Thrust into another world through cosmic teleportations never to be explained, the SNR student body lives a violent existense of constant warfare--between eachother.
The social structures of their previous lives have created bitter rivalries. The dominant side in the struggle up until now are the Laxians, trained fighters equipped with the more advanced weapons. The other side, the Lethurians, are the rebels if you will, outcasts grouped together in the grit of combat, trying to earn respect no matter what the costs...
"D6R9, where are you?!" moaned A11Scrub. He found the little rust bucket moments later, hiding in between a stalagmite and a stalagcite, deep within a dark corridor of Cave Base 7. "I know you don't want your anual rectal cleaning, but it is absolutely neccassary if we are to prolong your life another week!"
Both D6R9 and A11Scrub had been humans at one time, but a terrible explosion when the Civil War first began had left them both pitifully handicapted, the former suffering the worst. A11 lost his limbs and most facial skin down to the skull, so metal plates and mechanised arms and legs were needed for him to continue his work for the Lethurian rebels. D6R9 had been so badly ruined that only his brain, right hand, and his lower torso could be salvaged, all of which were placed inside a trashcan like body that rolled on wheels. D6 communicated by pulses and beeps that only A11Scrub could understand, making the two partners in their fowl but indispensible job for the tribe of outcasts.
That job was solely waste management. Together they were know as the Crapadroids, and on this particular day they were alone in the base.
A11 would scoop up all the shit and empty it into D6, who in turn would reprocess it into nutrient packed food for the Lethurians. But after a year, D6R9 would become so encrusted with excess wastes that danger of imploding was immenent, and it was up to A11 to clean things out.
"Chit chit, zschhhhhh!" whined D6R9.
"Oh, come off of it," retorted A11 as he extended his garden shovel. "You know you need it."
"Nicch, chit beep beep zchhhhhh!" pulsed D6.
"What's that? There's danger in the back of the cave?" said A11 with out looking up from his messy work. "If you think I'm going to fall for such a ruse, then I should be the one getting his ass cleaned out."
It would have been wise for A11Scrub to take heed of D6R9's warning, for seconds after he gave it, a powerful explosion shattered the cave ceiling, hurtling the Crapadroids along with rocky debris through a smoky dust cloud all the way to the far end of the cave. Sun light from the out side illuminated the cavern as Laxian Troops poured in through the gapping hole by the dozens, waving their weapons and screaming.
Each Laxian was protected by a heavy chest plate and shoulder pads, their faces concealed by wide brimmed-caged helmets. They were armed with their Lax spears and lances, deadly weapons with a net on the end designed for throwing energy balls that would leave an enemy temporarily paralyzed; thus the poor victim would be left helpless as they were hacked to pieces by the trident of razor sharp blades that crowned each net.
"You idiots," barked the Laxian Commander, the two red stripes across his helmet signifying his rank. "This is the wrong cave!"
"Sir," said the Laxian Trooper in charge of explosives. "All signs pointed to this cave as being their main base; we tried as hard as we could--"
"Not hard enough," said the Commander as he gave the Trooper a heavy cuff with his gauntlet glove.
The belligerent officer was about beat more of his men when a loan Laxian Trooper from the other end of the cave called out. The whole surly bunch rushed over to see the stunned Crapadroids lying on the floor, half buried beneath the rubble.
"Beep cliteep, zschhhhhh," whistled D6R9 as he tried helplessly to get up. A11Scrub was having just as hard a time pulling himself togehter; his right arm had fallen out of its socket.
"Oh, please be gentle, oh mighty Laxian victors," pleaded A11 as the Troops roughly brought him to his feet. "I'll tell you anything!"
"Ni ni ni, zschhhhhh!" scolded D6.
"Oh--I meant--I don't know anything! Kill me if you must, you won't get any information as to the location of Cave Base 4 from me!"
"Let me shut this dork up; for good," said a Laxian Trooper, fingering his knife.
"No," said the Commander as he cuffed the brash young Trooper. "Whatever this thing is, it might know something. We should take it prisoner."
"Hand me my arm plea--mmmphhh!" muffled A11 as his mouth was covered.
With A11Scrub gagged and in bondage, the Laxian strike force made ready to withdraw from their failed mission. D6R9, still trapped under the rock debris, wailed mournfully to A11.
"What should we do about that beeping trashcan?" asked a Trooper.
"Who cares," said the Commander. "Lets get back to our fortress. I've got a feeling we're all gonna get laid tonight."
Two hours later, it was quiet once again in Cave Base 7, the Laxians long gone. Using his last resevoirs of strength, D6R9 finally managed to extricate himself from under the large rocks the explosion had buried him with. Cherping triumphantly, the little Crapadroid switched on his built in feild light and rolled down the cavern floor towards the main quarters of the base. The hasty Laxians hadn’t taken the time to search through the drawers that held the maps to the location of the other bases and the top secret Lethurian battle strategy blue prints. And judging by his quick glance, D6 guessed they hadn’t attempted to hack into the base’s rudimentary computer, the machine that was slowly absorbing the whole Laxian system; a task that when complete would allow the Lethurian rebels to have all the enemy information they could ever want and more.
Activating Cave Base 7’s door with his retractable probe, D6R9 rolled out into the desert dusk. Gripped in his crook of his wheel supports was the arm of A11Scrub that had been misplaced. The first sun of this strange planet had already passed to the other side of the world, and the second one crested the mountains to the far west. To the north, south, and east, six of the planet’s 9 moons littered the sky.
It was four miles of rocky boulders and ridges to Cave Base 4, and it would be an arduos and deadly journey for the Crapadroid. D6 would have to get home before dark; at night was when the werekyotes came out, savage beasts that traveled in packs and tore any living thing to shreds. His only defense was the small electric probe built into him, capable of repelling an angry lizard but useless against a massive werekyote.
Increasing his speed up a steep hill, the twilight shadows decieved poor D6R9 and he ran right into a heavy sand drift. Beeping and pulsing every vulgarity know to man in his own language, the Crapadroid could not pull free and wound up deeper in the sandy mire.
In the distance, a loan werekyote let out a disconsolate wail, which was soon picked up by many more of its brethern, ones much closer to the helpless D6R9...
Not so far away from the plighted Crapadroid, in Cave Base 4, the council of Lethurian leaders was in session. Seated around the long black table in the center room of the headquarters were Dill, the Lethurian leader, a hot headed, hellbent warmonger; Moe, the arrogant swordsmen, always in contention with Dill, who fought expertly with two rapiers; Lee Otto, a skilled tracker who could follow a path several days old and leave his own trail hidden even to the sharpest of eyes; Von Gross, a diplomat by nature with idealistic plans to unite the Lethurians and Laxians politically; Jerome, the champion warrior of the rebel tribe, who tatooed a skull on his back for each Laxian he defeated in one on one duels, a form of combat the Laxians were becoming more and more hesitant to engage in, for Jerome hadn’t lost up until now; Hosmosis, who spoke in bizarre canticles known only to Moe, whom he served as a squire; Dick, a stern strategist who always took a cautious approach to warfare; Hadrian, the only woman on the council, short and squat with thick rimmed glasses, who would argure with Von Gross until it lead to fierce physical confrontation. All wore tanned werekyote skins, signifying the origin of the tribe’s name.
We’ve lost battle after battle, Von Gross was saying. If we were only to tap into past connections with individual Laxians, then we could end this war peacefully.
"Those connections are gone!" said Dill. "As weak as they were way back when, your little friendships should be nonexistent by now. The Laxians and Lethurians have been fighting for too long now; they don’t want to end this peacefully and neither do I."
"‘Neither do I’ ?" chided Moe. "What about the rest of us? You may be completely callous, but I’m getting fed up with of seeing comrades die."
"And it never gets easier!" sobbed Hadrian.
"Wuzza, wuzza wuzzle," said Hosmosis.
Hadrian stood up and put her fist to her chest. "My proposition is that we remove this beast Hosmosis from the council."
"Ni!" daunted Moe. Hosmosis took up a chant as he beat his head on the table over and over again.
"Moe, you better get him to bed," said Dick. The swordsmen gently lifted Hosmosis from his chair and escorted him out of the room.
"Damn asshole," said Dill with a lecherous glance to the departing Moe. Returning his attention to the remaining council, he said: "I have an idea, and it involves Jerome."
"Yeah?" said the mighty Jerome, looking up from the checkers game he was playing with Lee Otto on the far end of the table.
"Don’t worry about it, Jerome," Dill reassured. Von Gross, Dick, and Hadrian leaned in closer to hear what the others obviously weren’t meant to.
"Here’s my idea," continued Dill. "It’s my theory that the Laxian scum have been witholding their strongest fighters from one on one combat with Jerome, and their strongest happens to be their leader."
"Heinous the Worm, he’s the strongest?!" gasped Dick.
"No," corrected Von Gross. "He was killed in combat about a month ago. The new leader of the Laxians is said to be Entelliton."
"Yes," said Dill, annoyed at the interuption. "And if we can use Jerome to cut off the head of the enemy, the day will be ours!"
"What if Jerome loses," said the skeptical Von Gross. "Entelliton is said to be more than a match for our hero."
"But do you really think they won’t just get another leader?" said Hadrian.
"Possibly," said Dill. "But werekyote packs always fight amongst themselves when it comes time to choose a new leader, which in the Laxian’s case would be to our advantage. It’s worth a try."
"I just remembered something," said Dick. "Where are D6R9 and A11Scrub? They were supposed to be home from Cave Base 7 by now."
"I don’t know, maybe they decided to spend the night under the covers or something," said Dill. "This meeting is ajourned."
The next morning, Moe and Hosmosis were outside bright and early, testing out the newest design of high powered tazers. The common Lethurian rebel fought with a long knife or rapier, and sometimes with a hand held tazer or an electric llambooty prod. Some Lethurians with less sense of tradition would use captured Laxian spears, and though their use was allowed, it was looked down upon and viewed as a dishonorable form of combat.
"How many volts was that?" asked Moe after a test shock.
"Narshu dishnacough," said Hosmosis.
"Still not as high as I want it," said Moe. "Give it another jiggle."
As Hosmosis was reinserting the taser into his own tough hide, Moe noticed movement off to his left. Riding past the Lethurian guards who warded the valley of Cave Base 4 on a llambooty, the cowlike reptilie that the rebels used for transportation, Lee Otto trotted up to Moe and reigned his mount to a halt. Distress was in his eyes.
"Looks what I found outside of Cave Base 7," said the grizzled tracker, tossing a metallic object onto the ground before Moe. It was A11Scrub’s arm. A few yards way, Hosmosis had fortuitously activated the tazer. Wracked with electric spasms, he thrased about like a rabid beast trying to get the tazer off of him.
"One minute," said Moe, rushing to the aid of Hosmosis. Upon his return, he said: "What happened?"
"Well, early this mornin,’ at the first sun’s rising, I rode down on this here llambooty to Cave Base 7," began Lee Otto. "And what did I find? I found a whole mess of werekyote tracks and A11’s arm there left on the ground. So I figures them Crapadroids met an unfortchnit’ end when I see that the only tracks coming from the base belong to the wheels of that little D6R9, so I’s go inside to invest’gate. And what do I find? I find the whole damn roof to the base blown off!"
"Laxian explosives," whispered Moe.
"Same thing I thought," said Lee Otto proudly. So I goes up through that hole, and I finds the tracks of about forty people heading east towards to what looked like the indentation of a glider. I follows them tracks to the end, and guess what’s I finds? Another one of All’s arms!” The tracker pulled another metal arm out from his sattle pack and threw it on the ground beside the first arm. "They’s taken him prisoner!"
"Hmm, very dramatic," said Moe. "Did you follow the werekyote tracks at all?"
"No, I was hungry by the time that crossed my mind, so I headed back," said Lee Otto.
"You idiot!" said Moe. "D6R9 is our main source of food!"
"What’d be the point, them werekyotes had to of finished him off," said Lee Otto. "I say we do something to recover that A11Scrub, before he starts talking."
"You’re right," said Moe, in agreement for once. "We’ll have to let D6R9 go. But the longer that flamboyant A11Scrub is in Laxian hands, the more he’ll squeal."
"You saying we should send them a threatnin’ letter, heh he," said Lee Otto, leaning forward with an impish grin.
"No, I was thinking of a rescue mission."
"I aint had no thrills in awhile, so this would get me going just dandy."
"Hosmosis!" Moe the swordsmen called to his squire. "Get a fresh llambooty for Lee Otto and one for me, and some sturdy walking shoes for yourself."
"I’ll tell ol’ Dill so he can give us--" began Lee Otto, sliding off his sattle as Hosmosis scurried off to complete his tasks.
"No," interjected Moe. "The fewer people that know about this expedition, the better chance we have of avoiding the attention of those probe cameras the Laxians have sent hovering around us as of late. Infact, one’s behind you right now!"
Lee Otto reeled around, whipped out his hunting knife and confronted the probe camera. These deadly cameras, designed by the Laxians for spying, made an insidious humming noise, like that of a wasp, and shot poisoned tipped darts at their prey. The probe camera opened up fire on Moe, and, quick as lightning, he unseathed his two rapiers and deflected the deadly darts. Lee Otto the tracker dodged to the side and sent his knife spinning into the probe camera’s lens, cutting off its vision. The buzzing machine opened up dart fire in every direction, and one of the Lethurian guards, abandoning his post to aid the tracker and the swordsmen, was struck in the eye. Another guard, a stocky skin head, hurtled a large rock at the probe camera, smashing it to pieces.
"You okay?" asked Lee Otto, gasping for breath.
"A dart nicked my calf, but I’ll be all right," said Moe, poking the smoking heap of the probe camera with his right hand sword. "You there, Chubsies, that was a good throw. Now take Zaius in to get his eye examined."
"Ai ai," said Chubsies, making a pun as he led Zaius away, blood gushing from the eye.
Half an hour later, the rescuers embarked on their journey. They were only three strong, but stealth and speed would be the key if this mission were to succeed, and not large numbers of people. Moe and Lee Otto rode atop sturdy llambooties, and Hosmosis trailed behind on foot, carrying most of the expeditions supplies. The three wore white Lethurian distillation suits, textile designed to abosorb body moisture and convert it into drinking water that could be consumed through a drinking tube connected from the armpit to the mouth. There would be no use for these distallation suits until they reached the desert flats; canteens filled with water from the deep recesses of the cave bases would sustain them until then, for the two scorching suns this planet orbited would not permit the flow of any water on land. The Laxians had no need for such water preservation when traveling; they owned a fleet of solar powered glider transports that cold cover a hundred miles in one day. The Lethurians on the other hand, had to rely on the slow moving but dependable llambooties, known for their tenacity at surviving without water for weeks on end.
After filling up their canteens to the max with water from Cave Base 7, the three comrades took up their route, east across the desert flats. It was a four day journey by llambooty, and werekyotes wouldn’t be the only thing to watch out for. On the flats, huge worms, measuring up to a 100 yards in length, prowling their individual terrotories in search of food, listening for any sound of movement, would be quite a hazzard. To avoid these terrorizing beasts, the threesome would have to stick to the rocky high grounds that crisscrossed the flats at various intervals. It would add an extra day to the treck, but at least they would have a better chance of escaping with their lives this way.
Six miles into the barren flats, the canteens already reduced to a few pitiful drops, Hosmosis gave a cry to take cover.
"What is it?" asked Moe after the three were concealed behind a mass of boulders.
"Nonishum na clic clic clic," said Hosmosis.
"What’s he saying?" said an irritated Lee Otto.
"He says he caught sight of some Laxian gliders, off to the north," said Moe.
"Let me take a quick peek," said Lee Otto.
"Stay low and make it quick," said Moe.
The peek Lee Otto took was by now means a quick one, and when he finally came back down, the tracker was speechless. Moe climbed up the boulder to take a look, and the sight indented a similar impact on his morale.
"Shit, it’s an invasion force," said the swordsmen upon his return. "There must have been close to two dozen gliders, and I’m guessing they were loaded with Laxian Troops by they way they flew low and sagged. It must be the entire Laxian army!"
"Looked to me like they’s heading west to Cave Base 4," said Lee Otto. "That damn Crapadroid must have squealed already. Should we head back to warn the others?"
"We’d never make it in time; we’d be too late," said Moe.
Stuck in their rut of indecisiveness, the swordsmen and the tracker set to work drawing plans and stratagies in the sand. Another sharp warning from Hosomosis brought the two’s attention back to the skies, from where a familiar insidious wasp buzzing came into audibility. A probe camera--no--many probe cameras, were advancing from all directions. The threesome’s cover was blown.
"To those of you that are about to die, I salute you," said Moe, unsheathing his rapiers as the first of the deadly probe cameras came into view.
TO BE
CONTINUED
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