Beyond The Underworld

Watch Ryder

Now to those of you who have helped and supported me so far, thank you x10.

Some may be disappointed with the previous work (Downfall of the Galt).

http://www.boards.ie/vbulletin/showthread.php?t=2056248817

According my reviewing 'critics' (on amazon), my grammar is 'dreadful' and I shouldn't quit my day-job, plus a few other nasty things.
Anyway I can promise you this book will be better (although I can't promise my grammar is gonna be perfect ).

This book is much much more of an adventure, is a lot, lot longer and some of the loose ends about Galt, his past, his own faction are explained a bit more.
It takes place in the Oriental landmass and those of 'multicultural' persuasions will maybe find a few bits inherently 'racialist' / 'racist.'
The total length of this book is about 37,000 words making it a Novella (compared to Downfall. which is about a quarter of the size and a short story).

It's in a genre of it's own, Sci-Fi Adventure, but with fantasy (not too much) and fair helpings of military ingredients and of course survivalism elements!!
I can't easily classify it though.

The only people I know do this kinda vibe are some of the cool survivalist writers of old like Ahern, Nolan and Axler .
Maybe I can pick up the baton too, maybe, maybe not...

Anyway it's time to meet Galt once again, as he is in flight from his near-demise at the hands of his enemies.

Beyond The Underworld

By Tyler Danann
All Rights Reserved, All parts of this story are Copyright 2012

Prologue

Galt flew low from the Triamese border his trans-unit carrying him fast and sure. It meant he was exposed to the elements, but at nightfall in the tropic's this was little to be troubled about.
The exhilaration of eluding Stenman’s wrath soon faded after several hours of sustained flight. Now the hard-slog of surviving as a renegade Pathfinder began.

He made detours and manoeuvers, swings and half-loops so that there was almost no chance of being tracked. The Triamese had a small air force, but Stenman was highly unlikely to have the connections to bring them into play. The Fell Ryder’s he'd clashed with were another story. He’d killed one of their number and that meant a blood-feud was likely from them. They being unbound by Triamese law or rule meant he’d have to be careful how he surfaced and moved through the Yellow People’s lands of the Orient.

For Galt there was no foolish guilt or remorse at Perep’s death. He saw it as a mean’s to an end. That end was his escape and freedom and he intended to make the most of it. He had to land after nearly fifty miles of travel to make some trim and ballast adjustment’s then he headed deeper into the jungle interior. From there, in a dense jungle he waited a week to weather out any storm of retribution. Existing on his stored ‘essence’ supply and various cached food supplies. The latter of which he'd stored in various areas of the jungle interior for emergency's just like this one.

The boredom of nothing but existing, along with the erie jungle-nights soon set in. By the end of the week, the strange night beasts, creeping biters and fliers that bit at exposed flesh were taking their toll. One sleepless night in the jungle too many he summoned up the will to return to Triam's border, which he did without incident.

Once he reached the river that he’d fled across the previous week he detected no hostile signs from Parohm. Even so he proceeded carefully.

As it was the early hours of the morning he held off for a while, that way even the most hardened Triamese drinkers were nowhere near his former abode. For he knew from experience the girly-houses and sing-bars were less than a few hundred yards adjacent on the waterfront.

When he felt the time was right he moved in, taking extra care that no enforcers were lurking about. None were present, no doubt asleep in their police-quarters as they usually were whilst on night-shift. From the outskirts of the riverside it was a quick infiltration inside.

As Galt had expected, his once-thriving workshop was now a blackened ruin with debris and broken furnishings everywhere. The stacked oil drums outside facing the waste ground were still intact though. Exiting the workshop through the northern facing-window Galt flew down to them, all the while his optimism climbing.

He now took his time as these contained his hoarded supplies and equipment.
tech-relic’s or techrels as they were referred to in the Saken slang was a better way of describing them. One by one he removed each ring-clamp and all was how it had been when he’d last closed it up.
He’d sealed most of the cache inside evacuation bags months before Stenman’s raid. It was environmentally-sealed, which was just as well, for the drum he’d stashed it inside was filled with waste hydrax oil.

He didn’t open the bags, but he knew from memory it contained his gold reserve in both hard and monoss forms, spare ammunition for his fallien revolver plus nine encrypted data-slates. The last item were crowning jewels compared to the rest for these were the dataslates and truly worthy of the name techrels.

For they had an ocean-like capacity of details and gnosis peculiar to the Pathfinders. Perep’s flight-unit was inside another drum, also oil-filled. It was a sky-soar variant, fast enough to keep up with his own type but would need a major overhaul when he had time. For there had been no time for sealing it up during confusion and chaos of the raid. The concealment oil from the drum would undoubtedly gummed up the nano-mechanism from within. Once he removed the unit Galt used a spare poly-bag to seal the oil-ridden unit from contaminating any of his other gear.

Minutes later he was airborne with both the evac-bag and the poly-bundle netted and suspended on a glider line below him. Now he was ready to pick himself up and start anew elsewhere.

A vengeful part of him mulled over hunting down Stenman and wringing the little wretch’s neck for what he'd done to his dreams of power within Triam. Yet deep down his soul knew it was time to move on, he’d danced long enough here and with the son of a Pathfinder’s uncanny intuition, he knew the land of Triam was now unfavourable to The Galt. It had the influences of both Indus and Jade ruling castes upon a native population, making him a second or third-best competitor anyway. His chance's at success in the Oriental fringes now depended on places elsewhere.

To the north were the lands of the Jade Empire. A vast, decentralised realm busy warring with the UNAS faction far to the west. To the Pathfinder that meant an opening, for where there was a distraction, there could be opportunity.

Watch Ryder

Chapter 1

Galt flew northwards following the mighty Ghong river as it wended and divided Triam from the bandit land’s to the east and north.
When the great river meandered westwards Galt kept abreast of it. After about hundred miles he’d taxed his serch suit and trans-pack to the limit. Towing the bundle was cutting down his range but he pushed the envelope and rested only once at the midnight hour. The moon was strong that night and helped re-power his flight-unit for use once more.

By dawn the next day he’d arrived at the fringes of the House Saken base. It was the only active one within a realistic range and one he'd been to many months previously. It was just over the Triamese border in the shady disputed lands between Jade Empire and Triam. He espied it from afar at first to gauge the place and take its measure.

Galt was something of a rogue, verging on a renegade from House Saken.
As an apprentice Pathfinder he still had some status and rights within the ways of his ancestral people The Saken. Indeed he still wore wrist badge of Saken-Sign; for some part of him held to his faction even being an outcast. He looked at it briefly, before remembering his goal of getting to the base.

A roving patrol, called an outwatch, went about the exterior, their movement’s were predicable enough though and Galt easily dodged past them.
His Trans-helm interpretted and analysed the data and after about five minutes showed some favourable sign’s. Eye's that were long accustomed to the images and scripts beamed onto his eyes now saw that the commander of the base, a Saken Watcher named Kharseg ruled from the complex, but he was absent.
A dozen or so of his Craiven-Elite were gone with him but a resident pathfinder, Mar-Wek, remained inside along with a small garrison force of mostly Sindle troopers.
This was fortune for Galt knew him of old, back when he was a struggling trail-finder still learning his way.

Mar-Wek was his father’s sworn blood-brother and even in his father’s death the bond between them lived on, as the older, grizzled one looked after Galt the younger.

“Mar-Wek, what path’s do you cut amidst this rabble.” Galt said softly watching those upon the base’s walls pacing about. They were Craiven warriors and manned the wall’s crossbow – units.
Doubtless more guards dwelled within that he could not see directly.
These one’s happened to be a cruel lot for the most part. Caucus, Yellow Warrior and Twin Race alike. Galt had found that race was a strange thing out here in the Orelta part of the Orient. Although Galt’s flesh was of the House Saken’s Caucus bloodline, their way was little in tune with his pathfinder spirit.

'Where he sought knowledge, there was only closed-dogma.
Where he yearned for freedom there was only control.
When made attempts to change them and their ways the path of a Renegade was his only means of survival.' So his inner entity sang the Song of the Saken Outcast.

Galt listened to his inner-guiding voice briefly once more, then made his next move. He made the secret sign’s and signals to Mar-Wek via his Trans-Helm and wrist-slate. Shortly Mar-Wek appeared at the walls, he looked about from the high vantage with a pair of old scry-lenses, then located Galt.*
Galt smiled seeing it really him and not some enemy trick to lure him into danger. With a final gesture to Galt the way into the base was clear.

Safe passage and shelter assured he was no longer apprehensive about the stronghold. The gateway’s hardened steel doors opened and a few Craiven warrior’s emerged with Mar-Wek in the middle. Once the buzz of his arrival had died down the older Pathfinder brought Galt up to speed on the doings of Triam.

Stenman still smouldered for his head, as did Aython who now led the Fell-Ryders. However since Galt's near-capture and breakout from Parohm the general chaos from it had caused a rift in attitudes. Triamese authority's had outlawed Caucus mercenaries hiring themselves out. So the Fell-Ryders were themselves undone and likely to be heading to pasture's anew elsewhere.
The peacefire that was holding on the Eurasian Front looked to be breaking with a UNAS recon-unit being captured by Jade troops.
Galt brooded on this as he rested and recovered from the ordeal of the past week.
He knew that Stenman’s shadow from Banroth had boundaries and he felt the paths of fate calling him to the north. That was where he felt the need, the pull of that which a person should follow to get the best things from life. He got to work about making it happen. He and Mar-Wek went about overhauling the oil-clogged sky-soar unit.

Next he did a discrete review of the Saken Garrison present. For his next gambit planned he’d need a bodyguard, one suitable for training as a trail-finder or at least an assistant.
Previously, he’d relied on a tiny Triamese guard force in Parohm but they were no real use, especially on the gambit he had in mind. Thinking back to the night of his near-downfall he’d dismissed them to their nearby quarters the night before Sten’s attack. Yet as the morning attack unfolded they’d not been keen to rally to his aid, especially when the enforcer assault was Underway.
He put the memory aside, dwelling on what he’d lost would not bring it back.

His first choice at the base would have been from the female ranks. Unlike many of his peer’s he preferred a warrior-mistress over a casual bedding-wench. The Triamese women he’d previously known made fair mistresses but poor fighters, although some of the upper-class could fight, commanding their own warriors usually. Even then he’d have to try Ranesh City, many hundreds of miles through Triam to the south had those. So that notion was right out.

The only woman at the base belonged to Kharseg, but even if he could persuade her to join him the retaliation from Kharseg wouldn’t be worth it.
He’d be harried to the ends of Terra for such an affront to the base Commander.
As it was Kharseg did not see eye-to-eye with Galt, he’d only been to the base once previously and the brooding Watcher had been glad to see the back of the outspoken apprentice Pathfinder.

He was next tempted to recruit one from the notable Craiven Elite, a few of which loitered around here and there. They’d been interested in Galt's arrival at first but on hearing that he was not within Kharseg’s inner-circle of brethren their interest soon cooled.
They were capable experts in killing and fighting as armed scouts.
Some even said they were capable of besting the Watch Ryder’s of House Soliter.
Galt doubted that but their skill and hard-won experience counted for something with him. Yet they were too tough, brutalised and closed-minded for being under his wing, even if he’d be able to persuade one of them. He’d struggle to operate and handle one of them. There were no low-born drone warriors present either, these too would be difficult to train, especially in the free-wheeling ways of the trail finder. Droner's as they were known tended to machine-minded in many ways.

It was from the Sindle, the foot-soldiers of the Saken that he found Roachas, recently promoted to Craiven status and something of an innocent, at least as innocent as a Saken warrior can be. Fresh-faced, with Caucus-ancestry and youthful. The lad was not quite as pale as Galt, for his hair colour was much darker and showed the burn of the sun like most Sindle and Craiven did. He was not long out of the Underways and less hardened than most.
Eye's that would have turned pure-black were instead brown-blue. Among the Saken this was a sign of pride-mixed with weakness.
Galt's own eye's though, having been born outside the Underways, tended to be grey-green for he was not quite a 'pure-blood' according to the Saken Lords. For most Pathfinders were not Saken-born but converts from earlier times. Some like Galt's father were uneasy converts at that.
Roachas though was born in the Underway bases and had spent about twenty years there. He knew little of the outside world, save for Triam.

He was reasonably well-equipped for a former Sindle trooper. He wore a functional scry-helm which gave fair spectrum detection, along with a shrouder-array integral to his Craiven uniform which gave some optical camoflage ability. It wasn't quite a superior cloaker-class model but was better than no concealment at all.

Unlike Galt he did not have a conditioner or even an active-cooling system in place to cool the body down in the sweltering tropical heat. Such an item was a luxury though and added to the weight and drag on an airborne warrior. As a newcomer to the Craiven ranks he lacked even a Glider-Unit for airborne capability, only his shrouder gave him an edge as a scout-fighter. Galt would soon remedy that short-coming though.

For weaponry Roachas was lightly-armed with a Seezeck combat-pistol that had select-fire capability. As a scout-class Craiven front-line fighting was not his role though, although some types prefered folding-stock carbiners or even rifles.

Galt knew he was making a good choice with this one. First he spoke with Mar-wek who, as acting-base commander gave his consent.

Confirming that this one had nothing outstanding against him, no disease picked up from the local pleasure girls nor blood-debt incurred during his lifetime.

With the flight-unit as payment he traded it for Roachas’ services for six seasons, along with some basic unofficial training in the ways of Pathfindership.

According to Saken law this was a grey area. A Pathfinder could, in theory, recruit for accepted bonded-payment’s another Saken warrior’s services.
Galt was, strictly-speaking only an apprentice officially, albeit a highly experienced one. So this was a debatable practice, especially given Kharseg’s fiery and abrasive personality. With the Base Commander absent and Mar-Wek in charge the way was open for Galt once more.

The following day was preparation for Galt’s next adventure, he consulted his devices, deciding that outside of Triam would be best, no doubt where his doing’s and deeds were less well-known.

He had Roachas overhaul and service the drained and cleaned sky-soar flight-unit, plus bartered with Mar-Wek a spare canister of fuel for a just a pinch of gold monoss.
Fuel would be available in other lands, but having a spare reserve would be handy in case of trouble. By mid-day he began his work servicing his own flight-unit, which had long been lacking in attention. It was a difficult procedure, but one Galt had become a near-savant at making it look easy. By the evening he had finished. As had Roachas, who had customised and configured it to his body with help from Mar-Wek.

After this was done the Craiven flew about the base like a freed-slave from the Underways. Apart from a few hours on a borrowed glider unit Roachas had no real flight time to speak of until now. Galt was mindful of it once belonging to little Perep, the warrior who he’d slain.
He was not one to brood but Galt considered the passing on of the unit closure of the violent show-down in Parohm. The loss of his workshop there was a fading memory now, as was the violent clash that took place. Watching Roachas fly around the base made him think of the Fell-Ryders assault days earlier against him though.

“At least now your flight pack is seeing good use little air-bird.” Galt said in prayer to the fallen Fell-Ryder he’s slain in the previously.

His new companion made a final pass before landing nearby to speak to some of his friends. He was proud as punch and there was some envy from his Craiven peers, as they tended to suffer from a dearth of flight-equipment in comparison.
Galt smiled, Roachas had some skill at the aerial-way and this reassured him that his bodyguard was a handy one.
Snapping shut his own dyna-sealed flight unit he had time for a quick meal before retiring to the third floor for a good night’s sleep. With the tinging buzz of the jungle humming in his ears Galt slept well for the night hours. Just after dawn he was shaken awake by chubby Mar-Wek with Roachas at his side.

“You need to get going! Kharsek is coming back.” He muttered with a manner less than his usual jovial self.

“So soon? I thought evening-time at least was his return.” Galt blurted, astonished at the suddenness of Kharsek.

“Nay, the outwatch glimmered his approaching presence. He'll be here within the hour, now get going. Hurry now, I have to prepare this place and the Sindle fools are drunken all over the place.” He warned, stomping outside to shout at someone.
There was no need for a second’s delay and within ten minutes, he and Roachas were away, flying over the eastern walls before turning to the north. Galt supressed a notion to wait on the periphery and spy out the Watcher's arrival, but thought better of it. Kharseg's scouts were likely to be ahead of him and would report on them if they caught a glimpse.

He pushed his trans-unit to the limit and Roachas kept pace admirably without complaint. The sky-soar unit was build for sustained speed and needed only infrequent refueling. When such instances arose the land-based hydrax stations all sold compatable fuel-mixtures for a few coins.
Once again Galt was on the move, at least this time he was prepared, ready and a-fire with a plans for the future...

pickarooney

although I can't promise my grammar is gonna be perfect

Why not? Why are you unable or unwilling to take on board even the basics of apostrophes which, as pointed out to you by every single person who read your last effort, you know nothing about? What makes you think it's fair to expect someone to read, let alone pay money for, a product you have wilfully avoided learning how to produce?

If you gave out free samples of cake where you'd used salt instead of sugar because you couldn't be arsed learning the difference, would you expect people to thank you just because it's free? Would you deny them the right to tell you it tasted horrible and scoff at the ones who took the trouble to point out the ingredient mix-up?

Toasterspark

I have to agree.

The one thing I pointed out in the other thread you had, was the s and 's mix-ups you made. And not only did you not attempt to rectify this mistake, you actually submitted another thread with the same mistake. THE VERY FIRST LINE OF THE CHAPTER. You have to fix these things if you want your piece to be read.

Using an s is appropriate when you have more than one of something. Trophy > Trophies. Tropic > Tropics. Dog > Dogs. Mistake > Mistakes.

Using an 's is appropriate when referring to something that belongs to someone. Mary's mother. The dog's collar. The animal's carcass.

One important exception is it's - this means it is. It's a cold day for swimming. I know it's the right thing to do.

If you can't take basic grammar tips on board, you shouldn't keep submitting new material. Because everyone will continue to point out the same mistakes to you every time. We're not doing it to be unkind, we're doing it because you need proper grammar and spelling to make your writing readable.

Nobody minds typos and the odd mistake - $hit happens. But if you have consistent grammar mistakes, you have to sort that out first.