Scott Alten Raiders of Trog

Scott Alten: Chapter 1

This is a vast Universe we live in and in one far off galaxy is a tiny rock called Trog. Some believe it's a planet. I 'spect it is. Just not mine. Unfortunately, I'm on this god forsaken rock but God willing, as luck battles fate, I will NOT DIE HERE!

I am not alone on Trog. There are others... the monsters who brought me... and many others here. Hard to estimate how many Trog there are, but, I CAN tell you how many like me, brought as captives from our home planets.

Mine is earth, and so far, I've found more than 50 more from Earth, that pretty marble planet that shines in the western horizon every (so often).

20 men, 33 women... some barely exiting childhood, forced by circumstances to jump over the teen years... best time of a human life... jump over that with scarcely any thought at all right to adulthood.

Trog's consider the young ones prize trophies. They want our young, take them for breeding. What their purpose is I haven't figured that out. I can give a good guess, no way to know though how accurate that guess is.

What I do believe?

I believe the women stopped breeding. What once were fertile bodies, stopped. Just got to figure out why. Did they overbreed? Some chemical imbalance that smothered whatever makes them fertile?

Inbreeding? Bodies denied fresh genes to broaden the gene pool?

I guess in the long run the why doesn't much matter. And yet, it really does. Something sent the Trogs off their home planet out into the universe to plague the rest of us... and they call US the Raiders.

I don't. I call my mis-matched band The Resistance. I guess Resistance Raiders fits us. Maybe Raiders of Resistance.

Eh...! The right name will come.

We have several young men and women between 16 and 27, prime years of fertility. Hard to tell how old they'd be on earth, and not all are from earth. But here on Trog, no one seems to age past 27, though I've caught an eyeful of older Trogs. They obviously do eventually age, same as the rest of us.

The Festival of Reji celebrates the renewal of life and ends the four year cycle. Now as yet I don't fully understand how this planet tracks time so I expect that is another thing all of us will learn together.

Four years. Four festivals. Each year is assigned its own festival.

Year One: Festival of Lords. (Honors the "mysterious" Rulers of this planet) Why they're "mysterious" I don't yet know. Another thing we'll find out together.

Year Two: Satag Festival. I've heard some call it Festival of SAY-tag, others say Sa-tag Festival. Still others say Sat-ag. (No mention of Festival with that one). Whichever way you want to say it, What it celebrates is the planets Harvest. Now that is something I CAN understand and bet you can too. Harvest is food. Food is survival. Seems to be a necessity for all life on every rock throughout this galaxy.

Year Three: Think Olympics, earths competition between all peoples and nations of our planet... 3rd rock from the sun. Our world event which also happens once every four years. Except... not really. Say the year was 1980 year of the summer Olympics. The next summer games wouldn't happen until 1984... 4 years later.

But the Winter Olympics comes along two years after the Summer Olympics, so 1982 and 86 would host the winter games. See what I mean?

Yes. Summer Olympics every 4 years. Ditto for the winter games. But the Olympics as an entity happens ever 2 years. Confused yet? Well now, let me add another layer. Trogs Festival of Champions. Add to this.

So that brings us back to where we started. Festival of Reji, or... for us earthlings... Renewal of Life. Which I've been left to assume is the equivalent of Fertility rites, harkens back to the early days of earth when people were tribal, Nomads. lived in small groups less than 100 souls or 25 familial units. Any more than that and the land couldn't support them. Then came agriculture with irrigation and farms. Nomads of tribal societies became stationary. Had to stay put to grow and harvest crops.

What does that have to do with fertility? Well, you've got to have a good diet for the women to conceive with bodies strong enough to carry a fetus to term. I 'spect the Troggs work the same way. Not so different from us in some ways.

The start of each year begins with a 5 day Festival. Each day has it's own purpose or significance with some traditional observance or ceremony to commemorate that day.

Day One is the Day of Friendship: Secrets are shared with fellow caste members around the world... not sure yet what all encompasses the Trog's idea of "world." But I'd bet it doesn't match mine. Friendship Day is also the time to call for peace, when members from other cultures travel to the Festival. A promise, I guess, to assure them they will remain safe while traveling to, from, and while attending the five day Festival.

Day Two is Day of Worship: one of two days designated to honor the Rulers (Festival of Lords).

Day Three is Day of Auction: Meant to honor the Festival of Satag. Or harvest. So maybe this is the day they barter corn for beans? Seeds for fish? Take their produce to a Trog market and sell it off? Use food to bribe or coerce uncooperative groups to fall in line?

Day Four is the day of lovers and old acquaintances. Meant to commemorate the Festival of Reji. (Need more info for this one)

Day Five is the day of Lords and Champions. The day to honor the Trogan Gods. It is an honor to be chosen for the games. Five men, five women. All chosen by Initiates of Gate, a special privilege to be given entry to the Sacred Mountains of Scamp.

It is believed that this honor lasts a lifetime and extends onto their families, a special protection from the Gods until they die. Once there, no one leaves. Anyone claiming to have been there and returned faces execution for blasphemy.

The final day crowns the championship team from all athletic contests. The winning team is revered for the next four years and receives many prizes.

There are two prizes that are highly coveted:

Two hundred gold pieces. Each member of the twenty man team receives 200 gold pieces.

The women each contestant put up as bets during the games become slaves to the winners.

The reigning champions for the last fifty-five years are the Generals from Korobe. I'd love to see them lose.

Chapter 2--Scott Alten and The Raiders of Trog

"My name is Scott Alten. I am 27, short, devilish-brown hair... falls just above my neck."

She was laughing, obviously amused. The man speaking to her used the first thing that came to mind, hoping she'd respond. It was the way he moved his hands up to kind of flick the hair around his collar that finally got that shy laugh to morph into one of honest amusement.

"OK, Mr. Scott Alten, 27 years-old with devilish brown hair... what else can you tell me?"

"That you're cute and I want to buy you a drink?"

She looked around at the field to either side, at the lake in front of them and cleft of rock directly behind them. "Well... I don't see anything available... no bar or tavern. Just this lake and..." She took time to give him a conspirator's wink "... paying for the water we drink doesn't seem part of the overall plan."

He smiled, shrugged, willing to take the hit. At least she was talking.

"How tall are you, Mr. Scott Alten?"

"Thirteen Jehans."

"Yes... well... Trog gibberish... let's see if I can figure this out. Uh!" One hand came up to wave him quiet. "No hints! I can do this.

51/2 X13 = 60 + 13 halves = 66 1/2 inches! That's... 5 ft 6 inches? I'm 5/8. That makes me taller than you!"

"Do I look taller than you?"

She looked up. He followed the red tide rising up from her neck and rushed to smother all trace of the humiliated blush.

"5.5 X 13 = 71.5 Half an inch under six foot. I'm still shorter than most, but I can hold my own. Sometimes being a bit shorter helps. Easier to duck lasers, rocks, arrows, tazers..."

"I've heard of you."

"Yah?" He peered close at her eyes, squinted the effort to read whether this conversation should end now. Right where it was.

"Wow! Your eyes twinkle! Ice cold blue a moment ago, now twinkling fairy lights in there. Does that intense stare bode ill or good toward me?"

"Depends. You never gave answer to that offer of a drink. I happen to know a place. Very near here."

She placed her hand on his arm, unable to believe the man she'd admired since that horrible day that she woke to find herself staring at earth from the outside, her home planet but not on it! Lightyears away from it! Not was the sun or moon that she should have seen up above her. But earth!

She couldn't remember anything about a long journey to another planet. What she did remember was walking with other slaves in a long line that was snaking through a weird forest of trees, rock, and cactus. Plus plants too strange to even describe.

Tired, unable to keep up with those ahead of her, she had stopped to hold her side and catch her breath. The soldier in charge of whipping the stragglers to make them keep moving and to keep up had not noticed she had stopped, his attention diverted by something he had seen in the distance and so moved that direction trying to figure out what it was.

In that span of one minute a hand had pushed out of a thorny bush on the side of the trail, used some kind of hammer to cut through the chain hanging from her wrists that had locked her in place as last in this long line of slaves.

At the same time another had come down over her mouth to smother her scream. In seconds she was freed from the slave train, bundled into a cart with two giant wheels and carried away.

Too bemused to scream she had silently watched the two men who had carried out that feat of rescue. This man here, the one flirting with her, promising to buy her a drink, had been one of them. He hadn't heard her name, she hadn't caught his. After dropping her in the cart he had gone on to rescue more from the slave train.

Learning to accept that she was not on earth or anywhere near it had been quite unsettling.

Learning how to get along on this new planet called Trog had been a mind-altering challenge. Now the man she had obsessed over, dreamed about, fantasized about was actually talking to her? Initiating conversation like he wasn't ten leagues above her social status?

He was COMMANDER of the Raiders!!! And he was talking to HER?

"I almost didn't recognize you," Scott Alten said as he turned her toward the settlement of Sinat. What I rescued that day was a traumatized young woman who'd been chained to sixty other women, made to march with not much on, whipped when she couldn't keep up.

"What I see today is a strong woman who can still laugh. Those are traits I most admire in a woman. So, if you don't mind my asking, what is your name?"

"Rose."

"For a minute I expected you to say Dawson."

"Like the Titanic Rose? Jack and Rose?"

"You know that movie? Are they still showing that film on earth?"

"Yes. Some films are too good to die... Except... that's my last name. First is Jolan. Jolan Rose."

"And there you go. Ruining a good comin on line".

"Comin on?"

"Comin' on to you? Break the ice line? Something cute or funny so a guy introducing himself doesn't get shot down before he gets to suggest buying dinner or a drink?"

He was floundering. To save him embarrassment, she took the next plunge. "So, Scott Alten. Tell me about you... I get you are a person of force here?"

"Well, I kind of fell into the role of commander. I can read people. Just give me a few minutes to look into a pair of eyes and I swear I can see right down to their very soul."

"Those twinkles I saw in those icy blue eyes?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Combine those soul searching twinkles with the unique talent of glimpsing once in a while scenes of the future... I can be a formidable adversary."

First Jolan appeared dubious, then gradually impressed for she'd heard rumors of a man who'd known of a slave train that would march through that valley days before it occurred, and dang if they hadn't been in the best place to rescue her and several others.

"And the man who kept whipping me? What happened to him?"

"He won't whip anyone else. Not in this lifetime."

"Good. I'm glad. He hurt me."

"Blood thirsty little thing, aren't ya? That's good. We need warrior women. I have a feeling you'll be an asset to our camp, maybe our battalion? Would you be interested in training for that role?"

"Yes! You rescued me! How can I say no? Actually, that is something I'd realy like to do. I'd hate to just sit. Wait. Hide. Wonder. Wait for news. Hate to sit here all safe, hiding inside when I could be an active part of the plan to stop the Trog... or whatever you call the monsters who inhabit this planet."

Scott Alden led her into a place she hadn't noticed before. She'd always thought it was a mine, or cave unsafe to explore. But Scott touched a button and the wall of rock moved, just like any normal door on earth would have moved.

Inside it looked like a saloon out of earth's old west. He led her to a table that was a barrel for a stand and slab of marble for the tabletop.

"They serve beer, lemonade, hard liquor, or lemonade with a shot of hard liquor."

Rose smiled at the man waiting to hear her order. "Can I have a lemonade with half a shot of hard liquor?"

The man in the white apron merely nodded, turned to retrace his steps to the bar counter, poured the Commander his usual tall beer, used the same size container for his companion with a full shot of his best hard liquor, what Scott assured him was close to what they called Moonshine or White Lightning on earth.

'A full shot of it in the very tall glass should make this young lady a very tasty drink.'

"Two years on the streets of Sinat," Scott began his tale as the bartender set their drinks down." I was leading a routine patrol along the city walls." Scott and the bartender exchanged smiles, both remembering that horrible night all to well. "Unexpectedly we stumbled on an execution. Five men. Traitors from Korobe, a city-state here on Trog.

"After a brief fight, my men had killed or captured 10 assassins. The remaining three were taken before Sinat's Justice, found guilty, and sentenced, scheduled for execution.

"Men from Korobe surrounded Sinat before their sentence could be carried out. We were a society that lived by Judicial Law and respected the rights of citizens. That was our one mistake. Those men of Korobe, and Grandma Rae, the woman who had sent them had no use for social law or customs.

"She sent armies to destroy Sinat, a siege we managed to hold off for twenty days but on the twenty-first, our defenses fell. The raiders from Korobe breached our last wall.

The women who by some miracle escaped being massacred, about 70 of them, were captured for slaves. Fifty men under my command survived the siege but were captured with the women, all of them marched to a wilderness prison called Treban."

"Were you one?"

Scott Alten visibly tensed, shocked sober to realize he had just got lost in memories, that were still so mentally vivid remembered he had felt his bones, muscle, nerves and sinew of his body flail, past pains relived.

"Grandma Rae, damn her black heart, sent us to Treban where the spirit and moral strength of my men were diluted or destroyed, our muscles boosted chemically, our bodies pushed beyond endurance to bulk up muscles through exercise."

"Why?"

"So my men could entertain crowds of Trog spectators. Remember the Roman Colosseum on Earth, where Christians and criminals were made to fight Lions or men better armed than they were. Now it is us, those who the Trog have kidnapped, enslaved, then took us to Treban, the end plan being to make us combatants in the Games of Treve.

"What happened to the women?" Jolan asked, certain that she knew the answer.

"Like you, they were raped, locked by chains to wrists and ankles, made to walk 70 miles to Treban. The lucky ones did not survive such a long march."

"Thank you, for being there that day. So weird, realizing I'd been taken off of Earth? Kept telling myself it was a dream. Had to be a dream. I'd stop watching movies of other worlds if I could just up in my own bed, my own house. But I had to suffer concussion or something because... two suns? One traveling east? The other west?"

A blanket of silence fell between them, broken when the bartender hollered from behind his bar, "Ready for round two?"

Believing one moonshine lemonade was Jolan's limit, he signaled no more. The Bartenders reply, if there was one, was drowned by noise coming from the storeroom directly behind the bar.

Taking no risk of what was causing it, Scott Alten took Jolan's hand, pulled her into a shadowed corner behind a group of half drunk men. Pushing her deep into the corner he tried to cover her with his body.

"We're in great danger. Don't move, no matter what you see or hear or feel."

As he whispered those words into her ear, he fumbled with the zipper of his pants, assumed the stance of a man taking a leak.

Seven Trog broke into the main room of the bar, scanned the crowd for the rebels commander. One man taking a piss in the corner fit the description they had of the man no Commander with his reputation would do such a vile act of impropriety inside a public building.

Deciding the tip they'd gotten was a wild goose chase meant to keep them busy so they'd go a place far from where Scott Alten was, they turned and left the same way they'd come in, still unaware of the hidden door out the front.

Knowing not to trust his ears, Scott Alten zipped his pants, brought his mouth close to hers, kissed the tastiest, fullest lips he'd ever experienced.

A kiss that lasted until a tap on his shoulder meant the Trog had cleared out and it was safe to break apart and step out of the corner.