Chapter 3

"Status report!" Ponkert yelled to the monitor over the blare of the siren, as he and Jan scrambled into their jumpsuits. They were professionals, trained to react to emergencies and overcome them. Their pleasure of seconds ago was forgotten in the urgency of the ship's situation.

"Malfunction of the fusion reactor," the monitor responded. Its calm recorded voice seemed out of place in light of the pending disaster. "The magneto hydrodynamic field has collapsed. Eight minutes until destruction. Instruction?"

"Jesus God!" Ponkert muttered to himself, then shouted to the computer. "Emergency ejection of return pods. Program landing radius one mile of the first pod's touchdown. Begin immediate ejection of the matter transmitter, then the remaining pods. Jettison Jan and me as soon as we're sealed into the escape pods!"

The mighty hulk of the Intergalactic Vessel Werewolf shook with one-right-after-another shocks as the pods and their valuable cargoes shot away from the dying ship into the vacuum of space, toward an unknown planet.

"Now, let's get the hell out of here!" Ponkert ordered the woman beside him.

Without hesitation, the two ran down the ship's corridor. The impending explosion rumbled beneath their feet, threatening their balance. Once in the escape area, Ponkert swung open the hatch to Jan's pod. His hand lovingly swatted her ass as she stepped in.

"Good luck," he said, trying to smile.

Worried furrows played across her forehead as she stared at him, wanting to reach out and pull him close for security. But she suppressed the urge. Even a quick parting kiss would take time. And time was the one thing neither had.

"Good luck, Chad," she whispered as Ponkert closed the hatch, locking it with a metallic clanking. Ponkert watched the ejection tube close like a hungry mouth around Jan's capsule, then felt the shock of its release.

"Now for me, you mechanical wench!" he shouted to the computer.

"Yes, master," the monitor answered as he climbed into his own pod. "And good luck to you, Chadwick Ponkert the Third."

He refused to give his normal response of: "Don't call me Chadwick!" It was no time for one-upmanship. The computer would win this time. Its one and only time. Its one and last time.

He listened as the hatch automatically sealed him into the pod. Outside, there was a loud rush of escaping air; then he was slammed into the padding of his couch as the pod was flung from the ship. He closed his eyes and waited.

Within a few seconds, he felt the dreaded shock-impact as the Werewolf cataclysmically exploded. Like a young nova, it flared with the intense actinic glare of tortured atoms being shattered; then rapidly faded to nothing. As if it had never existed, the Werewolf vanished, leaving an empty void that once had held a powerful starship.

As his pod recovered from the shock waves, the first tenuous filaments of the planet's outer ionosphere enveloped the capsule. Severe negative gee-loading grabbed him like a mailed fist intent on crushing the life from his body as the retro rockets fired. Gradually the pressure lessened as the escape vessel arced onto a gentle descent pattern. As the weighted load eased from his chest, Ponkert summoned enough strength to raise himself and peruse the small control panel.

The radar beacons from the other pods gave sharp blips on his screen. All were on course, except for Jan's, which veered toward the northern part of the continent they raced to. He watched its path until it landed safely. He breathed easy. Jan was capable of taking care of herself until he found her. Now, if the matter transmitter came through its landing intact, the Werewolf's last flight wouldn't be in vain.

If not, they were stranded, forever, on a strange planet. The transmitter was a complex piece of machinery, with the simple task of breaking matter, living or otherwise, down to atoms, then sending those atoms across the reaches of space in a few seconds. Upon reaching their destination, the atoms would be rearranged in a receiver and everything would be as good as new.

The transmitters made exploring the universe an everyday occurrence for the average man. The only hang-up was that a transmitter had to be taken to a planet first. Thus Ponkert, and other like him, were needed to man the long rocket voyages to the stars. Their job was to establish transmitter bases on Earth-type planets, usually for Time-Shift Universal, a near governmental corporation that controlled the matter transmitter system.

Ponkert had challenged Time-Shift with the Werewolf's flight. He wondered if a few corporate bugs had been slipped into the ship's fusion reactor to eliminate competition. An organization like Time-Shift can't afford competition. If Ponkert's venture was successful others would go independent. Each independent planet was that much money out of Time-Shift's wallet.

He wished there was some way to check his theory, but if the Werewolf's destruction had been sabotage, Time-Shift had wiped out all traces of their activities with the explosion.

Ponkert returned his attention to the control panel and began manoeuvring the pod toward a landing. Without incurring the least bit of difficulty, he executed a slightly rough landing, unsnapped the confining straps that held him to the couch, and pressed the hatch release.

As the metal hatch rose, Ponkert scuttled from the pod into a world as beautiful as the Earth.

The escape capsule had settled down in the middle of an expansive glade which filled a valley between two gently sloping rises. He swung out of the hatch and dropped to the lush green carpet of thickly matted grass below.

His lungs rejoiced as they sucked in the fresh clean air-- something long forgotten on Earth with her teeming billions. His eyes surveyed his surroundings. The same thick grass covered the rolling hills like the fur of a sleek animal. In the distance, a row of trees, similar in appearance to Earth pines, towered up to meet a deep blue sky. Near the gigantic hunks of the trees a stream gurgled, spilling its clear, fresh water into a small pond.

Pulling his gaze closer in to his immediate surroundings, he momentarily studied the hundreds of red, white and blue blossoms that dotted the valley. Their beauty was striking and similar to the carnations that once grew in abundance on Earth. Now the only flowers on his mother planet were artificial. He almost expected to find some whimsical artist bending over the blossoms, delivering the flowers' color with a paintbrush.

Ponkert's reverie was interrupted suddenly by a Scream--a high-pitched scream of a woman--in mortal fear. Ponkert pivoted, his eyes darting to locate the source of distress. Again the scream came, this time with great urgency. Two shadowed figures struggled in a grove of what appeared to be age-old oaks near the base of one of the hills. Without a thought of what he was interfering with, Ponkert began to run toward the trees.

As he reached the edge of the grove, he stopped abruptly, his mouth ajar from the unbelievable sight that met his eyes. A woman, gorgeous by any standards, was fighting, or trying to, a man who was decked out like an escapee from King Arthur's Round Table--complete with a heavy black sword and battle axe that dangled from his side. His cloak matched the color of his weapons, black of course! A golden dragon emblem writhed on his chest.

The woman, mostly unclothed, was a classical damsel in distress, straight out of the history books. Her blonde hair flew in a tangled fury as she struggled to escape the knight aberrant's clutches.

But to Ponkert, she had little hope of eluding such a powerfully built man. Twisting, the woman saw him. Her Brazilian topaz green eyes pleaded her cause far more eloquently than a thousand words.

Wishing he had the appropriate words to shout, Ponkert leaped at the two, without saying a word. He reached the locked pair and tore them apart with a strong shove that sent the knight staggering back and the scantily-clad beauty floundering to her ass on the ground. He glanced at her, making sure she was uninjured, then turned to her attacker. The sight that met his eyes made him wish he had thought twice before he jumped into the fray like some gallant fool.

The knight had drawn his broadsword. Its wicked looking black blade was levelled at Ponkert's chest. The knight's eyes were blazing with a rage that reflected his full intent of skewering the Earthman like a helpless rabbit.

"Hold on!" shouted Ponkert. "What type of knight do you call yourself? Killing me will be a shallow victory if I'm unarmed!"

He didn't hold much faith in the possibility of chivalry being strictly adhered to by a knight caught in the process of raping a beautiful blonde, but at the moment he had everything to lose and absolutely nothing to gain by facing an adversary armed with a sword.

Whatever gods ruled the planet must have been smiling that day, because the knight hesitated and spat.

"Thy desires are met, knave!" the black-clad man granted in a voice that showed disapproval, but agreed with Ponkert.

Suddenly he tossed Ponkert his sword and drew his battle axe. Without further words, he attacked.

The sword was heavy, far heavier than Ponkert imagined. It felt terribly awkward in his hands.

Ponkert had only seen a broadsword in the museums on Earth-- never held one. But necessity spurred him on. Necessity and the downward slash of his opponent's blade that was intended to cleave him in two and put a quick end to the confrontation

Heaving the heavy sword upward, he parried the knight's axe in time to spare himself a halved-ass ending to his life.

The impact of the clashing steel was bone jarring. Ponkert stumbled back, his blade dipping to the ground, as he attempted to recover from the shattering vibrations. The two confused moves, whether they were intentional or not, saved him from his opponent's second swing, aimed at his legs. However, the blow was enough to wrench the sword from his hands. The knight grinned wickedly as he wound up for another over-the-head swing.

Realizing he would never have the time to retrieve his own blade and no manner of quick talking was going to save him now, Ponkert took the only avenue opened to him--he did some quick back-pedalling, only to be stopped by the trunk of one of the towering oaks. Assured of victory, the knight stepped forward and brought the glinting blue-black blade downward in an arc directed at the centre of Ponkert's skull.

For the second time since his landing on this planet, luck prevailed for the Earthman. The knight's axe abruptly stopped in mid-air with a loud thud. Ponkert glanced up to see the keenly honed steel blade lodged securely in an overhanging limb.

He sprang for his fallen sword while the black-clad knight struggled to dislodge his own weapon from the gripping wood. Without a thought of the chivalry he had hoped for, and gotten a few moments before, Ponkert clenched the pommel of his sword and swung it baseball-bat-style with all his might. The gleaming black blade sang toward the knight's side. Sword fighting is like street-fighting, Ponkert had decided, rules are only for fools.

Despite the power of his blow, a chain mail coat beneath the knight's robes deflected the deadly bite of the sword. The impact, however, sent the man rolling to the ground howling in pain, probably caused by a few cracked ribs.

Regaining his feet and clutching his side, the knight glared at the Earthman, "I yield, interloper" he hissed. "But soon I will return. Have the scullery maid till then! Enjoy your cuntry delights--for they will be your last!"

Still holding his aching side, the knight stumbled off into the woods, disappearing in the dark shadows. Ponkert turned his attention to the woman he had rescued and the knight had called a "scullery maid."

"Thank you, Sir Knight," the girl smiled up from her position on the ground, "for saving me from the whims of that pig who calls himself lord of this country."

If this gorgeous piece of womanflesh was a "scullery maid," Ponkert couldn't wait to meet some of the women of royal blood on this planet. The girl's long golden hair, hung around her shoulders, pleasingly disarrayed by her bout with her attacker. The thin muslin frock, torn in several places during the fray, did nothing to hide her high, firm breasts from Ponkert's searching eyes. Two nipples pushed against the cloth like small buttons. Apparently the French, or this planet's equivalent, had not yet invented the brassiere.

The muslin also did little to hide the girl's slim waist and slightly angular hips that strained against the fabric. A long rip up the front of the frock revealed the softness of her white thighs--thighs that beckoned to Ponkert, her saviour.

"My pleasure, uh--milady, my pleasure," Ponkert answered, attempting to reply in some manner equal to this planet's period of development.

"Oh, certainly, my lord! Certainly!" she exclaimed with glee.

Quickly she slithered out of her thin covering and reclined to her back on the grassy forest floor. Her knees bent slightly and her legs drifted apart giving him a clear view of her golden fleece-covered sex.

"Milord?" she questioned. "I am ready to give you your pleasure. Why do you hesitate?"

Smiling in amazement, Ponkert quickly understood what he had unknowingly asked for, and what he was knowingly being offered. He also knew that different planets had different mores, and he was a civilized man, not wishing to offend any of the local customs.

"Pardon him, Theodotus," he mumbled a quote from Shaw's Caesar and Cleopatra, thinking of the black knight who had scurried off into the woods, "he is a barbarian and thinks that the customs of his tribe and island are the laws of nature."

"Come, my lord," she beckoned, holding her long lithe arms outstretched to him.

"Soon enough, you delightful wench," he answered settling down into those inviting arms. There would be no denying this willing girl her due today.

She chuckled as her arms cradled around him. They kissed, mouth straining to meet mouth. His tongue lightly danced over her lips, detecting an intriguing taste of honey. Her tongue eagerly waited for his.