“I agree, fight or make it back to the spaceport,” Maddox said.

  “Are you daft?” asked Gricks. “Between the South Pole and the North Pole regions are hot, hellish deserts burning 150 degrees, or immense jungles even denser than these with jungle rot and red rust to fill your lungs with fungus. You’d cough out your life there. No, my friend, there’s no way across this planet except on dirigibles or other crafts that flies high over the intervening terrain.”

  “Aren’t there any nomads living in the mid-world deserts?”

  Gricks laughed shrilly. “You want to call them people, be my guest. They’re Metamorphs plain and simple. They’ve survived generations down there, changed beyond recognition by the heat and radiation.”

  Maddox remembered reading a little about Gath on the Moray’s computer. The planet had an extreme axial tilt, much more than Earth’s axial tilt of about 23.5 degrees.

  A planet with a greater tilt would have more pronounced seasons and could potentially have warmer equatorial regions.

  Maddox also remembered reading about the atmosphere. It didn’t distribute heat effectively, and that lead to hotter mid-latitudes and cooler poles.

  That much of the mid planet was desert would significantly affect local climates. The mid-latitudes also had a lower albedo (reflectivity) due to the desert terrain. The deserts absorbed more of the dwarf star’s heat, whereas the polar regions, reflected more sunlight and thus maintained cooler temperatures.

  Still, 150 degrees Fahrenheit was crazy hot.

  The three trudged in silence for a time.

  “There has to be a way across to the North Pole,” Maddox said.

  Gricks shook his head. “This world has wealth, never doubt that. It has the ingredients to immortality. But it’s a hellish place for all that. Why do you think tribunes like Culain, and others, can take their pick among the throngs living near the spaceport? Thousands come to Gath for the honey. Most end up stranded here, unable to pay for passage home. They need money for that. Soldiering pays the best. Mostly that means bleaching their bones in the south or working in the fields to the Honey Men after they defeat and capture you.”

  “It’s really that bad?” Dravek asked.

  “Worse,” Gricks said. “But how is it you two don’t know these things? You’re part of the legion. Pathfinders know more than most.”

  “We’re off worlders,” Dravek said.

  Gricks shrugged. “So what? Most of us are.”

  Dravek glanced at Maddox.

  Maddox nodded.

  “We just got here,” Dravek said. “I mean a few hours ago.”

  Gricks stared at Dravek, saying nothing.

  “We just landed on Gath a few hours ago,” Dravek said.

  Gricks gave them a funny look. “That doesn’t make sense. You were there on the plateau. You were the pathfinders at the point where scouts were supposed to meet us.”

  “Did you see any other pathfinders?” Maddox asked.

  “No. You’re the only two.”

  “Because the rest of the pathfinders died, obviously,” Maddox said, “It seems like it’s suicide to try to take honey from the bee men.”

  “I’m beginning to think you’re right,” Gricks said sadly. “Yet every year, they say, a few make it back and they’re fantastically wealthy, rich from selling honey to the contractors. They have luxurious mansions and women like you wouldn’t believe.”

  Maybe Gricks spoke too loudly. For suddenly, fifteen bees or more saw them and came buzzing down, their stringers out for the kill. This looked like the end of the line for all three of them.

  -35-

  More than fifteen bees, each weighing twenty pounds, blurred through the foliage, coming down through frond, fern and jungle tree branches. If the three men had relied upon their spring rifles alone, they would surely have died.

  In this instance, both Maddox and Dravek acted alike, drawing their blaster. The difference was that Dravek dropped to one knee and held the blaster with two hands, using rapid-fire shots. Maddox stood as if he were at the pistol range, one hand on his hip as he turned sideways, his blaster held in one hand. He fired surely and accurately, beaming one bee after another.

  Gricks muttered and fired shot after shot with his pistol, a big, crude bolt-action device. He took down two of the bees, a testament to his professional effectiveness and coolness under intense duress.

  That should have been it for the attack, as bees dropped, and the buzzing dwindled. Was there a telepathic connection among Gath bees? Did the blaster sounds attract more of the robust, over-sized insects?

  That must have been it. More bees swarmed, zeroing in on the men.

  “There are too many,” Gricks shouted. “We’re dead men now.”

  “Not just yet,” Maddox said, reaching to his blaster with his free hand and twisting a dial. The next shot was vastly different from the last. This sent a wide beam, burning fronds, ferns and tree branches, and killing a dozen bees at a time. The wide beam didn’t kill them dead, but injured many, crisping gossamer wings or causing antennae to shrivel. Those bees hit the ground with thuds and crawled across the jungle floor for the men.

  Gricks shouted, reversed the hold on his rifle and began smashing grounded bees with the heavy wooden stock. That squished the giant insects, angering those still coming.

  The airborne bees buzzed as if with rage, speeding their assault.

  Dravek and Maddox beamed and blasted. Turned and did the same behind them. It was endless work, hair-trigger firing and then—

  No more bees buzzed in the air.

  Gricks shouted and smashed another crawling bee.

  “I have two regular shots left,” Maddox said. He twisted the dial to take advantage of the little energy left his blaster.

  “I’m dry,” Dravek said. “I think my last shots did nothing but shine some light.”

  They looked around.

  Gricks looked up, sweat staining his red, sweaty face. Bee gore covered his rifle stock.

  Around them lay a hundred and fifty bees, maybe more. Some were squashed, some burned. Others blindly crashed against fronds.

  Maddox shot those with his spring rifle.

  “We need to get out of here fast,” Gricks said. “If the Honey Men find out what you’ve done, they’ll torture you and me forever for having killed so many prime bees.”

  “Stupid to use them in combat then,” Dravek said.

  “I’ve heard it said that killing helps with honey production,” Gricks explained.

  “Is that a fact or you just making crap up?” Dravek asked.

  “Come on,” Gricks said. “We must flee this place. It’s death for us to remain.”

  “He’s right,” Maddox said. “Let’s hoof it.”

  They would have run off, but that was next to impossible in the middle of the jungle. Roots, creepers, fronds growing side by side: it all conspired to make the going slow.

  Gricks had a machete. He hacked at creepers and vines for a time. When his arm drooped, Maddox took the green-stained machete and hacked expertly. The three made better time.

  Gricks finally asked, “Are you a noble?”

  “Eh?” asked Maddox.

  “You wield the machete as if it’s a sword. You’re obviously good with it. On Gath, only nobles and gladiators have such proficiency.”

  “Gladiators fight here?” Dravek asked.

  “They say the Honey Men have stadiums where gladiators fight.” Gricks shrugged. “I don’t know it as fact, but I believe it. The Honey Men take whatever stock they find and genetically experiment with it. Look at the bees, the Doom Gibbons and other creatures. They’ve done the same heinous experiments to some men.”

  “Their gladiators for instance?” asked Maddox.

  “Giants that kill all who stand against them,” Gricks said. “It’s said the Honey Men do not waste any flesh.”

  “Nice group of Joes,” Dravek said.

  They continued to trek, sweating, gathering grime on their clothes and faces. Maddox shook his canteen. It was empty.

  “Don’t look at me,” Dravek said. “I drained mine a half hour ago.”

  “Where can we get more water?” Maddox asked Gricks.

  “The supply helos,” the centurion said. “Unfortunately, I don’t know if any of those exist anymore.”

  “What about the river I saw earlier?” Maddox asked.

  “What river?” asked Gricks.

  “In the giant canyon.”

  “Oh. That river. We’ll never make it there.”

  “Do you have a better idea?” asked Maddox.

  Gricks stared at Maddox with dull eyes, finally shaking his head.

  “The canyon river has just become our goal,” Maddox said.

  “Suits me,” Dravek said.

  Gricks shrugged. “We’ll die of thirst long before we reach it.”

  “That’s your problem, Centurion,” Maddox said. “You need to take that mental energy and turn it positive.”

  “I’m positive we’ll die of thirst long before we reach the river,” Gricks said.

  Maddox grinned. “Sarcasm. That’s a start. It will have to do for now.”

  Later, Gricks took out his compass. After studying it for a time, he looked up. Clouds hid the sun. Fronds and ferns grew high overhead.

  “That way,” Gricks said.

  “Why don’t you look at your map first?” Dravek asked.

  Gricks shook his head. “I don’t need the map for this. That way.” He pointed again.

  Dravek looked at Maddox.

  Maddox started walking in the way Gricks pointed.

  A half hour later, soaked with sweat, dirt and greenery, the trio exited the jungle. By the crushed grasses ahead, giant helos had disgorged troops here hours ago.

  The helos were long gone.

  From behind bushes and lone fronds appeared fifty hardened, tough, vital men with weapons and canteens. These were professionals all, survivors, killers with an intense will to live. Most were centurions and sub-centurions.

  As Maddox, Dravek and Gricks approached, the rest gathered and began to compare notes.

  One of them was a Primus Centurion, simply known as Primus. He was Primus Hern, a thick-bodied man with the build of a gorilla. He had a low forehead and massive hands. He knew how to give orders.

  “We head out,” Hern said.

  “Out where?” asked Maddox.

  Hern scowled. “Who are you to question me?”

  “Captain Maddox’s the name. I just came down from space to see a major screw up.”

  “Are you calling Tribune Culain—?”

  “A fool?” Maddox said, interrupting. “Yes, I am.”

  “A fool you say?”

  “Are you hard of hearing?” Maddox asked.

  Dravek whistled low and long.

  “What was that for?” Hern demanded.

  “I have memories, right?” Dravek said. “But I’ve never seen them acted out. That’s impressive,” he told Maddox. “You just take charge and don’t take any prisoners. Hey, Primus, back off why don’t you? You don’t stand a chance against Captain Maddox.”

  Hern scowled more fiercely than ever.

  “What are you suggesting we do?” a lean centurion asked Maddox.

  “We all want to live, right?” Maddox said.

  Many of them nodded.

  “That means supplies,” Maddox said. “I’m out of water. The rest of you will be out of water soon too. We head to the river therefore, so we have water.”

  “What river?” Hern asked.

  “The one over the edge,” Maddox said.

  “What edge?” Primus Gorilla Hern looked confused.

  “The one behind you,” Maddox said.

  Everyone turned to the canyon.

  “Climb down that? Are you a gibbon or a man?” Hern eyed Maddox up and down. “You have long arms like a gibbon. Are you a true man or an escaped experiment from the Honey Men?”

  Maddox ignored Hern as he looked at the others. “We lost the fight. Now, we need water and food. Then we need weapons and a way to traverse the mid-world desert. We have to hope a helo is salvageable down there and has some supplies.”

  “Look at that,” a tall, rangy man missing fingers from his left hand, with a bloody rag wrapped around it. “I see some crashed helos. You have to look past that hill with blast marks. Yes, that way.”

  “I see them,” a centurion said.

  “If we can reach the helos, we can maybe repair some of them, can’t we?” the rangy man asked.

  “That’s right,” Maddox said.

  “No,” Primus Hern said. “It’s suicide to climb down.”

  “So, we look for a path,” Maddox said.

  “No,” Hern said. “It’s suicide. I’m the Primus here. I represent Tribune Culain. He’s going to send a rescue team. I heard him say it before we left. If we survive, we can tell the next attack group what to watch out for. No one has made it back yet. The tribune already accounted for a loss. We must not lose hope.”

  “Where is your tribune?” Maddox asked.

  “Your tribune, too, soldier,” Hern said. “He outfitted you, paid for your training and expects obedience from you. Have you forgotten—?”

  “Bees!” a soldier shouted. “I see bees.” He pointed over the jungle.

  The drone was audible from there. More bees gathered until at least two hundred hovered well out of spring-rifle range.

  “Now what?” Hern mockingly asked Maddox. “The bees will sting us if we attempt to climb down the canyon wall.”

  Before an argument could commence, low armored cars burst out of the far end of the plateau. There were seven of them. On the top were heavy machine guns, with gunners behind them.

  The seven swung the machine guns onto the fifty legion survivors.

  A few of the legionnaires threw their rifles onto the ground.

  A hatch opened on one of the armored cars. A thin man in a red robe climbed out. He was fluid and nimble, jumping down from the car’s armored apron. He strode toward them with flair, his robe rippling in the small breeze. He wore a red turban and had red-painted eyes. Rubies flashed from his fingers.

  He seemed fearless, unconcerned one of the soldiers would raise a rifle and shoot him.

  “He’s older than he looks,” Dravek muttered.

  Maddox was inclined to agree.

  The man’s facial skin was tight, but there was something hauntingly old about him. It was a subtle thing.

  The man stopped halfway between the seven armored cars and fifty desperate legion survivors.

  “What’s it to be?” the man said in a loud, clear voice. “Should we slaughter you or will you surrender to me?”

  Primus Hern cleared his throat, looking around. He holstered his sidearm and pushed through the men.

  Maddox had edged to the rear of the others, considering making a break for the jungle. The bees up there would see that, though. As if to accentuate the point, a few bees detached from the main group, buzzing closer to the jungle edge.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Dravek whispered.

  “Our chances are slim if we try,” Maddox said.

  “I don’t like the looks of Mr. Red Robe.”

  “I agree. But alive we have more options than dead.”

  “Throw down your weapons,” the red-robed man said. “You will become workers, helping to repair all that you’ve destroyed. Surrender or die. The choice is yours.”

  The tough legion survivors glanced at each other.

  “That stupid Eye of Helion dropped us into this,” Dravek said. “Are we going to be workers for the rest of our lives?”

  “I have a third option,” the Primus said.

  “You dare to contradict me?” the red-robed man asked.

  “I’m just saying there’s a third option,” the Primus said stubbornly.

  “No,” the red-robed man said. “Admit you’re wrong and you can live.”

  “If you’ll listen—”

  The red-robed man raised a hand, clenched fist forward. A red ray beamed from a ruby, striking the Primus, causing him to collapse. Was he dead? It seemed like it.

  Three legionnaires raised rifles, popping off shots. The lead bullets stopped just short of the red-robed man.

  “Personal force field,” Dravek said. “I should have known.”

  The red-robed man beamed the three shooters. They also collapsed. “Who else wishes to die today?”

  Maddox threw his rifle down. “We’re defeated,” he shouted. “The Honey Men have us. Let’s live to see what the next day brings.”

  Many stared at Maddox. Dravek threw down his rifle. Then, others began to throw down theirs. Soon, the survivors had disarmed themselves.

  “What a wise decision,” the red-robed man said with a sneer. “Now, line up. You will follow the cars through the forest.”

  In such a way, the fifty tough survivors—minus four—marched into captivity after a disastrous legion raid.

  -36-

  It proved to be a harrowing journey as the captives marched sixteen hours a day. A Gath day was twenty-two hours, sixteen and a quarter minutes. Thus, counting the time to eat and take care of toiletries, Maddox, Dravek and the others slept five hours a day if they were lucky.

  Other captives joined the straggling line of unfortunates. They marched over a black-paved road with towering fronds, ferns and jungle trees beside it. Grass and weeds grew in abundance right up to the edge of the road. It rained many hours during each day. The line didn’t seek shelter then. It was a warm rain, soaking their garments just the same.

  The guards turned them over to others several times during the march. At first, the seven armored cars guided them, machine gunners watching the captives closely. The next day, lean soldiers in camouflage gear and bearing machine pistols marched ahead and behind the tired throng. The armored cars zoomed elsewhere. Huge snarling beasts akin to dogs snapped at any captive moving too close to the edge of the road or too slowly. Several men tried to escape anyway. The guarding soldiers let the beasts kill and devour the unfortunates on the spot.