Chapter 5

Mankil--it was a word Ponkert had learned to hate during the week since leaving Hogar's inn and his two sexy daughters. The Earthman rocked and jolted on the back of his own personal mankil. He was decked out in the finery provided by the grateful innkeeper, and a sword, dropped by one of the highwaymen he had encountered, dangled at his side, not to mention the laser pistol tucked into his breeches. The weather was fine and the countryside had provided an abundance of eatable food, but he couldn't remember ever feeling more miserable. Mankil--the sound of the word only made him feel worse.

Hogar had given him the six-legged beast out of kindness. However, Ponkert also suspected the innkeeper had a distinct sadistic streak in him. Hogar had forgotten to mention where the mankil, which looked like the misbreeding of a horse and a rhinoceros, got its name. The wobbly, somewhat lopsided gait of the massive animal seemed to have but one purpose--to bust his balls!

When he had first begun his search for Jan seven days ago, he had thought it would only take time to adjust to the mankil's uneven strides. The first three days of his ride had left him sore when evening came. The fourth day created an ache in his crotch that wouldn't quit. The fifth day sent knives of pain into his groin as the beast bobbed up, while he was bouncing down. On the sixth day, he had walked more than he rode to avoid the ball- breaking torture.

Now, as noon neared on his seventh day, he reined the mankil to a halt, fearing his very manhood was in jeopardy. With relief washing through his body, he slid from the broad hairless back and dropped to the ground.

Allowing his mount to idly munch on the thick sylvan grass, Ponkert walked to a nearby tree.

From the leafy boughs of the strange unearthly tree, he selected a large pecan-like nut that he had come to find quite tasty during his brief stay on Keller. He cracked the peach-sized seed against the trunk. The yellow meat inside had the slight hint of persimmons, which he savoured while puzzling his mankil problems.

All in all, the beast would be an invaluable asset in his search for his missing co-pilot. After all, it was easier to ride than walk, not to mention the greater distances he could put behind him in a day. But on the other hand, if the ride was going to emasculate him, there was little purpose in continuing the ordeal.

Tossing the empty shells from his bands, Ponkert watched them bounce on the ground. Still perplexed, he pulled another from the tree and smashed it against the trunk. The over-sized nut cracked in two perfect halves and the meat fell out into his hand. Munching on the tasty nut, he fingered the split shell remembering the walnut boats he had constructed to sail in mud puddle seas when he was a child on Earth.

"Chadwick Ponkert, you're the one real dumbass!" he mumbled, realizing he held the key to his problem in his hand.

Delighting in the almost fur-lined feeling of the interior of the nutshell, he quickly pulled a red sash from his waist. Within the hour, Ponkert had fashioned a crude, but comfortable jock strap, complete with nutcup--literally a nutcup. Smiling, he once more mounted the grey hairless mankil. A quick check of the green signal blip on his locator beacon and he nudged the sides of the beast with his heels.

Thirty minutes later, and with a minimum of discomfort, he grinned smugly to himself, assured that he had met and outsmarted the mankil's primary weapon against mankind!

Glancing at his crotch, he mused over the fact that his new accoutrement looked exactly like a codpiece. He smiled. He had never experienced difficulty in attracting women in the past and he certainly had not been neglected since arriving on Keller. For moments, his mind's eye recalled the tempting visions of Terri and Letti.

However, no matter how lovely the mental images, the jarring gait of his mount bounced them away and Ponkert once more turned his attention to the passing countryside.

During his first week, he had closed the distance between himself and the green blip on his locator by almost a hundred and fifty kilometers. He had also confirmed his first impressions about the planet; it was definitely medieval. The two villages he had passed through had been ruled by feudal lords, both somewhat more accommodating than Sir Yngvi.

The society here seemed to have stepped right out of the days of Earth's King Arthur. Most labours centered around farming, but family manufacturing was beginning to bud. Ponkert had also noticed the sexual mores seemed to be somewhat more lax than he expected. As his visits to the two hamlets proved, the sexual attitudes of Terri and Letti were the norm rather than the exception on Keller.

While the planet wasn't exactly what he and Jan had originally set out to find, he realized a veritable mine lay within his reach if he could set up the matter transmission link with Earth. The very strangeness of Keller would attract tourists in droves, not to mention the sexual attitudes. With just the right amount of dickering with Earth's government, he would in fact be Prince Ponkert with a pleasure planet at his feet.

The title rolled around in his head and he savoured the sound. Pleasure Prince Ponkert. He would establish his empire and sit back to enjoy the rewards of his labours.

Almost humming to himself in revelry, Ponkert affectionately patted the huge varicose neck of his mount. The animal tilted its monstrous head sideways to glance at him with dull, flat-grey eyes, then turned its vision back to the path.

"Such unresponsiveness! A kingdom of wealth is within our reach and you don't even blink!" Ponkert chided the animal. "You, my friend, deserve a name to fit your apathy."

Musing to himself, the Earthman dug into his historical memories and pulled a most fitting title for the beast from the mid-twentieth century. He could think of no better name denoting nonresponse than that of a president of a then powerful nation.

"Nameless one," he announced to his mount, "by the powers vested in me, Pleasure Prince Ponkert of Keller, I hereby dub thee Richard of Millhouse."

The mankil didn't even feel the title was worth another sideways glance and continued plodding its way forward.

Ponkert's amusement over the emotionless animal was cut short by a scream of terror that echoed before him. Reining Richard up a small rise, he scouted the terrain ahead. In an open glade in a valley of a full kilometer away, he could discern three indistinct figures surrounded by darting grey forms. As he watched, one of the men fell under an onrushing grey tide.

Digging his heels in the mankil's thick sides, he lumbered toward the commotion. The tableaux became clearer. A pack of wolf-like creatures, with long vicious canines bared, surrounded two men, whose swords flashed out drawing blood when one of the creatures pressed too close. What he had seen fall was not a man, but a mankil, which part of the pack was now devouring.

As he watched, the two men fought valiantly, the smaller, a young boy perhaps, was noticeably tiring. The ring of grey-furred death was edging closer and closer. Eventually, by sheer weight of numbers, the two would fall as had their mankil.

Swinging his heels hard into his mount's flanks, he urged it to a full gallop. From his side, Ponkert pulled the blue-steel sword, prepared to slice a path through the wolf-like creatures.