DSNG CHRONICLES I - ENTIRE PROLOGUE

Extract from the first book in the DSNG Sci Fi Triliogy, posted by Author

Introduction:

Presented here are the first 14 pages of the 500-page e-book, available now for download at Amazon.com.

The entire dynamic sci fi series is set in an alternate galaxy, and it is centered upon a man of regal origins.

Prince Azzar Omenus is a super soldier, hailing from planet Avera. He is a man of renowned character, known for his incredible fighting skills and his astute strategies. Yet recently he has been quite introverted as he battles the demons of rejection and disgrace that have plagued his life in this new season. Following a string of chaotic events, it was believed that he was slain in a deep-space conflict, the same battle that eclipsed the life of his father, King Vaygon Omenus. But the Prince later returned after many months to the capital mega state of Avera within a foreign spacecraft, seemingly resurrected from the dead. And when he arrived within the familiar confines of the Imperial Palace walls, he was shocked and dismayed to find his beloved in the arms of his cousin, the same man that was now the new King of Avera. Shortly after that, Azzar was granted the rank of Senior Commanding Officer in the Centura, the Averan military - and it was a demeaning role he was literally forced to accept.

Now Azzar strives to remain focused and discover his true destiny, while unforeseen chaos looms on the galactic horizon. There is an ominous threat emerging from the dark spotted abyss of space like a lethal airborne plague shrouded by the thick blanket of the night. A clandestine villain known as the Overlord has begun to manipulate his interplanetary terrorist faction, the Gorilla rebel militia, causing them to initiate a sadistic plan that will result in wide-spread genocide across the Makuran Galaxy.

Time has been the greatest asset of the conniving Overlord, as his pawns of war have now been secretly set in place. And Prince Azzar has no idea that his very life is now in grave danger due to a devious scheme set to unfold at a starport upon the eldritch moon called Yantos...

Link to the DSNG Series Overview: http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wa5ZmL_ju48/TMocWTfPfnI/AAAAAAAAAVo/NYJOP08A-8Q/s1600/DSNG_SCI_FI_SERIES_OVERVIEW_by_DSNG.jpg

The entire series is rated M for Mature Audiences, per violence and sexuality.

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Prologue

DSNGC1>>Week 1, day1

Business Class Cabin,

Starline Airbus 3502GL

En Route to Yantos

Macuran exosphere, Macur

Gamma Sector [12:20am], Makuran Galaxy

With his eyes closed, Phil Nutoko leaned back into the plush embrace of the Astro-AB TypeIII cabin recliner chair he’d sat within for the past 35 hours, as serene jazz music glided into his mind through a sleek Helios Dome5X data phone clipped onto his left ear. This Interplanetary, IP, trip had been a most euphoric journey indeed. The cabin recliner chair was encased in plush synthesized Kataran fur and the microcircuits within the endodermic layer of the chair were programmed to adapt constantly to the moving contours of his body.

Thus, as he leaned back and slightly extended his legs, with silent precision, the Astro-AB TypeIII chair adjusted its back support, gently flexing backwards by about 25 degrees from the horizontal, while the cushion Phil sat upon also tipped slightly downwards, with a similar acute angle.

All business class passengers were privileged with the same seating comforts. In their premier position, the Astro-AB chairs would each have the appearance of an extremely graceful “L,” whose horizontal and vertical parts connected at a curve, rather than at 90 degrees. In addition to having arm rests that were each 7 inches wide, the comfortable chairs’ cushions also had footrests connected to their extreme edge, powered by motion servos and dynamic relay circuits that perceived supported body movements, and simultaneously extended the adjoined footrests to accommodate the passengers’ new position.

Not only did the hi-tech chair provide extremely accurate comfort to the muscles on the dorsal side of his body, but it also gave four posterior massages per hour while subtly releasing hemorium gas unto its entire surface area. The gas engulfed its passenger in an euphoric array of sensual aromas that had a relieving effect upon the mind. As the inhaled gaseous particles were absorbed into the blood stream and gently flooded the nervous system, they erupted as gentle geysers of serenity within the subconscious psyche. The chair was welded to the floor and supported by a block-pyramid arrangement of rectangular slabs, housing an autonomous CPU, operating with a G1 processor.

About 3 minutes ago, Phil had connected to the airbus’ telecom network through his Dome5X data phone and accessed the Interplanetary Network. The IP-Net was a tenth generation Internet system, connecting the seven major planets in the Makuran galaxy in real time. This groundbreaking feat was accomplished by an intricate network established through a myriad of laser-com satellites launched from host planets and spread across the four sectors like a synthetic star cluster, arrayed in a systematic order that placed each satellite in a precise orbital node. Once their data hubs are activated and linked through multiphase, laser-generated, compound carrier wave systems—supported by IP-Net server and data-processing centers within the specific host planets—a multiple planetary data network is assembled, whose integral telecommunication boundaries are virtually nonexistent.

Across the galaxy various small hi-tech devices were currently in vogue, designed to facilitate seamless communications. These ranged from nanotech watches, commonly referred to as comlinks, to data headsets and ear pieces. Extremely expensive ear pieces like Phil’s Helios Dome5X data phone could not only give you audio access to the IP-Net, but also project a 2D-display in real time, in front of his eyes, shown as a small semitransparent screen, about 3 square inches in size.

Since it operated via a G3 processor, through audible voice commands one could access e-mails, news feeds, and download anything desired such as H-DVDs, sitcoms, or even a personal health diagnosis, via intricate IR-scans from meditech satellites. Despite the phenomenal capabilities of commercial comlinks powered by G3s, they were not the optimal product. The helmets worn by the Centura soldiers had much higher level processors, ranging from G5s to G8s.

“Good day, this is your captain speaking,” the voice of the Starline airbus’ human pilot slightly startled Phil, interrupting his thoughts with an upbeat tone.

Vocalizing his desire, Phil said, “Decrease, now.” And this voice command to his Helios Dome5X phone resulted in the diminishing of the volume of the jazz music, so he could hear the instructions being given by the informative voice projected via the overhead speakers in the luxurious cabin. Phil lifted his head slightly, as he blinked, in anticipation of the forthcoming announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please return your seats to the upright position. Prepare to have your safety harnesses automatically activated, as we’re about to descend into Yantos,” the pilot said calmly. “Thanks again for choosing Starline.”

In response to the calm orders, Phil sat up and his Astro chair returned to its primary state. Then he hit a smooth button upon his left armrest, which activated his safety harness, a remote controlled seatbelt mechanism operated by mag-lev motion servos. The metal-tipped connectors ejected from four points on his chair, two on the edge of the seat and two more from the vertical support, and met just in front of his torso, as if drawn there like BlackhawkTZ26 missiles following a precise, curved, laser-com guided trajectory. He could have waited to have this harness automatically activated by the captain’s copilot, but he opted not to.

At first, Phil wondered what the verbal notice would have sounded like, if it had come from the copilot, an intricate AI, responsible for monitoring all the secondary functions of the airbus, such as sequential nitrium combustion, exterior micro-cathodic protection and cabin pressurization… then he shuddered at the thought. The hi-tech minds of sentient master AIs operated via G8 processors, giving them the ability to reason and react at rates that virtually appeared to be FTL. And actually, military grade AIs were outfitted with G10 processors.

Nevertheless, Phil really didn’t trust talking, thinking, sentient machines and he personally preferred the human touch, in all his daily endeavors.

Ah yes, the human touch. Phil took a deep breath and exhaled with a smile. And then he laughed calmly to himself, his relieving gestures remaining insignificant and unnoticed by the other nineteen passengers within the business class cabin. As he felt the huge craft begin to slightly dip in its trajectory, Phil also dived into his mental archives, reminiscing upon a very pleasant recent memory.

About 3 hours ago, Phil had felt the touch of humanoid hands… actually four hands, as he’d made love to an alien air hostess within one of the large luxurious lavatories, located at the extreme posterior end of the cabin, situated behind his seating area. She was a Scalatan, a four-armed busty beauty from planet Scalata, and her unique phenotype was extremely exotic.

She had a skin tone that appeared to be an eloquent blend of crimson and carnation pink. Her facial features were all neatly arrayed, and her alluring eyes were as equally enticing as her sensual full lips. She was bald, except for a grouped mohawk strand that commenced at the frontal part of her head in a “V” formation, and dropped down to the rear of her neck as a bound ponytail. Various circular apertures were arranged on the lower part of her forehead, and she possessed a unique nose that had what looked like horizontal markings painted across it.

This female humanoid didn’t have ears. Instead, like most Scalatans, she had two tentacles which extended from the side of her head, bearing the same color as her skin. They were each about 6 inches in length and had what appeared to be small egg-shaped bulbs at their tip. These bulbs were extra eyes, having eyelids around their entire circumference and opened slits at their apex. As the tentacles glided gracefully, they gave Scalatans the advantage of a panoramic view, allowing them to even have rear vision.

Phil smiled, as he blinked, and then he kept reflecting upon the eldritch female that had taken his breath away and undoubtedly satisfied his lascivious desires.

She wasn’t fat or overweight. She was just… thick, having slender appendages, a small waist, a gentle athletic butt and a large bust. Yatzat… yes, Yatzat… that was her first name. Phil remembered it from the Holographic Projected—HP—nametag that was affixed to her blouse, just above the left half of her huge bosom. He had focused intensely on her voluptuous chest as he’d held her, during their passionate exchange.

And while they’d made love, Phil had noticed a series of three extremely small, dark holes on the inner curve of each of her breasts, which he pondered about. Were they merely aesthetic, or part of her phenotypical make up? Or did they serve a purpose, such as respiration? He wasn’t sure, but he noted that Yatzat had panted constantly during their semi-nude torrid session, often gasping with pleasure, as he moved his hips back and forth, while she whispered pleasant words into his ear, like the popular Scalatan word “kita,” meaning “faster.”

She’d sat on the edge of the large cubico crystalline sink while he stood in front of her, locking her in a close amorous embrace. Cubico is a material that’s similar to marble in composition, but with fifty-times the durability.

Her heels had pointed downwards at her discarded miniskirt and his slumped slacks. And his lips had painted her throat while he’d probed her crevice with his might. Yatzat had passionately woven all her arms across his back, almost like an octopus gently engulfing its prey. It was a moment that filled Phil with excessive excitement and rapacious desires, as he actually felt like he was the octopus and she was his prey.

Phil reflected on how he’d been extremely aroused by the touch of her four arms; she had two regular human-like arms and two others that were smaller—which protruded from her sides, adjacent to her lower ribcage. Each arm had three fingers, yet they displayed the same dexterity as a five-fingered hand. Even after the pair had concluded their lovemaking, Yatzat held onto him and kissed him repeatedly, refusing to let him go. Her constant sensual caress had caused the hairs on the back of his golden-skinned neck to stand.

Like Phil, all true-born Averans have variations of golden skin tones and their anatomy is identical to those of humans, but it’s their genotype that is completely unique.

“Please, don’t leave me yet!” Yatzat had said, yearningly. “I do not wish for this sacred time to end!” her passionate voice was extremely soothing.

Phil simply couldn’t resist her feminine charm… and he’d stayed a while longer. As they kissed deeply and fervently, intermittently pausing to draw in deep breaths through their mouths, he’d found himself calling out her name, in a whispered tone. The “T” at the end of her name was silent, as most female Scalatan names, yielding the pronounced form of “Yatsah.”

There were about twelve Scalatan hostesses onboard this flight, four of whom served within this business cabin. Adorned in matching cream-colored, waist-length suites and miniskirts that fit their contours as tightly as latex gloves, the hostesses all looked professional, while exuding sexuality. They all wore open-toed 3-inch heeled pumps and some had fancy designer chokers, while others wore hats, displaying the Starline logo. Their phenotypes were as diverse as the tastes of the men and women present—some had extremely small waists and curvy butts, while others had large perky breasts that appeared to be yearning for liberation from the tight tube-top blouses beneath their suit’s coat.

But Phil hadn’t noticed any of them, except the one that had winked at him, right after she’d leaned in close to give him a refill of his second glass of Zesto beer, shortly after the flight commenced. That was the first time he’d caught a glimpse of Yatzat’s voluptuous chest, which was gracefully displayed before him as she’d leaned forward. Phil, a young man in his early-30s, was shy and slim, having large eyebrows, a mustache and a singular strip beard, running from the base of his bottom lip to the smooth tip of his chin. He worked as an administrative assistant for the Minister of Alien Relations, back on his home world of Avera.

Geeks like him never got excessive attention from women and it was rare that he would even look at a female, human or alien, directly in the eye, for an extended period. But Yatzat seemed different… she was different. Phil felt like she admired and desired him, or perhaps it was what he chose to believe. She was 5 feet 6 inches tall and he was about 4 inches taller. They appeared to be a perfect match, in terms of their physical size.

He believed that her elated mannerism during their erotic copulating session could not have been something she formulated, solely with deceptive or venal intent. After all, she was the one who’d casually sent him an e-mail through his Dome5X data phone, with her picture and an invitation to meet her in the lavatory for some complimentary mutual fun, if he so desired.

Prior to this trip, he’d heard his boss, Juriah Blaine, occasionally joke with some of his comrades about how easy it was to have intercourse on IP-flights, with fellow traveling diplomats and air hostesses.

“They practically give you anything you ask for on those trips, at no extra charge!” Juriah had bellowed, seated in his Astro hoverchair, while speaking to a fellow Minister seated across from him, on the other side of his broad C-shaped desk.

“But hey, when the female is hot and the sex is free, you really can’t beat that!” Tomi Cantur, the fellow Minister had replied, as both men leaned back in their chairs and laughed in unison, roaring almost uncontrollably. Yet they were oblivious to the fact that Juriah’s elbow had hit the comlink button on his hoverchair’s armrest 3 minutes earlier, allowing Phil to hear the most graphic portions of their conversation.

“Damn…” Phil said to himself in a low tone, “…Just wish the girls back home were as open as these Scalatan chicks.”

Phil kept pondering to himself, silently. At first he tried to deny it, but he couldn’t overstep his conscience, as it dictated to him that “open” wasn’t the best descriptive word; “unchaste” seemed to be a more appropriate term. After all, a complete stranger had just made him an offer for sensual intercourse and he’d received it, without question.

Phil was an Averan, and although he wasn’t a member of the Centura, his people were generally referred to as blood warriors, for their phenomenal combat abilities and relentless fighting spirit. As a military force, the Centura were greatly respected throughout the four sectors of the Makuran galaxy, which was roughly spread over a distance of 20 light years. King Titron Omenus, Prince Azzar Omenus and the other high ranking members of the Centura were literally superhuman soldiers… formally categorized as higher beings, as they possessed the powers of flight, energy shield generation and unique energy pulse projection from their epidermal surfaces.

Phil couldn’t jump more than 3 feet off the ground, let alone fly. However, he did have a striking facial resemblance to Lord Azzar Omenus, a potent member of the royal family.

He wished his phenotypical similarity with the Prince, who was much older than him, would’ve been an incentive for Averan females to desire him, but that was not the case. Phil remembered how he’d attempted to date a female soldier named Asia Avorus, back on Avera, several months ago. After seeing her picture on the IP-Net, he’d envisioned having sensual intercourse with her several times and his lust had driven him to meet her in person.

He’d imagined that she would be his first, and they would live a placid, serene life together. But Asia was in a foul mood the day he met her at Rockfort base and she’d leveled him to the ground with a lighting elbow to his jaw, because he’d kept following her around, still attempting to gain an audience, after she’d given him a verbal rejection.

His vision of intercourse on a bed of silk sheets mounted upon an open terrace within a hovering garden encircled by waterfalls, had come crashing down that day. Only now did it dawn on Phil that he’d just lost his virginity in a restroom, while traveling amidst the cold vacuum of space… to a total stranger whom he would probably never see again. This was not the way he’d envisioned his first time, but it had most certainly exceeded anything he’d experienced in VR-sex rooms, online.

The nighttime flight continued. The Starline airbus was currently breaking through the unseen atmospheric gravity waves of the mesosphere and into stratospheric semitransparent cloud cover, as it approached its dwarfed destination, the Yantos Central Starport. As the craft zoomed closer, the starport would obviously appear to grow larger, like an expanding mighty cobweb with lighted button nodes.

Phil felt a sense of ease and tranquility, as the airbus descended towards Yantos, one of the primary satellites of planet Macur. The observed view of the terraformed moon was a panorama of diverse lights, flickering neon projections and webbed networking transit lines. It was late at night, but the major city below and its residents were definitely awake.

Macuran airspace was not the place to be without the appropriate IP-transit e-code. This code was a type of electronic interplanetary visa, uniquely issued by each planet in the Makuran galaxy. Through the Starline’s telecom system, the pilot has sent the IP-transit e-code to the starport on Yantos, and to the Zarchon United Military HQ on Macur, as a precaution. The eldritch Zarchons who resided on Macur were notoriously renowned for blasting unidentified cruisers out of their airspace, under the directive of their questionable code for “maintaining planetary safety.”

Had the Starline’s master AI not began communicating with the AI located within the Yantos Central Starport dispatch mainframe during the initial take off, the Zero-pods located in Macuran orbit would have sought out the airbus like flies drawn to raw meat within seconds of approaching that airspace and detonated upon the vessel, resulting in a violent collision that excluded any explosions or brilliant arrays of blinding photonic beams.

This is because Zero-pods contained dark vortices at their core: an artificial black hole, mystically embedded within these nano-engineered asteroids. Their impact usually resulted in implausible implosions, rather than phenomenal explosions.

Phil turned his head to the right as he glanced towards the center aisle of the cabin. They were on the third floor of the Starline airbus and the seating arrangement here, within the business class cabin, was extremely well spaced and adequately sparse. The cabin possessed seats for thirty passengers, although only twenty had boarded it. And there were six rows comprised of Astro-AB TypeIII cabin recliner chairs, which were separated into two distinct halves by a 2.5-meter wide aisle. The entire floor of this luxurious cabin was adorned with a carpet of plush, gremoran fur, which almost made you feel like you were walking upon a gentle meadow, with grass as soft as wool.

As Phil looked towards the aisle, from his seat at the rear of the left half of the cabin, he saw two hostesses walking casually from the front to the rear, one behind the other. They both held out warm facial towels, which they were offering to the passengers. Phil’s eyes widened with excitement as the first Scalatan stepped out of his line of sight, to hand a towel to a gentleman in his mid-50s, giving the young Averan a chance to behold the hostess that was forthcoming behind her—the very female he’d recently known, intimately. As their eyes met, Yatzat tilted her head to the side gently, and smiled. Then she winked again and continued on her calm routine, offering towels to the other passengers. She soon approached Phil and a casual conversation began.

“Warm towel, sir?” she asked, in an inviting tone, leaning towards him.

Phil wasn’t used to hearing the term, “sir,” issued in reference to himself. That was what he always used to address his boss, Juriah Blaine, and the other members of the Averan Ministries Executive Board. He briefly pondered what really would make him feel like he was worthy of the noble salutation of “sir.”

“Sir?” Yatzat said, breaking his trend of thought. “Are you all right?”

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Yes, yes I’m fine Yatzat, thanks,” he said. Then she instantly handed him a towel in response.

“Oh, no, no thanks!” he replied, in an upbeat tone. And he wondered if she knew that he still felt quite nervous around her. Yet at this juncture Yatzat had a puzzled look on her face.

“But sir…” she stated, while still extending the towel, “You first said ‘thanks’. Don’t you want the towel?” Yatzat asked, slightly bewildered as she held forth the folded item.

“Oh no!” Phil replied as he waved her off gently. “I meant thanks for asking if I was all right! I don’t want the towel!”

Phil noticed that the pretty hostess was struggling to keep from giggling, amused by his gentle mannerism. Once again, he was captivated by the tempting view of her bountiful cleavage, accentuated by the wonder bra she had on. While still leaning forward, Yatzat was keenly aware of the trance her chest was inducing on him per the focus of his eyes. Yet she didn’t mind.

Then while smiling, she nodded, turned around and walked back to the front of the cabin, where she glided through a hexagonal shaped door, which slid open from left to right, as she returned to the chamber where the four Scalatan hostesses on this level of the airbus resided.

After about 7 minutes, the Starline airbus was descending upon the colossal Yantos Central Starport, on runway H-T12. The brilliant low-end G-thrusters howled in the wind as the large craft descended gracefully. The giant turbines located on the ventral side of the chisel nosed, cuboid-shaped vessel roared; this provided a cushion of turbulent air, which conversely resulted in the stabilization of the airbus, as it struggled against gravity. The six giant-sized laser floodlights whose hubs were seamlessly engrafted into the surface of the runway provided the parameters for the vessel’s gradual descent onto its designated landing position, H-T12.

The Starline’s master AI used refractive laser beams to determine the exact angle to bring in the vessel, providing key assistance to the human pilot, who was maneuvering the large craft downwards via several motion cameras embedded on the crafts ventral side, which focused on the runway, while giving him numeric readings such as distance, avionic balance, current velocity and tangential angle of descent.

The airbus was about 90 meters in length and 20 meters at it highest point. On the port and starboard sides, there were no wings or weapons, just two giant cylindrical thrusters affixed towards the rear of the craft, on either side. In place of giant rubber wheels, the airbus had what could be best described as a trio of massive skis on its base—one at the apex of its ventral side, and the other two located at the rear in a twin-like array. These skis were usually concealed during flight and protracted only when landing sequences were initiated.

Airbuses were advanced IP-vessels, capable of landing on almost any terrain, even aquatic ones. In terms of their size, they were much smaller than armadas and dropships, as their focus was more on the transport of cargo and passengers, rather than payloads of mega blasters, large photon cannons, guided AAMs, advanced Duo-Nukes and Antimatter warheads.

As the airbus met the reinforced concrete surface of the runway with its protruding landing gear, Phil reflected briefly upon this landing experience. In his opinion, the entire descent had been flawless, except for the ten-seconds in which his Dome5X data phone had howled a harsh static blast into his ear, which sent unpleasant sensations into his eardrum and up into his brain. It had occurred during the transition from the lower mesosphere to the stratosphere, roughly 30 miles from the surface of this colonized moon.

Perhaps it was caused by a surge in electromagnetic waves, or an IP-signal overload? Phil wasn’t sure, but he didn’t care.

Right now, he was beginning to refocus upon the reason for his IP-flight to Yantos, as he was scheduled to have a meeting with a member of the Scalatan firm, Mujikkron Inc., to personally present the terms for reestablishing a recently terminated trade agreement between Avera and Scalata, pertaining to various rare, pod bearing eldritch plants, with medicinal properties. Corporate meetings requiring secure communication lines could easily be arranged over the IP-Net, but this small caucus was more of a summit, a 3-day affair, full of leisure events for Phil and the Mujikkron executive, Hong T-khon. It was a common belief that pleasurable times provided the best setting for the delivery of arduous proposals to an obstinate business partner, who would have otherwise displayed an adamant demeanor during a mere comlink call.

“Never trust a Scalatan!” Phil’s father had said repeatedly to him, years ago.

But that was a phrase commonly echoed by the members of the previous generations, when they narrated tales of corruption, venality and duplicity in regards to business ventures that involved Scalatans. Phil believed in the equality of the Averan race with all other races in the Makuran galaxy. He did not support the notion of judging the sons based on the actions of their fathers and he was not one to engage in conversations that derided other humanoids, simply out of ignorance or prejudice. He ardently believed that his 3-day interaction with Hong would verify his beliefs.

But at that moment, as Phil deactivated his safety harness and rose from his comfortable chair, things suddenly started changing.

Instantly, two fairly loud beeps were echoed through the overhead speakers within the business class cabin, followed by a stern stoic voice that made Phil feel extremely uneasy. It was the dry, emotionless voice of the vessel’s master AI, issuing a word of caution that sent thoughts of chaos into the minds of all the affluent passengers present.

“Warning, Warning!” the AI stated. “We have just been boarded unlawfully, please proceed to the front of this business cabin, in a single file, where we can generate a photonic shield to separate you from any…. Gzzzz!”

The robotic voice was drowned in static, and Phil recognized that his Helios phone that hung on his left ear was now off-line…. And from the confused voices that erupted throughout the cabin, the other dignitaries were just realizing the same thing, as they began hustling towards the frontal area, in front of the automated hexagonal door. At that instant, Yatzat rushed out through that door, breaking through the crowd and dashed towards Phil, who was at the rear of the room.

“Sir!” she desperately bellowed and waved frantically, as she approached him. “Please wait! Be still! Just be still!”

The shrillness of her voice implied a sense of desperation and she held a small purse in one of her larger hands. Confused, Phil paused in his steps, as he watched what appeared to happen next in almost slow motion.

Yatzat reached him and attempted to pull him further back, towards the rear of the cabin, which housed the lavatories and two exit doors. Phil was filled with bewilderment as he kept glancing forward, longing to join the rest of the passengers that were converging at the frontal area of the cabin. His lustful desires for Yatzat had held him in place till she reached him, but now he desired to flee with her towards the area he believed would ensure their safety.

But suddenly, the hexagonal door at the aft end of the cabin slid open and a menacing 7-foot giant emerged, clothed in a combination of chest armor plates, bulging shoulder pads, gauntlets and black pants, with several rectangular pouches strapped to his thighs. The glare from his four eyes was cold and ruthless, as he surveyed his targets without moving his head. He was a trained killer whose face was concealed behind a metallic, menacing Gorilla mask… and he held an item in each of his four arms—he was a Scalatan. His left and right gauntleted arms held VWS450 laser riffles, while his smaller hands held a bloody, 6-inch laser-edged dagger and the head of a young man, respectively. That kill was fresh, as crimson blood still dripped from the neck to the ground.

Chains of fear paralyzed the assembled host of passengers that stared at the arriving antagonist. And half a second later screams of terror erupted like sirens.

“My God! Is that the head of the human pilot?” Phil muttered fearfully to himself. “Or is it someone from a lower deck of the…?”

There wasn’t enough time to think as anarchy ensued in the anterior section of the cabin. Suddenly the promised semitransparent photonic shield was activated—barring the crest of the cabin by the hexagonal door from the rest of the stretched enclosure—and Phil watched in complete horror as a mass slaughter ensued. Amidst the yells of pain, the young man watched as heads and limbs exploded in irregular showers of blood and internal organs were spilled to the ground like raw bloody meat tossed out of a crate. The assassin had unleashed a merciless assault upon all of the passengers before him, within the uniquely confined shielded area.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” Phil yelled in horror, uncontrollably, while paralyzed with taut cords of fear.

He wasn’t a soldier—he’d never beheld anything like this, a violent bloody massacre of innocent people. Perhaps it was the terror of the moment, but Phil could have sworn that the screams of pain and panic from the victims merged to form a crescendo of unfathomable fear and trepidation. Within seconds, the floor within the section of the cabin demarcated by the photonic shield was a swirling pile of charred, repugnant, bloodied flesh and bone.

The towering assassin had done his job and as the shield dissipated into the air, the giant Scalatan set his merciless gaze upon the lone Averan survivor, standing about 30 feet away at the opposite end of the cabin. When the massacre commenced, the shield had prevented the laser pulses from reaching beyond the kill-zone.

Now the shield was gone and with it, all hope.

Awakened from his trance of dread, Phil turned to run out of the cabin but was shocked to come face to face with Yatzat, who had tears flowing from her eyes.

“What the f…?” Phil gasped, but his words were interrupted by the sound of a small laser gun with a 4-inch long barrel that had just been fired. He felt a surreal pain in the lower left side of his gut, between what was probably his colon and small intestine, just above the intertubercular plane. He glanced down in shock, to see the slightly bloody cavity upon his polo t-shirt that had been made by a bullet not from the assassin but from Yatzat. The purse she’d carried as she raced towards him seconds ago had obviously concealed this compact silver weapon.

Reasoning at a dynamic rate, Phil wondered to himself, “If that’s a laser propelling weapon, why was I struck by a slender bullet?”

“Sir, I’m so, so sorry…” Yatzat whispered sorrowfully, with watering eyes, “…please forgive me!”

Phil barely heard her utter those last saddening words in an emotionally burdened tone, as he dropped lifelessly to the ground. But one final thought flowed through his mind, as he slipped away into what felt like a living realm of utter darkness:

Never trust a Scalatan—never.

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Here is the link to the complete 500-page e-book:

http://www.amazon.com/DSNG-CHRONICLES-PRINCES-PRIDE-ebook/dp/B003UHVIDI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=books&qid=1290643655&sr=8-1

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