Chapter 1
An observer on Earth, or more specifically, in the north-to-south stripe of Earth that includes the city of London, England, would have said it was about 6:00 a.m. when the three heroes awoke for the first time in a long time to stretch their aching backs and warm up their chilled limbs. That observer might have said that they had been sleeping for nearly fourteen years, but had the three heroes been keeping time they would have noted it to be much less. Modern physics tells us that time is slower for a craft moving at a very high velocity relative to Earth, and that is exactly what the three heroes were doing. They were space travelers, bold and heroic men on a mission the likes of which had never been undertaken. They were headed into the far reaches of the solar system to explore a habitable planet, rendered nearly invisible by its distance and size.
Strife and social upheaval had blanketed the earth for long enough. As weapons got stronger and more expensive, the non-combat-pilot portion of earth’s population began to protest this seemingly unfair distribution of resources. At first there were quiet murmurings of many people, and a few violent upheavals here and there that were swiftly and easily crushed by the heavily funded weapons industry. In the end, however, the fighting came slowly to a halt when the generally unarmed population discovered that rocket engines could move things other than missiles, warheads could blow up things other than people and the heat and pressure had use as fuel, and the intricate guidance systems were good personal computers.
Thus began a new age of humanity. Nations still wanted to fight each other, even if there was a lack of soldiers and missiles, and certain races and ethnic groups continued to shun certain other races and ethnic groups. However, nearly all of the social attention was focused on the huge international unions. With resources generally more abundant for the whole world, it was becoming harder and harder to distinguish one’s self from the crowd by being a wealthy owner of a corporate conglomerate. As a result, craftsmen, engineers, artisans, scientists, and whoever else had a specialized interest in anything united across the globe in an attempt to capture the attention and imagination of the world with the latest amazing feat or invention. All disciplines and crafts grew as never before, and humanity turned its curious eyes in many directions including upwards, where far in the sky a nearly undetectable ball of rock, mud, and water hinted at unparalleled hope and promise.
And so the chemicals formerly designated for use as missile warheads were loaded into the fuel cells of the rockets formerly designated for use as missile propellers, and these missiles were fired at the planet with a more-or-less peaceful barrage of probes and observation equipment. Mankind sat on the edge of their collective seat as fourteen suspenseful years brought them closer to knowing what valuable resources this mysterious planet possessed, and who may reside there. The probes discovered an unknown phenomenon, one that made observation of the surface difficult. Apparently, radio signals and other electromagnetic information that could handily make the long trip in less than an hour, were blocked when the probes went too close to the planet. The probes worked fine though, and continued to send photographs of the planet if they were allowed to get far enough away again. Probes that landed on the surface went beyond recall before ever getting there, their radio connection to earth shattered and their fates utterly unknown. Many physicists specializing in the properties of electromagnetic radiation were content to speculate on this mysterious phenomenon alone, but the rest of humanity was definitely more interested in the planet itself, and the population disparity between those physicists and the laymen was even greater than the one between the former fighter pilots and everyone else.
So engineers thought up faster rockets, and chemists discovered better fuels, and physicists devised clever and efficient routes to take the rocket to the new planet with maximum speed. Many more craftsmen, technicians, and a slough of others too lengthy to list here worked hard to build the concepts of the scientists. Meanwhile, biologists and engineers and chemists sought to find a means of suspending animation to conserve resources on the long trip. Finally, the world had a rocket that nearly everyone had laid their hands on at some point in some way, and they were proud. They waited fourteen years without blinking as an unfortunate crew of mice, dogs, cats, apes, and one horse catapulted across the cosmos. They erupted in applause as nearly all of the crew survived their tremendous journey. Now even the most cautious scientists were too giddy to avoid making the riskiest move that had been made in a long time.
Three heroes were chosen--three men of reputation and valor and of whom the earth would not be ashamed of should extraterrestrial eyes be watching. They were trained extensively so as not to accidentally destroy the spacecraft and the hopes of billions. They were tested meticulously to prove their ability to survive the stress of interplanetary travel. They were scrutinized and judged the most likely men to bring back evidence of a hospitable world. Their mission was as simple as it was dangerous: to land on the surface of the world, gather as many photographs and videos as possible, and send them back beyond the point where transmissions failed. Then, they were to get to know their new planet over the next fourteen years until another rocket arrived full of provisions to take them home. Assuming they survived the long trip (which would be a considerable deal shorter to them than the nail-biting fourteen years the earthly population was used to), a rocket would be sent up just as they passed through the no-contact zone. Such a pricey rocket could not be sent after them unless they arrived themselves, and it was hoped that by fourteen years they could rig a beacon to guide it to them.
As dangerous as the mission was, the crew had a few pluses going for them. Food processing techniques had improved much as the decades of progress waxed on. Also, as they traveled through the empty vacuum of space, they had no need to worry about bacteria or mold infecting their food (or themselves). The cunning spaceship captured every source of propulsion possible, including the gravity of the planets and the very momentum of the sun’s rays. As much of the fuel as possible was needed to keep their cryogenic centrifuge-beds rotating fast enough to simulate earth’s gravity, and to run the air and water recyclers. Besides, they needed only break the communication barrier, take pictures, and send them back to succeed in their mission. Surviving the trip home was a bonus that the world (and the heroes themselves) were prepared to sacrifice. They had the option of surviving a few years in their cryogenic beds and extending their lives, particularly if they found a way to replenish their fuel source on the new planet, but they were in deep trouble if the water wasn’t potable, or their were unknown space infections, or hostile alien life forms vaporized them with sophisticated ray guns or transfixed them on primitive chipped flint tools, whatever the case may be. But the mission success estimate, if they survived the trip, was believed to be high. It was known that many conditions such as gravity and the solidity of the landscape would be similar to the earth, and it was hoped that the air pressure would not be too dissimilar. Everything seemed to hang on the trip there, and no malfunctions with any of the critical life support systems took the lives of the heroes in their vulnerable sleep.
So when word arrived on earth that the heroes were stretching their aching backs and warming their chilled limbs for the last time in space there was a mighty sigh as mankind let out the breath it was holding for the last fourteen years.

Chapta’ 2.
Vladimir Karloff had won the exquisite privilege of first use of the spaceship’s latrine after a long, long sleep. He and his teammates, Col. Kono Otakawa and Saheem Bandala, had played a game of chance to see who would get the right. Although they slept most of their long trip and were hooked up to intravenous food and water lines, catheters, and breathing machines, studies had shown that while suspended animation did slow down aging and metabolism, it caused a decay in physical condition. Two weeks of activity during every year or so of suspended animation were required to maintain health, and the spaceship’s crew were glad of them. However, catheter or no, the first thing on anybody’s mind was excretion in the traditional sense which, among other things, passed much of the drugs they took to help keep their metabolic rates down while in suspended animation. Kono was banging at the door and reminding him that other people had to jerk off too, so Vladimir made sure to relax on his seat as much as possible and let it be known to his crewmates. When he was finally done, he passed the room on to Kono and began to hunt for something to eat. Saheem was still groggy from the suspended animation and drugs, but not even those could dampen his unbeatable sense of humor.
“Damn. I think he’s really jerking off in there,” he said.
Vladimir was thoroughly glad to be in the company of his crewmates again. They had grown close over training. Saheem wore a smile on the gloomiest days and seemed to always know when and how to crack a joke. When he had a drink or four in him, however, he was at his best providing his audience wasn’t easily offended. Kono had a strong reputation and proved to be everything he was cracked up to be and then some. They had to do two very difficult ship modifications, one in orbit around earth to rig a solar sail, and another in deep space with the only human assistance coming from remote controllers on an earth millions of miles away. Though all three had previous spaceflight experience and Vladimir was particularly fond of the thrill of extravehicular activity, the challenge of these tasks would have overwhelmed them if it wasn’t for the strong, fearless and calculating leadership of Kono Otakawa. Dirty language aside, the men held a respect for their team leader’s ability and utter control of his composure.
“Let him have his time. He’s saved our skins enough times to deserve it,” said Vladimir.
Saheem grinned. “And I’d hoped to be the first man to get off in deep space.”
Vladimir was about to tell Saheem that he’d already had the honor when Kono left the latrine, and Saheem pounced on it. The three filled their thoroughly empty stomachs and worked out for the rest of the day to get themselves back into shape. By the next day they had shut off the artificial gravity and made contact with earth.
Kono steped up to the control panel and prepared a transmission. “London, this is Colonel Otakawa, the Arrow III is awake…” he repeated over and over into the transmitter until he finally got his reply: “Good work Arrow III, this is London. Good work Arrow III, this is London…” was repeating from the receiver. Mild cheers and applause filled the spaceship’s small cockpit. Now that both links had established contact, they no longer needed to repeat to each other, and conversation between command headquarters in London and the spaceship, Arrow III, was as fluid as could be, considering the tremendous distance.
“Otakawa to London, I regret to inform you that you’re going to have to send us another ship after all. Against all your fiscal hopes we did in fact live and our experiments are intact.”
London assured them that the value of the knowledge they hoped to gain was beyond all price.
Now Otakawa turned to his crew, and turned serious. “Lads, you’ve proven yourselves in a few tough spots, so this should be a piece of cake. We’re going to enter the atmosphere and land. We’ve done this in simulation a thousand times on everything from the open ocean to the desert to the mountains to thick forests--”
“And we died in everything but the open ocean,” added Saheem.
“--and we succeeded in all of them, eventually,” continued Otakawa, though a grin showed he was not immune to Saheem’s sense of humor. “Now we have a few days to prepare for landing, so from now on there will be no more workout. We shall have enough to do to get us in peak shape by the time we arrive at the transmission barrier.”
He was right, they did work hard and fast, and the day soon came where they strapped themselves in. Vladimir shuddered with excitement inside his life support system at the thought of being one of the first on earth to see this truly unknown world.
“This is Colonel Otakawa to London, we are approaching the transmission barrier in 5...4...3...2...1...” and as they passed it, white noise began to come on all instruments.
“Hmm…” thought Vladimir. “No time delay. So it’s something coming from the planet itself…”
They were getting nearer when the planet broke out in sudden illumination. “My God…” Kono said. “It’s glowing…” And indeed, the planet was glowing. No starlight shone bright enough to light this planet. The sun from this distance, though unmistakably bright, was nothing like the dazzler it was on earth. Yet the planet radiated light on its own, light that got brighter as they got closer. And as they approached, they could see the formation of continents of green and oceans of blue, or rather, a continent of green.
Vladimir had never been so excited, amazed, and frightened. “It…it looks for all the world like Earth!”
“But none of the signs of huge cities,” mused Saheem.
“We’re not close enough to see those,” said Kono. “But I kind of hope you’re right, Saheem. I wouldn’t want to be an uninvited guest.”
“Thank God we have Saheem as an ambassador,” said Vladimir. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t find the alien booze.”
The days went by as the crew approached the planet. At first it grew so slowly, as though the trip were just beginning. Vladimir was practically ready to go back into hibernation, but soon the planet was becoming bigger at a perceptible rate. Soon it wouldn’t look like a planet at all but a huge flat map, and then they would be just a few short moments from the close up view. They couldn’t send out their first set of probes because the remote equipment still picked up a lot of interference, but the instruments were gradually clearing up, whether due to exposure to the source or growing nearness to the planet Vladimir could not say. With that task out of the picture, they began slowing the ship with their remaining fuel supply. They entered a gradually decaying orbit, and the planet’s growth once again all but came to a halt. But the spiral of their fall grew tighter and tighter over the next few days and soon the planet’s huge face filled their entire view window. Vladimir wanted to get out to look, but Kono wouldn’t allow it until the radiation levels had been assessed.
The day finally came when the entered the atmosphere. The three put on their sturdy life support suits, almost small spaceships in and of themselves, and locked themselves into place. The planet’s gravity had grown considerably since their first sight of it, and they felt their weight grow as the ship was pulled down. They hit the atmosphere like a wall, and the ship began slowing immediately. Otakawa used as much of the ship’s fuel as he could to slow it down; although the ship would not burn up from the friction as meteors did, their suits might if some kind of emergency happened, so Otakawa liked to enter at as close to terminal velocity as he could. The ship shuddered and shook roughly, and Vladimir closed his eyes and smiled at the unbelievable bounty he was about to receive. Saheem had set their landing course, which was to be near the coast and gave Otakawa the signal to slow this ship down as much as possible for landing. It was so soon, so unbearably soon, all the promise of a new planet, the ultimate frontier, the air was tingling tangibly with the excitement…
The world suddenly became purple and bright, and Vladimir’s senses were smothered by an overwhelming, oppressive light and heat that closing his eyes did nothing to abate. His first thought, which came to him in an atypical calm, was that the engine had somehow exploded and they would drift down harmlessly in their parachutes and support suits. Now his vision was returning to him, but the ship was whirling violently on all 3 axes. He was so disoriented his eyes did nothing, until he found the cockpit and concentrated on it with all his will. He struggled to turn his head and saw Saheem’s unconscious face behind the indestructible glass plate of his suit. The spaceship had been designed to handle atmospheres many times this turbulent with its original shape, but the wind ripped and tore this new vessel. Vladimir watched as Saheem’s seat was ripped from the rest of the craft and blown out into the sickening whirl of sky and ground that was outside the spaceship.
Just then he realized they had been attacked and Saheem was not going to get away. Suddenly, time went from surreal slowness to a panicky frenzy. Vladimir’s couldn’t control his breathing, and felt his heart surge. Otakawa maintained his stern visage as he reached over against disorientation and overwhelming centrifugal forces to eject Vladimir. Suddenly, Vladimir was out in the open, and his suit deployed its parachute. Now he drifted lightly as a feather. He saw everything clearly: the blue sky, the green forest below, the green clearing, the smoking wreck of a spaceship. He watched intently for Otakawa’s ejection. The buttons were not far from each other, he knew his friend would soon be free of that tortuous falling prison…but the spaceship exploded, ripped into bits by a ball of fire and purple that came from below and flew off into the sky like a reverse shooting star.
Vladimir’s eyes shot wide open, as he drifted slowly above what was now a cloud of dense smoke. He saw a few stray bits of ship fall to the ground. Then, a great devil’s head burst from the dark smoke cloud. Its mouth yawned for Vladimir, a gate to Hell, a portal to the next life. It was wide enough for a whole man, and lined with fangs fit to rend even his support suit. It had never really occurred to Vladimir that humans could be swallowed whole. The whole idea of dying in such a way was so unappealing that he opened his support suit and fell out. He closed his eyes as he fell, not fearing the ground beneath him but rather the unbelievable devil with the yawning, knife-toothed, dinosaur mouth. The blow of the ground jarred him as no impact ever had. He opened his eyes and could see, but his body would not respond. He figured he had died, and his soul was trapped in his body, waiting for this planet’s devil to swoop down and carry him away in that fierce mouth, but the devil was gone. The air was now shimmering and vibrating…or was it something in the air? Was it shimmering and vibrating? A sensation that didn’t fit the category of the other five overwhelmed Vladimir, and he shut his eyes and did not open them.

Chapter 3
Vladimir came to in a bed not unlike any that he’d slept in before. After sitting up, he took in his surroundings which were unfamiliar, but not alien. He was in a room with wood-paneled walls and windows on all four sides. Out of them he could see a green lawn, green trees, and rather gray skies. His breath suddenly caught in throat. He couldn’t be back on earth, after all this time, could he? He flopped back down onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling, trying to come to grips with it all. He thought of his friends. Did Saheem come to in time to make one last joke at his plight before he was destroyed. Did a look of pure shock cross Kono’s face for perhaps the first time when he saw that devil’s head come for him? He covered his face with his pillow and sank into agony.
He was roused from his grieving by a sound that was unfamiliar yet recognizable, coming from nearby. Removing the pillow from his face, he looked over and saw what looked for all the world like an alarm clock radio on what looked for all the world like a bedside table. Yet the sounds that came from it, though musical, were from instruments and scales he did not recognize. There were no voices to accompany the music, but it was soothing nonetheless and he let himself relax. He knew that the chances of their safe return to earth were slim to none, but he had never imagined his friends would die so violently. Still, he had to take stock. He was in one piece (which was nothing less than a miracle itself) and evidently being cared for by his captors (so he thought them, since they had evidently shot him down).
“Oh, you’re awake!” The voice belonged to a woman who looked to be around 30. Vladimir couldn’t believe his eyes. Of course, his furniture and surroundings gave him all the clues he may have needed to expect humans to live here if he had more presence of mind, but he was indeed so heavily shocked that he didn’t realize the words she spoke were apparently fluent English. The woman continued. “You couldn’t imagine my surprise when they brought you back from the wreck, almost completely uninjured! You must’ve fell a mile!”
“Who are you, and what happened to my team and my ship?” Vladimir demanded in an aggressive tone. He had spent part of his younger life as a mercenary, and now the military side of him was kicking in.
The woman looked surprised. “Well, naturally, you were blown down. Your friends…well…” She trailed off.
Vladimir understood what she meant, but still didn’t feel that this was the time for hospitality. “My team and my ship were on a peaceful mission, and were attacked brutally and without warning.” He decided not to mention the devil’s head, thinking she wouldn’t believe him. “Forgive me for sounding ungrateful, but I’d like to know in who’s custody I am and if I can expect the same treatment.”
By now others were trickling in to see what was going on. “Has he said what he was flying yet?” asked some man.
“What was he doing?” another voice added.
“Where is he from? Is this an Army guy? Was he fighting Zorak?”
“What were you thinking? Nothing gets past Zorak!”
“I don’t know anything!” Vladimir shouted in exasperation. “I’m not even from this planet!” The group immediately began murmuring excitedly. The woman who had come in to check on him suddenly grew nervous.
“I-I…wow! It’s uh…great to meet you! I’ll go get the Chief immediately!” She was barely able to chain two words together and ran out in a great hurry. Such a fuss was being made that Vladimir forgot to even be suspicious. He pulled himself up to a sitting position. He found he was uninjured, only stiff. He dared to try to stand, and a few of the onlookers offered assistance, but he made it on his own.
A man entered. He looked like anyone else in the room, a hard worker dressed rather drably in a baggy shirt of white and brown trousers. He made a bowing motion and said “Pleased to meet you, I am Chief Ensy, chief of Kleem Farming Outpost 79.”
Vladimir attempted to reproduce the bow. “Vladimir Karloff, of the former Arrow III.”
“Well Vladimir,” the chief went on, “You must be thoroughly confused. I’m going to have to introduce you to Anghar, the outpost’s resident Storyteller. He’ll tell you more than I could about our planet, its history and condition. But let me show you around the village starting with Marwa, the lovely young lady who’s been taking care of you.” Vladimir’s attendant smiled shyly; apparently she decided she was now in the presence of a celebrity. “And, though I can hardly believe it, you look fit to walk on your own! Come, let me show you what I can.”
Vladimir still wasn’t ready to shake his suspicion, but he decided he was representing earth. “Thank you, Mr. Ensy. I appreciate your invitation.”
“Mister?” Ensy looked confused. But Vladimir just shrugged, and he laughed and they walked out.
Vladimir was surprised to see a four-wheeler parked in front of the building. “You have a vehicle much the same as we would use on Earth,” he said.
“Care to try to drive it?” offered Ensy. Vladimir accepted and followed Ensy’s directions around the town, or outpost as it were.
Farming Outpost 79 was, as its name hinted, a huge farm. It looked to have a population of between one and two hundred. The farm used irrigation techniques and mechanical equipment as modern as any on earth, and he was told they even had a very small lab that did research in manners such as hydroponics and cross breeding. Vladimir asked if they used DNA recombination, and he was told that, although Ensy did not personally know much about biology, it was researched pretty heavily where there were the facilities do to so. Also, Vladimir found out that the research station hear received regular reports over a communication network all over the country.
“So,” Vladimir asked, “if you have all the technology of my home planet, why is this farm so small? On Earth, a hundred people could work a farm much larger.”
“They probably could work a larger farm, but we couldn’t build one,” said Ensy. “Besides, most of us aren’t farmers. A good few do archiving under the Storyteller, and most of the others are guards or medics or repairmen of some kind.”
“So then, what’s the purpose for all these guards? Are you at war?”
Ensy looked thoughtful for a second. “Turn left here. If this is about the attack on your spaceship, you’ll learn about those things soon enough. But there are no people who would want to do you harm, as far as I know.”
They drove around the entire town in about an hour. They had seen the huge farm, the small market district, and the people’s residences. It seemed that the country he was in had a very large army, and this outpost was positioned to help re-supply them. They had a huge food pantry. Vladimir noted that there was no lock or guard, and he was told that people were free to take whatever they liked.
“Most people,” said Ensy, “don’t touch the stuff in there. ‘Food for the dust’ we call it. Trust me, the farm-fresh food is a lot better.”
In addition to stocking food for the marching army, they exported a lot of their food to the many other outposts in the Kleem area, but those outposts were just one-building stations garrisoned by a few dozen soldiers. Aside from this outpost, a few other farm outposts, and those stations, there was only one town in the region of Kleem. The rest was all dense forests, which he could see looming over the outpost’s high wooden fence. The forests, he gathered, were dangerous to travel through. Supply trucks came to pick up the food from a single road, and were always heavily guarded. When Vladimir commented on the lack of a jail, he was told that the punishment for a severe crime was exile.
Following his tour, Vladimir ate lunch with Ensy and his family. They lived in a house separate from the rest of the villagers, one that overlooked the farm and the gate out of town. Ensy lived with his wife and five children. His wife, Tilo, was only too glad to entertain interstellar company, even at such short notice, and he sat down to a very satisfying meal. He looked at the vegetables on his plate, and thought about how much different they looked from those he was familiar with. The leaves were all green, but the colors and shapes of everything else were new to him. He thought about the people he had seen, and how they were no different from anyone he might see on Earth. They were all of a surprisingly fair complexion for farmers, he thought. Sandy brown was the preeminent hair color, although he had seen a few dark browns and blondes. He was looking forward to his meeting with the Storyteller he had heard about, Anghar. But presently, his appetite for food was as great as his appetite for information, and he finally took a bite off his plate. When he did so, he noticed that his hosts stared expectantly the whole time he chewed and swallowed. He grinned, and went at his plate in earnest. Ensy’s and Tilo’s faces relaxed into relief, but tensed right back up with embarrassment when they caught themselves gawking. Ensy cleared his throat and fidgeted nervously with his silverware.
Vladimir looked at his hosts and said to Ensy, “You going to finish that?” Then, all three laughed and the meal progressed easily from there.
Lunch was a two-course meal, with the first course being steamed vegetables from Tilo’s garden. Tilo was evidently more of a green thumb than her husband and kept the family’s pantry stocked from her garden alone. She was delighted to answer all of Vladimir’s questions about the food, and he learned that, although the shapes, sizes and colors were different, flavors here were not much different from Earth, and Tilo could cook at least as well as she gardened. The second course was a heavier round of meats and cheeses from the livestock of the farm, a bunch of shaggy white yak-like creatures. They drank water, although Vladimir learned (happily) that they brewed alcohol on this planet too. It was more of a dinner tradition, which Vladimir supposed, was similar to Earth (although as a bachelor, he was accustomed to enjoying a nip in the middle of the day when he felt like it). The lunch was somewhat larger than what Vladimir was accustomed to on Earth, but he was glad for it after his coma (which had lasted for about one full day). His hosts didn’t seem to make any bones about wasting food; leftovers were promptly thrown out the window for the family pet, a long, low, hog-like creature that he was told helped fertilize the garden and loved children. He figured food must be generally abundant on this planet, and surmised that the population was low. Earlier in the meal he had asked if everyone was known by their first name or surname, and he was told they only had one name.
When he told them people on earth had two or three names, Ensy looked wide-eyed and said, “Wow, how many people are there on your planet?”

At last, Vladimir was taken to his promised meeting with the Storyteller. He was taken to the market district, and a stage had been erected in the central plaza. Nearly the entire village had turned out to hear the spaceman’s tales about Earth. He was surprised to see so many complete families at what was supposedly a military supply outpost. There were mothers holding children, elders standing with their families, and youngsters scampering about and now coming to an abrupt, respectful silence as the spaceman approached the stage.
Onstage already was an elderly man wearing a strange yet formal-looking brown suit, and a white, well-groomed beard of the sort he would not be surprised to see a scholar on Earth wear. Twelve other, younger people were assembled onstage as well, taking notes. Vladimir bowed in the fashion he had seen earlier, and the aged man smiled.
“Well, Vladimir Karloff, I am pleased to finally meet you. I am Anghar, a Storyteller,” the aged man said.
“Thank you, Anghar. I am Vladimir Karloff, from Earth.” There was applause.
The old man offered a chair to Vladimir and said to him, “Welcome to Fararia…Mister Vladimir.” Vladimir grinned and sat down.

While the village was mobilizing towards the town center, and while Vladimir was sitting down to his first meal on another planet, two great towers separated themselves from the shadow of the forest that had been blending into. The ran swiftly across the open plain where Vladimir had been rescued and right up to the fence of the unsuspecting Kleem Farming Outpost 79. The fence was two or three times their height, but the vaulted over it swiftly and silently.
From down the road, the roar of a motorcycle’s engine could be heard.

Vladimir was asked to describe the earth first, and he found the audience hanging on his every word. His new planet experience had been a little disappointing, besides the nice people, and he found that they were transfixed. The ideas of things such as cities that boasted millions upon millions of people seemed like fairy tales to them. He tried to impress upon them some of the earth’s woes, such as the starvation (which was still rampant) and the war (which nations refused to give up on) that claimed many lives. But these problems, too, seemed like none the Fararians, or at least those of Kleem Farming Outpost 79, had ever heard of. He was interrupted again and again, and almost always by questions pertaining to travel, such as they really could go from city to city whenever they wanted. The idea of flying planes across oceans seemed to really rile them up, and he remembered Zorak and that nothing got past it. He suddenly thought of the devil’s head for the first time since he left the bed, and decided he had to know. But as he prepared to ask the Storyteller, he was interrupted by the roar of a motorcycle engine.
Anghar looked perplexed. “A Wanderer arrival? He must be here to investigate the wreck,” he said.
Just then, the crowd broke into a panic as two colossal figures stepped into the plaza. Vladimir got a good look at them, just before everything went crazy. They must have been twelve feet tall, each. They were humanoid in shape but their skin was thick, and grayish with a tint of green. Their hands, which were tipped with sharp, black nails, clutched huge and deadly yet recognizable weapons. One bore a spear, longer than its great body and as thick as a sapling. The other held a huge bow, and at its back was a quiver of arrows big enough to serve as spears in a human’s hands. They were armored lightly in what looked like thick cloth, except for metal plates over their shoulders, and a buckler on the spear wielder’s left arm. Their thick skin was stretched over muscles like rock, their shoulders were broad, their arms were long, and their faces were utterly inhuman. They glared at the crowd through beady eyes, and then they attacked.
The crowd scattered, but it was not a panic like any on Earth. Instead of trampling each other, crowds parted for running mobs. Instead of everyone pushing each other out of their own way, people threw each other under buildings, into hiding spots, and dragged each other out of the way of incoming traffic. Vladimir himself was grabbed from behind by several of Anghar’s underlings and pulled under the stage. However, the mob wasn’t fast enough to prevent all tragedy. One woman, burdened by her child, couldn’t get out of the line of sight of the archer fast enough. A huge arrow struck her with so much momentum she was thrown off her feet. Her baby was caught before it hit the ground by a young boy who dashed under a house as quick as a flash. Another group scattered as the spear wielder bore down on them, but his weapon was too long and too fast. Five lives were claimed by his vicious attack. Now, the plaza was empty save for the two hulks, but with no one in the village to resist them, it seemed likely that they would tear the houses apart to get to the people hiding in and under them. Vladimir was wondering whether the rest of the villagers would run for it when this happened, and if he couldn’t do something to distract them. He was an uncommonly good runner, and…
Vladimir’s call to action was not needed. A man roared in on a motorcycle. He wore a weather-stained cloak of dark leather and no helmet. The two beasts faced him in challenge. The spear wielder struck out at him, but he rolled under the swinging blade as it knocked his bike over. The spear scored the earth and looped through the air again and again, but the man was never on his feet for more than an instant. Every stroke cut naught but his dust as he jumped, somersaulted, or rolled out of the way. The spear wielder raised his weapon above his head and brought it straight down, and the man dodged it nearly with a backwards handspring. The spear stuck in the ground, and the man drew a strange-looking shotgun and aimed just above the tip. His shot splintered the spear, and his foot broke it clean in half.
By this time, the archer had drawn his bow and loosed an arrow, but with a deliberation that Vladimir could not believe, the man turned to face the flying arrow and shot it out of the air. He then drew a sword and charged the spear wielder. He jammed the blade into its foot, and the creature reached down to crush him with its mighty hand, but then flopped flat on its back as though it had been struck by a taser. The archer was drawing another arrow, and as the man righted and started the bike, he fired a shot that split the bowstring and sent the half-drawn arrow backwards into the creature’s face (and at this point Vladimir began to suspect that this was no ordinary gun). The roar of the motorcycle’s engine was lost in the creature’s cry of rage and frustration. The man charged the creature on his bike and leaped off, thrusting his gun into its still raging mouth. The fiend’s cry quickly cut off into a surprised gag, but before that mouth could separate the arm from the owner, the gun went off, and the beast fell backwards, his mouth blown wide open.
The man took only a handful of seconds to charge and destroy the archer, but the spear wielder had in that time shaken the sword out of his foot. Now, armed with a blunt yet no less deadly wooden pole, he advanced on the gunman. He whirled and slammed the pole into the ground, but as before, the fighter ducked and rolled out from under it. Now, he charged for the creature’s legs, and was not fast enough to avoid a kick that sent him rolling. His quick recovery saw him on his feet before the pole could finish him, though. He somersaulted backwards onto his feet, dodged another swing, and hopped on the bike (which was somehow still running, Vladimir noticed). He sped in a wide ark around the spear wielder, and it turned to face him. It charged, its great pole biting the ground as it went. The man dismounted near where his sword was left and picked it up, then throttled his riderless bike at the creature. It batted the bike away, and he ran under it and one again stuck his sword in one of its legs. Again, it dropped as though stunned. The man grabbed the huge spearhead and held it to the barrel of his gun. He ran to the creature as it struggled to remove the sword from its leg, and jammed the makeshift bayonet into its armored chest. The pointed tip stuck fast, but it did not penetrate until he fired the gun. The tip ripped through the creature’s chest, and it fell onto its back, its greasy black blood spilling into a pool around its body.
The besieged villagers began to crawl from their hiding places, little by little, into the crowd was no longer gathered around Vladimir but a graveyard of six little bodies, two huge ones, and one who stood alone among the wreckage, calmly inspecting the damage to his vehicle.

Chapter 4

“Monsters,” said Vladimir.
“Monsters,” replied Anghar.
It was night time now. The dead had to be buried, the fiends had to be burned, and damage to the plaza had to be repaired. All the while, the stranger who had saved them all neither offered a hand nor said a word, save nodding in acknowledgement when one of the tearing villagers thanked him thrice over for saving their life. Now everyone had enough excitement for one day, and most of them were at home. Only Vladimir, Anghar, Ensy, Anghar’s scribes, and the fighter were still present.
“Vladimir,” began Anghar, “this will be easier if you let me start from the beginning and you don’t interrupt. You have many questions, but I can answer most of them in this tale.”
“Just get one thing out of the way first,” said Vladimir. “That thing that attacked my ship was like them, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“So, this isn’t an uncommon occurrence?”
“No. Now please, let me explain.” Anghar cleared his throat, and began narrating. As he talked, he moved his arms as though we were before a crowd, and paced around the stage. It was a little grandiose, but it made for an interesting tale.
“Humans arriving from space are not a new occurrence on this planet, Vladimir. In fact, almost nothing you see here is native. In the beginning, this planet was as cold and icy as the void it was in. It was a ball of rock that nothing could survive, save that which is the very toughest. Our history begins on another planet, grander and older than ours or yours, where a king and a queen reigned over an interstellar kingdom. They were the wisest, noblest, and best rulers that had ever ascended to the throne. They maintained peace and urged people to investigate the secrets of the universe in hopes they would shine light on the purpose of life. And, with time, the found the secrets they were looking for. The entered the dimension where the Keeper, the creator of the universe resides. And there, they read the book that he wrote, the book which became our universe once he set it in the flames of time. But the end was unclear.
“Upon returning to their dimension, the king and queen discovered they had powers like nothing that ever had been seen before. All who went with them into that dimension, in fact, returned as gods. The queen thought that their powers were given to them by the keeper so that they could be stewards of the universe, and nurture all races so that they would grow. The king, however, believed that the powers were given to them by the Keeper so that they could take as much of the universe as they wanted, and the universe itself was a gift from the Keeper to anything in it that had the power to take it. So the queen became known as Phorous, and the king became known as Chaos, and their followers were known as the Phorites and Chaites. They forgot their human bonds as husband and wife and became opposites and enemies, and fought ruthlessly. Many became gods in the service of both, and soon they had reared huge armies and fought all over the galaxy. Chaos and his minions subjugated all the marched over, and Phorous and her minions stood in his way, determined to halt his advance at every front. But as vicious as the war was, neither side could get the advantage of the other. Chaos and Phorous were too evenly matched, and all the other gods, though of limitless power compared to mortals, were nothing compared to the two leaders.
“However, all that changed when their son became a god. It was known that to be a god one had to be able to transcend this universe by traveling in a fifth dimensional direction. This couldn’t be done by normal motion, but if one mastered a skill beyond all of its known boundaries, then by this skill they could break the laws of physics and enter the Keeper’s dimension. When they returned, they were gods of that skill that they had honed, and able to manipulate the universe without limit, with the power of magic. The son of Chaos and Phorous was a man of prodigious strenght, and it was through strength he found the path the Keeper’s domain. But when he read the book of the universe, he didn’t see gods anywhere. Deciding that gods were unaccounted for in the Keeper’s plan, he sought to overthrow the Keeper and rule the universe himself. And we call him Surpar Lay Merci, and he was the strongest god there ever was. His parents, shocked that their son would dare to challenge the Keeper himself (whom they both worshipped, despite their differing interpretations), united to fight against him. But Surpar Lay Merci vanquished them both, and sealed them in this planet. It is the magic of those gods that warmed it up and made life as we know it possible.
“After they were sealed in this planet, the other gods and minions headed to it to continue their war. Some of the mortals who arrived were unaffected by the magic field radiating from the planet’s core, and could experience only the portion that escaped as normal physical energy. However, many were altered by the magic field and those became the descendants of what today are known as monsters.”
Anghar sat down, and looked thoughtfully. His scribes wrote busily, and Vladimir noticed that the fighting stranger was actually paying close attention to the story. Vladimir decided that the Storyteller was giving him a break to talk, but he couldn’t think of any burning questions. “Magic,” he finally said. “It’s the only thing that could explain what that thing did, that…Zorak?”
“Zorak has a tale all his own,” said Anghar. “He is not like the monsters one usually sees, such as the ones who attacked us today. Those are, more or less, magically augmented living things. Zorak is one of the monsters of great fame and even greater strength, who has caused us more damage singularly than many entire species could. We could unite our cities, even make a stand against them all!…if it weren’t for him.” Anghar grew very emotive with his last statement, and Vladimir thought of what patriotism and nationalism must mean to a world where the enemies weren’t even human, and the stakes were nothing so trivial as land or money but their own lives.
“Fighting for your life is a very noble cause,” said Vladimir. And he was surprised to see even the taciturn fighter nod in agreement. Then, the question came to him. “Why do you guys speak English? How long ago did this war happen? Is it possible that you are, in fact, descended from Earth?”
Anghar laughed. “Ah, no, no my dear Vladimir. As I said, the world of the gods is far, far older than our civilization or yours, if you do not know what they are. We believe they warred for around 9,000 years before Surpar Lay Merci sealed them into our planet.” Vladimir remembered that a year on Fararia, according to the astronomers with the space program back home, was 487 earth years. “And it is at least a hundred thousand years since that day. Are you familiar with nuclear decay?”
Vladimir nodded and guessed where this was headed. “We use that on Earth for dating purposes as well.”
“Good,” said Anghar. “Well, some materials decay at a certain rate when exposed to magic, and scientists have dated the oldest to be over a hundred thousand years.” So about half a million on earth, give or take an eon, Vladimir thought.
“Definitely older than us,” Vladimir said.
Anghar continued. “We native-born Fararians are immune to the magic field. But you grew up on earth. Your body has had a reaction. It’s a rare phenomenon, but not completely unknown. It is known as ‘trance magic’, because the user doesn’t have control over it.”
The fighter looked up. “You’re saying he can do magic?”
“Calm down, Glade,” Anghar replied. “He can’t control his own power, but it acts automatically when it’s sorely needed. Vladimir, the reason you survived your fall, and I’m sure of it, is because you slowed yourself down. There’s no other explanation. Jettisoning your parachute saved your life. And the reason you can understand us, and we can understand you, is because you are speaking a magic tongue that all can understand, and you can magically interpret every language. Pretty handy, when you’re all alone on an alien planet where the life forms may not even write and speak with the same organs you do.”
Now, Anghar turned to the fighter. “Don’t look so stunned, Glade.” Glade looked anything but stunned. “I’ve only heard of a handful of Wanderers with the nerve to face down two Murderers, and only one with the skill to survive them. But I bet those momentum shells helped. What were you carrying them for? Did you expect these things to attack us?”
Glade didn’t make eye contact and replied nonchalantly. “Perhaps.” Vladimir almost couldn’t hold back a laugh at how over-the-top this guy’s tough guy persona came off, but Glade shot him a glare that took the smile off his face. “I just want my trophy,” Glade said.
“Vladimir,” said Anghar, “You can take their weapons.“ Glade seemed about to protest this, but Anghar went on. “You have eyewitnesses and testimonials from two hundred people. No one will dispute your victory.” Then, to Vladimir, he said, “Glade belongs to a secret society of monster hunters known as the Wanderers. Rank among the Wanderers is typically determined by ordeal, and the heads of these two creatures would give him much acclaim back home.”
“You know your history well,” said Glade, “but the stories of the Wanderers have never been chronicled, save by ourselves. And as for the momentum shells, I picked them up in North Bagroth. I’ve been tailing these bastards for a while. If I’d gotten the bike sooner, I could’ve nabbed ‘em in the woods…”
Chief Ensy spoke up. “Now, Glade, it’s our fault too. We shouldn’t have left the walls unguarded. If there wasn’t such an assembly, they probably would’ve overlooked us entirely. I let the mood get us carried away.”
Vladimir interrupted them. “Guys, even on Earth we’ve learned not to look back.” He hadn’t meant to sound so calloused, but it was the only thing he could think to say. But the others seemed to get the message.
“All right,” said Ensy, “I think we’ve all done quite enough. Vladimir, you now know who claimed your ship and your mates, and why we can communicate. And I think that’s enough for now, don’t you Anghar?” Anghar nodded. “Well then,” Ensy continued, “let’s break it off for the night. Vladimir, you can room in the hut we’ve been treating you; I’ll take you there. Glade, make yourself comfortable wherever you like.”

While they were driving back to Vladimir’s quarters, he noticed a little-used road going away from the farm and the residences. He asked Ensy if that was the lab they’d heard about.
“That’s our quarantine zone,” he replied.

The next morning, Anghar and Ensy met with Glade and Vladimir for breakfast. Vladimir spent most of his meal wondering what made the sky change colors if the sun was so far away. “Vladimir,” asked Anghar, “What are your plans now that your ship has been destroyed?”
“I dunno,” he replied. “Wait fourteen years and watch the light show when Zorak destroys my re-supply rocket.” That killed conversation for a while.
They had finished their meal, which consisted of eggs (none too different from the earth variety) and sweet fruit (which Vladimir wouldn’t have minded seeing at lunch.) Finally, Ensy spoke.
“Anghar and I had a discussion last night. We’ve decided to hire you for a mission, Glade. And Anghar wants you to take Vladimir along, and I agree.” Glade gave them a glazed stare.
Anghar took over from here, and Vladimir guessed it was going to be a longwinded explanation. “Vladimir, yesterday we discussed the origin of the monsters. All kingdoms of life can be affected by magic. This includes bacteria and viruses. Our outpost has recently suffered a monster plague, and it has been some time since any have had to contend with one. Diseases of this kind are different from normal infections. Even when medicine or the human immune system successfully combats the germs, there is a magical counterpart that keeps the infection from truly being routed out. So, in order to save a person with such an infection, a magical remedy is required. Also, scientists have found that monsters treated against diseases for which they have no immunity can form antibodies with the aid of our medicine. They say there is very strong evidence that a magical remedy can produce magical antibodies in a human. If we had enough to cure just one person, we could use their blood to produce a vaccine that is effective against monster plagues. But without it, this disease will slowly but surely infect the whole village and doom us all.”
“So,” said Glade, “you want me to go to Blade’s own castle on the southern continent and hunt for a magic cure?”
“More or less,” said Ensy.
Anghar continued. “Vladimir is a former mercenary on his planet, so he tells me. He has had experience fighting humans with firearms and has used weapons and armor very similar to what you will need to accomplish your mission. His ability to communicate in all languages will help you to foil the many Chaite curses that are supposed to bind that castle.” Glade was about to interject but Anghar continued. “He also is in as fine a physical condition as you could hope for, in any of your comrades. On Earth he has suffered great hardships, marched on foot without food, and battled with armed humans who are as deadly an enemy as many monsters he will face, if not worse. Furthermore, I have gleaned that he is a runner of uncommon skill.” Vladimir was surprised at the last one, for he’d said no such thing when he told Anghar about his life on Earth. It was true, though. Before he’d become an astronaut he was training for the Olympics, which they still held and were more popular than ever. Many speculated he could win both the marathon and that 100 meter dash. He hadn’t wanted to sound hokey, since such claims seemed small and unimportant, particularly in the presence of a man who had defeated two armed opponents that were both twice his height and many times his size.
Anghar went on. “He’s no coward, either. I could see it in his eyes. He was going to try to get the Murderers to follow him so that we would have a chance to escape. I guarantee you, he’s everything you could hope for in a traveling partner.”
“Except he’s never fought a monster and I don’t like company,” said Glade. “But I’m glad to know he can trot across the southern ocean after Skyre has frozen it for us. Hopefully he can then skip all the away across Fararia and deliver you guys this magical remedy. Because I’m not going to the southern continent. It’s for fools and fortune hunters. Show him a map.”
Anghar seemed like he was going to object, but Ensy got them a map. It showed a singe green landmass, with forests and features relieved into it. There was a sea at the south and then another continent, this one white, as though it were icy. “This,” said Glade, “is a map of Fararia. And this,” he said and pointed to one spot in the northeastern quadrant of the green landmass, “is the region of Kleem, where we are. From here it is just a mere three thousand kilometer jog, nothing to a great runner like you, to the city of Cabaltross, where we can take a bout downriver for 8,000 kilometers, a 2 month voyage, to this port, Dandruaght Mouth, where we get to skip through another few thousand kilometers of monster-infested forest.”
“Or,” began Ensy, “you can go about 60 kilometers north and hitch up with an armored convoy to Dress, with 4 open ammo depots for you on the way, and you can head out from dress to the Eastern Sea, and take a fast ship south. Then, you have a rather exciting journey across the Middleland until you get to Anglass, from where you can sail a boat down to the Dandraught where you get to skip through another few thousand kilometers of monster in fested forest. Or a few hundred, if you’d rather leave from the North Dock Outpost and just sail across the Southern Ocean. And if Skyre isn’t up to freezing the ocean for you, you can always just sail back, hmm?” Vladimir had a feeling that Glade was testing them. Apparently Ensy had passed.
“I still need a weapon to fight against Skyre, and there a none in this whole world when he’s on the southern continent,” said Glade.
Anghar glanced at Vladimir, briefly. “You won’t need to fight skyre if you don’t touch his gold. Just find the Panacea, and be off as quickly as you can.”
“And if he’s already awake when we get there?”
“Then wait for him to sleep! Do you think I ask you this out of concern for our well-being?” cried Anghar. “This journey will be long, a year at the least (Vladimir somehow knew that he meant the Earth’s year, not his own. His inner translator was proving very handy, converting alien measures to kilometers and all). By that time, the plague will have all but devastated us. We need the Panacea to protect all of Fararia! You must accept this mission, Glade, and you must take Vladimir with you!”
“Fine, I accept,” said Glade, as disinterested as if this were the first he’d heard of the plan. Vladimir was beginning to get a feel for his anticlimactic responses, just as he was beginning to get a feel for Anghar’s tendency to try and surprise people with how much he knew about them.
“We’ll brief you fully later,” said Anghar. “First, I want to tell Vladimir the story of how Fararia came to be.”

Vladmir met with Anghar and his scribes in a study near the residential district. He was surprised to see Glade there, figuring the man wanted as little to do with the Storyteller and anyone else who might tell him what to do as possible.
“Well, Vladimir, I hope you’ve gotten some of the answers to your questions. You know, more or less, what the monsters are, but you have yet to learn the relationship between monsters and humans. This story will help you understand the rest of world, and possibly some of the danger you will face as you go on your mission.
“The war did not end when Surpar Lay Merci sealed his parents in this planet. It continued to rage, and perhaps still does, all over the galaxy. But most of the minions and underling gods of either side traveled to this world to continue their war under the direct command of their masters. They fought each other, to liberate their figurehead god, and generally to control the planet. In the end, nearly all of the gods were destroyed. The mortal underlings built nations and fought each other indecisively all over the world. During this time, a man, a metallurgist, was attaining skills like none other. His craft was sought and generously rewarded by both sides, but he did not care about money or riches. He was obsessed with discovering every secret to perfect metalworking. He did. With his indestructible metal alloys, he was able to attain immortality and he found his way, as many before him, to the dimension where the Keeper resides. He returned as Blade, the Metal God.
“Blade was enamored of his power. Having reached every pinnacle in his craft, he now desired to use his power to subjugate everyone and everything. So he became a Chaite, and many pledged themselves to him in servitude. He rewarded those who served him well with mountains of pure gold and silver, which he could conjure from thin air in any amount. With a god once again at their forefront, the Chaites swiftly conquered the Phorites and set up a cruel empire with Blade himself on the throne, and the enslaved Phorites at the very bottom. Blade reshaped the world as he saw fit, and built many wonders to better the lives of his useful servants, using his power and his limitless slave population of Phorites and less capable Chaites. His magical kingdom spanned all of the Fararian continent, and he himself froze the Southern Ocean and made his castle there, a tremendous fortress of ice. There he set about the task of freeing Chaos from his prison and releasing him on the world.
“He would have succeeded if it were not for one man. His real name is no longer known, but he is called Saul A Baram. It is a tradition that great champions among their kind are known by three names. Saul A Baram traveled alone to Blade’s ice castle and sealed the dark god using the very magic he intended resurrect Chaos with. The story of his journey to the south and the subsequent battles he fought there is one of the greatest we Storytellers have knowledge of, and I hope you hear it in full someday. But for now, it will suffice to say that he overthrew Blade himself, and then led the Phorite revolution. But Blade had a parting gift for the Phorites: Upon his demise, the magic that bound his civilization withered and humanity’s protection from the more powerful denizens of this world was undone. He sent forth his mightiest minions, the dragons, to gather all that remained of his treasure in Fararia, and bring it to his palace. There it was guarded by a sentry he summoned during his magical experimentation: Skyre, the Ice Giant, a fearsome beast who predates even the two great gods. The surviving Chaites left Fararia and went to inhabit the empty desert continent on the other side of the world, and the Phorites were left alone to struggle against the ruthless monster population.
“There were many who longed for the security of Blade’s regime and openly cursed Saul A Baram, but humanity persevered. Using only the tools of our natural genius, we hashed out our place in the world. Today, our survival is stable, and our weapons are more powerful than ever. But even now, to this day, the true rulers of Fararia are the monsters. Though famine among our people has been unknown for decades [Earth time], and modern medicine can cure most diseases, monsters still threaten our very survival.”
“I don’t understand,” said Vladimir. “I mean, I understand the story, I just don’t understand how this pertains to the mission.”
Anghar answered. “The true importance is not clear yet, but as for the mission, the pertinence is that monsters are dangerous and they are everywhere. You will not just see fighting on this mission, you will count yourself blessed every hour you don’t fight. I have never been a warrior, but today is not the first time I have been threatened by monsters. No one in Fararia is unaffected by their malevolent presence.”
“What if I don’t want to go on this mission?” Vladimir asked, and expected a hopeful response from Glade, but Glade evidently had no interest now that the story was over.
“You have to go somewhere, Vladimir. You will die if you stay here. The plague will eventually get you. And if you leave on your own, you will certainly die. There is probably no guide in the world finer than Glade here, so you may as well go with him. And if you’re going to travel, you may as well see as much of the world as you can. Who knows? You may actually return to Earth someday and the more you know, the better for your people.”
“Well,” said Vladimir, “danger was an inherent part of the mission. And I was warned to be ready for anything, including hostile alien life forms. So if it seems danger is inherent in every course of action, then, I’ll take what allies I can get. I thank you, Anghar, for your counsel.”
Glade spoke. “Name your terms.”
Chief Ensy entered the room. “I believe,” he said, “that that decision is mine to make. And we’re offering you an unlimited credit on the treasury of this outpost in exchange for your help.”
“That’ll help me get home, at least,” he said. “But nothing will make me feel well of facing Skyre.”
“Except the good chance that you won’t face him at all,” said Anghar.
“There are many frozen fortune hunters who banked on that plan on the Souther Continent,” was the morose reply.