“Stand where you are!” a voice shouted from nearby.
Out from behind a nearby shrub came an Amatharian warrior, carrying a light pistol which was leveled in our general direction.
“Put your weapon down,” said the Princess. “I am Homianne Kurar Ka Remiant Noriandara Remontar.”
“Of course you are, Princess,” replied the warrior. “I recognize you now, as well as Kurar Remiant Alexander Ashton. It is such a great pleasure to see you. I am Remiantar Kolbin Perrenios.”
I am not ashamed to say that I rushed forward and gave the fellow a great hug. It had been such a long time since I had seen any other person besides the Princess that I had almost given up hope of ever doing so. Kolbin Perrenios for his part, though he did not shy away from a friendly greeting to me, was far more interested in looking at the Princess. Not that I blamed him, she was incredibly beautiful, even having journeyed across the wilderness. She of course, remembered where she was better than either the swordsman or me.
“What are you doing way out here?” she asked.
“Our battle cruiser sustained heavy damage during the assault on Zonamis. We were forced to crash land a short distance from here. I have sentry duty in this area. Come, I will lead you back to the encampment.”
It was not quite a mile from where we had been found to the site of the crashed cruiser. The great ship, its cannon still pointing skyward, lay upon the plain like a vicious dog who had been run over by the wheel of a car, it’s back broken but its teeth still curled back in a snarl. Around the remains of the vessel, in military formation, were numerous tents, and beyond those, fox-holes and make-shift battlements. Hundreds of Amatharians were going about their business in the camp, chopping wood, repairing mechanical equipment, stacking supplies, and cooking meals.
As soon as the crew members of the ship caught site of Noriandara Remontar, they began to crowd around us, and by the time we reached the great mass of the battle cruiser, we had a sizable group of onlookers with us. Though they were clearly excited to see their princess, they became silent when Norar Remontar stepped from the hatch of the vessel and looked upon his sister for the first time since I had met him. The grandson of the Overlord rushed forward and lifted his sister in his arms and spinning her around in the air. Then, setting her down, he pressed his dark blue cheek to hers and began to weep.

There were six more of the monsters standing around me, and they lunged for me as a group. I swung my sword through the body of the closest, while pushing the next back with my left hand. I recoiled as I felt the thick coating of slime which covered the thing’s body. At that moment, three others rushed forward and I was knocked back against the tree. I began hacking with abandon, chopping here and there into the bodies of my attackers. This caused them to step back a few feet. At least those who were still able to step back did so. One was lying on the ground unmoving, and two others were flopping around as they tried to get back to their feet.
While they took a moment to decide who would be the first among them to die, I prepared myself for their next assault. When they lunged forward, I jump up, tucking and rolling forward, to land behind them. Then with a spinning cut, I decapitated two in one blow. When I say decapitated, I mean that I sliced off at least the top half of what I would call the head, for I repeat it was difficult to say just where the body ended and the head began. There was no neck. The single remaining unscathed amphibian turned toward the river, and it was with fierce satisfaction that I noted none of those who remained would ever swim again. I ran after the last remaining man-frog, the anger born of being taken from peaceful sleep into bloody battle hazing over my better judgment. I could have easily overtaken the flopping limping gate of the slimy entity, even with out my gravity enhanced speed.
Before I had gone more than two steps, I stopped in my tracks. Stuck into the ground was Noriandara Remontar’s sword. I pulled it out of the ground and looked at it. It was quiet. There was no sign of the soul within, and I felt my heart ache, even though I knew this really signified nothing. The soul would have been quiet even if I had been using it in battle. The soul only awaked when used by its chosen knight. I put the Princess’s sword in my sheath, and continued.
My scum-covered adversary was gone, but I knew approximately where it had entered the river. On the bank were a great many tracks. This was apparently both the point of egress and entrance. The water here was fast and deep. Before I could think too much about it, admittedly something that is usually not too much of a problem, I took a deep breath and dived in.
The water was not too cold, though the temperature was lower than the air had been. I swam deeper and deeper– the river was far less shallow than I had supposed. I reached a level at which my ears began to hurt. The water was muddy though well lit by the noon-day sun. It seemed to me that I was able to hold my breath longer than I had whenever swimming on my home planet. Perhaps this was due somehow to the gravitational conditions of Ecos, or perhaps it just seemed that way because of all the adrenaline pumping through my system. Still, I was just at the point when I thought that I would need to surface for a breath, when I noticed an opening in the rocky bed of the river.
I swam down into the large hole and discovered a tunnel, which went downward some twenty feet and then turned. I realized that I didn’t have enough air in my lungs to last much longer, so I returned to the surface and took several deep breaths. I then hyperventilated for ten or fifteen seconds to fill my blood with oxygen. Now I was as ready as I could be. I dived back to the bottom of the river only to find that I had been swept down stream. I tried to go against the current, but it would have been impossible even had I not been encumbered by equipment and clothing. In the end I was forced to swim to the shore and walk upstream to the place where I had jumped in and do it all again. This time I went right to the bottom and into the submarine passage. At the bottom of the shaft, I gave myself a strong push off the wall and into the tunnel, and then swam for all I was worth. I didn’t know how long that passage might be, for I suspected that the creatures that regularly used it, while air breathers, were able to remain submerged for a long time. It was certain that they were far better designed for life under the water than I was. It wasn’t long before I was wishing that I had taken off my boots.

One of my favorite features of Amathar is the subway.
Just as the station was atypical of what I would expect of public transportation, so too was the train car. It was furnished more like a living room, or a comfortable den, than a public transportation system. There was a piece of furniture very much like a sofa, a small table in front of it, and a several very comfortable chairs. The sofa and chairs were covered with material that was patterned after animal skins, though it appeared to be man-made. Most surprising of all, there was a large bookcase against the back wall, filled with books. I stepped over to the small library once the subway had started into motion, and pulled one of the books from its place.
The book was very much like the book of Amath’s teachings which Norar Remontar had previously shown me. It was a bound volume with a spine, and it had a cover made of leather. The pages were made of a material something like plastic. They were thin and they could bend like paper, but they had a strength far beyond any paper product. The entire book was written in Amatharian, which of course I was unable to read, but the lines and letters seemed to be laid out in a familiar fashion. As I had noticed, the characters resembling simple line drawings of stylized animals and other almost familiar images. After staring at it for a moment, I almost thought that I could see tiny predators ready to pounce upon their prey.
“Is this a private transport car?” I asked, replacing the book.
“This shuttle train belongs to the air clan,” Norar Remontar replied, “though they make it available to anyone who needs transportation.”
“I am surprised that it doesn’t become damaged, or that the books and other furnishing aren’t stolen,” I said, noticing several small art objects atop the table, and hanging on the walls.
“Why would some one take something that wasn’t his?” the Amatharian wondered. “Of course there is a great deal of wear because of the number of people who travel on the train. That is why we must all take extra care, to see that this property of others is not needlessly damaged.”
I looked, but couldn’t find any more wear and tear than one would find in the average living room.

The two Zoasian vehicles rushed across the sandy expanse of the Ecosian desert. At times, I was sure that I was gaining on the other transport, but then at other times there seemed to be a widening of the space between us. One thing was for sure. The Zoasian in control of the first craft was a far better driver than I was. I was continually flying out of my seat as I bumped over some obstacle, and I am sure that my Amatharian passengers were similarly troubled.

At that moment a missile fired from some section of my vehicle below me. Evidently Terril Jennofar had found a gunner, or was manning a missile station himself. The projectile impacted just to the left of the fleeing vehicle. Seconds later a second missile shot forth, and this one was better aimed than the first. It hit the right rear wheel of the fleeing vehicle. For a moment it looked as though there would be a great crash, but the Zoasian driver regained control of the now smoking, crippled truck and continued on, albeit at a slower pace. I was sure now that we would be able to catch it.

Just then a massive explosion from below racked my own vehicle. I was lifted completely out of the driver’s seat, and hurled across the compartment, as the car turned first left and then right, and then began to flip over wildly. The cabin spun around and around, and my head was dashed against some piece of equipment, sending me into the darkness of unconsciousness.

When I came too, I was lying in the sand beside the great mass of bent metal that had once been the great Zoasian vehicle. A good half pound of sand was glued to the side of my face by a mass of dried blood, and my left arm was bent backwards at the wrist, obviously broken.

I pulled my tabard off and using my knife and my one good arm, cut several strips from it. I wiped the mess from my face as best I could with the rest, and then discarded it, keeping only the tiny ornament that Nona Montendro had given me to wear. I straightened out my arm with a great deal of pain and effort, and finding a straight piece of metal from the wreck and the cloth strips, splinted it. I then determined to set the break. I grabbed hold of a bar on the main part of the wreck with my left hand and leaned my body back as hard as I could. As blinding pain shot from my arm to my brain, I once again lost consciousness.

I don’t think that I was unconscious very long. When I woke up, I was dismayed to find that my arm was still not set. I set about trying the same procedure again. I was rewarded with two barely audible snaps, as my bones found their proper locations. Though I didn’t lose consciousness this second time, I was forced to lie back on the sand for several minutes trying to inhale and recover my wits.

Once my arm was stabilized, I began to look around for any other survivors of the wreck. I found two of my companions lying in the sand and another partially buried in the wreckage. All were dead. Near the rear of the mess was the body of Terril Jennofar. He was mangled almost beyond recognition, and yet when I approached, he opened his eyes and looked at me.

“I am sorry,” he said. “It is my fault. I accidentally ignited the missile, as I was attempting to load it.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. “I will report you well.”

“Rescue her…” Then he was dead.

The Kartags are rat-like creatures that live in the dark places of the world of Ecos. They are sentient and live in tribal groups. I have to admit to a certain prejudice when I created Ecos. The creatures that resemble rats, spiders, snakes, etc. are inevitably evil, while those that resemble cute birds and cuddly teddy bears are good.

“This is a band of Kartags,” said Norar Remontar, turning on his small flashlight and pointing it at several prone figures. “They burst out of a hidden door while I was in the chamber alone, and knocked me out with a well placed blow to the head. I was lucky to regain consciousness before they were able to do whatever it was that they were planning to do to me.”

I looked at the beings lying dead in the circle of artificial illumination on the floor. They would have been about five feet tall when standing and they reminded me of a large rat, at least as far as their faces were concerned. They had legs designed for upright locomotion, and two sets of arms on their upper torso. Their dirty, wrinkled skin was a dull grey color, and hairless, reminding me quite a bit of the way rodents look just after they are born. Though they wore no type of clothing, they did wear simple leather harnesses upon which they carried crude hand-made stone tools.

“The Kartags are well-known to my people,” said my Amatharian friend. “They live by scavenging from more civilized beings.”

“I kind of got that impression from looking at them,” I replied. “It is lucky that you were able to rescue yourself. If it hadn’t been for the soul in your sword, Malagor and I would never have found you.”

“It may have been lucky for us that they attacked me. This subterranean passage may be a considerable short cut home to Amathar.”

The name Kartags is another made up word.