drink or sociable smoke with them, and so much more. I will never stop learning, I will never know enough. Though the amount of knowledge on this delicate blue marble we live on may be finite, there will always be something new to discover, (terrestrial or otherwise) and that gives me great comfort, comfort in the wonders to be found, or the insignificance of my short life in the vastness of the universe. Some may find that insignificance daunting or frightening, but I find it humbling, because nothing really matters. It’s a peaceful thought.

One day, sat by myself, deep in thought, while either listening to my favourite music or delving into a book of myths and legends, I’m not sure which, (It was either mid-eighties Iron Maiden or a story about Thor and Loki challenging frost giants to a drinking contest. Was it Alexander the Great on Somewhere in Time, or Thor managing to drink half of the sea through a peculiarly placed horn and still stand afterwards? Hmm... Maybe both…) something occurred to me - So much has been forgotten. So much has been lost to time. What hidden secrets might we discover if we could only travel back and talk to those who knew? What kernels of truth lie in the old tales? What if we could visit the library of Alexandria, an eight-hundred (Give or take. Don’t quote me on that one) year old wealth of information dating back into the far reaches of B.C history, even at the time of its burning by the ancient Romans? Such a shame. What would we know if it was still intact? Why was it burned? Ridicule of what was not understood? Disproval of certain beliefs? A mere show of strength? Of all I have learned about ancient cultures, they seem to me to have been a lot cleverer than we perceive them to be, especially when I look into Chinese history or ancient Sumerian history, the innovations that are still part of our lives today make me feel rather astounded to know how old they are.

Then I had another thought – what if the lives we live in this supposed twenty-first century (Human sentience and Earth itself are far older, I suppose nobody wants to write 04/06/200,000 or 16/10/4,500,000,000; Far too many zeros) became as lost to history as our knowledge of ancient times as we call them? Would certain events be recounted differently if they were contradictory to what is common knowledge? Would history be told differently if that which was hidden posed a threat to society or even life itself?

That’s when I came up with the idea for Shadows of the Stars. In the ‘technological advancement’ of the days we live in, I find that some of the most endearing wisdom and stories I have read came long before such things as microcircuits and digital storage. (I’ve found very little to match them, with a few exceptions of course.) And it is my hope that they last far longer than something that can be wiped clean by a simple electrical surge or a lack of power.

This story takes place after a great cataclysm struck Planet Earth (as you will learn in its reading), many of its characters know only the worlds they live in and what they have been told. Much of our lives and how we live them has been lost to the mists of time, a thought I described earlier in this note, and we are a mystery to this far flung future. This is the story’s great tragedy, the loss of knowledge of the past and what happened to make it so. But it is not entirely lost. There are those who keep it, cherish it, or quash it. Its core themes are life and death, loss and learning and the struggle to overcome the unknown, subjects understandable to everyone.

When I was much younger, I had started writing another book (I had just finished The Hobbit, my first book without pictures and thought ‘I can do that!’). I took it upon myself to novelise the film Jurassic Park. Yeah, I know how silly that sounds now, but I was only a little lad and had no idea, it was just a bit of fun. I had only gotten to the part when Hammond arrives at the dig in the Badlands looking for endorsing palaeontologists when I found out that it was already a bestseller. I can remember it vividly when I think back, tearing up a note book and climbing embarrassed into a tent I had made of my bunk beds. I’ve been writing all sorts of things for a long time.

Much later, I came up with an idea for a story about four planets, one of fire, one of water, one of wind and one of earth, and that never went very far, other ‘interests’ and ‘hobbies’ dominated those hardship ridden years, not to mention all my notebooks full of thoughts and random ramblings. Then, the prospect of writing a story seemed far too much like homework and I had other things on my mind, though the idea was always floating around. But in a way it is still a part of Shadows of the Stars, because that old word document survived on a hard disc for a very long time and was picked up again after about a decade and then became this story. Those elemental worlds are still in there, in essence, though they have changed so much.

Shadows of the Stars is also full of admiring references to some of my favourite stories and music, (see if you can find them all) though I don’t think they detract anything from its narrative, if anything they enhance it, I believe, and give some familiar grounding to this rather odd and mysterious story. (It’s odd to me, yes, but a good kind of odd, a thoughtful kind of odd).

Unfortunately, it will never truly be what’s in my head, which is also a shame. There are limits to language, not imagination. Much of it actually came from dreams I’ve had over the years, which in some part must have been influenced by the stories I read, the games I play, and the films I enjoy. (That’s a given I suppose.) The story, to me, is quite special, of course there is a measure of wish fulfilment and a great amount of speculative ‘what if’, but I think it’s quite entertaining (Believe me, I’m hard to please with this kind of stuff, I wouldn’t be saying that if I didn’t mean it. I’ve surprised myself to be honest).

And that is what a good story should be, entertaining, regardless of its content.

If you’re like me, then you love a good story. So here is my attempt at one. I hope you enjoy it.

A.T. Quinn

01/10/2018 (01/10/4,543,000,018)

One more thing, the ‘Overture’ that you will read over the next few pages has been chopped down considerably from its original version. I felt that it gave too much of the plot away, therefore lopped off a few branches, so to speak. A couple of my test readers (Many thanks!) have been asking me - ‘Why is this like this?’ ‘Why do they do that the way they do?’ ‘What happened between now and the start of the story?’ – All I can say to that, is that this is part one of six (meticulously planned) parts. There is still a lot to explain. Back story, histories, all sorts of stuff. I didn’t really want to write massive chunks of exposition and end up ruining the pace, so I’d rather wait until I get to a point where exposing certain ‘truths’ will be most poignant and striking. If the reader discovers something at the same time as the characters it will have more weight to it (hopefully). Excuse me, enough of my rambling…

Turn the page…

The Drake Equation

N = R* • fp • ne • fl • fi • fc • L

Overture

In 2534 A.D. Planet Earth was evacuated. Five enormous Ark ships, The Avalon, The Asgard, The Olympus, The Elysium and The Heaven launched from Earth’s moon, each packed with a million refugees, to escape a ravaged and dying world.

A decade prior, a benevolent extra-terrestrial race sensed our imminent demise and made ‘first contact’. They shared their ancient technology with us and not only helped to construct the Arks, but a pair of warp gates, vast and powerful devices that are capable of folding space itself, allowing seamless travel between two points in space, light-years apart. During an intense orbital battle with an unknown enemy, the moon was split in two; The Avalon and the Asgard made it through the warp gates safely, but the Heaven was completely destroyed and the warp gate was heavily damaged; because of the damage, the Olympus was sent into uncharted space and crashed into an unknown planet on the other side of the galaxy, the Elysium, was lost without a trace…

It is now 954 A.E.E. (After Earth Evacuation).

For almost a thousand years, people descended from the Avalon and the Asgard Ark refugees have lived prosperously on Planet Midgard, a water world similar to Earth. Its capital, Albion City, is the centre of trade and commerce for the recovering human race; who live in blissful ignorance about the fate of their home planet. Contact with many alien races, known as ‘Xenos’, has greatly aided our exploration and understanding of the universe, we began to thrive on Midgard, and became a great power in galactic society…

But we are not as strong as we think…

Ominous threats gather against us…

The shadows lengthen.

Prologue

In the highest room of an unassuming edifice, drab in comparison to its brightly lit twin nearby, a calm, black suited man stared out of a lofty window at the hectic neon confusion below him. He stood perfectly still, with otherworldly poise, his hands cupped behind his back, his deep unfathomable thoughts an intangible mystery to all those who dared reckon them.

You summoned us, Your Lordship? whispered a stout but muscular man cautiously, entering the darkened room with a thin aged woman at his side, their features deformed in the dimness.

I did. Welcome, friends. The black suited man’s voice answered strangely, his enunciations erroneous, as if he was not used to the concept of a tongue. He did not move a thin motionless muscle and stared on.

What is it you want? asked a woman’s voice, doggedly yet weary.

Our campaign seems to be moving ahead rather flawlessly, wouldn’t you agree? the odd voice from by the window replied in an unusually indifferent yet mispronounced manner.

Yes Sir. But there are one or two problems to address. We… the stout man was interrupted.

"We need not concern ourselves with such insubordination. Not yet. There are, however, some who may prove difficult to overcome. Some near, some far." The voice became deeper yet quieter, more audible, yet further away. The stout man and the aged woman shuddered. They knew nothing of what the man by the window was talking about, but the sheer audacity and oddness of his voice seemed to lend them some semblance of understanding, however unintelligible it might have been. They did not want to be there, but felt deeply compelled.

Do not concern yourselves with that which you cannot comprehend, the voice stated, as if its source knew exactly what his subordinates felt. They shuddered again, more violently.

I will make the necessary arrangements to impede these unknowing troublemaker’s capabilities. They will not be able to halt our progress. He turned to face his guests. In the dark room there was nothing to be seen of his face against the glow from the lights far below the window, it was as if his figure drew in all the darkness around it, deepening his shadow to the point of nothingness, growing larger and filling the space he inhabited to overflowing.

"I… We will prevail. We will enlighten. We will triumph. We will reign." The black suited man reached out his thin arms, beckoning the pair to come closer. His voice distorted even more.

Come here, friends. I will tell you of our enemies.

They moved towards him as if in a trance, called by his enigmatically eldritch and evocative presence. Their concern faded, they submitted.

Enemies? But we are strong, Your Lordship, the aged woman said in a morose yet monotone candour. She gazed into the abyssal form before her, unblinking.

We can overcome any threat. We have done so many times before and still we thrive, the stout man said, just as mesmerised as the woman beside him.

"We are strong. But not as strong as we have been. We do thrive. But we are not beyond harm. Our grip tightens. Our numbers grow. But there are some who will actively resist our mere presence in this so palatable galaxy." He touched them lightly on their foreheads, his shadows seemingly flowing about them and into them.

"You know now of whom I speak." The flicker of a malicious grin appeared then disappeared.

Yes, they said in strange synchronisation.

You know what you must do. He became thin again, his voice returning to its lesser tone, struggling to enunciate properly, and turned to look back out of the window, not to the brightness below, but to the light polluted glow in the sky above.

Yes. They answered again.

Then go. Find me these… The glass in front of him silently split and shattered, the room shone bright green for the smallest instant as a beam of energy tore a wide hole through his skull, from the left cranium to the right jaw, as shimmering glass tumbled into the night and into the room. The stout man and the aged woman cringed, twitched and faltered as if they had felt the black suited man’s transitory agony themselves. For a moment, he remained upright, turning back to look upon his horrified guests, the beam had set a miniature blaze on the floor of the room and in its flickering illumination his face could be seen, grey eyes rolling back pouring bloody, sanguine tears, emotionless facial features drooping slowly, leaking vital fluids. He slumped to his side, limp. The gaping wound smouldering and oozing a black pool in the dark.

Chapter One

The Sky-Whale Hunters

Orion – 954 A.E.E

The day was blisteringly hot, though it always is on Planet Orion. Its three suns, Zeus, Hades and Poseidon, beat down relentlessly and baked the near endless, shifting desert sands.

Rask Achilles, a Wellspring Warden, stood atop a rocky outcrop and scanned the distant and bleak horizon for his quarry. An horrific storm was blowing and churning up the desert. His long dune strider leather coat billowed in the brutal, sandy winds as he stared, squinting to keep the dust out of his eyes. He could see almost nothing in the swirling turmoil and was growing weary. He and his friends had been out in the dunes for longer than ever before, with no sign of their prey whatsoever, but they could not give up.

Always thirsty. Rask thought to himself as he took a sip of water from his father’s antique flask, a relic from ancient Planet Earth, and slipped it back into its pocket by his heart. His parents were never far from his thoughts.

Soon, the ringed gas giant Morpheus would eclipse the three suns, casting Orion into darkness for what seemed like ages, and the temperature would drop well below freezing.

They have to be out there somewhere. Rask knew that if a sky-whale was not found before the eclipse, the people of Wellspring would be in a dire situation.

See anything, Ak? Dexon Cassandra yelled from below. She was behind the outcrop, out of the wind, and under a makeshift lean-to shelter they had built out of cloth, which is where Rask wanted to be. She wore the ugliest armour, made of carapaces taken from fallen Klegg, a semi-sentient, but extremely hostile insectiod race, native to the planet. Beneath it all, she was a beautiful young woman, and like Rask, an exceptional fighter.

Fuck all! Rask replied, Just sand! I’m so sick of fucking sand! He leapt hastily down from the rocks and landed softly to duck under the shelter. After pulling back his hood, shaking the dust out of his shoulder length hair and brushing himself off, he looked visibly tired, Dexon too.

Adapt and overcome, she said putting a hand on his shoulder, smiling reassuringly.

He was about to say it back to her, when their hulk of a friend Grimm Hector snorted happily in his sleep, his head resting on his huge iron trussed bone hammer.

Bad news, he ate most of the rations, then just dozed off!

You’re joking? Selfish bastard! Rask barked as the pair sat down, he unwrapped a meagre slice of dried dune strider meat from their dwindled supplies, there wasn’t much left at all, he groaned, halved it and handed her a piece.

We won’t last much longer if Grimm gets hungry again, he said, grudgingly.

Yeah, we’re low on water too. You think the others are having better luck than we are? Dexon asked solemnly through a mouthful. She looked at Rask, his usually handsome face was weather beaten and tired.

Not in this, I could barely see my hand in front of my face up there, but Ody won’t give up easily, and neither will Jason’s lot. He looked back at her, she was always beautiful.

Yeah, I suppose, but Ody and Electra took that new lad with them, I don’t think he’ll last too long away from Wellspring, she said doubtfully. A furrowed brow did not suit her.

Don’t worry, Cass, Ody’ll train him well, like he did with us. Rask took another bite and chewed thoughtfully, gazing out into the gusty dunes.

They were exhausted, apart from Grimm who was dozing peacefully. He was perfect for the life they led, a true Wellspring Warden, the ancient order of capable fighters that defended their home and its people since it was founded. Throughout all of their training, Grimm had always excelled, in combat, in survival, everything. As a boy, he had killed a marauding fire beast that was after his family’s dune striders, and had become a local hero because of it. Rask did not look back at that memory very fondly, it terrified him. He was only a child. Yet so was Grimm, who still wore the bones and claws of the winged monster as trophy armour. He always wondered how his best friend ever had the courage to do something like that.

Maybe we should try and get some sleep, and hope this storm breaks? Dexon said, looking at Grimm in his peaceful slumber.

There are still tunnellers and worse to worry about. I’ll keep an eye out while you have a snooze if you like? Rask spoke solemnly, but compassionately.

You sure? You look like shit. She sniggered and so did he.

Yeah, go on. I like a bit of time to myself now and again anyway.

Alright, but wake me and Grimm if you see anything weird, I mean apart from sand. And use these. She handed Rask her old goggles, and kissed him on the cheek.

Nice one, don’t know why I didn’t ask for these before. He smiled at her and watched her curling up at the foot of the rocky outcrop, stood and went out to brave the vicious sandstorm.

Standing atop the outcrop again, like a statue, unmoving and resolute, he gazed into the bleakness of the sandstorm, Rask needed rest badly, but he also needed to keep watch. His mind began to wander into the past. He, Grimm and Dexon had been great friends since childhood. Their parents all fought in the Klegg wars. The memory was more like a bad dream to him, having only heard tales of the horrors wrought by those terrible creatures. The three had met forty orbits ago (twenty Earth years), when their parents and the last of the decimated Wardens of the time made a final offensive against the Klegg Hive at the bottom of the Great Rift. All of the children of Wellspring had been put in the care of the town Elders, within the Sanctuary in Mount Thrace. That is when they met, cowering and trembling, wondering if their parents would return home safe. Rask’s mother and Dexon’s father did not; they had died in the battle, along with many brave warriors.

Since then, the people had been hanging on by a thread; there were few of them left.

It pained Rask greatly to think of all this. Adapt and overcome, He silently said to himself as he toggled up his long coat and bore the brunt of the brutal sandy winds.

Rask Heracles, his father, disappeared shortly after the end of the war, no one quite knew why. The common thought was that he was overcome with grief at the loss of his wife and wandered off into the desert alone, to die.

Why? Rask mused. He was beginning to feel lightheaded and Dexon’s goggles were misting up. The pain from his memories and lack of sleep were wearing him down. How long had he been standing up there? He was sweating profusely and the intense heat wasn’t doing him any favours. All of a sudden, his vision went black and he fell forwards from the rock. He did not feel the ground as he hit, unconscious.

Rask awoke to a bright blur and warm water being splashed in his face, Grimm Hector was standing over him with a huge grin on his rough, stubbly face, his shaved head catching the sun.

Sleep well, Ak? he taunted, chuckling Storms blown away.

Grimm held out a strong hand and pulled his old friend to his feet. He staggered. The suns were out in a pale blue sky, the dunes were as lifeless as ever. The violet gas giant Morpheus was now clearly visible in the sky and was beginning to eclipse Zeus, its icy rings splitting the starlight like billions of tiny prisms, creating a mesmerizingly beautiful corona. Poseidon and Hades, the twin suns, were not far behind. At least it’ll start to get a bit cooler now. He thought shakily.

Where’s Cass? asked Rask, croakily. He felt as if he’d drunk too much fire-breather.

She’s playin’ with that pointy pole o’ hers, by the skimmers.

Rask didn’t answer, he didn’t feel like saying much to Grimm after he’d helped himself to their rations, he just walked over to the shelter, slumped down by their supplies and gear then took a drink from his flask, it was empty. Always thirsty. Grimm seemed annoyed that he’d been ignored, but took out his water skin for Rask anyway.

Here, have some o’ mine brother, not much left though; it’s all down that tatty old coat of yours. Grimm handed Rask his water. It was a sweet relief to his dry throat. He drank deeply. Water was steaming from his face and clothes.

Hey, Cass! He’s woken up! Grimm bellowed.

She dropped her spear, and ran over to throw her arms around Rask.

I thought you weren’t going to make it, she said, fawning over him.

I’m fine, don’t worry. Just needed to sleep, I suppose. How long was I gone?

Oh, you’ll talk to her sharp enough, won’t you, snapped Grimm, in his usual misguided attempt at humour.

"Shut up, Hector!" Dexon shouted, glaring at him. He despised being called that. He was Grimm, and nothing else. Rask laughed, and Grimm grimaced, not a pretty sight.

Long enough for the storm to pass, and long enough to clean the dust out of the skimmers and charge the solar cells, she answered Rask.

Any signs of a sky-whale? he asked, slowly beginning to feel like himself again.

Fuck all! Grimm interrupted. We should just call it quits, head home, and get wasted! I’m sick of this fucking desert! clearly Dexon had really annoyed Grimm. He was getting angry and staring daggers at her.

Calm down Grimm, she was only playing, said Rask weakly, trying to sooth the big guy’s volcanic temper. For all his might, he did not like being made fun of one bit.

What do you see in this bony little mystic anyway, Ak? She might as well run off and join The Shunned, or take a walk on the Glass Ocean, maybe jump headfirst into the rift! Grimm was boiling over, so Rask got to his feet and gave him a swift shove. Dexon was starting to fume too. She was ready to run him through with her spear.

I can fight my own fights, Ak! Grimm, duel! Now! Serpent’s kiss against that massive hammer of yours! First to go down loses! She had forgotten all about Rask’s fall and was thirsty for blood.

Wellspring Wardens are a tough and rowdy bunch. They tend to solve disputes by duelling with their weapons, it keeps them on top form if ever any of the Orion’s violent indigenous creatures decide to attack a scouting party, or the town of Wellspring itself, and they simply enjoy the sport of a good sparring match. After a few moments, Grimm and Dexon were squaring off not far from the shelter. Rask had no objections; this was just how things were on Orion. He stood ready to watch, or intervene if the fight got out of hand, feeling better chewing on a chunk of dry strider meat again. He knew neither of them would come to any real harm, but was ready just in case.

Well? What are you two waiting for? It would be fun to watch after his fall and a black gap in his memory, which seemed to become greyer every moment.

Not a word was said by the duellists as they prepared, Dexon tied back her dirty auburn hair then twirled her telescopic spear about herself, while Grimm put on his macabre helmet then rubbed sand in his hands for a better grip on his oversized hammer.

A slayer against a mystic, always an interesting fight, and they’re both at the top of their game. Hope she’ll teach him a lesson for stuffing his face with our rations, Rask thought eagerly.

Come on Cass, you’ve got this!

Her muddy green Klegg armour was tough, and once belonged to her father. One of the creature’s spindly limbs had been dried in the sun and split just so, then tied to dune strider leather to make bracers and shin guards. The same had been done with its abdomen to make her breast plate and pauldrons. They lifted on, fitting snugly over her studded thigh length tunic. Her hideous helmet was little more than a scooped out Klegg head missing the eyes and mandibles. She left that under the shelter for this fight, it was stifling.

‘Mystic’ is a term used to describe a Post-Human telepath on Orion. Dexon Cassandra’s abilities were nowhere near as finely tuned as her grandfather Dexon Priam’s, but she could still focus enough to read her aggressor’s mind in combat and predict their moves to outwit them, although she has never managed to read Rask’s mind. Combined with her speed and her beloved spear, that she had named ‘Serpents Kiss’, it made her a deadly opponent. She could even link multiple minds together over short distances, a skill she learned only recently, but she did not enjoy having those gifts, and it gave her a dark outlook on life.

Dexon and Grimm began to circle one another, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Still not a word was spoken.

‘The Grim Slayer’ was what he was known as in Wellspring, the boy who slew a fire beast with his bare hands to save his parents and their tame dune striders. The man who wears the bones from his first kill, its massive jaw bones as his chest and back pieces, as if he was in the terror’s mouth, while toes and smaller bones aligned vertically on his trousers and tunic made up the arm and leg defences. The whole suit and hollow vertebra helmet were adorned with strategically placed teeth and claws and two horns protruding from the shoulders, all bleached white by Orion’s three suns. His massive war hammer was once the monster’s tibia bone. Now trussed and bound with iron, baring a cruel blade and a chipped, bony cudgel at its head. Built like Mount Thrace itself, strong enough to crack a tunneller’s armour with his bare fists and much faster than he looks, but borders between bravery and stupidity. He and Dexon had fought before, during training from Vossk Odysseus, the leader of the Wellspring Wardens. He knew that Dexon would try to read his thoughts to get the better of him, so he had to be on his toes.

Suddenly, Grimm lunged fiercely forward, raising his hammer over his head. He brought it back down with all of his strength. But Dexon saw it coming and danced gracefully round the swing to whack him on the back of his head with the shaft of her spear, knocking his helmet off. He staggered forward and almost lost his balance. Dexon span Serpent’s Kiss over her head waiting for Grimm to attack again, he looked as if he wanted to break her in two, then he let out an awful battle cry and charged. This time, Dexon tried to deflect the blow, her ancient spear could take the strain, but it made her arms ache terribly. Grimm swung from the right, then the left, then right again, Dexon parried each strike as if he’d told her what he was going to do, so she gave him her best kick, right in the gut. She went on the attack, her spear a whirling blur, the blade at either end clinking off Grimm’s armour and hammer, taking tiny chunks out of them. He stopped still, and as fast as the wind, grabbed Serpent’s Kiss, wrenched it from her grip, then threw it to the sand behind him, laughing maliciously. He began to spin his huge hammer round his wrist, a feat in itself, to taunt her.

Give up Cass! I’ve won! Grimm boasted, his ego inflating.

"I’m not down yet, Hector! I know exactly what you’ll do next," Dexon said calmly.

Is that so? he flung his hammer straight at her, but she rolled to one side, it barely missed her.

GRIMM! shouted Rask, Calm down, she’s not a fire beast!

His warning went unheard, as the duellists quickly picked up their weapons and began again. Swinging, striking, parrying, whirling, spinning, countering, the pair were kicking up quite a dust cloud. Neither combatant was getting the best of the other. They were dead even, for a time.

Grimm’s attacks were getting more relentless by the second, his incredible stamina was beginning to win out over Dexon’s speed, she was beginning to tire and her arms were aching painfully from blocking the dreadful hammer. Rask could tell that she was losing focus, and becoming unable to predict the next move. She could not defend anymore and began to dodge Grimm’s swings. He was like a raging bull strider, but Dexon was faster, ducking and diving around Grimm’s attacks, making sure she wouldn’t get nicked by the rusty blade at the back of the hammer’s head. She couldn’t take any more, she was puffing and panting, and yelling Stop!, but he wouldn’t relent.

She got in a lucky slice on his cheek, it made him so angry that he swung his hammer from below and sent her spear flying through the air to stick upright in the sand. Dexon was caught off guard, so Grimm aimed a blow square at her left side, it took her off feet and she tumbled through the air landing on the ground by Rask, winded and gasping for breath. Grimm had won. He strode over to Dexon, intent on finishing her off, but Rask quickly put himself between the two.

ENOUGH! IT’S OVER! Rask was pushing on Grimm’s chest to keep him back.

You want some too, Ak? I could go ‘till the eclipse! He was raging, blood drunk and ready for more.

Calm down, you fucking psycho! You’ve almost broken her in two! Rask knelt down next to her, and examined her side, her armour was cracked and her ribs broken, she could barely breathe.

Aww, you worried about your little girlfriend? She’s not made for this life! Grimm was revelling in his victory, as he always did. A sore winner but even sorer if he loses, which was a rarity. Rask ignored him again, then looked into Dexon’s tearful blue eyes and spoke softly.

Adapt and overcome. he said. She laughed sarcastically, spluttering blood and fell into a painful sleep.

Rask was not angry, he was calm. He wanted to teach Grimm a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget. Ducking under the shelter, he spied their pile of gear and supplies and began rummaging for the sword that once belonged to his father. It was right where he left it, under his cumbersome steel breastplate and pauldrons. He only wore those when he needed the protection, preferring just his old coat and hood – unencumbered agility.

The sword of Rask Heracles was an old curved memory steel blade, forged in a style that dates back to ancient Planet Earth. He strapped on the armour plates over his coat, tied the deadly blade to his belt and pulled his hood up over his head.

As he left the shelter, Grimm was stood there waiting for him.

Hector…

Achilles…

In the middle of nowhere, by a rocky outcrop in the endless sand dunes of Planet Orion, under its receding triple suns, two life-long friends and skilled warriors stared at one another, mentally preparing themselves for a grudge match. Whenever they had fought in the past, there had never been an obvious winner, they could spar for what seemed like orbits, but that was as friends, this was different. Rask had every reason to slice the bastard to pieces, and Grimm was just Grimm, the slayer.

Rask unsheathed his sword, the long curved blade shimmering in the sunlight, pointed it at Grimm, then brought it in close to his chest and stood, ready. Grimm simply chuckled deeply in his throat. They ran at each other