Slave of Akrona Pt. 01

Slave of Akrona Part One

by G. Lawrence

A soldier is enslaved on an alien planet

This science fiction novel features romance but is light on erotic content. It's the story of a young soldier from Earth captured by an alien species and sent to the mines of Akrona to live among slaves. But this warrior from another world is no slave. The book is being presented in 5 parts.

* * * * * *

Chapter One

FROM THE DEBRIS FIELD

The castaway floated through an endless void. His battered spacesuit no longer provided visuals. The sensors were off-line, the com link silent. The recycled liquids had grown stale. What little physical sensation he felt was sporadic, mixed with long periods of deep slumber.

How long have I been in this state of nonexistence? he wondered. Days? Weeks? It was difficult to think.

Why am I not dead?

His thoughts wandered back to the last few minutes of the battle. The alien battlecruiser was bombarding Earth from high orbit. Burning forests. Pulverizing cities. Earth's small defense fleet had slowed but not stopped the invaders, and now only a desperate ploy might save the planet from conquest.

When was that? How long ago?

He remembered standing alone on the bridge of his half-built spaceship when an energy blast tore the vessel apart. But that had been expected. Necessary to the plan. He floated free of the shattered hulk to hide among the wreckage.

The battlecruiser loomed closer, six hundred meters long, fifty meters in diameter. A fearsome juggernaut that Earth's fledgling technology had been unable to stop. The hull gave off a blue glow. A neutralizing energy screen that had frustrated every weapon the fleet had deployed.

The planet was below him, much of it shrouded in black smoke. In the other direction, barely visible as tiny streaks of light, Earth's remaining warships were ambushing the invasion's supply transport. In a battle that had started in the moons of Jupiter, the invaders had underestimated their prey, and now they were paying a price.

Forced to break off the bombardment, the alien battlecruiser was rushing to the assistance of their beleaguered companions when a small enemy warship got in their way. An enemy they quickly brushed aside, or so they thought.

Drifting through the battlecruiser's energy screen, the young soldier's brain had suffered a short interruption before the biological nature of his wiring brought him back to consciousness. And the nuclear warhead tethered to his belt survived the transition as well.

Once inside the enemy's neutralizing energy screen, the battlecruiser was just another warship. A mass of technological devices and life forms enclosed within a thick hull. He hand-cranked the nuclear warhead's battery back to life until the ignition sequence showed ready.

Should I trust the timer? he remembered thinking.

He had promised to use the timing device rather than set the bomb off manually. He was barely twenty-nine years old, a daring leader with high hopes and a bright future.

But what if the timer doesn't work? Is one life such a great price to save a world?

He set the timer, hoping it would work despite his doubts, but his hope was quickly frustrated as glare from the sun obscured the timer's readout.

Was the timer counting down?

He shaded the readout with his hand trying to see if the priming sequence had activated. It was no good. The glare was so bright that even his meteor suit's sophisticated sensors couldn't detect the readings.

The timer is probably working, he thought. It tested fine in the lab. If I jump free now, it still might be possible to escape the blast. Maybe. No. I shouldn't take the chance. This trick will never work a second time.

Tears welled in his eyes as he looked toward the world he was trying to save. He regretted how his death would affect his wife, who didn't take loss easily. His friends would mourn him. He had spent his whole life knowing he might eventually die in battle, but this was more difficult than expected. It's one thing to hold the line against a fearsome enemy, but to push a switch in cold blood? To suddenly vaporize into countless sparkling atoms?

It couldn't be helped. This was his plan. His responsibility.

An airlock opened on the side of the alien warship as an enemy head poked out, the long narrow face visible through the transparent space helmet. The large black eyes were staring in surprise.

Now that his presence on the hull had been discovered, there was no choice. The Arikhan soldiers would soon be swarming out. Grey had never truly believed in a religion. Those who had raised him thought such superstitions foolish, but he had his doubts. To not believe felt so dogmatic. In his experience, life was full of questions that science would never answer.

He said a prayer. A prayer for his family and friends. For his world and the future he might have had if fate been more kind. And he put in a word for himself, asking that his faults, of which there were many, might one day be forgiven. It was Thursday, September 2nd, 2088. The warhead was ready for activation. He pushed the lever.

How long ago was that? He didn't even know if his sacrifice had been worthwhile. Did the bomb go off? Was the warship destroyed?

The floating seemed to go on forever, interspersed by long periods of dreamless sleep. Then, at last, there was a new sensation. The deathlike cocoon was no longer drifting. There was noise on the outside, muffled but clear enough not to be his imagination. He heard a thumping sound.

What's going on? What happens next?

Nothing happened.

Sleep came again, lightly this time, with nightmares exciting his breathing. If his body wasn't so dehydrated, he would have been sweating.

He woke up. Something was banging on him. Or on the suit. There was a grinding. Cutting. Drilling. The visor broke loose and, in a blinding flash of white light, his eyes were free of the darkness. He couldn't see at first, it was too bright, but gradually he made out two humanoid forms hovering over him. He was in a white paneled workroom. Power tools were attached to the walls. Enclosed shelves prevented containers from spilling to the floor. He was in a spaceship. An engineering department. A voice was speaking, but it wasn't an Earth language. It was Arikhan.

"The thing is alive," a croaking voice complained, the final word cut by the angry lash of the alien's long gray tongue.

Grey squinted against the light. The technicians leaning over him were bipeds, slightly more than two meters in height, with leathery brown skin reminiscent of large lizards, but they were not reptiles. More birdlike, with stubby bill-like noses, high cheekbones, and darting black pupils peering out from pale yellow irises. They had muscular arms, flexible legs, thin necks, and narrow heads. Their hands were shaped like claws, each of the four digits ending in hard, pointed nails. Webbed membranes covered the sides of their heads instead of hair, and only holes showed where their ears should be. The thin mouths hid evidence of ivory fangs well-adapted for tearing meat.

Grey had met Arikhan before. What he knew of their eating preferences could be unpleasant.

"Can we claim it for our pens?" the other alien asked, the dialect marked by a distinctive provincial accent.

"The Linyet Leader must decide," the first replied in disappointment.

"None expect a living specimen," the hungry one said. "Perhaps only we should know? Who found it if not us? Have we not earned first taste?"

"We have earned first taste, yet the Linyet Leader awaits our report. She will not be pleased if our words lack truth."

"Where am I?" Grey asked in English, his throat so dry the words were barely whispered.

He felt dizzy, more asleep than awake, but even with his senses dulled he still preferred the aliens not know he understood their language.

"Seartan, it speaks!" the male alien shouted, jumping back from the workbench with twitching shoulders.

"By Sherra's mystery," Seartan said, reaching for a weapon mounted on the wall.

The alien need not have bothered. Grey realized now he was still in the Quexelian meteor suit he had worn during the battle, the suit's hibernating functions having kept him alive while drifting in space. But he was too weak to get up, even if he could free himself of the suit's grip. Talking was difficult. Thinking even harder.

"Faytro, what tongue does it mutter?" Seartan asked.

"The words are unfamiliar. Not Akronos, nor any of the cursed marauder languages," Faytro said. "The thing must be barbarian."

"Does that mean we may taste it?" Seartan asked.

Faytro snapped his moist tongue sharply against the roof of his mouth, indicating a negative response, and used a steel wedge to pry the suit open. Eventually the chest plates spread far enough apart for the unusual occupant to be removed.

"The thing has no meat," Seartan sighed with disappointment.

Faytro pulled the prisoner from the suit, laying him on a nearby workbench where Grey saw the outfit for the first time. He was shocked at its condition. The bulky outfit was charred. Bent. Expended. It was no surprise the aliens hadn't expected to find a living creature inside. As a mangled piece of space debris, it hardly looked worth salvaging.

The meteor suit hadn't permitted underclothing. Except for his gold wedding band, he wore nothing as he lay on the workbench. It didn't matter to the aliens. They would no sooner clothe him than they would a cow or pig, humans being primarily an exotic food source. And he had to agree with the alien's assessment; his body was wasted to skin and bones.

"Where am I?" Grey asked in Arikhan, fighting a temptation to add a clip to the edge of his words as the alien scout Mordari had always done.

The male alien studied him coldly. The Arikhan did not appreciate surprises. None would describe them as a curious race, nor an inventive one, having taken their technology from conquered worlds. But Grey knew they could be crafty, and this alien was clearly wondering what a strange food creature was doing floating inside a piece of space junk.

A third alien arrived wearing a long white tunic and carrying a black leather satchel. Unlike the slate gray tunics of the technicians, which were frayed at the edges, this tunic was crisply pressed. The slender female peered into Grey's eyes, stuck a gloved foreclaw down his throat, and poked him hard in the abdomen. Grey replied with a grunt and tried to push the annoying claw away.

"Give it water," the intrusive alien ordered.

"Yes, yarbel ky," Faytro said.

It's a doctor, Grey realized. He looked out a porthole, trying to fix their location. Was Earth nearby? The moon? Had the alien invasion proved successful after all?

"Quickly!" the physician demanded. "Food creature, my name is Pamaro, yarbel ky of the Link. Do you understand my words?"

Grey had to think, which wasn't easy. He wanted to sleep again. Link was not a group word for the Arikhan. Could it be the name of their ship? Impossible. Other than the battlecruiser, the only surviving enemy spacecraft was a colonial transport called Bhast. Both of the escorting warships had been destroyed. There was no fifth ship.

"Link," Grey whispered.

"Yes, the Link," Pamaro said. "Where did you come from? Are you from Akrona? Were you trying to escape? What happened to your vessel?"

Faytro returned with a container and a tube, then sat Grey up and helped him sip the fluid. It tasted like brackish water. He spit some out.

"Not so much at once," Pamaro cautioned, taking over the duty. She helped him drink slowly, studying for clues to his origin.

"It has no water for many days. How long was it out there?" Pamaro asked.

"The thing passed through the gate three seasons ago in a debris swarm. We found it while clearing the 12th degree approach," Seartan said.

"We thought it salvage," Faytro added.

Gate? A stargate? Grey wondered.

The Quexelian entities had told him of stargates. Intense rings of resonant energy established around a sun, permitting interstellar travel along subspace dimensional paths. But Grey knew Earth had no stargate, and even if the technology was available, assembling the complicated energy fields was said to take years.

"It's an interesting creature," Pamaro said, forcing a greenish liquid down Grey's throat. The fluid was thick and tasteless but for a lingering beefy tinge. Grey felt a burning inside.

"Sad the metallic covering is ruined. It may come from Gorthan, or perhaps Ballor," Faytro said.

"This creature is not Gorth or Ballorian," Pamaro said, using a scanner to study Grey's biology. "Human, obviously, but it carries genes not in our database. It may be from Rog."

"If the marauder world sends spies, much will be the retaliation. Too long has been the truce with those treacherous food creatures," Faytro complained.

"That is for the Council of Warriors to decide," Pamaro cautioned.

Grey was only able to follow bits and pieces of the exchange, his Arikhan not sophisticated enough to comprehend many of the subtleties, but the word spy wasn't hard to decipher. He would have liked to know more, but soon he was asleep again.

* * * * * *

He woke up, gradually realizing he was no longer on a spaceship. It was a planet, the gravity similar to a large moon. The room was dark but not blacked out. Small, like a cell.

"The prisoner moves," a guard said outside a metal screen.

The tall Arikhan was dressed in a common blue tunic that hung nearly to the knees, khaki trousers, and high black leather boots. A sidearm was holstered on its hip. The glint in its large black eyes displayed a contemptuous curiosity.

Grey sat up to take a deep breath. He felt a little stronger. There was a trace of green liquid on his lips. No doubt a nutritional concoction from the yarbel ky. But he was still incredibly sleepy. He had hardly opened his eyes before he wanted to doze off again.

Someone had put a scented pad beneath him to absorb waste matter. He had always thought the Arikhan an orderly species, but this exceeded his expectations. The cell had a tiny window high up on the wall and a thermos of water lay nearby. A brown blanket with an itchy texture lay across his legs. He had no clothes.

Soon a broad-shouldered military official arrived, sliding the steel grid open and squatting to study the captive. The alien had intense black eyes and wore an olive green tunic decorated with three silver swamp leaves. The insignia of command. The alien's skin was a leathery brown but highlighted with blue around the neck, cheeks and chin, indicating a higher caste than the average Arikhan foot soldier.

"I am Cordaris, Varbatro Leader of the Akrona Contingent," the veteran commander said. "For whom do you spy?"

Grey pretended not to understand the question, though he grasped most of it. The alien leader waited a moment before striking him across the face with the back of his clenched claw. Grey blinked and tried to shake off the blow. He was struck again.

"Speak or other means will be discovered," Cordaris said.

"I not spy," Grey said in broken Arikhan. "Don't know. Confused."

The alien hit him harder. Blood swelled in his mouth. Grey perceived little choice but to accept the beating. What could he say? He didn't know where he was or how he got there, and his last conscious act was setting off a nuclear warhead to destroy an Arikhan battlecruiser. Hardly an act likely to endear himself.

"What is this? An ornament?" Cordaris asked, noticing the slender gold band around Grey's finger. The ring slipped off easily. "There are etchings within the band. If the scratches are words, we will decipher them."

"Slaves have no written language," the tall guard said.

"They did before the conquest. Confess, spy. This trinket has betrayed you," Cordaris said, waving it in Grey's face.

"I sorry, being of great superiority. I lost. Not spy," Grey answered, putting his forehead to the floor.

Cordaris raised the clenched claw again but held back. The submissive creature before him did not appear courageous enough to lie. Nothing but skin and bones, it could barely kneel without losing balance. Cordaris lowered his fist.

"Tomorrow, be ready to speak," Cordaris ordered.

Grey was brought more food. Not much, but enough. It had a strange aftertaste. Drugs? He ate it anyway.

The next day Cordaris returned and beat Grey again, this time at greater length. Grey still played dumb, and the effects of his drugged food made it easier.

Typical lizards, he thought, using the derogatory nickname they had gained on Earth. They want information, but drug my food, believing it will make me compliant. They don't understand people who are willing to die rather than submit.

After the third day, Cordaris sent a surrogate to do the beatings, an ambitious junior officer named Amartro. The assistant was stocky and strong, but not very bright. His face was wider than average for an Arikhan, the black eyes set deeper. The skin was a deep brown with no trace of aristocratic blue. Only one bronze swamp leaf showed on his dreary olive green uniform.

"You will speak," Amartro demanded, pinning Grey against the wall and punching with a closed claw.

Lacking any sense of subtlety, Amartro seemed to believe that force alone would achieve his goal. Sometimes the prisoner was beaten several days in a row, sometimes with days of solitude interspersed between the interrogations.

Accustomed to more clever adversaries, Grey came to view the Contingent minions with ill-disguised disdain. As the sparse feedings continued, giving him just enough strength to endure the questioning, he fixed it in his mind to forget everything. To forget his name, past life, and anything else Amartro might find interesting. He learned to use the drugs, draining his mind of useful information.

Several weeks later, even the Arikhan came to feel their efforts were futile.

"You show much fortitude, food creature," Amartro said one day, crouching comfortably outside the cell.

Grey looked into the black eyes, sensing a change. Having failed, Amartro had decided to change tactics. Knowing that Arikhan, as a rule, would rarely resort to guile, Grey was surprised.

"Take this," Amartro said, sliding a roll of baked grain across the floor.

Grey studied the roll for the briefest moment before eating without comment. It was good.

"You must tell me your secrets," the ambitious guard said, lashing his tongue lightly.

"Tell me what to say, and I will say it," Grey meekly agreed. Though without sincerity, a lapse he hoped the alien would fail to notice.

"The secrets must be yours. I already know my own secrets," Amartro said with a sly dipping of his eye-rings.

Finishing the bread, Grey sat cross-legged in the center of the cell, tipping his head down.

"I will say what you tell me to say," he repeated.

"Then you will die," Amartro threatened.

"It has happened before," Grey replied.

* * * * * *

"Shall it be sent to the pens? It might be worth slaughtering if the butcher can add enough meat," Sub-Leader Talatron asked, a waddling disgrace to the bronze swamp leaf on his tunic.

Cordaris, Talatron, and Amartro stood outside the cell, apparently contemplating a decision. Having grown up on a lunar mining colony subjected to lighter gravity deterioration, he had spent much of his early life underweight. That changed when he finally visited Earth, though he didn't reach 5'10 until his early twenties, and didn't weigh 175 pounds until years after that. Women generally found him good looking with his unruly brown hair and thoughtful gray eyes. He weighed considerably less now.

"It may yet be a tool of the marauders, or a test by Central Planning of our diligence," Amartro warned.

Cordaris lowered eye-rings, gazing at the prisoner in contemplation.

"Feed it for a few days, then send it to the mines at Karak," the Varbatro Leader ordered.

"The creature is too weak. It will not survive a season in the mines," Talatron protested, thinking the stubborn animal might have just enough flesh on his bones for a decent lunch.

"It shall be as Sherra wills," Cordaris said, ignoring his subordinate's suggestion with a sharp click of his tongue.

"As Sherra wills," Talatron agreed with reverence.

Cordaris dipped eye-rings in respect. Amartro silently walked away. Grey knew Sherra to be the most honored deity of the Arikhan, the goddess of their prosperity, but it was the first time he remembered her intervening on his behalf.

The sun was not yet up when he was escorted from the concrete cell several days later. Days in which he had mostly slept. The guards had obeyed the order to feed him, usually a thick gruel, but he didn't mind. He had never been particular about what he ate, and he had decided the whole experience was just a fevered delusion, so it didn't matter.

The floor beneath his bare feet was cold. Of the two armed guards, one was portly and shorter than most Arikhan, the other a head taller than Grey but unusually thin. They were not well-dressed, their common blue tunics showing age and leather boots requiring polish. The smaller guard, Larbatro, did most of the talking, expressing satisfaction at getting away for the day. Colatron, the taller of the two, said little but didn't disagree. Neither spoke to their prisoner or expected much of him.

After tying Grey's hands behind his back with a leather strap, the shorter guard put a rope around his neck and pulled him toward the door, but they received enough cooperation that dragging wasn't necessary. As he stepped outside the crude cinder block building, Grey looked up at the dark sky, searching for the comforting stars of home. He thought he should be able to see several of his favorite constellations, but they weren't there. None of the stars looked familiar.

Even before sunrise, the air was warm. A small yellow moon was visible above the horizon to the west. Judging by the gravity, Grey felt the planet might be smaller than Earth but larger than Mars. Akrona? He tried to remember if Mordari had ever mentioned such a world, but she had rarely discussed the extent of the Arikhan Empire.

They walked down a crude path between two wooden maintenance shacks, reaching the foot of a long asphalt runway. It was an airport. Or spaceport. Probably both, and not very large, having only three hangars. Grey recognized a sho'kara set on the edge of the tarmac, a large cigar-shaped Arikhan cargo transport. The airbase was surrounded by simple rock walls, guarded by an occasional stone tower. The conquerors of Akrona appeared to have little need for high-tech security.

He was led to an area where several boxy ground vehicles were parked, all hydrogen powered, none bigger than a standard Earth ground runner. The six-wheel transports, known as a sho'kara, were large enough for eight passengers and a modest amount of cargo. Painted in a dark maroon with jagged yellow stripes on the doors, the protective coating was beginning to peel. Grey was pushed into a rear compartment and the hatch locked. The vehicle was fast but noisy. Either poorly built or poorly maintained. The Arikhan were not known for their engineering skills. He rolled on his side and went back to sleep.

The red sun was high in the late afternoon sky before the vehicle slowed to a stop. The hatch opened and Grey was pulled out, blinded by the blazing light. The heat felt good on his pale skin, at first, but without protection it quickly became uncomfortable.

"Forward, food creature," Larbatro said, pushing him toward a ramshackle building perched on a low hill surrounded by tall leafy trees. The one-story structure was made of slat-board, the roof covered in gravel and tar. Much of the green paint that had protected it from the elements was missing.

Grey complied with the guard's order as best he could, but his legs were weak, the warm air difficult to breathe. It felt strange having no clothes, public nudity not being part of his culture. He tripped going up the rough stone steps, scraping his knees, and had to be dragged into the comparative coolness of the headquarters.

It wasn't much of a command center. He noticed a large meeting room, a cramped bunk area to the left, a kitchen back to the right, and a few offices located down a rear corridor. The floor was sanded wood. The walls were poorly painted in drab jungle green. The beam ceiling showed traces of sunlight, stained where it leaked in the rain. After seeing the impressive military outpost the Arikhan had briefly maintained on Europa, Grey could hardly believe this shabby cabin was inhabited by the same species.

"What skinny piece of meat is this?" a broad-shouldered alien said, storming into the main room where Grey had fallen on the floor. The alien appeared to be a high official with intelligent red-brown eyes and the voice of authority. The olive green tunic indicated a post of leadership but there were no lapel pins to indicate rank. His skin was a dry blue, unlike most Arikhan, who were brown.

"A prisoner taken by the Contingent Leader. Cordaris sends it to your mines," Larbatro explained.

"Does the Contingent Leader now interfere with production?" the annoyed official asked.

"Yes, Sarden Leader Gamtro," Larbatro said, boldly straightening to full height.

"Hold your place, ranker. Even a lowly camp leader may put such as you on report," Gamtro warned with a sharp glare, his cheeks flushing.

"Do so, but still must you accept this gift," Larbatro insisted.

The guard defiantly clicked his tongue and kicked Grey in the ribs, rolling him over to Gamtro's leather-booted feet. The prisoner lay flat on his stomach, not moving for fear of being stomped.

"It has no meat. Take it to the pens," a tall guard said, emerging from the rear corridor wearing a brown leather tunic and tan trousers. A yellow swamp leaf indicated he had once been a warrior before being reduced to this obscure outpost.

"Nabbatron, if the slave has no meat, what good is it in the pens?" Colatron replied, offering a rare remark.

"What good is it here?" Nabbatron protested.

"Perhaps it will be eaten by your slaves? No doubt they long for a taste of blood in their mort," Larbatro suggested.

Gamtro rapidly clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, an Arikhan way of expressing amusement, and waved the guards away. They hurried back down the flagstone steps to their sho'kara and departed before the Sarden Leader could change his mind.

"Get up, food creature," Gamtro ordered.

Grey struggled to his knees and put his forehead to the floor in the posture of submission. Gamtro was pleased.

"Give it water and put it to work," Gamtro ordered his subordinate.

Without another thought on the subject, Gamtro returned to his office where an old wooden desk and a communications globe awaited his attention.

With hands still tied behind his back, Grey was taken to the outside steps and allowed a drink of cool water from a copper faucet. He considered begging to have the bonds removed, but decided not to. He was too weak to provoke trouble for which he was unprepared.

From the staircase atop the hill, Grey saw some of the sprawling mining camp on the other side of a narrow valley. Karak looked to be several thousand acres of dry brush and scrub forest stretched below a long series of steep cliffs. Vibrating pale blue energy waves, probably a force field, surrounded the entire area.

There didn't seem to be any security within the enclosure itself, only small groups of weathered tents and huts. Sparse gardens were fed from a lake toward the northern end of the compound. Beyond the enclosure to the south, as far as he could see, was nothing but rugged mountains and thick forests. No tracks, no roads. Nothing resembling civilization.

A poke in the back told Grey to move. He gingerly walked down the steps to a dirt path, then across a flat area and over the railroad tracks to the main gate three hundred yards away, splashing his feet in a shallow creek. The rope around his neck hurt as the guard pulled him through a door and up a short flight of stairs into a red brick building. Grey was glad to be inside away from the glare of the sun.

The two-story gatehouse towering above the main entrance to the camp appeared to be the Arikhan contact point with the workers. Out the long broad windows, he saw a network of aluminum tracks bearing ore carts. The tracks appeared to link together just inside the gate before exiting to a long cement loading platform. From the platform, a larger gauge of tracks ran north where a long pylon bridge crossed over a bluish river before disappearing into a vast prairie. Grey guessed there must be processing facilities beyond the prairie, but it was only a guess.

As the sentry pushed him down on rough wooden floorboards, Grey realized that solar powered fans were cooling the building. The plaster walls were painted in the same drab green as the commandant's office. A staff of eight Arikhan sentries were seated on stools around an old communications globe located in the corner, their attention so riveted to the broadcast that he was ignored.

Grey soon realized that all of the sentries were generally lean and similarly dressed in brown tunics and patched gray trousers. Most were between six and a half to seven feet tall. Their rawhide boots were worn.

"An official announcement from the Council of Warriors," a grim voice said from the viewer.

Grainy images appeared in the globe, first of an Arikhan military official, then a picture of an Arikhan battlecruiser. Grey recognized the warship. The last time he had seen it, he was standing on its hull.

"Terrible news, brothers and sisters. The rumors are confirmed. For the first time in living memory, our courageous forces have met with defeat. The invasion of Sol has failed. Farre, Timik, and even Bellerophon, are destroyed," the official said.

Grey noticed the announcer had the shiny dark blue skin of an aristocrat, though even commoners sometimes showed bluish traces, especially when flushed with excitement.

"Bellerophon!" several of the guards exclaimed.

"How can this be?" their sub-leader asked, a female better dressed than the others. "Too well was Bellerophon constructed. Too strong were her arms."

"Your questions are worthy," the high official said, not specifically to this group, but to millions of Arikhan who must have been wondering the same thing. "Much did our forces prevail against the Sol inhabitants, despite loss of the armed escorts, and a lush world of blessed resources lay before us. But a curl struck in stealth at Bellerophon even at her moment of greatest triumph. Demonic magic was practiced, and all aboard were lost. But take heart, for the foul curl was slain, never again to darken our prospects. One day the food creatures of Sol will again be subject to Sherra's mercy."

Grey noticed the high official wore broad silver leaves across her red tunic and spoke in a soothing fashion to soften the impact of the distressing report. He had thought the Arikhan a tougher species. Maybe they had been, he decided, in their past. Before the riches of conquered worlds began to spoil them. The image vanished, replaced by a cloudy screen.

"Not for two generations shall we again tread the path to Sol," a sentry whispered to his comrades, a middle-aged Arikhan with plain features.

"It could be more, Bortro," his sub-leader warned. "Sol is a primitive world without a stargate, inhabited by vicious barbarians. Long will it be before we venture there again."

"Romtra, what of Bhast? There is no talk," Frontra asked, an older female with delicate eye-rings and a pensive gaze. She was the tallest of the females, with long arms and a powerful frame. Perhaps a warrior in earlier times.

"Sad indeed the fate of a colonial transport without escort," Sub-Leader Romtra answered, her opinion meeting with respect. "A thousand of our brothers and sisters must now beg the mercy of food creatures."

Romtra's remark brought much anger.

"We should slay them all," Nabbatron said, the largest Arikhan in the room. "Too weak were our forces. Too much was our confidence. Now the food creatures abide in victory."

"The fate of Sol is for warriors to decide, not sentries of the rear echelon," Romtra lectured.

Nabbatron spun on his heels and left the room with a disgruntled thrust of his shoulders. The others were not unhappy to see him go.

"The Council of Warriors will need more warships, better and stronger than Bellerophon," Bortro said. "If work orders are placed, our production will increase. Duty on Akrona may once again bring prosperity."

"Resources are not what they were a hundred years ago," Frontra cautioned. "Akrona no longer builds warships as in the past. Our labor is much depleted. Too many workers are sent to the pens."

"Production may fill a few orders," Romtra said without much confidence. "Perhaps cargo ships, or courier vessels."

"Let us hope. What promotion may we receive on this Sherra forsaken rock?" Bortro complained, heavier and older than the others.

"Do not blaspheme," Romtra scolded. "Sherra forsakes none of her children. And forget not the prophecy. From the mines of Akrona will be forged the Sword of Sherra. We thought Bellerophon, forged from the minerals of this world, had fulfilled the prophecy. Our greatest triumph may yet lie ahead."

"Blessed is the wisdom of Sherra," the group chanted.

Grey tried to gather bits and pieces of the conversation that seemed to apply to him. Particularly the part about the destroyer of the Bellerophon being killed.

If I'm dead, what am I doing here? he thought.

He tried to shake off the haze pressing against his brain, but still felt sleepy. Nothing around him seemed real except the blows of his captors. This must be another nightmare, he decided. At some point, I'm going to wake up. I hope it's soon.

"What's that?" Romtra said, pointing at the prisoner near the door.

"Nabbatron brought us a new worker," Dhartro said, younger than many in the room but slighter than most.

"It looks like half a worker," Romtra remarked, gaining clicks of amusement from her staff.

Grey glanced up as Romtra squatted down to run her claws through the shaggy brown hair hanging over his forehead, pulling his head back. She was older than her staff, slender but sturdy. The webbing around her head was growing thin. Romtra stared into the prisoner's blank expression, the gray eyes empty.

"It will not last a week. There is no meat," Romtra said.

Romtra untied the rope around his neck, probed the soft flesh with momentary interest, then took out a thick bronze collar and positioned herself to fasten it around the prisoner's neck. The moment he saw the ring, Grey panicked and kicked fiercely at Romtra's midsection. Bortro leapt forward, seeking to pin the prisoner down. Grey twisted, kicked Bortro in a sensitive area between his thighs, and struggled to free his hands, fighting on instinct alone. Frontra joined the fray and eventually the three of them managed to hold the prisoner down long enough to secure the collar.

"The thing is stronger than it looks," Frontra observed, the large female sentry breathing heavily.

"A fighter. Maybe it will last longer than a week," Bortro said, the husky male's eye-rings bent in pain as he clutched the injured area.

"Apparently the creature is only docile until provoked. Keep the paws tied until you release it into the compound," Romtra said, also breathing hard.

Pinned to the floor with Frontra sitting on him, Grey wasn't listening to the conversation. None of it made sense to him.

Once again dragged into the blinding light, Grey passed under an arch into the compound. Frontra led him on a short leather leash, moving slowly because the food creature appeared disoriented.

"You are sent to the lowest camp," Frontra said, veering toward the southern end of the enclosure. "The mines are hot. Work begins at sunrise. No work, no eat. Attempt escape and you die. Obey the rules, perhaps you survive. Do you understand?"

Grey did not respond. He did not understand. Nor did he care so long as no one was hitting him.

"Do you understand?" Frontra repeated. But she saw he didn't. His eyes held a glazed look. He stumbled over the rough dirt path like one wandering in a fog, his tender feet pained by small stones.

They walked for a long time, following a line of ore tracks toward the rocky, tree-studded cliffs above the mines. As they traversed the compound, Grey vaguely noticed a series of widely spaced campsites. Nearest the gatehouse, the tents looked better maintained. Several even had raised wood floors. A handful of people, mostly women tending the gardens, were clothed in sparse cotton tunics or animal skins. They seemed to be growing a crop similar to wheat and a variety of odd-looking vegetables. There were no tractors or plows, only hand trowels and a few shovels.

Closer to the mines, which were spread in a long fishhook along the base of the mountain, the camps looked poorer. An ore cart rolled past pushed by two burley male workers. Human workers, hardly different in size or shape than his own people. The workers wore collars as Grey did. They did not look up.

Near the southern end of the lake he saw a dozen women working small plots. Some had adequate clothing, others wore rags. A few children, all very young, sat quietly in the shade of some run down shacks. Most looked undernourished.

This isn't a work camp, Grey realized. These are slaves. It's a slave camp! He remembered reading of such things. It was said that some nations on Earth still maintained similar institutions, though nothing this extreme. Grey felt like he should be shocked, but the impact didn't register. He seemed to be watching an old documentary rather than observing a miserable reality.

At last they reached a decrepit camp pitched fifty yards from the foot of a granite cliff. The mine was nothing more than a rough tunnel cut into the mountain. Trees and bushes grew thickly along the top of the ridge, and a waterfall gushed down the side near the entrance. The creek continued running past the camp toward a vibrating wire fence two hundred yards away. Beyond the fence lay a lush green forest, small portions of which had been cleared away. Grey assumed the trees had been harvested to provide timber supports for the mines.

Set in a clearing surrounded by scraggily trees and blue shrubs, the camp consisted of a few old canvas tents. A large communal tent was held up by four corner posts and two tall center poles, the sides held down by ropes and stakes. Smaller pup tents were arrayed nearby. Only one person was in the camp, a young woman with her arm in a sling. Grey guessed her age at about twenty-five, though her figure was unnaturally thin. She had long auburn hair, sad brown eyes, and vaguely Asian features. She wore nothing but a bronze collar and a ragged yellow tunic.

"Greetings, Frontra," the slave woman said, kneeling on the ground in submission.

"Peace, Myra. Does the wing heal?" the alien sentry asked.

"Yes, mistress. Thank you for letting me rest it," Myra said, bowing her head before looking up. Grey detected respect in the slave's eyes but not fear.

"Damaged workers are not valuable," Frontra said. "Where is Garn?"

"Shalli takes him with her to the gardens," Myra said, glancing at the prisoner but saying nothing until asked.

"You should have more children. We have too few in this camp," Frontra said.

"Clagg would like more children, but food is scarce. This has not been a good year, mistress," Myra dared to suggest.

By her posture rather than words, Frontra seemed to agree.

"Garden allotments are improved for the lesser camps. More food will be provided if production improves," Frontra advised.

"Thank you, mistress," Myra replied.

"This is a new worker," Frontra announced, untying Grey's hands and gently pushing him toward the big tent.

"Excuse me, mistress, but it looks like half a worker," Myra joked.

Frontra clicked her tongue in amusement.

"It needs food, but make no rash judgment. The half-meat is stronger than it appears," Frontra said. The alien turned around and showed Myra a dark brown mark on her hip. Myra was surprised.

"He struck you?" Myra asked.

"Not so hard as it struck Bortro. It will be days before the old waddler walks upright again," Frontra said, apparently with satisfaction. "And Romtra's belly will grumble for a week."

Myra looked at the stranger again, trying to see something in his demeanor that suggested such a fierce temperament. Nothing of the sort showed. He was close to her age, desperately thin, of average height, and pale as a bleached bone. The masters had not given him a shred of clothing to wear.

"The food creature does not have all its senses," Frontra explained, anticipating Myra's thoughts. "It may have been drugged while in Contingent custody. In time, it will grow stronger."

"You are generous, Frontra. Always has it been so," Myra said.

"Not always," Frontra corrected before returning to the gatehouse.

"Welcome to Ferret Camp," Myra said in a language Grey didn't recognize.

He stood in one place, looking at the worn tents and a small cooking fire. Other than a few pots and water jars, he saw little else in the way of possessions. Unlike the tents near the gate, which looked newer, these tents were patched. The beds were made of straw tied with reeds into mats.

"Do you accept my welcome?" Myra asked in the strange language.

"Where am I?" Grey asked in English.

"I don't know your words," Myra said, making him sit down near the community tent. Switching to Arikhan, Myra said, "Do you understand the language of the masters?"

"I lost," Grey said in Arikhan.

"You have not been a slave long," Myra said in surprise, replying in Arikhan.

"Not slave. I--"

He reached up to feel the collar locked around his neck. On Earth, he was an engineer. A soldier. A leader. Now he was sitting naked in the dust of a slave camp hundreds or maybe thousands of light years from home. Beaten, confused, and bewildered. He wasn't anybody anymore.

Myra brought him a bowl of soup and slowly fed him with a tin spoon, noticing the empty look in his eyes.

"You need sleep," Myra said. "Eat. Take rest. What is your name?"

Grey thought for a long time, continuing to fondle the collar, but he didn't answer her question.

Near sunset, a teenage woman carrying a baby in one arm and a heavy basket of vegetables in the other returned from the gardens. Small-boned with long blonde hair and vivid blue eyes, the woman would have attracted attention in any culture.

Myra jumped up and took the baby with her good arm.

"How was Garn?" Myra asked.

"Fussy. I gave him tubers to stay quiet," Shalli said, thankfully setting the basket down.

"He grows quickly in his third year," Myra said, rubbing the youngster's red hair and making him laugh. "We must watch that he doesn't gain too much meat."

"The masters say children are no longer taken to the pens. They need workers."

"I don't trust the masters," Myra explained. Shalli nodded agreement.

"Who is that?" Shalli said, seeing a stranger sleeping in the community tent.

"A new worker brought by Frontra," Myra said.

"We have little allotment as it is," Shalli objected. "Wolf Camp is claiming much of the harvest. Raven Camp is making claims, too. Our share is barely enough to feed Clagg."

"Their arrogance is without limit. Before the cave-in, none would challenge Ferret Camp in such a way. Now our numbers are so few, we get nothing. Clagg will be angry."

"Even Clagg cannot fight so many," Shalli said.

"At least we had fresh tunics to wear in the fall. Wolf Camp shares none of the new furs," Myra bitterly remarked.

"What can we do?" Shalli said, tears welling in her eyes. "Our mine is played out. Our quotas unmet. The masters will not bend the share for a camp so poor as ours, and now they give us starving strangers to further weaken our hopes! Isn't it bad enough that Marne and his disgusting wolves grow more difficult to avoid?"

Myra put a comforting hand on Shalli's arm. All had noticed the Wolf Camp leader's unwelcome advances.

"Courtesy seems to mean nothing these days, but don't worry. Clagg won't let those savages touch his sister in such a way."

"I'd be sport for their torment pit if not for Clagg," Shalli agreed. "What do you know of the stranger?"

"Little, other than he doesn't speak our language," Myra said.

"He's mute?" Shalli asked.

"No, not mute. He knows a little of the masters' words. I think he's been sick for a long time. He has no meat."

"Fortunate for him to avoid the pens, but it's not good that he's so ignorant. Could he be a spy?"

"He's not a spy."

"He could be a spy. There have been stories."

"He's not a spy," Myra insisted.

"I don't trust him," Shalli said.

"You don't even know him," Myra said, shocked by her attitude.

"If he's a spy, the men will kill him."

"Frontra brought him to us. She would be displeased, and we have few enough friends among the masters," Myra protested.

Shalli paused in thought, looking again at the sleeping stranger.

"The mines are dangerous. Maybe there will be an accident," Shalli suggested.

Myra glanced over at Grey as he slept in the tent, knowing that Shalli would not be alone in her opinion.

As the sun set over the mountain to the west, the workers began returning from the mine in small groups, twelve men and six women. Eight more women and two young children returned from working in the gardens. All were curious about the stranger who continued sleeping soundly despite the noise.

"We must know if he's a spy," Hernet said, the squat miner holding a stick of timber in his hand. The digger had short hairy arms with tattooed circles on the shoulders. A black beard set off his pale green eyes.

"Push his face in the creek," Cot said, the skinny stonecutter willing to volunteer. Big hands, long arms and a thin neck made him look awkward.

"Be patient. We are yet to hear his words. Have difficult days brought us so low?" Clagg asked, the giant hulk of a man unwilling to tolerate rash suggestions. With a bushy red beard, deep blue eyes, and a stature almost the size of Nabbatron, his presence commanded respect. Many hung their heads in shame, for none doubted Clagg was right.

"If he's a spy, he's a meatless one. Maybe we can trade him to Wolf Camp for some berries?" Hernet said, making everyone laugh.

"Should we wake him?" Shalli asked.

"No one will wake him until morning," Myra said, frowning at the suggestion.

"You're not the leader," Cot protested.

"Do you wish to find a loosening herb in your soup?" Myra asked.

Cot did not laugh, though many others did.

The next morning, just as the sun was rising, Grey woke from a restless sleep. There was unusual movement around him in the semidarkness. At first he thought it was his wife coming home from a late duty tour. He wondered what new problems might arise during the day ahead and happily remembered an experiment he wanted to try with the new step-two variable star drive.

He sat up with a start. This wasn't his sleeping chamber. The bed was straw, the roof a flapping piece of canvas. His heart beat faster with a sense of panic. The nightmare couldn't be true!

"The stranger wakes," someone said in a strange language.

"He's lazy to sleep so late. He'll eat more than he's worth," another complained.

Grey felt around for his clothes only to discover he didn't have any. As the light improved, he saw many others in the camp had little to wear. The men only had breechcloths and a few shirts. Several of the older women had thin cloth tunics, but some had even less. Grey reached for the collar around his neck, testing its strength. It couldn't be removed without tools and there wasn't a hacksaw in sight.

Someone laughed. Grey wondered if they were laughing at him. He started to get up but realized his entire body ached. The legs were sore. His arms bruised. His feet hurt and portions of his face felt swollen. He got up anyway and went outside to look at the fading stars. They weren't his stars.

Grey studied the people preparing for their workday, the camp lit by a cooking fire. They looked like normal humans. Some shorter, some taller. Some with dark hair, others light. Skin color ranged from peachy to dusky brown. Nor did there appear to be any anatomical differences. The only person he recognized, Myra, was busy serving broth to the biggest of the men, a tall muscular giant with a dirty red beard and pleasant blue eyes. Then Myra gave some broth to a small child hardly more than a three years old.

Myra glanced at Grey and smiled, then brought him a bowl of the foreign soup. None of the others smiled or made an effort to speak with him.

Grey didn't care. He wasn't supposed to be there. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that he wasn't supposed to be anywhere. He had set off the nuclear device. Destroyed the enemy warship. He was supposed to be dead.

"You need food," Myra said in Arikhan, presenting the bowl.

Grey studied the hot broth for a moment before looking toward the scrubby prairie between the camp and the perimeter fence some hundred and eighty meters away. The wire vibrated in an odd manner, humming softly as it gave off a soft blue glow. Grey ignored the food Myra was offering. He turned toward the fence, walking slowly at first, then more rapidly, stretching his cramped legs into longer strides.

"Clagg, stop him," Myra said with concern.

Clagg began to follow as did several of the workers, but Grey was well ahead of them. He paused briefly when he reached the fence and studied the energy pattern. It was a force field, probably supported by an electrical grid, and nearly invisible, which explained why the enclosure appeared so open. He stepped back, took a deep breath, and threw himself against the shimmering wall of energy.

The pain was explosive, tearing through his nerve endings. He fell back, struggling to breathe, unsure how much of the energy field he'd been able to penetrate. Not very much, he knew. He crouched, caught another breath, and charged again, determined to push through into the forest beyond or die in the attempt. The pain was just as bad the second time, and after a few seconds, he tumbled to the ground, his body quivering. He rubbed his hands together, trying to restore normal feeling. His vision was blurred. He crawled to his knees, gasped for a breath of the cool morning air, and staggered to his feet, ready to lunge again. He was grabbed from behind.

"No, stranger, you'll never make it. No one has ever made it," Clagg said, wrapping his huge arms around Grey's shoulders.

Grey briefly struggled against Clagg's grip, but realized he couldn't break loose without hurting his rescuer. He wasn't prepared to do that. Not yet.

"You work with me today," Clagg said, switching to Arikhan.

"Work where?" Grey asked, his memory of the alien language improving.

Clagg was surprised the stranger not only knew the language of their enslavers, but practiced the inflections as well. Even Akronians never did that. It made Clagg suspicious.

"We go to the mines. There's much work ahead to meet our quota," Clagg said to his workers, waving them toward the cliff.

Grey followed Clagg back to the tents where the women watched with quiet curiosity.

"The stranger works with me today," Clagg said.

Myra gave Grey the bowl of broth again, watched him gulp it down without a pause, and went to pick up Garn. The curly-haired child laughed at Grey's wary expression.

"This is my son, Garn, and you met my husband, Clagg. We'll watch out for you," Myra promised.

"Do not trouble yourself," Grey said in Arikhan, clicking his tongue rudely.

Grey followed the tree-lined path toward the mine entrance, trailing behind several others who were already on their way.

"Don't get attached, Myra. He won't survive," Clagg warned.

"Try to teach him our words, Clagg. The sooner he accepts our ways, the better chance he'll have," Myra said.

"Always taking in the strays," Clagg laughed.

Inside the mine entrance, a musty storage room held the workers' tools. Grey found them primitive after the advanced equipment he'd used mining the mineral rich tunnels beneath Vitruvius. All were hand tools. Picks, shovels, wedges and mallets. Bolts for securing the timber supports, and stacked in the wide entry area, a pile of roughly cut beams. Grey noticed a number of old jackhammers in the corner, but they were in such poor condition they couldn't be used. There was no evidence that anyone had ever tried to repair them.

As they gathered their tools, each worker picked up a luminescent lamp, a filtration mask, and a pair of thick leather gloves. Grey noticed dozens of jars in a cabinet that held dry chemical bases. Though dusty, Arikhan lettering could still be seen on the labels.

"What are those?" Grey asked.

"We do not read the masters' writing," Clagg said.

No one else tried to answer Grey's question. He went forward to study the containers, but Clagg pulled him back, gave him a pair of gloves, and pointed down the shaft.

"No tools can leave the mine," Clagg warned. "To be caught in camp with a pick or shovel means punishment. Understand?"

Grey glanced at the tools but said nothing.

"You should have this," Clagg offered.

He handed Grey a ragged breechcloth made of two hide flaps tied together with leather string. It reminded Grey of something out of an old jungle movie, but he made no protest. Nor did he say thank you.

Grey trailed Clagg down a long twisting tunnel that branched off in a dozen places. He had the impression the mine was about ten years old, and though the surface minerals were nearly depleted, he knew enough about ore trails to guess there were still rich loads waiting to be discovered. Oddly, Clagg bypassed the more promising areas and went to the end of the tunnel. Behind them, two others were laying track to bring the ore carts closer to the work area.

"I'll dig, you load," Clagg said.

Grey did as instructed, feeling the heat of the tunnel. Ventilation was poor and soon he was sweating profusely. The filtration masks were so old they barely suppressed the dust.

"Water!" Clagg shouted after an hour or so.

Within a few minutes, Shalli came down the tunnel carrying buckets of water from the creek. She was sweating also, and for the first time, Grey realized she wasn't wearing any clothing except for her reed sandals. He also noticed Shalli was quite attractive, even by lamplight, with round firm breasts, a slender waist, long legs, and a bushy apex. Apparently, these Akronians were no different than the humans of his homeworld. There was likely a scientific theory for that. But he said nothing to betray his thoughts.

Grey would have liked to work harder but his muscles wouldn't cooperate. He had spent too much time confined to the Contingent prison. And the heat grew worse instead of better. By the end of the day, he was convinced he'd become trapped in a perverse version of Dante's Inferno. His fellow workers didn't care for the heat, either, but they were accustomed to the conditions. And though they talked often with each other, and joked with the females who brought them water, none spoke to him but Clagg. And even Clagg said no more than necessary. Grey noticed Shalli actually looked at him with contempt. It wasn't the first time he'd provoked that reaction.

At the end of the day, the workers poured out of the shafts, storing their tools before emerging into the fading afternoon light. The setting sun was beautiful, slowly dropping over the hill in a blaze of red against a clear blue-green sky.

Campfires were lit to cook the evening meal as the workers returned. When several who had been pushing ore carts to the front gate also came back, everyone sat down to be served. All seemed to have regular sitting areas except Grey. Myra handed him a bread roll filled with steamed vegetables that smelled quite good. The bread roll was snatched from his hands.

"None for you until you earn it. We have no food for lazy strangers," Cot said, tall and skinny with knobby knees.

"Cot, give that back," Myra demanded.

"Let him scrounge from the other camps. They can afford charity," Cot said.

Myra looked to Clagg, but Clagg shrugged. The situation was between Cot and the stranger to work out.

Cot held the bread roll above Grey's head, daring him to do something about it.

Grey looked at the unfriendly eyes watching him and decided it wasn't worth the effort. He backed away and returned to the mine entrance. Jagged rocks allowed him to climb up the steep hill along the side of the waterfall where he disappeared into the stunted trees along the crest of the ridge.

"That's the meanest thing I've ever seen you do," Myra scolded Cot. "And the rest of you should be ashamed."

"He's a spy. He only speaks words of the masters," Hernet said.

"I hope he starves. Then we won't have to kill him," Shalli added.

"Of everyone here, I should think you would understand," Myra said, her voice angry. Shalli bowed her head and walked away.

* * * * * *

Grey scrambled to a point on the hill where he could see most of the compound. It was better than two kilometers wide and several times as long. He guessed the total population at seven or eight hundred, most living near the western cliffs or north beyond the lake. Ferret Camp seemed a poor stepchild, being farthest to the south in the most barren area, but none of the campsites could claim riches. Even the Arikhan headquarters had been no more than a rough cabin with solar collectors for power. Akrona could not be a good place to serve, he realized, and knowing the Arikhan warrior spirit as he did, Grey guessed the sentries would much rather be someplace else. He knew the feeling.

The hill was mostly dry earth and sedimentary rock, covered by scattered trees that looked like oaks and thick clumps of prickly bushes. Around him, growing on the shrubs, he noticed a variety of small berries. Some were red, others purple, and a few were blue. They might be poisonous, but he was hungry and didn't particularly care. He ate several of the small red berries and found them bitter, then tried some of the larger purple ones that smelled like raspberries. They weren't good, either, but not as bad as they could be. He was pleasantly surprised to see many of the trees grew nuts.

As the sun finished setting, Grey found a dry sandy hollow at the base of a sandstone cliff that would make a good campsite. He pulled down several slender tree branches and peeled back enough of the pliant bark to tie them together, making a crude shelter. Just as he'd been taught during his days in boot camp. Little had he imagined how his military survival training would one day be applied.

The sun disappeared, revealing a sea of stars and a small moon. Not the same moon Grey remembered from before. This planet had two moons. He sat back against a crooked stump and studied the constellations for clues, wondering how he had become lost in another solar system. And how he might get back to the world he knew. The odds didn't seem good, but he wasn't ready to accept his unkind fate. Maybe he never would.

The next morning, the work crew arrived at the mine curious to learn what had happened to the stranger. They were surprised to find him already selecting the equipment he wanted, which included a pick ax. They didn't ask the stranger what he was doing or where he had been all night. He offered no explanations. Most of the workers hadn't even arrived when Grey started down the central shaft.

"Do not hurt yourself," Clagg warned as Grey's ax bit into the rock some hours later.

"It doesn't matter," he answered.

"The rock is hard here. There is shale farther down," Clagg said.

"I am not looking for fossils. Chop the shale if you want."

"You have no strength to break the rock," Clagg complained.

"It doesn't matter," Grey replied.

After a time, the heat of the mine seemed to grow worse. Clagg removed his blue cotton shirt as he began to sweat. Another young woman brought them water, a petite brunette hardly more than fifteen called Pie. Grey took no notice, drinking what he needed and returning to work. At the end of the day, as the workers made their way back to camp, he turned toward the mountain instead, climbing up the rocks next to the waterfall and disappearing into the brush. He didn't explain where he was going and no one asked.

* * * * * *

"Where is the half-meat?" Frontra inquired, making her rounds just before sunset. Myra seemed embarrassed. Many of Ferret Camp's workers looked away.

"He resides upon the mountain, mistress," Clagg replied in Arikhan, pointing to a clump of foliage above the mine.

"It seeks escape?" Frontra said.

"No, mistress," Clagg said.

"He does not choose to stay in our camp," Beknar said, an older woman with short-tempered words. Her face was prematurely wrinkled, the black hair tingeing gray even though she was barely forty.

"You know the rules. It cannot be fed if it does not work," Frontra said.

"He works, mistress," Myra answered, coming forward with Garn in her arms. "The stranger is weak, but he tries."

"It needs feeding. Why is it not here?" Frontra asked, a click of her tongue indicating her displeasure. Nearly Clagg's height, she stood with claws on her belt near the shock sticks used to control unruly slaves. Her black eyes searched for an acceptable excuse.

"He is a stranger. He does not want to be here," Cot said.

"He is a spy," Shalli said.

"You are insolent, sister of Clagg. With another, you would be punished," Frontra scolded, her thin eye-rings rising in warning.

"I am sorry, mistress," Shalli apologized, edging backward toward Myra.

"Forgive us all, mistress. The year has been hard with so many lost in the falling mountain. Our camp is not strong," Myra said, raising her eyes to meet Frontra's.

Frontra stepped forward and gently stroked her claw through Myra's soft long hair.

"Sherra does not abandon the faithful," Frontra said. "You are but food creatures, yet still a spark of her grace resides in you. Perhaps the stranger carries such a spark."

Frontra looked toward the hill, squinting against the setting sun. A moving silhouette along the ridge confirmed the newcomer was truly there and not dead in some cavern.

"I will not interfere. Work hard. Your quota is behind schedule," Frontra said, taking a final look at the camp before walking north toward Deer Camp a kilometer away.

"Frontra is kind to overlook your foolish words," Myra scolded Shalli.

"Frontra did not deny the accusation," Shalli said.

"If he's not a spy, why did Frontra not tell us?" Cot asked.

"She could have lied," Hernet said.

"The masters are not good deceivers," Pie disagreed, making room for Shalli to sit down near the campfire. "Their eyebrows twitch upon false words. Frontra rarely twitches."

"Then he must be a spy," Shalli concluded.

"You're all fools," Myra said, returning to the cooking.

"Why are we fools, my wife?" Clagg asked.

"Look at our camp, my husband," Myra said, holding up an old pot and a broken ladle. "We have nothing of value. Not even enough tunics for the girls. What is there to spy on?"

Atop the ridge, Grey prepared to spend his second night on the mountain in more luxury than the first. He returned to the burrow he'd started the night before and pulled enough leafy bushes together to make a brush cave, leaving an opening so he could study the stars. A nearby rocky outcrop allowed him to peer down on Ferret and Deer Camps.

Though hungry and tired, he resisted a temptation to pick the bushes immediately around him. There weren't that many, so he planned to cultivate them instead. There were more such plants farther up the ridge, along with some dry roots and soft nuts. He mashed the nuts with a flat rock, stuffed them into the roots, and ate the awful concoction along with sips of water from the creek. In time, he thought, I'll grow to like it.

He noticed the tree line ran all the way to the top of the hill a thousand yards away. By peeling strips off the branches, he could twist bindings to hold poles together for a more permanent shelter. He could also fashion snares to trap small animals, assuming he would need fur coverings when the weather turned colder. A fire pit could be dug back from the ridge that wouldn't be visible from the valley. He even considered making pots from the clay of the nearby creek, for the sand and silt was thick with a hardy red base.

Using the moon and starlight, Grey explored the mountain, remembering to save strength for the next day's work. The force field fence retreated far back into the interior. An old shack, long since abandoned, sat on a knoll above a derelict ventilation shaft. He probed the rundown shed, believing it to be an outpost once used by prospectors, and realized the markers he'd seen must indicate the area was off limits, suggesting why none of the human inhabitants ventured so far from their camps. Grey didn't really care about such admonitions. He never had. During his exploration, a second moon rose in the eastern sky.

Having eaten enough to satisfy his hunger, he returned to his new home, glanced again at the stars, and picked up a sharp rock, scratching lines on the soft sandstone cliff near the burrow. It was the beginning of a star chart. With luck, he would eventually discover where he was, and maybe even develop a calendar. Then, after rubbing the stubby brown beard that had begun to thicken in the last few months, he rolled over and went to sleep, knowing the project might take months to complete. It wasn't as if he had anyplace else to go.

* * * * * *

"You work hard," Clagg said in Akronos, helping Grey load an ore cart.

Grey hefted a boulder, his body sweating in the heat, the muscles in his back and arms struggling. Clagg went to help, finding the stone heavy. Grey returned to the end of the shaft, swinging the pick with practiced fervor.

"This is good ore. Richer than we have seen in years," Clagg said.

"Mountain generous," Grey answered with a stilted accent.

"You were right to dig here."

"If must dig, dig something good."

"You should come back to camp."

"I not welcome. Spy."

"We were suspicious, but that was a whole season ago. Frontra often asks where you are. We all wonder."

"I on hill. Everyone know," Grey said.

"Come back to camp. Eat real food. It will make you strong," Clagg encouraged.

"I strong," Grey replied, striking hard with the pick ax and cutting out a sizable chunk of rock facing.

Clagg nodded in agreement. The stranger had gained strength in the three months since his arrival, but more, he knew how to combine his strength with a steady coordination.

Shalli came down the tunnel carrying two water buckets hung on a pole over her slender shoulders. Clagg set aside his shovel, splashed his face, and drank deeply from a clay cup. Grey stood back waiting his turn, not bothering to look at the young woman. She was naked, as before. The camp could not afford to have the few tunics they owned ruined in the mines. On another world, Shalli would have been considered very desirable. Young and shapely, with long blonde hair and big blue eyes. When Clagg handed Grey the cup, he drank thirstily and went back to work without offering appreciation.

"Thank you, Shalli," Clagg said for both of them.

"He works hard. I don't think he's a spy," Shalli said.

"He's not a spy," Clagg agreed.

"Make him come back to camp. I'll cook food for him," Shalli said, watching in the dim light as Grey struck the wall again with even greater force. His shaggy hair was tied back behind his head with birch twine. The short beard was rough but trimmed using sharp flints found on the ridge. The strong lines of sweating muscle sparkled in the lamplight.

"I'll try," Clagg said.

At the end of the day, Clagg stopped Grey as he prepared to climb up the hill. The path was well worn now, his favorite handholds easy to find.

"Come for food. You don't have to stay if you don't want to," Clagg offered.

Grey had no desire to mingle with the people of the camp. His home on the ridge reminded him of his childhood on a remote lunar outpost before changing times complicated everything. Now he had nothing, wanted nothing, and spent his time alone dwelling among the stars, imagining himself in a better place. A place where he still had a loving wife, loyal friends, and important responsibilities.

"Come with me," Clagg impatiently said, taking hold of Grey's arm and dragging him toward the camp. It was a mistake.

Clagg hardly understood what was happening as Grey grabbed the big man's wrist, twisted him around, and then tossed him upside down to the ground with a thud. Nearly half again his weight, Clagg couldn't believe he had been thrown with such ease.

"You can't do that again," Clagg said, getting up and taking a step forward.

Grey didn't wait for the advance, but stepped underneath Clagg's outreached arm and flipped him over in a tight somersault. Clagg was fortunate they were on soft ground. Closer to the rock path, he might have been hurt.

"Maybe you can do that again," Clagg admitted, rubbing his butt.

Grey stood ready, feet apart, crouched for a number of different responses. Clagg noticed a predatory intensity in his expression that was unnerving. Almost like an Arikhan when provoked. Clagg felt sure he could beat Grey in a real fight, but it wasn't an experience he would look forward to.

"You don't have to come with me if you don't want to, but I would be grateful," Clagg requested. Then he smiled, the blue eyes sparkling.

Clagg started back to camp, Grey following a few paces behind but ready to bolt at any moment. Many were surprised to see him arrive, and not all were happy about it.

"We have a guest," Clagg said.

Myra smiled. Shalli was not disappointed. Beknar frowned.

Grey accepted a seat on a mat near Clagg and Garn, allowing the child to get close as long as he wasn't touched. Myra brought a loaf of grain bread dipped in broth. Grey hardly had a chance to taste the bread before Cot snatched the loaf away. This time Grey got to his feet, his eyes blazing. Cot held the bread high above the stranger's head.

"You're not accepted by this camp. We don't share bread with spies," Cot declared.

"Give that back, Cot!" Myra shouted, jumping to her feet.

"Be still, woman," Clagg said, pulling her down.

Cot was enjoying his teasing of the stranger. Grey backed off. Cot laughed.

"Cot is not afraid. You should not be afraid," Clagg said, grinning encouragement.

Grey hesitated as the camp looked for his reaction. None understood why Clagg was smiling except Grey, and all he wanted to do was leave. But he couldn't. He had worked with the men of the camp for months. Shared their labors. Their opinion meant something to him, even if he didn't choose to acknowledge it. A glance toward Shalli helped him make up his mind, the pity in the young woman's eyes making him angry.

"Leave now. We have no food for spies," Cot said.

Rather than answer the challenge, Grey grabbed Cot by his collar, put a foot in his midsection, and yanked forcefully as he rolled backward to the ground. Cot was suddenly flying upside down through the air, landing on one of the smaller tents. Cot was still trying to figure out what had happened when he found Grey hovering over him with a foot pressed against his throat.

"My bread," Grey said, reaching out his hand.

Cot handed him the bread. The foot was removed from Cot's throat.

"What kind of fighting is that?" Cot asked, checking himself for injuries.

"On my world, called judo. I not good. Study with priest," Grey answered.

Cot rubbed his elbows as Grey returned to his place near Clagg. Everyone in the camp was staring at him, most frightened. Even Myra looked worried when Garn went to sit near Grey, but to her surprise, he shared the bread with him. Garn laughed.

Though there was less talking than usual that evening, Grey could be seen listening intently, working hard to learn their language. He said little. After the food and a cup of watered grog, he was suddenly gone, disappeared into the dark night.

"He works hard," Hernet said.

"I think he's stronger than he looks," Cot said, rubbing his sore back.

"He would be good for our camp if we can bring him down from the cliff," Clagg said, pleased with the new attitudes.

"What's his name?" Shalli asked. No one answered. "Doesn't anyone know his name? He's worked with you for an entire season."

"I asked his name once," Clagg said, his voice subdued. "His face looked very sad. He said, 'I'm only stardust now."

* * * * * * *

Chapter Two

THE MOUNTAIN

"Tomorrow is the rest day. Maybe you should return to Ferret Camp," Clagg suggested, striking hard with his pick ax at the end of the tunnel.

"We need to shore this roof up," Grey said in conversational Akronos, cutting a niche in the wall to hold a support beam in place.

"Myra asks about you. You make Garn laugh," Clagg said.

Grey stopped, but only for a moment. Though Clagg had just turned thirty, he looked older. Many years of difficult leadership were taking a toll. When necessary, Clagg could enforce his will because of his massive strength, but he preferred persuasion instead. Neither had proved effective with Grey.

"The cart grows full. Should I have Banor roll it to the depot?" Grey asked.

"Our production is up. If we make quota, there will be new tunics for the girls, and warmers for the babies," Clagg said. "If you ate better food, our production would improve even more. I might trade for a fur hat. Myra would like that."

"The crossbeam is weak. Stop while I get another support," Grey announced.

"You've grown irritable these last few weeks. What's wrong?"

"A project doesn't go well," Grey said with a sigh. "That is, the project goes well, but I'm unhappy with the results."

"What project? You live in the weeds like a dire rat. Even on rest days, you never walk among the people. Do you mean the old tools that don't work?"

"No, I've made progress on repairing the jackhammers. It's a different problem," Grey hedged, looking away so Clagg wouldn't see the disappointment.

"Is it the strange words you mumble? The numbers of your language?"

"They're called coordinates. Intersecting lines that specify spatial relationships."

"Like fixing a point in the tunnels, as you've shown us on the maps in the dirt?" Clagg asked, surprising Grey with how quickly he grasped the principle.

They may only be ignorant slaves on a backward, ignorant slave planet, he realized, but they learn fast. They understand complicated principles when carefully explained. And each morning, whether he wanted her to or not, Myra got up early to give him warm soup outside the mine entrance. He knew he should be grateful, or at least pretend to be, but all he felt was bitterness. Bitterness and rage.

I was a hero, he remembered, even though I never wanted to be. Why have I been abandoned? The heat of the mine made it worse. This is hell, he thought. I died and went to hell. He swung his pick ax with such force the sound could be heard all the way back to the main junction. Then he paused.

No, he was forced to concede. It's not hell. He knew Clagg to be a good man. His wife gentle and forbearing. Deserving of better. Even the others aren't so bad, he decided, when they aren't being suspicious. And scared. It embarrassed him that he had made so little effort to help the people of Ferret Camp.

Why didn't I die when I should have? he wondered. I was ready. It was my time.

Grey looked up from the ore cart to see Clagg studying him in the lamplight. It was as if Clagg had sensed every thought in his mind, a talent inherent to many good leaders. Grey admired Clagg for keeping his people together under such cruel conditions.

"I want to be your friend," Clagg said.

"They are my troubles," Grey answered.

"Don't be afraid to share your fears. We're all afraid. Afraid the food will be scarce. Afraid our women will go unprotected. Afraid of the pens. Afraid our children will be taken away. Are your fears so much worse?"

"No, they're not worse," he admitted. "But they're all I have."

"Myra would have you live at the camp. It would save her a walk in the mornings."

"The beam is weak. I'll get another support," Grey said.

He walked up the gently sloping tunnel, following the ore track to a junction where timber beams were usually stored, but the only beams left were too short. Then he saw Shalli coming down the shaft, carrying water buckets on a pole over her shoulders, sweat dripping from the soft round curves of her body. Her elfin size reminded him of a fiery young Russian woman who had once hated him, but later became a close friend. Like her, the resentment that had once burned in Shalli's eyes was in the past, replaced with an impetuous curiosity.

"Hello, stranger with no name," Shalli said.

She set the buckets down and removed her filtration mask, revealing a pleasant smile as she presented him with a cup of water.

He removed his own mask, sipped some of the cool water, and splashed the rest on his face and neck.

"Thank you, Shalli," he said, handing the cup back.

"You can have more," she encouraged.

"The others need water, too. Your walk is long."

"I don't mind making an extra trip, and you never take half of what anyone else uses," Shalli said, offering another cup.

Grey looked into her deep blue eyes where the lamplight danced like small sunspots. Though he resisted as best he could, there was no doubt he found Clagg's sister attractive. Shalli found his shyness intriguing.

"You are generous," he said, drinking the whole cup.

"You call me generous? You fill our quota but barely eat our food," Shalli said. "You will not accept the gifts of our camp, meager as they are, yet you teach the men to find better ore. All I bring you is water."

"And a smile," he answered.

Shalli blushed so deeply it could be seen even in the dim light of the tunnel. Grey smiled, too. It was the first time Shalli had ever seen him smile. It was warm. Far from his usual grim demeanor.

Suddenly there was a roar from the far end of the mineshaft, followed by a booming echo. A cloud of dust filled the junction. Grey pulled Shalli underneath a sturdy beam, holding her close until the most immediate danger passed. Their eyes met. Shalli was terrified at first, but the look in his eyes reassured her. There was concern, but no fear.

"Get help," Grey said, pulling up his mask. Then he ran back into the cloud-filled tunnel.

The shaft was thick with dust near the junction but had begun to settle toward the end where Grey had last seen Clagg. Part of the wall had caved in, knocking the ore cart over and pinning Clagg against the opposite side. A single beam of light from a fallen lamp cast deep shadows.

"Watch out. The roof," Clagg grunted, trying to push the cart back.

But strong as he was, there was no chance. The weight of the cart and pressure from the rockslide was preventing him from working free, and it looked like his leg was broken.

Clagg pointed at the timber beam supporting the roof. It had cracked nearly in half. If it gave way, the entire tunnel would come down.

"We must hurry," Grey said, throwing rocks off the cart one after another. The beam creaked, fine dust raining down all around them.

"Run, my friend. The mountain is coming for me," Clagg said.

"I'm not afraid of the mountain," Grey denied, trying to move the stones faster. But there were too many. The beam splintered.

"You're not afraid to die," Clagg agreed. "You're afraid to live. But you must live. After the mountain claims me, how will Ferret Camp meet quota? Many will be sent to the pens. You must live. You must live to help my family after I cannot."

"The mountain will not claim you. Not today," Grey swore.

He stripped off the filtration mask to study the cracked timber for the weakest point. Then, with a deep breath, he climbed up on a boulder and set his feet slightly apart, placing both hands underneath the beam to push with all his strength. The beam continued to bend, small rocks falling down on him.

"No one defies the mountain. Flee now, before it's too late," Clagg begged, struggling even harder to get free.

But Grey did not flee. The more the beam bent, the harder he pushed back, fighting the inevitable with growing anger.

You want me, come get me. You've taken my wife. My world. Everything I once loved. You've left me a slave, dwelling in the desolation of an alien planet, destined for the pens of a rapacious race. And now you want Clagg. You, who have sought to make my life a living hell, would make me abandon my only friend. Make his wife a widow. Strand his people among a sea of enemies.

"No! It stops now!" Grey shouted, not to Clagg, but to the mountain.

He shoved at the creaking timber, his arms, back and legs braced like beams of oak. He remembered the training of Master Shao those long years ago in a Chinese monastery. Remembered the Master's teaching that the spirit may prevail where the body alone would certainly fail. He focused his thoughts, bringing mind and body together into a single unified force, and fought against the mountain. Fought with all the fury and anguish he could command.

The beam stabilized.

Clagg stopped trying to dig himself free, staring at Grey in disbelief as he held the roof in place. Rocks continued to fall amid puffs of dust. He was straining so hard it seemed impossible he could last another second. Yet he continued to hold. He had defeated the mountain.

Cot emerged from the dust, then Hernet and Banor, each going to help Grey maintain the beam. Others arrived just as quickly, and soon a support strut was hammered in place, allowing Grey to step back.

"Hurry," Shalli said, pushing aside rocks as the ore cart was forced back just enough for Clagg to be pulled free. As Grey suspected, his leg was badly broken, but four men quickly picked him up.

"The mountain comes," Cot warned, herding the people through the tunnel as fast as he could. When Cot noticed Grey lingering in the junction, he returned to draw him away.

"Come with us, nameless one," Cot said, daring to grab his arm. Cot half expected to be thrown against the wall, but Grey meekly obeyed.

With a thunderous roar, the mine started to collapse, the beams at the end of the shaft breaking under the stress. A cascade of cave-ins soon filled the tunnel with choking clouds of dirt and rubble, but the rescue party managed to reach the entrance with a few moments to spare. They emerged into the midday sun with sighs of relief and prayers of thanks.

"Back to camp. We will judge the damage in the morning," Hernet said, nursing a bad scrape on his arm. None needed convincing. They were battered, bruised, and frightened. That everyone had survived seemed a miracle.

Grey remained behind as the people of Ferret Camp disappeared down the trail to their tents. He was surprised to find Shalli waiting for him.

"You held up the mountain," she said, her eyes filled with awe.

"I only delayed the collapse for a few seconds," he explained.

"You saved Clagg."

"The mountain was not interested in Clagg."

"You could have run," Shalli said.

"Yes, that's what the mountain wanted."

Shalli did not understand. He who wasn't quite a stranger anymore looked disturbed by what had happened. His breath was short even though the air was clear near the mouth of the mine. He had a faraway look in his eyes. Shalli noticed blood dripping from a cut on his forehead.

"Come to camp. I'll wash your wound," Shalli said, reaching for his hand.

But Grey had no interest in the camp. He turned toward the path leading to the top of the ridge instead, crawled up to the first ledge, and kept on going. In a matter of seconds, he was gone. Shalli watched him disappear with tears in her eyes. Then she followed the others back to camp.

When Grey reached his campsite, he dropped down next to the creek. First he caught his breath and drank deeply of the cool water. His hands were shaking. The muscles twitched. The small of his back hurt. But none of that mattered. Something had happened. Something inside him had changed. A nameless slave had run into the tunnel to help Clagg, but someone different had walked out.

He took another drink, his lips dry from a sense of panic. Then he returned to his burrow for a moment of rest. The structure was sturdy now, well insulated with crisscrossing branches and leaves. A rock foundation kept out the occasional rain. The grass mattress was covered with several sewn hides, not enough for a blanket, but a good start. Clay vases held extra water and stored nuts. A newly made straw hat hung from the rafters while his rawhide moccasins sat on a shelf, but he didn't wear them in the mines, not wanting to appear wealthy. He had started to make a shirt but still needed more fibers. The hillside offered a variety of useful plants.

After calming his nerves, he went to look at the calculations etched on the nearby cliff. Calculations he had finished just a few days before. There could be no mistake. He was eleven hundred and eighty light years from home. And Earth had no stargate. Even if he could escape the camp, steal a spaceship, and fight his way through a chain of well-guarded Arikhan outposts, the closest solar system to Earth with a stargate was a dozen light years away. A voyage of at least forty years.

It had been two years since he battled the Bellerophon. His wife was long past her mourning period. He was only a memory now. A statue in a park.

Grey picked up a stuffed root and chewed. The dry plant filled with mashed nuts and berries wasn't bad, but he didn't taste it. Not even the wild spices he had added for flavor. Suddenly he started crying. He tried to stop, only to cry even harder, and there he sat for much of the afternoon, not moving. Having no desire to move, or even think. What would be the point?

The mood swings were over. The vague fears put to rest. He finally knew that his world was gone forever. He was dead. Atomized, only to be resurrected as a slave of the enemy by forces he didn't comprehend.

Who am I now? he wondered. No one, he decided. Nothing. Reassembled molecules. He reflected on those times in his life when there had been hope. And purpose. His struggles involved great challenges and great risks, but always with a high destiny in mind. What an ego I had, to think that only I could save the world. Others gave as much as I did. Many gave more.

He remembered Shalli's words in the tunnel. She had called him generous. What an ironic joke that had been. He didn't eat their food because he didn't want their friendship. Worked hard only out of habit. He avoided their camp so there would be no chance of belonging. He wasn't generous. He was selfish. Selfish, arrogant, and spoiled. He had been a great hero on another world, and now he was nothing.

"Hello. Excuse me," someone called out. "Hello? Where are you?"

It was Shalli's voice coming from the edge of the ridge, growing louder as she approached along the narrow trail through the bushes. He tried to wipe his face, embarrassed by the streaks on his cheeks.

Shalli emerged into the clearing, noticing the well-made hut and its several luxuries. The stranger did not dwell in the weeds as everyone thought, nor was he impoverished. Then she saw the wall where thousands of unfamiliar markings were scraped. Row after row of inscriptions, all carefully aligned. She wondered what meanings the marks could have, and why he had spent so many months making them. He had held up the mountain. Could he speak with the gods through these strange symbols?

"What's wrong?" Grey asked, seeing she had not cleaned up from the cave-in several hours before.

Shalli hesitated to enter the holy place, fearful of the powerful magic. Grey jumped up and took her hand, drawing her forward.

"Clagg is hurt. Thal, medicine woman of Raven Camp, is claiming everything, and still she won't promise to keep Clagg from the pens," Shalli said. Then she suddenly burst into tears and dropped to her knees at his feet.

"Please help us. Please, master, please help us," she begged, the sobs catching in her throat. Grey saw her small hands claw at the ground before daring to touch his ankles, her forehead pressed to the dirt. "We have so little. So little. Now we will have nothing. Not even Clagg."

He lifted her up, firmly holding her upper arms until he had her full attention. The eager blue eyes that had smiled at him in the tunnel only hours before were now filled with despair.

"I will come, but you must never kneel to me like that again," he said, trying not to sound angry. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, master," Shalli said, her lips quivering.

He ignored the lapse and took her down the ridge, assisting to make sure she didn't fall from the sharp rocks. Shalli recovered her composure, and as they walked toward the camp, it seemed she never doubted for a moment he would be able to help.

Every member of Ferret Camp was standing near the community tent as they approached. Grey was shocked to see all of the younger women stripped bare except for their collars, the older women wearing rags. Several men had lost all but their breechcloths. A section of canvas was spread before the tent, and on the canvas was the missing clothing, along with a decorated water jar and Myra's favorite cooking pot.

A woman stood over the pile dressed in a flowing white tunic trimmed with ermine, a bear tooth necklace around her neck overlapping her slave collar. Grey guessed her not quite thirty in age. She was not tall, but kept her shoulders straight. Colorful red and yellow feathers were tucked in her long silky black hair. She held her head high with all the regal bearing of a monarch. At her feet lay a black leather satchel. An Arikhan medical kit.

"Have you nothing else?" Thal said, her dark brown eyes radiating contempt. Her voice was calm and cold, tinged with sarcasm. "Is the life of Clagg worth no more than a few trinkets?"

"Please, Thal, will you save Clagg from the pens?" Myra asked on her knees, her cheeks stained with tears.

"The break is bad. The masters will take Clagg if he is crippled," Thal said. "Perhaps my magics will work. They are powerful. Nothing is promised."

Grey could feel Ferret Camp's distress. It was as Shalli had said. They had so little, and now Thal was taking everything. The fall season was approaching, and though the winters were said to be mild, they were not that mild.

"Can you offer nothing else? I must have more," Thal said.

Grey looked past the group into the tent where Clagg was laying on a bed of thatched grass, then circled around and entered through the back. Clagg's left leg was broken so badly the fibula nearly protruded through the skin. Grey knew he must be in terrible pain.

"I should have come sooner," he whispered, kneeling by Clagg's side.

"You held up the mountain. No man can ask for more," Clagg grunted.

"A man can ask more, when he asks it from a friend. I have not been your friend. While you were in trouble, I was on the mountain feeling sorry for myself. Can you forgive me?"

"All in this camp have seen your pain. Forgiveness is unnecessary."

"I'll try to do better," Grey promised.

"Do you have a name now?" Clagg asked.

"Yes," he replied.

Grey stood up and emerged into the light of the setting sun. All eyes turned in his direction, even the haughty Thal's.

"Who is this? The spy you've harbored?" Thal said, looking him over.

"I am Benjamin, a friend of this camp," Grey said. "Are you a healer, come to treat the leader of Ferret Camp, or a vulture come to feast upon the bones?"

"Do not speak to me, spy. You have nothing to trade. And I truly mean nothing," Thal laughed, pointing at his ragged breechcloth.

All expected Grey to shrink back in humiliation, for there was undoubted truth in her words. He smiled instead. A dark, mischievous smile that gave Thal pause. He walked forward and picked up her medical kit, pawing through the contents.

"Do not touch the magics! You will be cursed. Cast into hell!" Thal shouted.

"I've already been there," Grey replied, finding the expected supplies of opiates, probes and scalpels.

"You will return the magics now," Thal demanded, reaching quickly. He held the prize away from her, meeting Thal's angry look with a subtle grin.

"Cot, Hernet, take her arms," he ordered.

Cot and Hernet were shocked, but Grey's voice of command was so strong they soon obeyed, each grabbing one of Thal's arms. The medicine woman's confidence faded, replaced by a frightened belligerence.

"Release me. Release me now before I unleash terrible evil on you," Thal threatened.

Cot and Hernet looked to Grey, whose face was no longer smiling.

"Beware, witch, for nothing in your bag of parlor tricks can frighten me," he answered, staring into her dark eyes with defiance. "Know that I've trolled the depths and soared with eagles. I've seen planets burn and children sing. I have magic beyond your feeble imagination. Behold."

Grey walked to the cooking fire where an iron pot was suspended over a low flame.

"Bring the witch forward," Grey ordered.

Cot and Hernet dragged Thal to the fire.

"Myra. Pie. Strip her," Grey ordered.

More than happy to obey, Myra and Pie pulled the white tunic and underclothing off Thal despite her struggling. Shalli rushed forward to take the bear tooth necklace. Then Grey took a thin leather strap and tied Thal's hands tightly in front of her. Unlike the poverty-stricken Ferret Camp, Thal felt intensely humiliated to be exposed in such a way. She had forced several women in Ferret Camp to stand before her naked, never thinking it would happen to her.

"Lay her on her belly before the hearth," Grey demanded.

As Thal was laid face down in the dirt, Grey raised his right hand to the setting sun.

"Hear me, High Goddess of the Stars, for this is Benjamin, a traveler from a far land," he said. "Here lies a practitioner of the healing arts strayed from your guidance. She has exploited her people. Abused your gifts. Much does she deserve punishment. Absolve her sins, Great Mistress, and accept her humble submission to your will."

He reached into the fire, hearing a gasp of astonishment from all who watched. Even Thal quivered in horror. But Grey was not seeking to get burned. Slipping his hand discreetly to the side, he wiped the side of the pot until his hand was black with oily soot. Then he held the hand up for all to see and pressed firmly on Thal's bare right buttocks, leaving a clear handprint. He repeated the gesture with his left hand, this time imprinting Thal's left buttocks. She squirmed under his touch, unable to resist.

"Release her," Grey said.

Thal jumped to her feet and spun around. The black handprints looked like branding marks. With her hands tied before her, Thal could not reach back to wipe the marks away. For the barest moment, Grey thought her a fine looking woman, despite her evil ways, with clear white skin, graceful legs, and many female attractions.

"Whip this shameless harlot from the camp, then meet in the tent. Clagg needs our help," Grey instructed.

With all fear of evil magic forgotten, the young women chased Thal from their camp, laughing and throwing sticks at her. Thal fled slowly, her bare feet unaccustomed to the stony ground.

"Thal will pass many curious eyes before she reaches Raven Camp," Myra said to Grey as he washed his hands in the creek. "None will help her until she gets home, fearing the black arts that have been practiced. You didn't tell us you're a magician."

Grey knew Myra was both amused by Thal's embarrassment and apprehensive of his newly revealed powers. He found a piece of soap root to scrub his hands.

"You've known me nearly two seasons, Myra. You were kind to me when no one else would be. Fed me even though I was ungrateful. I tell you now, I'm not a magician. I have no special powers. I saw Thal carrying a medical kit and decided to take it from her. Everything else was meant to scare her away."

"You're not a magician?" Cot asked, glad to have his shirt back. He handed Myra her tunic. Shalli held Thal's ermine collar to her face, feeling the soft white fur.

"I'm not a magician," Grey said.

"Did you not call upon the gods?" Hernet asked, pleased to be back in his fur pants.

"Anyone may call upon the gods. It doesn't mean they'll answer," Grey replied.

"You shamed Thal before the entire camp," Myra said.

"Yes, I enjoyed that part," he admitted.

Myra laughed, partly in relief, then truly enjoying the jest. Others were soon laughing, too. Grey wasn't ready to laugh. Not yet. Clagg's injury was serious.

"I'll need boiling water," Grey said. "And I want the tunic Thal was wearing torn into strips and put in the boiling water. We'll also need two flat pieces of timber and several yards of leather string. Lay Clagg on the straw with his head propped up. Clear away anything that's been soiled."

The camp burst into action, obeying the commands without question. Grey kept his hands clean and returned to the tent while Shalli carried the Arikhan medical kit.

"This is going to hurt," he told Clagg.

"It already hurts," Clagg said. "Did I hear your name? You are called Benjamin? What does it mean?"

"It means man-who-comes-late-to-help-his-friend. Sometimes people just call me Ben, when they're not angry at me."

Clagg smiled, pleasure in his gaze despite the pain. "I'm glad you finally have a name, my friend. Maybe someday you will tell us what it really means."

"Maybe," Grey said.

The first boiled strips of cloth arrived carried on a sturdy branch. Myra brought Grey a clay cup, and after tasting each of the drugs with the tip of his tongue, he mixed a dose of morphine to apply with an injector.

"I've seen breaks like this before," Clagg grunted. "They don't heal well. I am food for the pens. Cot will be leader now. You must help him."

"The break is serious," Grey agreed.

"Thal would make no promises. To lie of this would hurt her magic," Clagg continued.

"My magic is stronger than Thal's," Grey said, stretching the leg out and probing the contours of the bones.

"You said you have no magic," Myra reminded.

"This is a different magic. It's called battlefield medicine," Grey said. "I've been a soldier since childhood. Injured many times. Seen others injured, and sometimes killed. Each time I watched the doctors to learn their skills. This injury is bad, but I've seen worse."

"I'll be sent to the pens," Clagg lamented.

"I say you will not," Grey insisted.

"You've only had a name for a few minutes," Clagg said.

"You have called me friend. It is name enough," Grey replied, twisting the leg for position.

"That is true," Clagg winced. "But the break is bad. Thal would make no promises. Promise to help Cot."

"Did I hold up the mountain?" Grey asked.

"I saw you hold up the mountain," Clagg agreed.

"Then don't doubt me now. Your leg will heal. You will walk. You will be strong. You will not go to the pens."

Clagg rested back as Grey administered another painkiller, doing everything possible to relax the muscles around the broken bone. Once the maximum affect had been reached, he placed his hands along the pressure points of the break, probing deeply with his fingers.

"Hold him," Grey instructed.

Cot, Hernet, and several others took hold of Clagg's arms and feet, bracing themselves. The big man was calm, maintaining his composure. Others crowded in to watch Grey work, fascinated by the furrowed brow that betrayed such intense concentration. All knew Clagg's life was at stake, along with the well-being of the camp. The stranger had assumed an enormous responsibility.

Grey made ready to set the bone and glanced out toward the stars to whisper a prayer. A new moon hung in the east just above the horizon, which he took as a good sign. When he noticed every man, woman and child in the camp watching him, he thought it worthwhile to share his prayer, both for Clagg's sake and his family's.

"Sherra, hear me, for this is Ben, your servant, carried far from the land of my birth. Granted life from certain death. Blinded by your mysteries but dwelling in new hope," he offered, digging for a place deep inside that the goddess might hear. The people were moved by his undoubted reverence, and surprised by his mixture of Akronos, Arikhan, and a strange language they had never heard before. They did not understand all he was saying, but they understood enough.

"Long have I wondered why you brought me to this place, and what meaning it may have. I still don't know the answer. Maybe it's not my place to know, but I have no gods of my own to call upon. This is your world. These are your people. For their sake, I beg your guidance in this moment of need."

Grey glanced again at the new moon. Normally it was pale red, but in the light of the setting sun, it appeared yellow, very much like the moon of his youth. Is this Sherra's answer? he wondered. He caught his breath before twisting the bones with a quick snap of his wrists, feeling them slide past the relaxed muscles into alignment. Clagg let out a relieved sigh.

Grey breathed again, sweat dripping down his brow. His silent thank you was so profound that all could feel it even though he barely moved his lips.

"Shalli, give me the splints," Grey said.

Shalli was frozen for a moment, staring with no less wonder than she had in the tunnel. Her hands trembled as she passed him the carefully trimmed pieces of wood.

Grey wrapped the leg with strips of torn tunic and placed the splints as he'd been taught in survival training many years before, tightening the leather ties enough for support without cutting off the blood. Clagg was asleep by the time he was done.

"You did well," Cot said once they were outside the tent.

"Better than Thal has ever done," Hernet agreed. "Your battlefield medicine is stronger than her magic."

"If she ever had any magic," Shalli said. "I think she's false. Her only magic comes from the black bag, which isn't magic at all. It's medicine."

Myra emerged from the tent, tears running down her face, and she hugged Grey with all the thankfulness in her heart. Then she started to kneel in homage, as Shalli had done on the ridge. Grey instantly caught her and shook his head. Myra understood.

"Thal has cured many, but maybe it's as Shalli says," Beknar decided, her forehead wrinkled in thought. "Thal has been using medicine rather than magic. What do you think, Ben?"

"I think Thal has been greedy," he answered, low anger in his voice. "Medical knowledge is a gift that should be shared. Is Thal the reason your camp is so poor?"

"One of many reasons," Myra said. "The cave-in last year. The season we could not keep a full group in the gardens. Our hardships meeting quotas. But we should not speak of troubles tonight. The mountain did not take Clagg. Thal did not loot what little we have. And we have a new member in our camp. There is much to celebrate. We do have a new member in our camp, don't we, Ben?"

Grey looked embarrassed when he noticed everyone watching him, his eyes dropping shyly to the ground. A very curious reaction, thought most of the camp, for someone who had been issuing orders with such confidence only minutes before. Grey glanced toward the ridge where he had been living. Where his celestial calculations littered the cliff like so much worthless graffiti.

"Only if everyone agrees," he finally said. "It must be known that trouble follows me wherever I go. Many of my ways are different, and I can't say that will ever change. I would rather live on the mountain than cause dissension among your people."

"Does anyone object to Ben becoming a member of Ferret Camp?" Myra asked.

There was a moment of silence. Then Cot stepped forward.

"Welcome, brother," Cot said, wrapping a bony arm around Grey's shoulders.

"Welcome," Beknar said, touching his hand.

"Welcome from all of us," Hernet said, offering fur pants that Grey could wear over his worn breechcloth.

Pie gave Grey a pair of sandals. Myra found him a worn blue shirt. Shalli came forward wearing her yellow tunic, her blue eyes glittering in the light of the cooking fires.

"Welcome, Ben. Welcome so much," Shalli said.

She got up on her toes, giving him a long kiss on the lips that raised many eyebrows, her arms reaching around his neck and fingers tangling in his long brown hair. Red-faced, Grey gently put her back on her heels. He was, after all, a married man. And at seventeen, Shalli was hardly more than a child.

"Clagg needs blankets. There's still danger of shock," Grey said.

"Our blankets are gone. Traded for serums when the children took spring fevers," Beknar said.

"I've seen Deer Camp from the ridge. They have blankets," Grey mentioned.

"Deer Camp has been warned not to speak with us," Pie said, her soft brown eyes and long flaxen hair setting off her delicate features.

"Deer Camp is afraid. We were friends once, but Wolf Camp is jealous," Shalli said.

"It's dangerous to anger Wolf Camp," Myra explained. "Marne and his wolves have sent many to the pens. Raven Camp will be displeased, too, now that you've put black hands on Thal."

"The black hands looked good on Thal," Cot said, much to everyone's laughter.

"We'll gather grass mats to cover Clagg. Then we'll eat. Everyone is tired and hungry," Myra said.

"I'm going to ask Deer Camp for blankets," Grey announced, tucking in his new shirt and looking for the trail north.

"They won't help," Cot warned.

"I won't be gone long," Grey said before disappearing into the darkness.

"Should we call him back?" Hernet asked.

"Ben cannot be called back. He held up the mountain. He speaks to the gods," Shalli said.

"He put black hands on Thal," Banor said, his big smile missing two teeth.

"Someone should go with him," Beknar suggested.

Before Cot could ask for volunteers, Shalli dashed into the night, following Grey's trail.

Grey made his way along the dark path by moonlight, remembering the route he had seen from the ridge. He had not gone far when Shalli caught up.

"I know a better path," she said.

"You'll be safer back at camp."

"Clagg is my brother. It's my place to help him."

Grey had no argument for that, so he followed Shalli across a ravine and along a line of old ore tracks no longer in use. In daylight it would only have taken a few minutes to reach Deer Camp. Even in the dark, Shalli knew the way well enough that it wasn't long before they saw cooking fires in the middle of a dozen modest tents.

"What are you going to say?" Shalli asked.

"I will ask for blankets."

"They will not help."

"It hurts nothing to ask. I prefer you not mention the mountain or any other stories that may be hard to believe."

"But they're true," she said.

"It's my wish they not be mentioned," he insisted.

"Yes, master," Shalli said.

"Stop that," he demanded.

"Yes, master," Shalli repeated, laughing this time and flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder. He could not ignore how beautiful she appeared in the moonlight.

"Hello Deer Camp," Shalli said, emerging first into the firelight.

The men in the camp reached for wooden stools that could be used as clubs, the women retreating to the tents. All relaxed when they recognized Shalli. They were curious when they saw the stranger following a few paces behind.

"It's the spy," a craggy woman said, her long gray dress aged but in good condition.

"He's a member of Ferret Camp, and our friend," Shalli corrected.

"We've seen this stranger on the mountain. What brings him to the valley?" a tall young man asked.

"Clagg is hurt. His leg is broken. Ben helped us when Thal would not," Shalli explained. Many in the camp laughed.

"We saw Thal on the lake road. Did this stranger put the black hands on her?" a tall, slim man said, walking forward with the confidence of a leader. But still holding a stool. He wore a faded red leather vest, white canvas trousers, and calf-length rawhide boots. Unlike the men of Ferret Camp, and even his own camp, this man was clean-shaven.

"Yes, Nole, he did," Shalli said in a firm voice.

"You may enter Deer Camp," Nole said, putting the stool down.

"Did you untie her?" Shalli asked.

"Of course not. She showed the brands all the way back to Raven Camp," Nole said. Again everyone laughed. Grey could tell they thought it a good joke.

Grey was offered a stool near the main campfire. Shalli sat next to him on the ground. As he looked around, Grey noticed about forty adults and eight children. All were clothed, but not finely. The tents were in the same aged condition as Ferret Camp's, but there were more of them and generally larger. He saw more cooking utensils, too, but no better in quality.

"Ben, this is Nole, leader of Deer Camp," Shalli introduced. "That's Sal, his dig leader. Next to him is Sal's wife, Bab, and this is Nole's wife, Court. The boy is Turk, Sal's son. Members of Deer Camp, this is Ben, accepted member of Ferret Camp."

The leaders Shalli introduced were somewhat older than Clagg and Myra, being in their mid-thirties. Nole and Court were both tall with long brown hair and green eyes. A nice looking couple. Sal and Bab were even older, traces of gray showing in their otherwise black hair. Grey knew few people grow old in slave camps.

As for Turk, he realized Shalli was making a joke by calling him a boy. Probably seventeen years old, Turk stood half a head taller than average with shoulders that were already wide. Grey wondered if Shalli was teasing Turk because she found him attractive.

The eyes watching Grey were suspicious. He didn't believe them unfriendly, but many were worried. It wasn't a happy camp.

"I treated Clagg's leg. It will heal. He will be strong again," Grey said. "But there is risk of fever. He needs blankets to keep warm."

The circle remained silent.

"You ask us for blankets? For Ferret Camp?" Sal asked.

"For Clagg. The blankets will be returned," Grey said.

Silence again. Many shifted uncomfortably.

"We cannot help. Wolf Camp is angry with Clagg," Nole said with regret.

"Any who help him will have arms broken. Maybe sent to the pens," Sal said. "We are having trouble making quota as it is. Losing someone will leave us short."

"Women who tend the gardens will work the mines instead," a worried young woman said, a baby cradled in her arms. "Fewer women in the fields mean our food allotments will be reduced."

"And there will be no winter tunics for the girls," Bab said.

Now Grey was silent. There were thirty men around the fire, strong and able. But they were miners, not fighters. He didn't know whether to condemn them as cowards or pity their impotence.

"Are you sure Wolf Camp will seek retribution over a few blankets?" Grey asked.

"They've threatened any who help their enemies," Nole said. "Not just Clagg, but others. Lart stood up to them and they broke his arms. He is gone to the pens."

"We won't tell anyone where the blankets came from," Grey offered.

"It will be known. There are few secrets among the people," Nole said, looking around the fire. Grey wondered if Nole suspected informers within his own camp.

"Why is Wolf Camp angry with Clagg?" Grey asked.

"Mostly it's Marne who is angry. He put hands-- " Bab started to say. Her explanation broke off. Shalli had her head down.

"Marne wanted me, but not as a wife," Shalli said. "His wolves wanted sport. Clagg beat two of them and said he would hurt more if they didn't leave me alone."

"Clagg cannot hurt them now," Bab said, looking concerned for Shalli's safety. Grey noticed that Shalli was worried, too.

"You have hard problems," Grey said. "Still, Clagg is my friend and needs help. Is there anything I can say?"

"We're sorry," Nole answered. "We like Clagg. Most of us. We wish him well."

Nole stood up, the audience over. Grey noticed he hadn't been offered food or drink as custom would dictate. Deer Camp was frightened.

"Where is Tak?" Shalli asked, looking for a missing face in the crowd. The camp was silent. Many looked away. Court looked ready to cry.

"She isn't well," Nole said.

"Is she sick?" Shalli pressed.

"She is not well," Nole repeated.

Again there was silence. Something important wasn't being said.

"Can I see her?" Shalli asked.

"Do you not hear? Tak isn't well," Sal insisted with an angry grunt.

"Not well? Not well? She is destroyed! My little girl is destroyed! Sherra curse them!" Court suddenly screamed, bursting into hysteria.

Bab rushed to Court's side, holding her in her arms as the leader's wife sobbed.

"Marne's wolves carried her away after she left the gardens," Bab explained. "She fought back. They threw her in their torment pit. Five of them took her, including Marne. That was two days ago. Tak has not spoken since. She does not eat or sleep. She just sits and stares."

"She is destroyed. They destroyed my daughter," Court cried.

Bab tried to calm Court down. Nole went to hold his wife but was unable to console her.

"Where is she?" Grey asked.

"This is none of your business, stranger," young Turk said, reaching to throw Grey from the camp.

Grey caught Turk's wrist, bent his arm backward at the elbow, and soon had the strapping youngster kneeling on the ground in pain. When Turk tried to break free, Grey twisted the arm even more, nearly separating the shoulder. The men of the camp jumped to their feet in surprise.

"I can rip your arm in half. Is that what you want?" Grey whispered in a cold voice.

"No," Turk said, barely able to speak.

Grey released him and turned defiantly on the rest of the camp. Fire blazed in his eyes. He looked like a wildcat ready to pounce.

Shalli felt her heart beating faster. Ben was outnumbered, yet there he stood ready to take them on. She could not remember ever seeing anything so frightening. And thrilling. The men of Deer Camp were not anxious to test the stranger's resolve, stepping back as they looked to Nole.

"Where is the girl?" Grey said, breaking the silence.

"Over here, in our tent," Nole said, sensing a power in the stranger he never would have suspected. And the way he had subdued Turk, with hardly an effort, was taken as a warning. The stranger was dangerous. Not one to be defied without consequences. And yet he had not used force to take blankets for Clagg. It was a mystery that required careful study.

Nole was not alone in his thoughts. Many were startled by the sudden violence, but they were also curious. The adoration in young Shalli's eyes spoke volumes. She was not afraid. She worshipped him.

Grey entered the tent followed by Nole and Court. Huddled in the corner was a young woman hardly much older than Shalli, slightly taller but thin with an attractive figure and dark brunette hair. She stared blankly at a rusty miner's lamp illuminating the cramped quarters. Her face was bruised, her lower lip split. She had a red woolen blanket pulled tightly around her shoulders.

"She doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Even feeding her is difficult," Nole said.

Grey looked at the pain of the parents and glanced past them to see a stricken expression on Shalli's face. They must be friends, he realized. Grown up together. Played little girl games together. Dreamed and gossiped about boys. Now her friend was a shell, staring but not seeing. Grey was familiar with the condition. He even knew a little about possible treatments. He also knew many treatments failed, and the scars would run deep for the rest of her life.

He tried not to think too heavily on the past, but the memories were there. The more he thought about it, the more a desire for vengeance on these ones called wolves boiled in his heart. This wasn't the time.

"Leave us," Grey said.

"We cannot leave our daughter with a stranger," Nole protested.

"If you can leave your daughter to the mercy of a raping wolf pack, you can leave her with me. Now shut your mouth and get out," Grey ordered.

Grey's tone wasn't likely to ingratiate himself with the Deer Camp leader, but Court pulled her husband back and drew down the tent flap, desperate to find help for her daughter. The only noise outside the tent was the crackling of the cooking fires, and after a time, the sound of people quietly eating their meals.

Grey sat cross-legged in front of Tak, not moving or touching her for quite some time. He suppressed his anger, focusing on the young woman only, searching deeply through his experience. What would Doctor Meriwether say? Or Master Shao? Yes, what would the old shaman suggest? Give up? Give in? Feel sorry for yourself? No. Never. Fight back!

This is a hard culture, he thought. There are no weaklings in Karak. This is a life of challenge and survival. It's also a life of love, with powerful bonds of family and camp. These feelings are still inside her, beaten back by the horror of the attack. Can I draw her spirit forth?

The miner's lamp flickered against the sides of the dark tent as a gentle wind caused the canvas to rustle. He found a piece of jewelry on the fur, a small silver medallion on a chain that reflected the light. He toyed with the shiny object, letting it slowly swing back and forth where Tak would be sure to see it.

"My name is Benjamin," he said, softly and without expectation of a response. "I've come to take you on a journey. It's a long journey. We'll take it together. When the journey is over, we'll come back together. Court and Nole will be waiting for you. Deer Camp will be waiting for you. Your friends will smile to see you return, and those who hurt you will never hurt you again. My name is Benjamin. I held up a mountain. I once saved a world."

Grey began talking in quiet, carefully modulated tones. So quietly no one outside the tent heard more than occasional mumbling. He told the story of an orphaned child raised on an abandoned mining colony. Of intense loneliness. Of fears, real and imagined. Years of hard work, constant danger, and betrayal. There was the story of the beautiful Russian girl he had failed to save. Who died on an operating table while he could only watch. What followed were dark fantasies of violent death sought in pursuit of deep revenge. And a greater duty that made all of his gloomy imaginings impossible.

And then there was a woman he had struggled to love. But how could he love? He who was raised in such isolation, without parents, family or friends? He who could never love anyone. And then he lost her. Lost his friends. Lost everything because an ancient duty was more important than anything else. But it was no longer a duty bred into him. Not an obligation dictated by necessity. He did love. At last. And it was such a love that it was worth dying for. And he did.

The sun was rising as he approached the end of their journey. His journey, which Tak was allowed to join without pressure to participate. Tears were running down her cheeks.

"Where an old path ends, a new path begins," he said, believing he saw a spark in her eyes. He raised his hand, held the outside of his palm to her mouth, and pushed gently against her lips.

"Bite my hand," he said.

Tak didn't respond.

"Bite my hand," he said again.

She shook her head.

"Bite my hand. Bite hard," he gently ordered.

Tak started to pull back, then suddenly bit into the side of his hand, her teeth sinking into the rough, calloused flesh.

"Harder. Don't be afraid. Don't ever be afraid again. Bite!"

Tak bit harder. She bit until she drew blood. Bit until his blood was running down her chin.

"Now hit me," he said. "Now! Do it!"

Tak let go of his hand and struck him with her small fist, whacking his shoulder. The first blow wasn't hard, but she struck again and then began pounding with both fists as she vented her rage and frustration. Her breathing grew labored, the tears falling freely. Then suddenly she stopped, her gaze steady, looking Grey in the face with big brown watery eyes.

"Court, come here," Grey called.

Court burst into the tent. Within seconds, Tak was sobbing in her mother's arms. Nole followed and Tak hugged him, sad but filled with love for those she had almost lost.

Grey silently slipped out of the tent. The sun was hovering over the forested mountains to the east. Curled in a ball on the ground outside the tent, Shalli had awakened to hear the noise inside.

"You're bleeding," Shalli said, seeing the bite marks on his hand.

"That happens to me a lot," he said. "I'm tired. Let's go home."

The walk back didn't take long. He enjoyed the cool morning, looking at the moist vegetation that grew along the trail. The trees and bushes were different than those found on Earth, but in most ways, very similar. He noticed several small birds chirping in the foliage.

"Will Tak be all right?" Shalli asked.

"Time will tell," he said.

"Do you think Tak will be all right?" Shalli persisted, growing accustomed to his way of not answering questions directly.

"Yes, I think she'll be all right," he responded hopefully.

"I'm glad it's the rest day," Shalli said. "Meeting our quota is going to be hard with Clagg hurt. Will it take many days for his leg to heal?"

"It will take at least six weeks. Clagg is big and restless. It will probably take eight," Grey speculated.

"Eight weeks! Without quota the masters won't give us fall supplies. If we all work the mines, there are none to take our places in the gardens. Ben, what are we going to do?"

"We'll make quota. The women will take their places in the gardens."

"Not without Clagg."

"Clagg will be missed, but the others are strong. I think one day young Burne will be even stronger than Clagg," Grey said.

They reached Ferret Camp and Grey went straight to the community tent. Clagg was asleep under a makeshift covering of clothing parts and straw mats, his bare feet sticking out the end.

"We were worried. We sent Wart to spy on Deer Camp, but all was quiet, so he returned," Myra said.

"Marne's wolves went after Tak," Shalli reported. "Five of them had her in their torment pit. Tak wouldn't talk or see. Court was afraid Tak would never speak again. Ben helped her not feel so bad, and now Tak will be all right."

"They could not give us blankets," Grey said.

"I told you, they are afraid of Marne. Everyone is," Myra said.

"When Clagg feels better, I will visit the gardens and see Wolf Camp. I would like to meet Marne," Grey mentioned.

Myra and Shalli had a feeling that Grey didn't intend for his meeting with Marne to be pleasant. He showed no emotion on the subject, going to the back of the community tent and finding a place to sleep.

"Beknar and I will take the older women to the gardens. I don't want you or Pie anywhere near those wolves until Clagg is healthy again," Myra told Shalli. "Now help make breakfast. There isn't much cereal left, but I think we can add some meadow root."

Shalli joined Myra sorting out the last of the week's rations, finding just enough stock for the broth and some wild oats for substance. Soon the rest of the camp stirred.

"Shalli is right," Cot said as Myra put soup over the fire. "I don't know how we'll meet quota without Clagg. The masters will be displeased. But if we can't attend the gardens, we'll have to scrounge roots and bark from the woods."

"We only have ten tunics left for the women, and they're nearly worn through," Banor said, the burly cart pusher resentfully tapping the ground with a stick. "It's bad enough some must wear rags in camp. I don't want them walking to the gardens like that."

"It would be embarrassing, but we've suffered worse," Myra said. "I wish we could have gotten a blanket for Clagg. Every tunic we have still doesn't cover him."

"All the tunics in Karak cannot cover Clagg," Hernet said. Everybody laughed.

"Hello Ferret Camp," someone shouted from the woods. The camp jumped to their feet, the men grabbing branches to use as clubs.

"Who calls?" Cot asked, taking the lead position.

Nole emerged from the ravine near the camp, followed by Sal and Bab. Ferret Camp relaxed, many sitting down on their log seats.

"How is Clagg?" Nole asked.

"He is well, thank Sherra," Myra said, her face flushed red.

Sal and Bab noticed that Myra was not the only half-naked woman in camp. A glance inside the tent explained why. Clagg was covered in a quilt of tunics. The women of Ferret Camp felt awkward but there was nothing to be done.

"Come join us," Myra said.

"Here, these are for Clagg. A gift from Court and Nole," Bab said, presenting Myra with several large woven blankets.

"We have nothing to offer in return," Myra said.

Bab saw Myra meant that literally. Nole took the blankets and forced them into Myra's hands.

"We have our daughter back, and we're ashamed of our behavior," Nole said to all. "Put the blankets on Clagg. Get dressed. We'll sit and talk."

The women rushed to the tent and parceled out the tunics, finding just enough to give each person a bit of dignity. Clagg woke up and soon the leaders moved into the tent. To everyone's surprise, Grey continued to sleep, so voices were kept low.

"Sal, look," Bab whispered when she noticed Shalli and Beknar scrounging unsuccessfully for more food. Sal nodded and left the tent, going to the ravine. A minute later, he returned with several large baskets of grain bread, orange squash and greens.

"We did not wish to insult you by bringing food, but we weren't sure if you had enough. Little is known of Ferret Camp's hardships," Nole explained.

"Pride is a luxury these days," Myra said, handing the baskets to Shalli and Pie. The children smiled to see the orange squash, crowding close for a piece.

"There are a few extra tunics in Deer Camp that no one needs. I'll have Leet bring them over," Bab offered.

"If no one wants them, it will be welcome," Myra said. "I don't wish to be rude, but why the sudden generosity? Have you lost fear of Marne?"

"No, we are still afraid," Nole said.

"I'll put a stop to Marne once I can walk again," Clagg said, still sleepy from the drugs.

"Clagg is only one against many. Even if Deer Camp and Ferret Camp joined together, Wolf Camp is still bigger," Nole said. "And they would call upon Raven Camp, outnumbering us by even more."

"We can't make quota without Clagg. If some of us are injured fighting, it will be worse. We must appease Marne," Cot said.

"That will be hard. Do you know what they did to Tak?" Bab asked.

"We heard this morning. We're very sorry," Myra said.

"She's getting better now, thanks to the stranger. Where did he come from? Is he a spy?" Nole asked.

"Ben is not a spy," Clagg said.

"What does Ferret Camp have to spy on?" Myra asked.

Nole and Sal looked around, seeing nothing worth the effort.

"He put black hands on Thal," Nole said, a question in the tone.

"When the mountain wanted Clagg, Ben--" Cot started to explain.

"Ben is very brave, but he doesn't wish stories told about him," Shalli interrupted, remembering Grey's admonition from the night before. Clagg and Myra looked at her in surprise, but nodded agreement. This made the Deer Camp members even more curious. There are few secrets in such a small community. They would find out eventually.

Just as the meal was being served, a new commotion disturbed the camp.

"It's Nabbatron. Frontra and Nabbatron," Pie warned, rushing into the tent.

The people set aside the food and dropped to their knees as the two Arikhan sentries walked into the clearing. Frontra was calm. Nabbatron agitated. They wore brown leather tunics and large floppy hats for protection from the sun. Their holsters contained various weapons for controlling the slaves, most of them non-lethal but capable of inflicting great pain. No one thought their sudden appearance on the rest day a good thing.

"Welcome to Ferret Camp, masters," Myra said, kneeling closest.

Myra heard Clagg trying to get up and thought of going to stop him, but she could not risk offending the alien overseers. She glanced back to see Grey had awakened and put a hand on Clagg's shoulder, instructing him to stay put. Myra sighed with relief.

"There, in the tent," Nabbatron said, pointing at Clagg.

Nabbatron and Frontra walked past the kneeling slaves and stood at the entrance of the tent. Clagg remained on his back. Grey knelt in homage, keeping one hand on Clagg's arm.

"He is crippled, just as the healer claimed. He must go to the pens," Nabbatron said, his voice a deep growl.

"I am sorry to see it so serious," Frontra said, seeming to agree.

"May I speak, beings of great superiority?" Grey asked in Arikhan, his voice humble. The aliens noticed that his diction was reasonably good for a lesser species.

"Speak," Frontra said.

"The big food creature is not crippled, only injured," he said. "In a matter of weeks he will be strong again and ready for the mines."

"It is a lie. The healer said he is crippled," Nabbatron asserted.

"I put black hands on the healer," Grey responded.

"I have heard much of these black hands," Frontra said, her eye-rings rising in inquiry. "It is spoken of in every camp. In what manner were black hands put upon her? What is the meaning?"

"The black hands were put upon her in the name of Sherra. They show all that her magic is false," Grey answered.

"There is no such thing as magic, and Sherra does not help food creatures. Sherra's gifts are for her eggs alone," Nabbatron said, his heavier eye-rings curling inward.

Grey noticed Frontra flinch at the remark, the webbing around the back of her head ruffling, and had the distinct impression that she disagreed with Nabbatron's philosophy. He remembered, towards the end, that the Arikhan scout Mordari, who he had known in a different solar system under far different circumstances, had expressed similar doubts.

"It hurts none to see if the injury heals. If it does not, he will still be food," Frontra said, adding a gentle click of her tongue.

"They cannot make quota. The camp should be dispersed, the weak harvested," Nabbatron persisted.

A quiet gasp rose from the kneeling slaves. Shalli clung tighter to Garn. Banor took Beknar's hand, hoping it wasn't for the last time. Nole wondered which of his neighbors might not see another sunrise.

"Pardon me, being of great superiority, but your opinion is in error," Grey said.

Nabbatron stepped into the tent, grabbed Grey by his metal collar, and struck him across the face with a clenched claw. It was a hard blow, the large alien having a well-developed physique. The other camp members kept their heads down, afraid to intervene.

"What did you say, food creature?" Nabbatron asked.

"I said your opinion is in error," Grey repeated, only to be struck again so hard that blood splattered on Clagg. Clagg grabbed Grey's elbow and pulled him back, trying to shelter him with his arm.

"Please, master, Ben is a stranger to our ways. If I must go to the pens, then I go. Please do not harm the camp," Clagg said, his tired eyes pleading.

"The leader of Ferret Camp should not beg favors from a coward," Grey said in Arikhan, completing the insult with a sharp click of his tongue. Nabbatron flew into a rage, taking a shock wand from his belt.

"Nabbatron, control yourself," Frontra cautioned, putting a claw on his arm.

"The food creature called me a coward," Nabbatron protested.

"It is only a food creature, why should its words matter?" Frontra replied.

Nabbatron slowed his breathing to regain composure. He knew it wasn't good to overreact in front of the slaves.

"In what manner is my opinion in error, food creature?" Nabbatron asked, releasing Grey as he lowered the wand.

Though stunned from the blows, Grey managed to clear his head. He saw the entire camp was frightened. It couldn't be helped. He adjusted position and knelt at Nabbatron's feet, his forehead pressed against the toes of Nabbatron's boots. Nabbatron was mollified, looking at Frontra with satisfaction.

"Being of great superiority, Ferret Camp will make quota," Grey said. "I would offer a proposition."

"You set terms?" Nabbatron asked.

"A proposition," Grey said, pretending more fear than he actually felt. Not that he wasn't apprehensive.

"Speak," Nabbatron ordered, his tongue clicking in amusement.

"Ferret Camp will make quota. In reward, Ferret Camp would be gifted with new tunics for the women, shirts for the men, and medicines for the children. And a fur hat for Clagg's woman."

"You ask much. What happens when you fail?" Nabbatron asked.

"If we fail, Clagg will go to the pens, and I will go with him," Grey said.

The camp burst into involuntary murmuring, many finding it hard to keep their places. Nabbatron was pleased with the offer and enjoyed the fearful reaction of the camp.

"It will be as you say, food creature," Nabbatron said.

Nabbatron pulled Grey's head up so he could look directly into the slave's eyes. The alien's soft brown cheeks had flushed dark, the blacks of his pupils focused with a malevolent intensity. The upper lip curled back, revealing sharp fangs useful for tearing flesh, and the thick rings above his eyes rose in evidence of his intent.

"Remember this, half-meat," Nabbatron added, his voice lowered to a disturbing snarl. "When you fail, I will personally put you to the spit. Your death will be slow."

Nabbatron wheeled about and left the camp, much to everyone's relief. Even Frontra's, whose wide shoulders quickly relaxed.

"You may rise," Frontra said.

"Thank you, mistress," Myra said, hurrying to check on Clagg before treating the bruises on Grey's face. Grey spit blood and was relieved not to have lost any teeth.

"You are too bold," Clagg complained.

"Would you rather go to the pens?" Grey asked.

"I would rather not take a friend with me," Clagg answered.

"It's a sucker bet. We'll make quota and more," Grey said, seemingly unconcerned.

"Sucker bet?" Myra asked.

"A wager with a foregone conclusion," he explained.

"Only death is a foregone conclusion," Myra said.

"Not in my experience," Grey sighed.

"Come," Frontra ordered, having Grey follow her out of camp where others wouldn't overhear.

When she stopped on the trail around the edge of the trees, he dropped to his knees at her feet.

"Stand up, impertinent food creature. Nabbatron may be fooled by such tricks. He is arrogant, as are all males. I understand you better."

"Yes, mistress," he said, standing up.

"Can this camp really make quota?" Frontra asked, eye-rings dipping.

"I believe so, mistress. It will be hard, but it should be possible."

"You told Myra it is a forgone conclusion," Frontra said.

"The people are discouraged. They need hope."

Frontra took his face in her claw, turning it from side to side, inspecting the bruises and bleeding lip.

"You have made an enemy of Nabbatron," Frontra warned.

"I make many enemies. It cannot be helped," he replied.

Frontra clicked her tongue in approval.

"The healer's instruments must be returned. If you make quota, I will have another kit issued to Ferret Camp."

"Thank you, mistress," Grey said in surprise.

"You need not return her stolen coverings. She was given black hands instead," Frontra added.

Until that moment, Grey hadn't realized that Frontra didn't care for Thal's methods any more than he did. Her attitude surprised him.

"I enjoy you, food creature. But you are rash. Be careful," Frontra warned.

"Thank you, mistress," Grey said, bowing his head in appreciation.

Frontra went north, following the trail Nabbatron had taken. When Grey returned to camp, he found everyone staring at him, their expressions filled with curiosity.

"Is breakfast ready?" he asked.

* * * * * * *

The slave camp on a conquered world appears to have few friends and many enemies, the prey of a rapacious species. But until now, they had not known a warrior.