Chapter 1

The wild looking man with feathers in his scruffy beard and cow shit on his boots appeared without grace in the sterile white room. His flailing arms did nothing to slow his backward momentum and he ended up falling on his ass just before his head hit the floor with a thud.

"Son of a bitch mother fuck that hurts!"

The dazed man slowly rolled to his knees and opened his eyes while he rubbed the back of his head. As soon as his mind cleared he took in his surroundings and got as mad as an upside down alley cat.

"I told you fucking bastards I was out. Leave me alone or I'll cut your fucking balls off."

After looking around he noticed that there was no door or obvious source for the light. He was in a room-sized white box, which didn't help his attitude.

"Fuck this shit!" he said, as he sat back against the wall and started picking feathers out off his hair and beard.

After he had been settled into position for some time and was starting to doze off from boredom, doorways appeared on opposite walls and troops flooded in holding assault weapons. 'Flooded' might be an exaggeration since no more than two soldiers on either side could fit into the small room. Whatever the action could be called, the end result was that Rolly Walters found himself looking up at the barrels of guns.

A serious looking woman came in behind the guards and said, "Who are you?"

"Fuck you."

The woman was not amused and stared at him with hard eyes.

He relented.

"Roland J. Walters, private citizen, permanently retired, discharged, flown the coop, absent with leave. As if you didn't know. Who the fuck are you?"

The woman exited the room leaving Rolly to contemplate his new situation.

She returned forty-five minutes later with another woman in tow.

"You can get up now," she said. "You are Weapons Sergeant Roland Walters, Special Forces, US Army; Honorably Discharged April 12, 2010. Two tours in Afghanistan, awarded two bronze stars and a purple heart. Correct?"

"What of it?" he said as he got up. "Cut yourself while shaving the lice off your balls and they throw a ribbon at you. You want to see the scar?"

He went for his zipper only to find that it was gone and his pants were starting to slide down. "Hey, what the fuck did my pants ever do to you?"

"Sorry, metal doesn't go through the portals," the woman said, with a smirk on her face. "How did you access the portal?"

"What portal? Your goons jacked me in my barn."

"What goons? What exactly happened to you? You are not supposed to be here."

"I was in my barn going through some old stuff, and the next thing I know a chicken flies in my face, I'm tazered, and I'm thrown into your white box."

"What old stuff?"

"My great aunt passed away and I got her farm. I was going through the stuff in an old cabinet. There were some notebooks, and a little box that I was trying to get open when the chicken erupted."

"What was in the box?"

"I don't know. I didn't get it opened; I put it in my pocket."

"Let me see it."

After looking at the gun muzzles for a second Rolly pulled the box out of his shirt pocket and handed it to the woman. She looked at it, gave it a series of twists and it opened to reveal a sapphire pendent on a chain.

"What was your aunt's name?"

"Mary Miller."

"Wife of Rodney Miller?"

"Yes."

"Please answer the following questions with a 'yes, ' regardless of the correct answer. It will enable us to judge the truthfulness of what you have told us so far."

"Are you Roland Walters?"

"Yes."

"Are you male?"

"Yes."

"Do you own chickens?"

"Yes."

"Are you a woman?"

"Yes."

"Do you know of the planet Cassandra?"

"Yes."

"Are you currently involved in any secret activities?"

"Yes."

"Is your zipper missing?"

"Yes."

She looked at the ceiling and said, "Results of analysis."

A piece of paper materialized in her hand.

After looking at the paper she said, "It appears that you are telling us the truth, which makes this situation slightly less serious." Nodding to the guards she said, "You can go now."

"Roland, please follow me and we will see about getting you home."

Rolly followed her out one of the doorways to a waiting room that had a desk and several chairs. Please have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Yes, a soda please, but before that, would you show me to a bathroom?"

"Of course, through that door over there. Would a cola be ok?"

"That would be fine, thank you."

When Rolly returned, the second woman spoke for the first time.

Roland Walters, I am Abigail Hero Greeter and this is Helen Security Chief. You have accidentally transported yourself to Crossroads using your great uncle's sapphire and portal. Our records indicate that your great uncle became inactive after September of 1967. Can you tell us anything about him?"

"I didn't know him very well. About all I can remember is that he fought in the Korean War and walked with a cane due to a farm accident. A tractor rolled over on him. His son was a Marine and was killed in a training accident in 1986. Uncle Rod died in 2001. What's this about a portal? Was Uncle Rod a spook?

"A spook?"

"CIA, black-ops. Mom always said he was a little different."

"No, Crossroads is an off-world transfer station between Earth and two other planets."

"Pull the other one. I've seen better illusions in Vegas."

"I'm sorry, I forgot your drink -- 'table' -- 'cola.'"

The appearance of the end table followed by the glass of soda made Rolly jump.

Impressed by the materialization, Rolly said, "OK then, what was Uncle Rod doing with a portal to another planet?"

"He was needed to help the population of the planet Cassandra."

"What did they need? Some corn? Soybeans?"

"No, but they did need seed. Planet Cassandra suffered genetic damage due to a nuclear misunderstanding."

"Nuclear misunderstanding!?"

When Mewor traders approached planet Cassandra for the first time it was while a war was underway. The Mewor ships were fired upon by both sides. The Mewor technology was such that they were shielded from the nuclear blasts, but the fallout affected the population and especially damaged genes on Y chromosomes."

"That was stupid, so the Cassandrians shot themselves in the balls."

"Yes, we did."

"We?"

"Yes, all of the women you see on Crossroads are from Cassandra."

"But you look human. Another illusion?"

"No, like the population on planet Chaos, it appears that we were seeded from Earth sometime in the distant past. There is nothing in our official history about it, but based on genetic compatibility, it is likely."

"So ... back to Uncle Rodney."

"An alliance of spacefaring races are helping reinvigorate Cassandrian genetics using DNA from Earth. Earth men mated to Cassandra women. Selection of partners takes the form of a deadly activity where both must willingly risk their lives in order to mate."

"That's fucked up. Why don't they just pass a physical and draw names out of a hat?"

"There are some physiological reasons, and the organizing civilizations determined that this strategy would prevent social upheaval on Cassandra. It also selects for better genes. It seems to work."

"So -- what is this 'activity?'"

"Women who are chosen by lottery are transported to the planet Chaos, where sooner or later they find themselves in peril, mainly because Chaos is nearly lawless and the women of Cassandra have a pheromone that affects men of certain genotypes on Chaos. The quality seems to affect men with violent tendencies more strongly than others. Heroes from Earth must save the women. The couples then spend time back here on Crossroads until the woman becomes pregnant. Your uncle Rodney was one of our heroes."

"One of your studs -- where did he find time, and how did he hide it from Aunt Mary?"

"Temporal manipulation. Time away from Earth is only fifteen minutes no matter how long the period spent on Crossroads or Chaos. I don't know if your aunt knew, most wives do because of the inherent honesty of the heroes. The portals will only let men of heroic character pass -- or that is what we thought."

"That is what you thought?"

"One of the heroes went bad and has been causing problems, which is why security is so tight."

"How bad?"

"Attempted world domination."

"Hence my welcoming committee. What now? You call me a cab and take away my toy?"

"That is one option"

"What's the other option, bullet in the brain pan?"

"You could help us."

"Same difference. So you are spooks trying to get me to do your dirty work again. You want me to help take out your supervillain of the month. No thanks. Not if you promised me all the gold in Fort Knox and all the pussy in Bangkok. You'd leave my ass hanging in the wind, just like last time."

"That's not what I mean. We have people addressing that problem, but it leaves us short of heroes for the damsels."

"So, you need more studs, I could probably spare fifteen minutes, but it won't be much fun being rushed like that."

"We need more heroes to save the distressed damsels down on Chaos in order to keep the birthrate up on Cassandra. You would get several weeks of luxury living with the damsel after she is rescued."

"Why can't you just send 'em over to my place for booty calls? It would be more efficient."

"That wouldn't work. The women need the stress of the danger, followed by a hypermasculine presence to enhance their reproductive hormone output. In addition to the reproductive aspects are the psychological aspects. Cassandra women are highly sexed to start with, and during their receptive period after the rescue they require close contact with the hero."

"Or what?"

"Their experience wouldn't be fulfilling enough for others to want to risk their lives. They don't just volunteer to have a baby, they also do it for the sexual pleasure. Their reward is several weeks of multiple orgasms that they can treasure for the rest of their lives. When they get back to Cassandra they are celebrities. Many of them write books about their experience, and at the very least they go on talk shows to tell all. Most of the talk is usually about the sex."

"Shit, I'm good in bed, but not that good."

"You'd be surprised. Female Cassandrian physiology is geared towards reluctant males that ejaculate quickly, often after a single insertion. A man that can be ridden for a full minute is exceptional, so women are sensitive to orgasm. What do you mean you're 'good in bed?'"

"I'm good in bed. I like women and they like me."

"Covered in chicken droppings and looking like a hairy unwashed vagabond?"

"I clean up good when I need to. I was doing undercover intelligence work for the Army when my time ran out, since then I've been busy with the farm and there are not many women out in the sticks to clean up for, so I haven't bothered. And that's cow shit on my boots, not chicken shit."

Abigail Hero Greeter pointed to a big white blob on Rolly's shoulder.

"God Damn it. Nasty fucking shit factories!" Rolly exclaimed.

Abigail looked down at her notes. "It says here that your father died when you were sixteen, and you have two younger sisters still on the farm, is that correct?"

"Yes, my oldest sister just got married. They are helping out on Mom's farm. You keep your people away from my sisters. They've had a hard enough time."

"It also says here that you were an Army Ranger, and were loaned out to work for outside agencies.

"Outside back stabbing bloody bastards. That's classified by the way."

"Not for us."

"How so?"

"You're on another planet with a computer that can manipulate time and make refreshments materialize."

"Point taken."

"I see here in your file a picture of you in uniform without the hair and beard. Impressive."

"I'm not a fan of the sheared look, but it's better than a head full of Army lice."

"It says here, 'Purple heart for groin injury sustained during combat.' Is there any significant damage?"

"No, just a nick that bled a lot, six stitches."

"Maybe I better take a look -- just to make sure."

"Knock yourself out."

Rolly dropped his pants, and just to be an asshole, he jerked his cock a couple of times to make it hard.

"Oh My!"

"Did you just come?"

"A little. -- So Roland, here's the deal. You'll get to do what you obviously liked doing before you were loaned out. Here there are no hidden agendas. You will be in charge of your operations. You would rescue beautiful women from villains and afterwards live in luxury with unlimited sex until they become pregnant."

"How beautiful?"

"I'm considered average looking on Cassandra for a woman my age, and I'm well past the age to be a damsel."

"You're a hell of good looking MILF by Earth standards. If I weren't covered in chicken shit I'd try to make your panties drip."

"I think we had better move on."

"What are the rules of engagement?"

"You must act in a heroic manner."

"Fuck that shit. I'm not going to let some scumbag shoot first."

"It's not that bad. Once the bad guys show intent to do harm you are free to engage in combat. You just can't use poisons, cause unnecessary pain, walk up behind them and slit their throats before they even know you exist -- things like that. You also cannot do things like set unattended traps or engage in other activities that could harm innocents. You are free to harm or kill anyone who directly threatens you."