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This is a re-write of a story submitted several days ago. A number of changes have been made to improve the story quality. It is no longer part one of a longer story series, but a self contained story.

It is a sequel to The Outlander. I recommend you read that story first so as to have a better understanding of the overall premise.

This is a work of fiction. It contains elements of violence and rape, and as such is not recommended for readers under the age of 18.

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A HARVEST OF SOULS

The tan colored trucks roared into the village with little or no warning. Each was armed with a fifty-caliber machine gun mounted on the back and carried seven of the local warlord's enforcers, all of whom were armed with pistols and AK-47s.

They leapt from the vehicles and began firing in the air in an effort to drive the local natives out of their huts and into the open where they could easily be rounded up. They would separate the adults from the children, then pick ten of the most likely boys and girls to slave for them in the poppy fields or to serve in the warlord's pleasure house. If any adults tried to intervene, the necessary examples would be made.

Gold Tooth had conducted more than two-dozen of these raids in the last five years, and the procedure for each was identical. Move in fast, panic the villagers, set an example, usually by killing the tribal chief or shaman and then leave. It was a tried and true method... that is until today.

The mercenaries' shots became sporadic, then stopped completely when no one ran from any of the structures. Angrily, Gold Tooth strode over to the nearest hut and yanked aside the curtain that served as a door. It was empty, as were the next three he checked out. He scowled, jaundiced, bloodshot eyes dancing from one soldier to another. Someone had warned the villagers. No other explanation fit. The question now was which of his men was the traitor.

He turned away from the huts and suddenly stopped short. There, standing in the middle of the village not twenty-five feet from him was a Caucasian woman. She wore jeans, a tan safari shirt, hiking boots and sunglasses. A tan, broad-brimmed hat covered most of her head but didn't hide the long, red ponytail that hung down and across one shoulder. Where she had come from the mercenary didn't know. It was almost as if she had appeared from thin air.

"You will find nothing of value here, Mr. M'Benga," she said in fluent Hutu, "nor in any of the other villages you routinely pillage. Your days of hurting these people are over."

Gold Tooth's eyes widened. Hearing his own language coming from a white surprised him. He drew his pistol and held it lazily by his side. "Where are the villagers, woman? Are you responsible for stealing them from me?"

"They are safe," she answered calmly, "and yes, I am at least partially responsible."

He raised his pistol and aimed it at her, cocking back the hammer with his thumb. "You will lead me to them. They belong to me and through me to Lord Inkuba. They are my property, to do with as I please."

The red-haired woman shook her head. "Not any more."

"You risk much, woman!" he snarled. "No one may come to my land, to my house and take what belongs to me, especially not an outlander, like yourself!"

"You risk much more than I," she said. "I strongly recommend you put the gun away, before you get hurt."

"Don't you threaten me... Bitch!" Gold Tooth pulled the trigger. There was a flash, and the pistol simply fell apart, each piece kicking up a small cloud of dust as it hit the bare earth at his feet. The mercenary starred at the ground in astonishment, then looked back at the woman.

She shrugged. "I warned you."

The Earth shook as something heavy landed behind Gold Tooth. He whirled around and his mouth dropped open. A figure now stood within arm's reach. He was incredibly tall, standing nearly seven and a half feet in height. His heavily muscled arms and torso were human in appearance; his hands however only had four digits. A fine white fur covered both his hands and body. The tips of each finger had a hard, shell-like covering.

The alien's legs were digigrade and ended in a set of cloven hooves, made of the same covering found on his fingers. The creature looked at him through wide, blue-black eyes set into a perfectly proportioned equine head. His white mane flowed gently in the breeze, climbing the back of his neck until it reached a widow's peak just above the eyes. He was dressed in black trousers and a black, long sleeved tunic that flared slightly at the cuffs. Over this, he wore a dark gray, sleeveless robe, upon which were imprinted a number of silver embossed alien symbols. A silver-gray belt with half a dozen pouches on it circled his waist and held the robe firmly in place.

Around him the mercenary heard the sharp clicking of bolts as his men brought weapons to bear on the intruder. "Hands up!" someone yelled. The creature seemingly hesitated for a moment, then slowly raised both arms until his elbows were almost level with his shoulders. With a sudden, swift move he brought the palms of both hands together. Light surged outwardly from him in all directions save toward the woman. Gold Tooth watched as every weapon within sight simply fell apart. Those manning the .50 caliber machine guns suddenly found themselves holding a set of grip handles that connected to nothing.

The technicals began vibrating crazily and the mercenaries still in or on the vehicles bailed out. One by one each truck abruptly compacted itself into a large metallic cube. Half a dozen of the warlord's enforcers turned to flee, only to find the ground under them had liquefied into a thick, viscous mud. In an instant every mercenary, save their leader, was chest deep in the muck. The ground returned to normal just as suddenly, and the attackers abruptly found themselves firmly trapped.

The alien grabbed Gold Tooth by the front of his shirt and hoisted him off his feet. From behind, he again heard the woman speak.

"Tell us everything you know about your operation," She ordered quietly.

The mercenary leader shook his head defiantly. "You will never make me talk!"

"We don't have to," she replied, crossing her arms, almost casually. Looking at the alien she nodded. The creature locked eyes with Gold Tooth and began rapidly shuffling through his mind. There was no subtly, no finesse to his technique; He simply plowed his way straight in. The mercenary began alternately screaming, cursing, laughing and crying; unable to control the physical and emotional triggers being set off by the alien's mind probe. It took less than a minute to complete.

"It is done," he said, placing Gold Tooth back on the ground before he let go. The mercenary collapsed to his knees, sobbing inconsolably.

"What did you do?" the woman asked.

"This is an evil man. I have left him entangled within his own worst nightmare."

"You sure you want to do that, Bob? It sounds pretty dark, especially for you."

He nodded. "If you had seen what I had, you would not have been half so kind."

She looked up into his hardened expression then gently took the alien's hand. Since embarking on this campaign nearly a week ago, the Kerachaw had been getting more and more edgy. It had started with a dead child, killed when one of the balloons of heroin he'd been smuggling in his stomach had ruptured. Bob had tried to undo the damage being done by the poison, but had failed. There was a lot he didn't yet understand about human physiology. Toward the end he had mind-linked with the boy in order to ease his pain and had remained with him through death. After that, he decided to trace the drug back to its source and eliminate it.

The path they had followed was both convoluted and brutal, at least on the part of the drug dealers. It seemed like each new atrocity they came across was rubbing a raw nerve within her friend.

He gestured and a large, metallic disc appeared out of nowhere and floated over to the couple. They stepped up on it and it rapidly rose into the sky. Behind them, small groups of villagers began coming out of their hiding places in the bush.

"What should we do about those soldiers?" the woman asked.

He looked down at her, his eyes softening. "We will leave them to their victims."

"Is that wise?"

"Perhaps... perhaps not," the alien replied. "But it is just."

* * * *

Lord Inkuba was large, even for a Hutu. He stood nearly six and a half feet tall and weighed close to three hundred and ten, all of which was muscle. He had once been a colonel in the Rwandan militia, until the opportunity for wealth had lured him away. Even so, he still carried with him the manner of a professional soldier. At times, he could be quite intimidating, particularly now as he stood coldly over the radio operator and watched as the technician tried again to contact the raiding parties. He'd sent three out shortly after noon. As yet, none of them had returned and the sun was rapidly approaching the horizon.

Betrayal was something he knew all too well. It was how he'd gained his power; and though a trusted lieutenant had led each group, there was always the possibility that one had joined with another warlord, or worse, with the government in exchange for amnesty. However, for all three parties to vanish was more than a little disturbing.

"I'm sorry, sir," the technician said in frustration. "There is still no reply."

Inkuba nodded, suppressing an urge to strike out at the radio operator. "Keep trying. Let me know the instant you make contact with any of them." He turned and stormed out of the small building, signaling for his bodyguards to follow. Crossing the compound, he entered the largest of the seven buildings that made up his base of operations. At one time it had been a coffee plantation built by German colonialists. Its design and layout was both efficient and functional, and suited Inkuba's needs very well. He hoped he would not have to abandon it due to the foolishness of his subordinates.

The Warlord stepped through a narrow door and descended a short flight of stairs to the basement. His guards remained outside the door. Reaching the bottom step he opened a locker and pulled out a gauze safety mask, which he placed over his nose and mouth. Only then did he open the door before him. The processing workshop was perhaps the cleanest room on the plantation. Fifteen tables were carefully arranged around the room and on them sat the various kinds of equipment and testing materials necessary for the production of heroin. Seven men and two women were working in the lab, each wearing protective masks, gloves and aprons

Inkuba walked over to a table at the far end of the lab. He quickly counted the white bricks sitting there. A tall, thin man with a skeletal face looked up from his work and nodded in the warlord's direction.

"How many total?" Inkuba asked.

"Including what you see here, we'll have produced twenty-nine kilos by the end of the day."

The warlord smiled wickedly. He would easily meet the quota set for him by his New York connections. All he needed was another fifty kilos. He nodded towards his chief chemist. "How long until we have the full shipment ready?"

"A week; provided we get the extra labor we needed in the fields."

Inkuba carefully picked up one of the thickly wrapped bricks and examined it. "I have men out recruiting field hands as we speak. You'll have your harvest, and then some." He replaced the heroin and looked over at the chemist. "How much of the additive are you putting in?"

"Three milliliters per kilo, as per your instructions. We're measuring it by hand for each kilo separately... to ensure quality control. "

"Good," the warlord replied. "Just make absolutely sure your people don't spill even a drop. I don't want to have to sterilize this place, or the staff, again."

The chemist swallowed nervously, remembering what had happened to his predecessor. "No sir, not a drop!"

Satisfied, Inkuba went back up to the first floor and exited the building. The white cement building had once housed the plantation hospital. Now it served him well as his operations center. Signaling to an armed man standing nearby who fell in step with his boss. He crossed the wide, neatly kept lawn heading for the plantation house itself.

Halfway there he suddenly stopped and sniffed the air. He turned to his bodyguard. "Do you smell anything?"

The guard paused and took in a quick breath. "Smoke?"

The warlord's cell phone beeped suddenly. Pulling it out, he flipped it open with one hand and put it to his ear. "What have you got?" The voice that answered was on the brink of panic.

"BOSS... fields number seven, three and two... THEY'RE ON FIRE!"

"Turn on the irrigation system, idiot. Put it out!"

We've tried... but the damn fire won't cooperate."

Lord Inkuba cursed loudly. "What the hell do you mean it won't cooperate! What the hell kind of fire are you talking about."

"No amount of water we use works, and the fire...well... it's BLUE!"

The warlord angrily snapped the phone shut and signaled to his guards to follow. Minutes later they were roaring across the plantation in a jeep. Reaching the edge of field seven, the driver slammed on the brakes. Inkuba stepped down from the vehicle and scanned what lay before him. In the few minutes it had taken to drive from the main house the fire had destroyed the entire crop. Blackened stalks were all that remained of one of his most productive poppy fields.

Turning he spotted his foreman standing nearby, surveying the damage. He strode over to the shorter man and backhanded him, knocking him to the ground. "Why are you still alive? If you'd died protecting my crop I would feel some gratitude, despite your failure. But THIS!" he yelled, gesturing toward the field. "This is unforgivable!"

"B...b...but sir! You didn't see it. The flames seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. Every plant was instantly consumed. But it's not just the crop. We had over fifty workers spread between the three fields. Now they're gone."

"Gone? You mean dead... consumed by the fire, don't you?"

"No sir!" the foreman replied. "Gone... vanished. If they'd been killed, there would be bodies, but there's nothing... nothing at all."

Grabbing the man by the front of his shirt, Inkuba lifted him roughly to his feet. "Someone started this fire... Track down your missing field hands and find out who's responsible, otherwise I'll take my pound of flesh from you!" He released the foreman and gestured to one of his guards. "Go with him. If he tries to run, kill him." With that, the warlord climbed once more into the jeep.

As they approached the main compound, he could sense that something was wrong. Passing through the gate the first thing that came into sight was a disheveled group of men and women, all wearing mud-splattered clothing. The jeep came to a stop and the warlord stood up in his seat, a slack-jawed expression molding itself onto his face. Scanning the grounds, he immediately noticed that his processing plant had vanished. Its site was now occupied by bare, red earth.

He looked over at one of the compound guards who immediately snapped to attention. "Report!" he snapped.

"The earth just seemed to swallow the building whole, boss. I've never seen anything like it."

The chief chemist stepped forward; his mud-splattered visage would have been comical under different circumstances. "The ground under the building liquefied. One moment, we were working in the lab, the next we found ourselves ankle deep in muck. We were lucky to get out alive."

"As soon as everyone was clear, the building sank," the guard added. "The earth hardened again once it was completely covered."

"What about our merchandise?"

"It's still all there," the chemist replied, nodding towards the empty ground. "Buried under about thirty feet of soil."

"Was the vault open or closed when this happened?"

"Closed, sir."

"That something at least," Inkuba muttered. He focused once more on the guard. "Find Mister Uhama. Tell him I want a work party excavating for that vault within the hour. Use everyone on the plantation if necessary. I'll bring the blueprints from the big house." The guard saluted and double-timed toward one of the nearby buildings, pushing his way through a gathering crowd of servants, workers and guards. The warlord looked over at his chief chemist. "That goes for your people too! We have five days to dig out what we can for the next shipment."

"We're lab techs, not ditch diggers," protested one young chemist. Hearing this, the chief chemist and several others winced.

Inkuba climbed down from the jeep, strode over to the man and punched him hard in the gut. He doubled over and fell to his knees, the wind knocked out of him. The warlord then pulled a pistol, grabbed the man by the hair and pulled him up, simultaneously jamming the gun barrel into his mouth. "Did you say something?" he growled. The young man shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation. There was a brief pause as the hammer was cocked back. Then, the warlord removed the pistol from his mouth and fired it into the ground between the technician's legs. A urine stain spread slowly outward from the young man's crotch.

Inkuba leaned forward slightly, whispering into the other man's ear. "You dig... you live, understand?" The chemist nodded vigorously and the pistol was holstered. The warlord turned toward another guard. "Get them organized." He ordered. "I'll be back with the blueprints."

Walking across the compound, the warlord climbed the porch steps of a large, single story building. He passed through a breezeway then turned left and entered a spacious, well-appointed study. He took three steps and abruptly stopped. A red-haired woman was sitting on the edge of his desk looking through several sets of confidential papers. A previously locked desk drawer stood wide open. She looked up as he entered.

"Colonel Inkuba I presume?"

From her tone, the warlord immediately sensed that here was someone who did not fear him. She would not be frightened by a booming voice or threats of violence, so a change of tactics might be in order.

"Yes," he replied in a smooth but firm voice. He drew his pistol but kept it carefully pointed at the floor next to him. "Who are you... and why are you invading my home?"

"It really is sad," the woman answered. "A decorated military veteran who defended his nation against no less than three coup attempts; a man respected by both his people and more than half of Africa; yet you gave it up to become a slaver and drug dealer. Why?"

"There's no profit in being respected... only feared."

"Profit? You did all this for wealth?"

"Can you think of a better reason? When I was a Colonel I came to realize the only power I had was what was given me by others, by men of wealth. I disliked that. It meant I was not really in control of my destiny. Wealth is the true source of power, of influence. It creates nations and kings alike, and I enjoy being the ruler of my own little empire." Inkuba raised the pistol, pointing it at the

woman. "Now... I've answered your questions. It's time you answered mine."

Abruptly the door through which he'd entered was pushed closed. Half turning, the warlord spotted a muscular, bipedal equine standing next to the door. He must have been behind it when Inkuba had first entered the room. A frown crossed his lips as he recognized the figure, having more than once heard of his exploits in the media. At least, it explained today's strange events. Now he was certain that a change of tactics was called for.

Calmly he lowered his pistol and let it drop to the floor. "I had a feeling we'd meet one day," he said, looking at the alien. "In fact, my investors considered it an absolute certainty. What is it they call you... the Outlander?" Bob remained silent as the colonel turned back toward the woman. "That means you must be Dr. Jillian Strathern, M.V., his pet 'horse' doctor." He smiled. "Tell me... is what they say about you and your 'friend' in the tabloids true?"

"I wouldn't be so flippant if I were you, Colonel," Jillian responded. "You have a lot to answer for."

"My dear doctor... if the government... if anyone... were capable of making me answer for what I've done, I would have been behind bars years ago. As it stands, I have too many acquaintances in high places. People who, for their own vested interests, do not want to see me caught or killed. That, by the way, includes people in your own government."

"You may have missed the fact that we don't represent our government. Once we circulate these documents," she said, waving a file, "you're finished."

Inkuba chuckled. "Those? Why those would barely convict me of jaywalking. My important records I keep elsewhere... in a location only I know about."

Jillian stood up and casually tossed the file back on the desk. "Then I suppose you're just going to have to tell us where." She bent and picked up the semi-automatic from the floor, holding it loosely in one hand.

"Just what makes you think I'll tell you anything?" he replied smoothly

"We have ways..."

"Yes... I'm sure you do." He looked up at the alien. "I suppose this is where you sic your pet Kerachaw on me, eh?"

Jillian and Bob looked at each other in surprise. No one should have known anything about the alien. Not his name, nor his origin, nor even his race. They'd both been careful to guard such information. Yet somehow, Colonel Inkuba knew.

The alien's visage darkened. It only took him two steps to reach the warlord's side. He jerked the big man off his feet and held him face to face. "Where did you hear that name?" Behind him Jillian was reaching up to touch his shoulder.

"Bob... Calm down. You going to hurt him."

He looked down at his friend, pain dancing across his face. "You don't understand..." the alien said. "To hear that word... That honored word coming from a parasite like him!"

"You're right," Jillian said. "I don't really understand... but would it do any honor to your people to treat him as he's treated others... with rage and fear? Is that the path of justice?"

Bob squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and took a deep calming breath. In that instant, Colonel Inkuba struck. His left hand came up and a cloud of white powder shot from a small air-cartridge hidden up his sleeve. The powder caught the alien full in the face. Startled, he dropped the human and pushed Jillian away. From his pocket, Inkuba grabbed a handkerchief and slapped it over his mouth and nose. Bob staggered a step back, and then fell to one knee, gasping and coughing in an effort to clear his lungs. A large amount of powder matted his face. He tried wiping it away, but had little luck.

Jillian, seeing the colonel cover his nose and mouth, followed suit with her own handkerchief. She pointed the pistol at him. "What the hell did you just do?"

The colonel grinned wickedly, unafraid of the pistol. "Just gave him a little speedball cocktail; cocaine and heroine, diluted into a mist. There's enough in that vile to kill at least five men in a matter of minutes. Considering his size, I'd give him maybe two hours, tops."

The Outlander rose unsteadily to his hooves and faced the Colonel. Reaching for him, he missed, staggered forward and crashed into the desk knocking over a lamp. It hit the floor, shattering into several dozen pieces. The noise immediately drew the attention of two guards standing near the edge of the crowd still gathering outside. Looking at each other, they began walking towards the main house to investigate.

Seeing them approach, Jillian took hold of Bob's arm and tried to pull him upright. "We've got to get out of here... NOW!" she whispered tightly.

The Outlander tried desperately to focus on her words. The drug raced through his body, its effect accelerated by his alien physiology. He felt as if his blood was burning, not painfully... not yet anyway, but it was definitely an uncomfortable sensation. Thinking was becoming difficult at best, as the world seemed to spin around him in a blur of colors and shapes. "But... what... about... him?" Bob muttered, nodding towards Inkuba.

"We'll come back later, I promise. But we've got to get moving."

The warlord arrogantly stood to one side and laughed at their struggles. "You won't get twenty feet like that. Why don't you just surrender now and spare your friend a slow, agonizing death? I promise my men can do the job very quickly."

Jillian spun on the Colonel, whipping the butt of the gun against his face. Inkuba went down, his nose broken and bloody.

The Outlander staggered to his hooves, and with Jillian's help managed to make the door. Stepping through the portal, they were spotted by the two guards coming towards them.

"You there...halt! Halt, or we fire!" They raised their weapons. Bob responded instinctively to the threat, gesturing towards them. There was a blue flash and both men instantly turned to ash and fell apart. Jillian stared for a moment, unable to believe what she'd just seen. Beside her, the Outlander smiled in a very childlike way and nickered softly, his equivalent of a chuckle.

"They... wanted ... to... fire...so...got... fired," he muttered, chuckling once more. Jillian pulled desperately at the alien's arm.

"Bob... BOB! Focus! We've got to get out of here! Come ON!" The Outlander clung to her as they staggered drunkenly down the hall. Somehow they made it to the back door of the building, out onto the veranda and down the back steps.

More and more the equine leaned against Jillian until finally his weight pressed her down to the ground. She let go and he rolled onto his side and curled into a ball. "Hurts... It hurts," he gasped weakly. In a sudden, mad flurry of action he pushed himself up, staggered forward a few steps, then collapsed. He repeated this twice then lay still.

Panicked, Jillian went to his side. His breathing was heavy and ragged, she felt for a pulse. His skin was hot to the touch and his heartbeat was fast... too fast.

Hearing voices come from inside the house she looked around desperately for a hiding place. She spotted an opening in the white latticework that surrounded the house's foundation. Tugging furiously on Bob's clothing, she managed to drag the alien into the cool darkness of the crawlspace. Fortunately the house was surrounded by a thick, green lawn so it was easy for her to hide their tracks. She quickly retreated back under the house and slid the lattice gate closed just in time.

Jillian listened as heavy boots thumped along the floor above her, then spread out throughout the house. From there, the soldiers moved out in different directions around the compound. She saw several pairs of feet walking along the edge of the house, right past where she had dragged Bob into the crawlspace, but none stopped to examine the lattice gate.

Pulling herself over to the equine, she tried to examine him more thoroughly. It was difficult in the dim light. She carefully pulled a penlight from her pocket, cupping it in her hand to keep it from being seen. She lifted his eyelids. Both eyes were fully dilated and unresponsive. She touched the back of her hand to his face. His fever was increasing. Somehow, she had to try and cool him down.

Cautiously, she crawled beneath the house, looking for some kind of pipe. She found several about twenty feet deeper into the crawlspace. Reaching out, she discovered that one of them was slightly cracked and leaking a thin stream of water. The ground around the pipes was damp and cool. She worked her way back to the Outlander and carefully pulled him across to the pipes. Using a pocketknife, she cut both the robe and shirt from his body then began layering handfuls of the moist, cool earth across his chest. She cut his shirt into strips, wrapped them around the pipe until they were soaked, then placed them across his face. Thankfully, he had remained quiet since collapsing outside the house.

Jillian tried to think of what else to do. Her choices were limited. Unless they could get out of there, Bob stood a good chance of dying. Somehow she had to strengthen him enough to survive the drug. What would kill a Human might not necessarily kill a Kerachaw, but he'd need help. The hallucinogenic effects might not do anything. Conversely, they could drive his mind inward, deep enough to cause his body to shut down. It had nearly happened once before, when he had placed himself in a self-induced coma following the collapse of the Harrison Commerce Tower. The difference was he had some control of the process then. Judging from what he'd just done to the guards, he was clearly not in control of his mind or powers.

She looked down at the palm of her hand. The small starburst there was a reminder of the first time she and the Kerachaw had joined minds. They had done so dozens of times since, without fear. Now, it was all Jillian could do to stop her hand from shaking. If she dove into his mind now, it would be without any safeguards, but it was the only way she might help him.

Closing her eyes, Jillian focused her thoughts. The mark on her palm began to softly glow as she found her essence, her center. "Here we go," she muttered softly as she placed her hand across the Outlanders forehead. ...CONTACT!

* * * *

Blackness, like a velvet curtain, dropped across her senses. She could still feel the breath in her lungs, the grass beneath her now bare feet, but there was no sound, no light, no scent. The mind-world she and the Outlander had created and which they shared felt... empty.

Jillian held up her palm. It glowed blue, casting a single, surrealistic light about her. With but a thought, a simple sphere of light moved outward from her hand, illuminating the landscape for a short distance. She turned slowly, looking about, but the grasslands remained empty save for herself. As she moved, Jillian's body seemed to flow and stretch. Where once there had been a human form, there was now a chestnut-colored, female Kerachaw with long, golden hair.

She tried reaching out to the equine, searching for some small spark of self-awareness with which she could connect. For long moments there was nothing. Then, distantly, softly, she thought she heard a voice, chanting. She listened, but it was impossible to tell from where the sound came. She glided into the air. The grasslands beneath her vanished as she began a slow outward spiral, searching for the voice.

After a few moments she stopped. In her worry and haste, Jillian had forgotten that the physicality of this place was illusionary; a convenient point of reference Bob had created to help her adjust to sharing minds. She didn't have to search for the sound. If she focused, it would come to her.

Once more she listened and again the faint chanting could be heard. It rose and fell as if dancing on a breeze that wasn't there. Almost at once the mind-world responded to her thoughts and a breeze did rise, gently at first, then, without warning it became a gale. Jillian felt herself being flung head over hooves, a leaf in a tornado. She spread her arms, bracing herself against the onslaught.

"STOP!" The word was hurled from her mind with as much concentration as she could muster. The wind vanished. Focusing, she directed her thoughts to the voice. It became clearer... louder, but the words it spoke were not from any human language.

"Cara vu theel absoa. Cara xana hae tulskom yi dulceisa. A yi vu Krosbobai V'avalun, t'alu cara a vu som quiva som."

Having shared minds with the Outlander, it wasn't difficult to understand the words. "I stand against the darkness. I swear my life and soul to defend the people. My name is Krosbobai V'avalun, and it is by that name I shall protect all, or failing, forsake all."

She looked around for her friend, but heard only his voice as he repeated the chant several. Hesitantly, she called out his name. The chant stopped, and the silence that followed was so profound she thought she could hear her own heartbeat. "Bob..." she called tentatively. "Bob? I'm here. Can you sense me? Can you find me?"

The darkness around her suddenly vanished, as if she'd stepped through an open door. She found herself looking into a gigantic sphere, at least twenty miles in diameter. The interior of the sphere was covered with lush forests, farms and small groups of structures. The walls rose in the distance. A clear, blue lake, at least two miles wide and five long hung suspended far above her head. In the center of the 'world' was a second sphere, anchored in place by six long, gracefully slender pylons. A soft, glow radiated from it, providing the land with both warmth and light.

Jillian knew immediately she was looking at the Outlander's home, the world-ship. Small groups of Kerachaw walked together, talking and nickering back and forth. Small children ran between their sire's legs, occasionally tackling and rolling around on the lush, blue-green carpet of grass. A family sat on the grass nearby. The dame was passing out small plates filled with a variety of food to two of the children. The older male was talking quietly, solemnly with a colt one quarter his age. Despite the child's age Jillian immediately recognized him.

"Bob?" The colt's head snapped around, white mane flying. His eyes went wide, first in surprise, then fear.

"No... No! You can't be here! You'll ruin it! You'll ruin everything!" Even as he spoke, the elder Kerachaw next to him began to melt away, like paint blistering and running under a blowtorch. The child's cries became hysterical. "Kia. Kia tu chara! Don't leave... don't leave me... Please!" The two languages flowed together into an incoherent cry of loss and loneliness.

He reached out to his dame, but his hands passed through her as her form stretched upon the wind and vanished. The green grass around him blackened. The light suspended above them faded into a dim, reddish haze. Like a wave spreading outward from him the landscape transformed into a twisted, scorched parody of what it had once been.

The colt's form melted, flowing in seconds through youth to adulthood. Before her stood the Outlander, but not as she knew him. Instead of the strength and calmness Jillian had always seen in his eyes there was grief. Grief so deep and profound it bordered on insanity. As she watched his body became withered, ancient, as if reflecting his weakness, his loss.

He fell tiredly to his knees and reached out in front of him, digging his hands into the earth, which broke apart like burned piecrust. From it he lifted a tiny form. To Jillian it looked like a blackened and charred corpse. He began cradling it gently in both hands, singing to it as a father might sing to a sick child. Tears filled his eyes, and more than once his voice cracked under the strain.

Turning, the Outlander looked at Jillian. "Couldn't you see?" he muttered, his voice nothing more than a whisper. "I was home. I was happy, but then you came and ruined it. You made me remember." His head dropped to his chest and his eyes closed. She reached out to him, laying a hand upon his shoulder.

"Bob? Bob please... don't cry. You're not alone." He ignored her, continuing to whisper quietly to the corpse.

"Somu... Somu... Somu... Somu."

Jillian knelt next to the equine. "Please, Bob, don't do this. Don't loose yourself in the past. You can't change it. You can't bring back the dead. You have to live in the present. There are people who care about you, people who love you...

"¡No es seguro aquí!"

Jillian's head snapped up. "Who?" She looked at the charred figure Bob held in his arms. It was the body of a young Kerachaw, the child he had lost when the world-ship had been destroyed. The eyes on the body were open. He spoke again.

"¡No es seguro aquí! It is not safe here!" As Jillian watched the burned skin began to flake off the corpse, revealing the face and form of a young Hispanic boy. Her eyes opened wide as she recognized the boy. It was the same child whom Bob had tried to save several weeks ago.

"How? How did you get in here?" she asked.

"I think you already know that," the boy chuckled.

She nodded, understanding. "A Vethra. He joined minds with you and took you into his."

"Well, not quite," the boy replied. "He tried, but it was too late. The drugs I swallowed had taken their toll. My mind was already dissolute. He only got a small piece of me, and that's fading fast. I guess you might say I'm a fragment of memory."

"No wonder he's been agitated the last few weeks. Carrying a fragment of someone else's mind isn't very easy."

The boy nodded. "You should know. Worse yet, it dredged up all kinds of memories about his own son." The boy grew quiet for a moment. "Wish I could have had a father like him, instead of the gusano I got,"

"You were telling me it's not safe here?" Jillian asked. "What did you mean?"

The boy looked around fearfully. "They're here with him, ¡los malvados, los destructores! They may be only memories, but they're here all the same, and thanks to the drugs your friend no longer has any control. He can't protect you if you stay."

"I can't leave," she responded. "I have to find some way to help him."

"If they find you, they can hurt you. They might even be able to kill you. You'll feel everything in here like you do in the real world."

"They?" Jillian asked. "Who are they?" The boy vanished, replaced once more by a charred corpse.

Almost as if in answer to her question there were a chorus of distant screams. Looking up Jillian saw a group of Kerachaw women and children running from a half ruined building. Close behind them came a trio of fifteen-foot tall battle machines. They were bi-pedal, silver-gray, with a large central pod hanging between the digigrade legs. Atop the pod sat a cockpit similar to those found on fighter jets. Twin weapons turrets were attached both along the top and bottom of the pod.

The machines began pursuing the fleeing Kerachaw. As she watched Jillian saw one of the children fall, knocked off his hooves by a near miss. The female running with him stopped and interposed herself between the war machines and the child. She spread her arms wide and a shimmering wall of blue energy coalesced before her. Turning her head, she yelled something to the colt who leapt back to his hooves and began running. The three battle pods immediately focused on the female, viciously blasting at her shield. The intense energy bolts quickly overwhelmed her defenses. The shield vanished and the weapons incinerated her. A wail of horror sprang from the child's throat as his mother fell. The war machines mercilessly gunned him down as they resumed the chase.

On her left she saw two Kerachaw warriors standing alone against thirty or more machines. Between them, they managed to take down more than half of the enemy, but as each machine fell another replaced it. Eventually they were borne down by sheer weight of numbers. Despite their power, the Kerachaw were isolated and slaughtered.

Scene after scene of destruction played out before Jillian's eyes, each accented by an intense wave of helplessness and frustration. She knew the Outlander's story, that he was on a scouting mission when his people were attacked. He had told her that though dozens of light-years away, he'd witnessed everything through the telepathic link he shared with his wife and child. Once before she'd had a brief glimpse of the destruction of his world. Seeing it for herself, as he'd seen and felt it, brought home to her the kind of agony he knew.

Tears welled in her eyes and she wrapped her arms around the emaciated equine before her. She hugged him for all she was worth and whispered softly, fiercely in his ear. "Cara kia tula a tuo Cha'fal! Kia tula! Kia tula!"

The mark on her hand began to glow again, more brightly than before. Instinctively she placed it over the Outlander's heart. She could feel him; almost see him, like a softly glowing ember that was loosing strength. He was dying! Desperately, she reached down into her own essence, using her strength, her mind to keep the ember alive. For a moment it seemed to brighten, then fade again.

A cold chill gripped her heart. "NO!" she cried. "Cara kia tula a tuo Cha'fal!" And again! "CARA KIA TULA A TUO CHA'FAL!" She felt her own body began to weaken as her strength, her life, flowed into him. She ignored it, holding as tightly to the Kerachaw as possible, willing him to live. A wave of dizziness struck her, making it hard to focus. She ignored it, or tried to. In that same instant something grabbed her violently by her mane and pulled her away from the equine.

Jillian fell back, rolling across the blackened ground and coming to rest against the stump of a scorched tree. She looked up and found herself face to face with three, gray-skinned reptilian creatures wearing body armor and carrying wicked looking assault weapons. Behind them stood two of the fighting machines. As she watched, the cockpits opened and two more reptiles joined them. They were humanoid in form with short, flat snouts and long, thick tales. None of them stood taller than her shoulders.

Rising to her hooves, Jillian glanced over toward Bob. To her horror, she saw his body vanish like sand blowing on the wind. In her shock she hardly felt the first soldier as he drove the butt of his rifle into her stomach. She folded up, the wind knocked out of her. A second alien grabbed both Jillian's arms and pulled them behind her back, tying her hands with a thin, flexible cable. The creatures hissed back and forth to each other. Jillian could not help but think they were laughing

Gasping raggedly for breath, Jillian tried to focus once more on her essence. As she did, one of the reptiles grabbed her painfully by the mane and pulled her to her hooves. Focus was impossible, and for the moment, Jillian was helpless. Dragging her over to one of the machines, her tormentor took out yet another flexible cable and draped it across the barrel of a gun. The other end he looped around her neck and pulled, forcing her to her hooves.

"Ew guud toi we be guud, kill kwik. No guud, kill slo."

To emphasize the point, he kicked her hooves out from under her, tightening the cable and choking her. They laughed as they watched her struggle back to a standing position, easing the tension on the cable and making it possible for her to breathe again. From the corner of her eye she watched as two of the reptiles stripped off their armor and approached, one front, the other back. Jillian stared in wide-eyed fear as a thick, reddish-black penis emerged from a small pouch between the legs of the first alien.

The reptile in front only waited long enough for his shaft to become fully exposed before grasping her shoulders for support and thrusting into her mound. At almost the same moment the soldier behind her drove himself into her rear. Muscles clenched then were ripped open by the alien's abuse. Jillian clamped her teeth together, biting back the scream that tore at her throat. She did not want to give these vile creatures the satisfaction of knowing they hurt her. After several moments of vicious thrusting she could feel a warm liquid trickle down her legs. She knew it was blood.

Jillian tried once more to focus on her essence. She found the path blocked by a wall of rage and humiliation. "It's a dream, only a dream. It's not real," she kept silently chanting this mantra to herself over and over, but knowing it could not stop the pain, nor break her free from the horror and loss she felt. The Outlander would die because her mind wasn't strong to save herself, let alone him.

"It's a dream. It's not real... not real... not real." Realization dawned on her. It had been real, once, a long time ago. This wasn't a dream. It was a memory... HER memory.

The soldier humping Jillian's ass came violently, pumping her full of alien sperm. Moments later the reptile in front also released into her. She cried out in pain. Their seed burned like acid. Two more soldiers took their places, continuing where the others had left off. Blood and semen mixed to lubricate both of her passages, making their thrusts marginally less painful. It did nothing to reduce her feeling of helplessness.

The creature in back had some knowledge of Kerachaw anatomy. He began stroking the underside of Jillian's small tail. The sensation was pure bliss. Both pain and pleasure mixed in a dizzying confusion and she began to cry, hating them, hating herself for feeling anything. That confusion ended when the third alien ejaculated into her rear, sending another load of burning semen into her. He stepped away and was replaced by the last reptile who promptly drew a knife and began running it up and down her back, pricking her from time to time even as he thrust into her. He finished more quickly than the others, but continued running the knife's edge across her back, occasionally drawing blood. Moments later, the soldier in front finished. As he did he looked into the Kerachaw woman's tear streaked face and smiled wickedly.

"Guud toi."

Dismounting, he jerked down on her shoulders, tightening the loop around her neck. The soldier behind her sliced through the hamstrings of her legs. They gave out beneath her. Unable to support her weight she began strangling, the cable crushing the very breath from her. Jillian felt the creature behind her take hold of her short, stub tail and press the sharp edge of his knife against it. He was laughing as he prepared to take his trophy,

Ice-cold panic tore through Jillian's soul. She was dying, and if she died here, she knew with absolute certainty she would die in the real world. Her mind cried out wordlessly in terror.

A broad arc of blue-white energy swept through the cable from which she hung. It parted, dropping her to the ground and loosening the noose around her neck. The hot, polluted air of the dying world-ship felt wonderful as Jillian filled her lungs. The arc swept back, taking with it the head of the knife-wielding soldier. The remaining four aliens backed away, drawing their weapons. A blue-white dome dropped down around them, easily absorbing the energy from the small arms fire as they struggled to fight back. The dome contracted, methodically crushing them in the space of a few seconds.

Jillian watched as the war machine from which she had been hanged shook violently, rose into the air and smashed itself to pieces against the second machine. All her pain and injuries faded as she felt a large pair of strong hands rip apart her bonds and gently lift her to her hooves. There, before her, stood the Outlander, whole once more save for the concern she saw reflected in his eyes. She flung herself into his arms with a furious passion.

"Alive... You're Alive!" she cried joyously, tears of relief dancing across her lashes. "I was afraid I'd lost you."

"I was lost," he said quietly. "Lost and dying until I heard you call to me, until I felt your essence strengthening mine."

He held her for several long, glorious moments before gently pulled away and looking her in the eye. His expression was one of anguish and regret. "I hurt you," he whispered.

"No, no you didn't. You could never..."

"But I did," he insisted. "I lost control and you suffered because of it. I let my memories take over my mind and surrendered myself to despair. You stood by me, in spite of the danger to yourself and I hurt you."

Jillian reached around the Outlander once more and pulled him in close. "That is just a load of telepathic psychobabble."

"But I..."

She shook her head vigorously. "You were suffering from drug induced post-traumatic stress. You didn't create the events I experienced. They were memories, memories imprinted on your psyche by your mate when she died." Jillian reached up and gently brushed her hand along Bob's cheek. "Memories buried so deep that it took an overdose of drugs to bring them out."

Tears began forming in the equine's eyes. "I couldn't help her," he whispered. "I wasn't there when she needed me most. She died alone and in torment because I wasn't there."

"You couldn't be there, not then, not under the circumstances as they existed. But you were there for me," Jillian said. "You pulled yourself away from the abyss to save me, and if circumstances had permitted it, you would have done the same for your mate."

The Outlander nodded, hesitantly, solemnly as he accepted her judgment and forgiveness, then drew her in and held her tightly to himself. She brushed the tears away from his eyes and returned the embrace with equal fervor. "You took a terrible risk, entering my mind the way you did."

"I know," she said. "You tried to warn me, or at least your friend did."

"Ignacio?"

Jillian smiled. "You remember his name?"

He nodded. "His name, and a lot more. He was a good kid. I wish I could have helped him. When we're done here, I'll have to do something for his family."

"I know you will," she answered. She looked up at the Kerachaw and pursed her lips. "I think we have a slightly more pressing problem right about now. How much have you recovered from the effects of the overdose?"

"Thanks to your help, I've pretty much passed the crisis stage on the sub-conscious levels of my mind. I am, however, still suffering some of the psychotropic effects at the conscious level."

"Meaning you're still pretty much knocked out." The Outlander nodded. "What about physically?"

"The nanites in my blood have effectively repaired any physical damage I suffered, but that still leaves me unconscious and more than a little helpless."

"So what do we do?"

"We build on what you did in here and pull what your Sherlock Holmes might have called a hat trick."

Jillian looked at Bob quizzically. "A hat trick? You mean as in pulling a rabbit out of a hat?"

"And then some." Smiling, the Outlander reached across and took Jillian's hands, positioning them carefully along his temples. He placed his own hands on either side of her head. "Ready?"

Jillian nodded.

* * * *

Jillian slowly opened her eyes and looked around. She was back in Colonel Inkuba's office, bound firmly to a large, wooden chair, hands tied in front of her. Bob lay on the floor about eight feet away. His hands and legs were shackled with heavy chains. He lay quietly, his breathing deep and easy. Two guards stood watch nearby.

Seeing that Jillian was awake, one of them went to the door and called for a runner. A young boy appeared almost immediately then ran to notify Lord Inkuba. Night had settled over the compound, but it did not bring with it peace or quiet. A large work party had gathered at the now buried drug laboratory. They were busily excavating the site.

Jillian could see through the study windows as the Colonel approached the main house, escorted by two of his fiercer looking bodyguards wielding shotguns. He wore a gauze bandage across his nose where she'd broken it. She smiled with satisfaction at the damage she'd done. Her expression became more passive as Inkuba entered.

Inkuba slowly circled the room, silently gloating over his captives before settling into a thickly padded chair behind his desk. "You and your friend have caused me more trouble than you're worth," he declared. You were quite clever, hiding yourselves beneath my very feet. But you couldn't escape my hunting dogs. Once I had them brought in, it only took a few minutes to find where you'd gone." The Colonel smiled in satisfaction. "Everyone else thought you'd flown off, but you and I knew better," he chuckled, gesturing towards the equine. "He's in no shape to fly, or fight for that matter, though I am quite surprised to see he's still alive."

Jillian looked across the desk, calmly. "There are a lot of things you don't know about him," she replied, "and a lot you do. For example, how did you know he was Kerachaw? I don't believe either of us has ever mentioned it to anyone. Who told you?"

The Colonel leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. "I'm not really at liberty to reveal my sources, Dr. Strathern. Let's just say I know people who have a lot more knowledge about your friend than either of you suspect." Jillian smiled, much to Inkuba's annoyance. "You find that amusing, doctor?"

"No," she replied. "I find that interesting. It's you I find amusing Colonel. The drug lord frowned heavily. "You know, when we first met, I thought you were a sad, little man, but I was wrong. In truth, you're rather pathetic."

"I'm pathetic?" Inkuba laughed wickedly. "What's more pathetic than someone who's about to die playing at being brave." He gestured to one of the guards who moved next to the equine. "Your friend is an unknown factor, doctor, and as such much too dangerous to let live. You went to a lot of trouble trying to save him earlier. I've only spared him this long so I could let you have the pleasure of seeing his brains splattered all over the room. Consider it payback for breaking my nose earlier."

The Colonel nodded once. His guard chambered a round and aimed the shotgun at the Outlander, then watched incredulously as the gun's barrel twisted itself into a ninety-degree angle. Seconds later, every gun in the room followed suit. The bodyguards looked at their boss, then one by one, quietly slumped to the floor, sound asleep.

Inkuba rose from his chair, staring wild-eyed at the Outlander. The alien had not moved once since the drug lord had entered the room. He turned back toward Jillian who was once more smiling. As he watched the ropes binding her dissolved into mist. She stood, casually brushing herself off.

"As I said, Colonel. There are a lot of things about him, excuse me, about us, you don't know." As he watched, Dr. Strathern's body seemed to flow and shift until he found himself confronted with a female Kerachaw. "Now, about those friends of yours..."

Thirty minutes passed before the foreman went to the main house to update the Colonel on the excavation. He found Inkuba in his study sitting stark naked on the floor, sucking his thumb.

* * * *

The borrowed Jeep bounced along the dirt road, its headlights picking out the best potholes to drive through. Jillian could still 'hear' Bob's voice gently chiding her in the back of her mind, even though the Kerachaw's body lay silently next to her in the passengers seat.

"Well, personally I thought you were a little too... too... What's the word?"

"Theatric?"

"That's it... theatric. You're going to have everyone believing you can actually change shapes. Even I can't do that."

Jillian smiled. "It was only an illusion I projected into his mind," she replied. Besides, who'd believe what he says, even after he snaps out of the dream we left him tangled in."

"You know, he deserved worse."

Jillian shrugged. "Maybe, but his little empire will be finished the moment word gets out about his

mental breakdown. Besides, the police will catch up with him soon enough, once they get the evidence we send them."

"It was nice of him to tell us where he kept his books hidden." Bob paused for a moment. "So where are we going."

"I thought we'd hold up for a few hours in that little village we visited earlier, at least until you've recovered from the drugs. Then we can break this psychic-motor connection we have going between us. It's giving me a headache."

"Sorry. I was not aware that manipulating my powers remotely would be such a strain for you."

Jillian grinned. "It's not something I'd want to do on a regular bases, but hey what's life without a challenge or two." They continued on in silence for a few moments before Bob spoke again.

"If I haven't said so before, " he whispered in the back of her mind, "I love you."

"As do I, Bob. Cara kia tula a tuo Cha'fal!" Jillian could almost feel him smiling at her in the back of her mind.

"So! How soon should we pay a visit to the Colonel's friends?"

"I'd give it a week, then we'll find out how much they know and where they learned it. We need time to plan and recuperate."

"Agreed," he responded. "Once we're ready, the game really will be afoot."

Jillian chuckled to herself. "Bob...You do know Sherlock Holmes was a fictional character, don't you?"

"He was?" muttered the equine. "How disappointing."

_____________________________________________________________________________________THE END