As the sound of hooves faded away into the fog, the pair emerged from their hasty shelter. “If we’re right,” Inspector Andrews murmured quietly to Chase, “he should soon be upon us. We shall need all our wits about us to confront the madman. Perhaps a flanking maneuver…”

Chase’s raised hand cut him off. “Thanks for all your help, Inspector. But the time for wits is over. Now it’s my turn.”

The Inspector raised an eyebrow. “If I’m successful,” Chase continued, “you and the good people of England will never have to worry about Jack the Ripper again, or the possibility of Dr. Monteaux’s work being unleashed in your time. Trust me when I say that as bad as things are here and now,” he looked around him, “and they are pretty bad, you don’t want to have to deal with twenty-first century bioweapons.”

And with his goodbyes said, Chase manfully turned away into the gray night. He reached for a gun at once, knowing that a murderer was out there somewhere. But before he could pull it out, something struck the back of his head and he staggered. Whirling around, he saw a black shape looming over him, lashing out with a cane.

Ignoring the pain, Chase blocked his attacker’s first strike, and reached out with his other hand to grapple. His fingers caught at the other’s throat, and suddenly they were face to face.

“Nice moustache, Saucy Jack,” Chase said, “but you’ll always be plain old Rider Jackson, time-traveling mercenary, to me.”

“Chase,” Jack the Ripper sneered. “How nice to see my favorite cousin here. Hope you enjoy this era, since you won’t be leaving it!”

“Return the toxin, Jack,” Chase demanded. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

“You never could.” Jack brought his cane swiftly down on Chase’s foot. The big man’s grip loosened for just an instant in reflex, but it was enough for Jack to break free. Both went for their guns, both dove to the side to escape the other’s gunfire.

“Hard to see in this fog, isn’t it, Chase,” Jack’s voice floated mockingly through the mist. “Need some more…light?” Chase heard the faintest of clicks. Instantly he sprang up from his hiding place. A beat later, and it exploded in a gigantic pillar of flame, showering Chase in dirt and ash. “I’ve set bombs around this whole block. Now catch me if you can!”

Chase sprinted down the empty street toward the sound of Jack’s voice as explosions tore through the surrounding buildings. Instinct took over. A chunk of masonry the size of a Volvo flew out of the fog and Chase threw himself to the ground, sliding like a baseball player stealing home underneath the chunk. In the same motion, he rose into a crouch and jumped over a lamppost scything toward his feet. A zig to the left and a zag to the right dodged bombs set in the street itself, but the blasts were close he could feel the heat of the fire on his skin.

At the end of the street was yet another dilapidated building. The door was swinging, gently. Chase dashed for it, reaching into his coat as he did. His twin Sigs settled into his fists just as Jack’s last bomb went off, toppling a section of the front wall right on Chase’s head.

But Jack hadn’t reckoned on Chase’s almost supernatural skill. Coolly, the big man raised his guns over his head and emptied their clips into the onrushing pile of rubble. He’d judged it just right. The wood and stone broke apart under his fire and crashed around him, barely mussing his hair.

“There’s nowhere to run now, Jack,” Chase called as he reached the roof and his black-clad adversary. “Let’s not do this the hard way.” He really didn’t want to shoot – he hadn’t paid much attention to the briefing on time travel, but if his suspicions were right, killing his own cousin back in the past could have serious effects on history.

“Nowhere to run?” Jack said gleefully, eyes blazing with madness. “You forget that my time portal, engineered by Communist science, is vastly superior to your American-made one. Much…bigger.”

And with a roar, the heavily armed attack helicopter rose over the side of the building, chain gun slugs tearing through the roof to either side of the laughing Jack, tracing a deadly path toward Chase. Chase turned on his heel and ran for the edge of the rooftop. Without hesitation, he leapt into the void, seconds ahead of the missile strike, flame engulfing him for just a moment before he flew out of the fireball, hurtling toward the ground below.

He ejected his empty clips. This was going to be tricky.

Dr. Farrelly was leaving his laboratory for the evening when he heard a peculiar noise.

He stopped, his keys still dangling from the door, and looked up and down the dark path weaving its way through the research complex.

There it was again — a deep, low rumbling sound, like the engine of an unusually large vehicle. Dr. Farrelly scanned the sky for hovercars. Seeing nothing, he locked the door and began making his way up the path toward the parking lot.

But now he heard the sound again, and it was followed by something else, a series of seismic thuds, each one louder than the last. The earth began to shake. Somewhere, a car alarm began to bray.

"What in the name of —"

Before he could utter another word, a dinosaur thundered out of the darkness.

Its elephantine feet churned up huge clods of dirt that flew into the air. Dr. Farrelly had time to register two terrified eyes that glittered in the moonlight, then a long neck. The creature dipped its head and Dr. Farrelly was just about to dive out of the way when a hand grabbed his collar from above and hoisted him in the air. Before he even had a chance to scream, he found himself straddling the animal's neck, riding it like a horse as it galloped through the complex.

"Sorry about that, Dr. Farrelly," said a man's voice from just behind him. "I figured it would be better to have you come with us than let you be eaten."

Trying to get a good grip on the creature's rough, pebbled skin with one hand, Dr. Farrelly twisted around just enough to get a glimpse of the man and woman straddling the neck behind him. The woman was feverishly working on a metal cylinder in her lap; the man was gazing at the passing scenery as though he did this sort of thing all the time.

"The name's Jackson — Chase Jackson," the man said, flashing a smile. "The young lady behind me is Miss Sprocket Smith. She's the best mechanic you'll ever meet, and she recently repaired the time machine that you invented. That's how we got into this mess."

He stabbed a thumb over his shoulder, and Dr. Farrelly's bowels nearly loosened when he realized that they were being pursued by a slavering Tyrannosaurus Rex. The beast roared as its enormous feet pounded three-toed craters into the ground. It was perhaps thirty feet away and gaining.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Farrelly managed to say. "Did you say a time machine that I invented? It's true that I am conducting research on time travel, but I'm still a few years away from actually —"

"2175," Jackson interrupted. "One year from now, you'll build a time machine and travel back to the year 2008. That's where Sprocket and I came from. You and I became friends, but you were killed by a government assassin and the machine was damaged. We repaired it so we could come here, to the year 2174, and warn you. As you can see, we punched in the wrong year and got a bit sidetracked."

Behind them, the T. Rex drew closer. The long-necked dinosaur on which they were riding stampeded over the fence at the edge of the complex.

"Sprocket, my darling," said Jackson, "how's that disintegration gun coming along?"

"Almost there," she replied, turning a screwdriver as she struggled to avoid being thrown off the charging dinosaur.

"Don't worry," said Jackson. "I've gotten out of worse scrapes before. Just last week, we —"

But he didn't finish the sentence. At that moment, the dinosaur stumbled as its leg clipped a parked car. Dr. Farrelly lost his balance and fell with a shriek. The dinosaur resumed its escape, and Jackson watched in dismay as the T. Rex's massive jaws snatched Dr. Farrelly up and devoured him in two bites.

"Got it!" said Sprocket, firing up the cylinder. In the process she jostled it and it went off, and the dinosaur beneath them disappeared in a flash of light. Jackson and Sprocket tumbled to the ground. The Tyrannosaurus Rex closed the distance in seconds, opening its cavernous mouth. Jackson felt hot breath and foamy saliva, and then there was another flash as the carnivore was vaporized.

"That was a close one," said Chase Jackson, standing. "It's a shame about the good doctor, but hey, that's what time machines are for. We'll just go back in time about twenty minutes and save him again." He looked around, and was delighted to see that they were close to the complex's north parking lot.

"What luck!" he said. "The time machine should be right around here somewhere."

"What time machine?" said Sprocket. She pointed across the lot at an empty space between two hovercars. "It doesn't exist anymore. Technically, it never did. Dr. Farrelly is dead, which means he'll never build it. I hope they have good pizza in the year 2174 ... because you and I aren't going anywhere."

"Mr. Director, we've become aware of another sinister plot by General Ivanchenko," said the Agency Scientist.

"So what? He's dead."

"Faked. Just before Chase Jackson destroyed his secret base, Ivanchenko escaped using a time machine. We've recreated the machine. We know why he went back."

"Why?"

"To launch a diabolical plan to reverse our technological supremacy and restore the Soviet Union."

"How?"

"By fomenting unrest, creating a counterculture, and sabotaging the scientific toy industry." The scientist described the plan. "If he succeeds, kids of that era won't become engineers," he concluded.

"But that means...."

"Yes, sir. We'll all be playing Tetris on Russian computers."

The director spoke into his red phone.

"I need Jackson."

------------------

Chase Jackson rematerialized in Denver Colorado. It was 1961; his assignment was to defend a toymaker. Chase's colleague, Chance Johnson, had gotten the plum assignment of the mission--thwarting Ivanchenko's brainwashing of Timothy Leary. Chastity Johansson was tasked with devaluing the emerging counterculture by introducing ridiculous slogans like "Flower Power" and "Groovy."

Chase felt slighted: He'd destroyed Ivanchenko's headquarters, defeated henchmen in hand-to-hand combat, and distracted Ivanchenko's girlfriend! And this was the thanks he got? But an assignment was an assignment: Duty called.

Chase walked in the front door of Estes Industries, America's biggest model rocket manufacturer. A man in a bolo tie walked out of the back office and greeted him.

"Hello, I'm Vern Estes. How can I help you?"

"Mr. Estes, I'd like to be your security guard."

"I'm sorry, we're not hiring right now." Estes held up a model rocket. "Can I interest you in an Astron Scout? It flies to over 500' on safe, economical Estes motors!"

"How does it come down?" Chase asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It ejects a parachute, just like the real thing," Estes said.

"You're not Vern Estes! You're Ivanchenko, in disguise! Freeze!" Chase said, drawing his Taser.

"Never!" Ivanchenko ran for the back room. Chase followed him, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

"Fool!" Ivanchenko said, with a maniacal laugh. "The Taser hasn't been invented yet. It won't work here."

"Does my fist still work?" asked Chase, as he flattened Ivanchenko with a right cross to the chin.

Ivanchenko kicked Chase away, grabbed a rocket motor out of a bin, and pulled a lighter from his pocket. He flicked the lighter and held the flame under the motor, intending to light it, toss it into the bin, start a conflagration, and end Estes Industries.

Nothing happened.

"Moron!" laughed Chase. "You can't light an Estes motor like that! They're too safe! Surrender now, while you still can!"

"Never!" repeated Ivanchenko. He ran out the back door and into a shed. Chase ran after him.

The shed was noisy inside. A large, pneumatically-powered contraption was making model rocket motors by ramming clay nozzles and black powder into thick cardboard tubes. The real Vern Estes was tied up in the corner.

Chase could not resist pausing for as second to admire the machine in action. "Is that Mabel?" he asked Estes.

Estes, although gagged, nodded. Mabel was his pride and joy. It was the machine that made model rocketry possible; to this day rocket nerds talk about it in reverent tones. Chase, of course, was a rocket nerd.

Ivanchenko saw the awed look on Chase's face and made his move. He grabbed a tin of black powder from a shelf. Chase reached, too, but could only grab a handful of empty motor tubes.

Ivanchenko backed away from Chase, toward Estes, holding the lighter near the black powder. "Back off, or I'll blow us all to bits!" he threatened.

Chase casually tossed the motor tubes on the ground and held his hands up, still walking slowly toward Ivanchenko. "Can't we talk this over?"

Ivanchenko was about to respond, but as he took another step back, he landed on a rolling motor tube. His foot went out from under him, and he twisted and fell face down on Mabel, his posterior unfortunately presented to the propellant inserter.

Before anyone could react, Mabel rammed a load of propellant through his pants. Chase quickly followed up with an igniter, and then hooked up the leads to a handy launch controller. Ivanchenko knew when he was beaten; he dared not move.

His thumb still on the ignition button, Chase sidled over to Vern and freed him.

"Thank you for saving my life!" said Estes. "How did you know it wasn't me in there?"

"He called them rocket motors; you call them rocket engines," said Chase. "Besides, everyone knows the Astron Scout doesn't use a parachute!"

On the way out, Chase got Estes to autograph an Astron Scout kit.

"Rocket nerds!" spat Ivanchenko.

"Do you want to come with me peacefully?" asked Chase. "Or would you rather go to a launch?"

Plop. Plop plop plop.

My hearing was my first sense to return after the time jump. Unfortunately, it was quickly followed by my sense of smell. Judging by this second piece of information, Dr. Nepo’s coordinates had placed me in a field populated by at least one very healthy, very well-fed bovine.

“Hey Bo, I gots me a live one!”

My vision popped back in time to see a tall, lanky man striding across the field towards me. Behind him, I could see the white farmhouse that had been part of the pre-jump briefing; however, the men in tattered gray uniforms swarming around it had been strangely overlooked.

But there wasn’t any way to overlook the rifle that was pointed in my direction, or its wicked-looking bayonet. Judging by the way the soldier handled the weapon, he was willing and able to use it. So I did what any highly trained agent would do in this circumstance – I ran.

The soldier let out a rebel yell that was echoed back ten-fold from the area of the house. As I dashed towards the woods surrounding the field, I realized that Dr. Nepo’s authentic Union blue uniform probably wasn’t the best choice of attire.

I heard the swish of a bullet past my ear a moment before the report. Then I was in the trees. The yells behind me faded as I negotiated my way through the dense brush, keeping an eye out for poison ivy. I glanced at my watch; 53 minutes until departure. Now if I could just figure out where the Union army had gone…

Suddenly the trees cleared and I found myself in a pasture. In the distance, I could make out yet another farmhouse in the same shade of white as the last.

“Soldier!”

I spun around, ready to face the hordes of rebel soldiers intent on my demise. Instead, I saw an older man in a uniform…a blue uniform. Judging by his girth, he wasn’t a front-line soldier.

“Where are my cigars?” he demanded. When I didn’t respond immediately, his round face flushed.

“All I want in this god-forsaken land are a couple of good cigars, and you can’t even manage that?” he yelled. “When I’m done with you…”

Before he could finish the sentence, a dozen Southern soldiers burst from the trees, bayonets fixed and ready. I turned to run, knowing that Union troops couldn’t be far away.

But the officer had another plan. Unfortunately, his plan involved using me as a human shield. As the good ‘ole boys charged towards us, the officer wrapped his arms around my waist and refused to let go. I ran for shelter, dragging 250 pounds of Union manhood behind me.

But the added weight slowed me down, and I could hear the Confederate soldiers gaining on us. The farmhouse was still 200 yards away. I improvised.

Swerving to the left, I darted behind the biggest cow in the field. Dropping to the ground, I watched as our pursuers slowed, starting a cow-by-cow search of the pasture. I glanced at my watch. I had eleven minutes until departure time. I had no doubt that I could survive – but how would history be changed if this nicotine-addicted officer was captured? It was a chance I couldn’t take.

Searching the grass around us, I gathered a small pile of dried cow manure. Then I waited as they drew closer. The officer started to sob softly next to me.

Finally, only one cow separated us. Removing a lighter from my pocket, I grabbed one of the dried cow pats.

The flaming pat flew over the cow, breaking apart and showering the Confederates with flaming manure. Their rebel yells turned to screams of fear as pile after pile of burning dung sailed towards them. I pushed the advantage, leaving the shelter of Bessie to pursue the fleeing soldiers. By the time I ran out of ammunition, they were halfway back to their camp.

Alerted by the commotion, Union soldiers were rushing across the field, ready to confront the now-vanquished enemy. Looking at my watch, I realized I had less than two minutes to accomplish my mission. I stopped the first soldier who ran by.

“Do you have a cigar?” I quickly traded my watch for his cigar. Carefully removing the note from my pocket, I wrapped it around the tobacco and approached the officer.

“And then I chased them across the field…” I interrupted his story.

“Sir, I found this cigar…” I handed the package to him then slipped back through the crowd. As this world started to fade around me, I saw him looking at the note in his hand. I could tell the exact moment when he realized what he was holding – Lee’s battle plans.

The world went black. Mission accomplished.

I emerged from my craft just after the arrival of the terrorist. He whirled towards me and dove for cover. My arrival had been totally unexpected, but the brief advantage I had gained was quickly lost as he ran further into the brush knowing that I only had about ten minutes to find him and his bomb.

***
Time travel - You probably don't even believe that it exists, and if it does, you most likely think that it causes all kinds of paradoxes. I know, I know. I read the same stories when I was a kid. Go travel to the past, step on a butterfly and you change history. Or, go back in time and fall in love with your great-grandmother, she doesn't marry your great-grandfather, then, boom! You suddenly cease to exist.

Problem is, it doesn't work like that. The writers of old thought that changing even a minor event in the past was like throwing a rock into a pond where the ripple moves out in wider and wider circles until it affects a huge area. Truth is, Time doesn't like to change. It's more like throwing a rock into a raging river. The water keeps right on flowing around it and quickly reabsorbs any little impact. Sure, you can make some small changes, with minimal effect, but things will eventually return to their same path.

No matter how hard you try, your great-grandmother will never fall in love with you. And forget about traveling to last week to place that perfect bet and collect big on a sure thing. It seems that Time really doesn't like to be manipulated for personal gain. I lost quite a bit on Game 6 of the '86 series. Poor Bill Buckner never knew exactly what happened, but I knew that it was Madame Time getting her revenge. I'm sure my bet caused a lot of little ripples, but the river of time recovered and kept flowing in its intended direction.

Anyway, changing little actions in the past has no appreciable impact on the present. Like I said, you can throw hundreds of rocks and even boulders into the Colorado River, and it will keep right on flowing.

Put up the Hoover Dam, however, and you've got a different story. And that's where I come in. My name is Chase Jackson. I guess you'd call me a secret agent. If I told you whom I worked for, I'd have to kill you; and that would be pretty pointless because you wouldn't have heard of us anyway. I'm actually being a bit modest when I tell you that I spend most of my time saving the world, or at least civilization as we know it.

My current predicament began when our researchers discovered an anomaly in the past. Apparently, the Appalachian desert wasn’t always a desert, and East Crater Lake isn’t really a crater at all – It’s the result of a nuclear blast.

Now we all know that there’s only one group that hates America; has nuclear capabilities and one of two existing time machines; and would have the audacity to rip apart the fabric of time so brutally that they would have changed the actual long-term course of history.

Even after hundreds of computer simulations, no one can really predict what things were like before that terrorist interference. Best estimates are that we would have about half a million more acres of habitable land. Some of the scientists even dared to suggest that the unlivable British holding to the north of the Great Lake might actually have been part of the Overseas Territories.

In any case, it is quite clear that they believe that they caused us great harm, and so I was sent 1000 years in the past, to try to stop them.

***
I knew that his time machine was set to automatically return when there were only five minutes left, whether or not it was occupied. I also knew my enemy had no desire to be left behind, so I decided to sneak inside and wait for him.

When he entered, I jumped up, grabbed him from behind, and strangled him. I quickly adjusted the controls and jumped out. In about three minutes, they would reappear out over the Atlantic Ocean where the bomb could explode without causing any harm, thwarting the terrorist’s evil plan and destroying their time machine in the process.

According to protocol, I should have then returned home. But what, I wondered, would keep this scene from playing out repeatedly. Unfortunately, I knew the answer and it is with a heavy heart that I finish this note. I doubt anyone will ever find it, but still I feel better leaving it. Once I finish, I will climb into my own machine and change its settings as well. I should arrive, about a minute before the other machine. Whatever happens, there will be no more time machines left to come and alter the past again.

Chase dove through the never ending west-Texas underbrush, scarcely feeling the scrape and prick of the brambles as they snatched at his sleek polymer jumpsuit. Behind him, a pursuant matched him step for step in a ceaseless dash. For every foot he gained on the forest, the figure trailing him gained just as many. As Chase dashed through the undergrowth in a frantic attempt to flee, he recalled the dire words his lieutenant had spoken just before the experiment.

“Jackson” he’d said, dropping his usual bark “Whatever you do, you’d better make straight certain you don’t so much as glimpse yourself while in the alternate time. We’re…rather averse to testing the outcome of a self-encounter after what these physicists have been going on about.”

Chase shook off the grimly appropriate warning and continued his plunge through the mass of brush. As he did, his pursuer’s voice floated to him, distorted and muffled by the thick undergrowth, but all too familiar.

“Stop and drop the viral sample or I will draw my weapon! I am licensed to kill to protect that vial, and if you continue to run I will not hesitate to do so!”

Chase rolled his eyes at his own threats and clutched the miniscule vial ever tighter in his hand, the grooved cap imprinting its pattern onto his palm. The station should be picking up his transmission of success and zapping him back soon. Hopefully very soon.

The tiny branches and twigs pulled at his face. Flying through the thick weeds he thought back to his days on guard at the military facility in El Paso. He’d been green, and eager for action. Eager to use his gun.

As if in answer to his thoughts, the sound of a pistol being loosed from its holster reached his ears. Knowing all too well that his pursuer was seconds away from firing shots, Chase threw his body violently forwards against the brush in an attempt to escape his prior self, and the possible apocalypse that their meeting might bring.

As Chase lunged forth however, the thick brush suddenly gave way. To his horror, he found himself tumbling forwards into what in any other situation would have been a happy, soothing meadow. Now though, it cause a sick fear to course through him as he fell from the brush to land with his cheek pressed against the soft grass.

Chase began to scramble to his feet, but as a pair of shined steel-toed boots (Size 12 ½, he was sure) strode out of the brush and into the grassy clearing, he found himself frozen solid.

He waited. Waited for the universe to implode, waited for his surroundings to crumble away, waited for his head to crumple from the sheer impossibility of the situation. To Chase’s surprise however, The world held it’s seams.

After several seconds he lifted his head cautiously from the ground, raising his eyes to look from the steel toed boots, to the sand-colored fatigues, to the gun hanging limply from a work-worn hand, and finally to look on his own face contorted in shock and bewilderment.

Chase stood and assessed the figure in front of him. Aside from the grey-peppered beard he now sported, and the slightly smoother skin on his counterpart, the man was his twin in every way.

His former self stood, mouth gaping like a fish for several long seconds before being properly able to form a sentence.

“What the he—?”

Chase interrupted, thinking it more healthy for the world at large to end this conversation quickly. “Stop! Just stop. In a few years it’ll make sense, but all you need to know now is that I MUST leave, and quickly. Just believe me. This is for the best! Just put down the gun and turn around!”

His words had the opposite effect he intended. Instead of holstering his gun and treading back into the brush, the Chase in fatigues tightened his grip and raised the gun to chest-level. He lowered his eyes, and spoke in an authoritative tone.

“Give me the virus. I don’t know who or what you are, but whoever you are, you are not authorized to have the virus. Hand it over or I’ll shoot.”

Suddenly, the lights on Chase’s small metal wristband began to dance in a flurry of color. His transmission had been received. They were sending him back.

His past incarnation had noticed as well though. As the soft sunshine of the clearing began to melt away, his fingers tightened on the trigger. As if in molasses, the bullet was expelled from the barrel.

Time slowed. Chase's surroundings and the figure in fatigues melted away. The bullet however had almost reached its destination. Ripping a hole in the sliver polymer of Chase’s jumpsuit, he felt a sharp heat as the tip of the bullet slowly breached his skin.

And then he was back in the chamber of sliver mirrors, clutching the vial in one hand and grasping at the small rip in the flesh of his stomach with the other.

Chase Jackson hid in the convenient shadows of an unused fireplace. He didn't understand why he was here, or even how he was here. That was OK. He didn't need to know anything but his mission. He was to retrieve a book from the study of the court wizard who lived on the top floor of the castle he had been sent to.

It was too bad that he hadn't been allowed to bring his guns with him, but the scientists were afraid that the possible paradox would create an inter-dimensional vortex. He was allowed to bring his knifes, his garrote wire, and his sock full of sand. Actually, he wasn't that happy about the sand; but he wasn't supposed to kill anybody - that vortex thing again.

Time travel would make anyone's head ache if they thought about it. So Chase didn't think about it.

He was in a castle back when some guy named Charlie Main was King. If he was going to get back to his guns he would need to get to work.

He couldn't hear anybody, so he slipped out of hiding and sauntered along the hallway. It was lit by smoking candles, and the occasional smoking lamp. Having memorized the known layout of this particular fortress he figured it would be a piece of cake.

At the foot of the first staircase was a pair of guards.

“Leevay, poodles and dalmatians.” Said the first guard.

“Parley, purple puppy poop.” Said the second guard.

Great, the translator didn't work.

The sand sock smacked nicely against the first guard's head since his helmet was set on the stairs behind him. The second guard managed to get his sword out before Chase kicked his feet out from under him. His helmet rolled down the hall as the sock took its second victim. Chase left them there and climbed the stairs.

He went up past three doors which were barred from the inside, the fourth set were the ones he wanted. He lifted the bar and pulled the door open. The first guard never knew what hit him. (It was the bar from the door. It had a longer reach than the sock.) The second guard whipped out his sword and looked ready to call for help, but seeing Chase armed with a door bar grinned nastily.

“Mangoes babies blue..” He sneered and lunged at Chase.

Chase stepped to the side and helped him along down the stairs. All that armour made terrific racket as the guard bounced from step to step. Chase ran across the hall to the large staircase that graced the opposite wall. He just made it up the stairs behind a curtain as guards ran from all directions drawn by the noise. One man shouted authoritative gibberish and led the most of them down the stairs. Two took guard position at the door, while a couple of others started poking their swords through the curtains that hung all around the place. They weren't very thorough, but unfortunately the sound of returning footsteps meant reinforcements.

Chase ducked out of his hiding place and ran for the hallway he needed.

“Voolay, you, yeti smurf!” Yelled someone and a herd of gibbering guards pounded up the stairs and ran after Chase. He tried not to look behind him, but he could tell they were gaining on him. He chanced a look back just he rounded a corner. Too bad that someone chose just that moment to step out of a door. Chase crashed into him and the two fell in a tangle of limbs.

“Pooti.... pooti.... morde” Yelled the large one between gasps.

“No” Yelled an old man in a dress untangling himself from Chase. “Gut, morkporkian gumble snacks.” The men mumbled obscene gibberish and picked Chase up off the floor. They searched him roughly and thoroughly, looking greedily at his knives and sneering at the sock. Then they hauled him up more stairs, the old man following behind. They were taking him to the very place that he wanted to go.

At the top of the stairs he twisted hard and slammed one of the men holding him against the wall. While he slumped Chase wrenched his other arm free and pushed. Once again the clatter of armour clad guards falling down stairs filled the air.

He moved quietly to door and it swung open at his touch. The room was empty so Chase slipped over to the bookcase. There it was, just as they described. He grabbed the book as the old man appeared at the door, his dress torn.

“Vincent pink pumps whack a doodle”

Everything went black.

A man wearing horns and fur shook him.

“Eye, freak un humply fast.” He said and took the book.

Chase smiled and got ready to take it back.

Chase Jackson creaked upward from his hunched position under the palanquin and surveyed his surroundings. He’d been carrying the litter all night, and the empress – or chieftaness, or whatever she was – was no lightweight. The tribe had been moving across this strange cold desert for weeks now, with few breaks for rest. Chase didn’t think this was the normal mode of travel for these people; they seemed driven, though whether toward or away from something he couldn’t tell. It'd help if he could understand a word anyone was saying, but no dice.

Now the tribe was perched atop a small rocky mountain, and in the distant morning fog he could just make out the glimmer of – was it a sea? He wasn’t sure. He scratched at gritty eyes and wished for a cigarette. The sounds of the people making camp were comforting by now, and he sat cross legged on the ground and let his head drop.

He’d arrived on this planet 3 months ago, part of the first wave of explorers for the Allied Galaxies. From the first, the mission had been a disaster. Half the crew had been hit with some kind of bug, and either died in the first day or wandered off, delirious, to be eaten by whatever kind of boojums inhabited this horrible place. The lucky few who proved immune did the best they could for a few weeks, but with little to do besides wait around for help that never came, the crew slowly fell apart. People stole supplies and struck off into the wilderness, never to be seen again. For Chase, it was a relief. Adventurer-types are typically unpleasant to be around when they’re bored, and it was better to disband entirely than be at each others' throats all day.

The tribe found them early one morning, and had little trouble overpowering the few explorers who’d chosen to stay with the ship. Life ever since had been nothing but a kind of polite slavery. Chase and the others were treated like moderately intelligent pack animals, and used just as hard. He didn’t dare miss this opportunity for some sleep, even at the cost of the day’s meal.

Just as he was about to nod off, Chase was shaken rudely awake. A swarthy six fingered hand was on his shoulder, and the man it belonged to shook him again and cast a frightened look backwards. He shoved Chase toward the litter and ran back to gather up his tent. The rest of the tribe was doing the same, hurriedly shoving objects into rucksacks and looking over their shoulders toward the bottom of the hill. An ominous thrumming sound was coming from beneath the earth, which began to shudder violently.

Torn between curiosity and unease, Chase hurried to the side of the hill and looked down. He didn’t understand what he was seeing at first. Something was erupting out of the earth. It looked like drops of oil, then like a swarm of insects that grew larger and larger as they pried themselves out of the hillside, unfolding their grotesque bodies until they towered over the largest man.

The people of the tribe started screaming. Chase was again shoved back to the palanquin, where he barely had time to pick up the bar and start running for his life. It was chaos all around him. The ground felt like it would shake itself apart, and people were running, falling, and being trampled on all sides. The noise was unbearable. Between the thrumming and buzzing of the insect things and the screams of people being caught in their clutches, he thought he would go mad.

And now they were coming up right under his feet. The man to his left had fallen and been torn apart by the giant mandibles of another locust creature. Something heavy hit his arm and left a long gash, and he dropped the litter and rolled. They WERE like locusts, he thought. They covered the earth and sky in a horrific black cloud that consumed everything in its path. The rising sun was blotted out with wings, and the sand was clotted with blood as the creatures gorged. It was a miracle he wasn’t dead yet – or was it? He looked around him. The tribe and all its belongings were being ravaged, but Chase and his companions had only a few scrapes. It seemed the locusts didn’t like alien flesh – more, it seemed to poison them. The creature that had attacked him was on the ground at his feet, in death throes.

For the rest of the morning, Chase and the others watched the death of the tribe that had captured them. There was nothing else they could do. The creatures wouldn’t attack them again, and they had no weapons to fight them off and save even a few.

Eventually the swarm lifted. The men from earth turned their backs on the carnage behind them and faced the distant sea with haunted eyes.