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Posted: 10/7/2016 5:26:04 PM EDT
Escaping from calamity, his old life destroyed, Galt the Pathfinder must forge a new path.

Survivalist, Adventurer and Opportunist.


Taking charge of a ruthless smuggling operation he attempts what no other smuggler would dare - a passage beneath the surface and into the underworld.

With jeopardy from without and treachery within, it will take all of Galt's tricks and know-how to keep one step ahead of both friend and foe alike.





The Story Begins


BEYOND THE UNDERWORLD - By Tyler Danann

Chapter 1




A new day dawned at the picturesque village of Parohm.
Yet this was not going to be another day of leisure for the one the Triamese called ‘The laughing Pathman’. Galtero Summurspire was his true name but it was as Galt that he was commonly known in Parohm.
As Galt slowly stirred in his soft bed he reached out and felt the warm form of the girl he’d met the previous week. She warmed a little to his touch and he felt the boozy fumes of the previous night’s indulgences fade away. The Triamese city, many miles from Banroth was many more from his Saken faction.
He felt that these were the glory days. Galt was far from his home faction, answerable to no-one but himself and he was master of all he surveyed. It was still dark in the room though. The second and third-floors external shutters, installed at some expense, kept out the morning daylight nicely.
The light-armored pick-up was the first to arrive two blocks distant from his abode and Galt’s keen hearing picked up on it. Yet as he did so, as if with some synchronicity, his bed partner began responding more to his earlier touch, and soon his mind was on other things.


The pick-up truck contained several armed Triamese enforcers who now disembarked and lined along the riverside buildings. There they faced the direction of Galt’s workshop retreat.
Following the enforcer truck was an airborne trio of Fell Ryders. They were westerners not allied to any faction but only to adventure, women and that which provided it, gold. They travelled in no vehicles, but on portable flight unit’s that were about the size of a backpack which they wore to fly about in. They preferred a life without rules and would sell their unique abilities to the highest bidder. Corrupt and savagely loyal to Asiatic people they relished to take down one who thought of himself as above their adopted race.
The three Ryders descended to near-ground level, but stayed lofty from the enforcers, knowing they were jealous and envied their equipment’s ability for powered flight. The trio looked past the Triamese and watched as another land-based vehicle approached their direction.
This was their current master’s vehicle. Sten Zealand, a wealthy cyber-sleuth of some note. He was accompanied by another, a tough and veteran Ameri-Asian warrior who was his personal bodyguard, confidante and sometime friend Merth. Sten had felt insulted and humiliated at the stinging and barbed wordings from the Galt. Time and time again comments and entries were flooding onto his Nexus logs, read by many thousands, attacking him due to the Galt’s criticisms.
Initially Galt’s allegations of corruption, foul-play and skullduggery were outrageous. First they were laughed at, then ignored, before finally upsetting and annoying too many of Sten’s allies and contacts. Something had to be done. Many were starting to accuse and even desert his own Nexus logsite now, even questioning his own stories and ways. The risk of losing the lucrative trade-missions that exchanged data-chips for mono-atomic gold could not be jeopardized. Now Sten considered himself the whirlwind to tidy up Galt’s mess once and for all.
It had taken many months work to locate and track down Galt to Parohm. A random enquiry at a pleasure house there saw him directed exactly to where Galt’s was. He wasn’t sure what it made, some said it was machine parts, others it was something else entirely. The fact it was a base was enough for the well-paid Triamese police to be engaged in helping him.
One thing was for certain in Sten’s mind, the playboy Pathfinder had made his last Nexus entry. Sten felt relieved knowing that the days of Galt were at an end. His adversary was everything he was not. Where Galt was strong, fair and manly, he was weedy and feeble. Indeed Sten was far from being an oil painting. Galt had leaked Sten’s picture online revealing less than handsome looks and ensuring his mockery. In contrast Galt proudly showed his image and held himself up as a man fair and square in his business dealings, while Sten was often more than corrupt and shady. As a final insult the Pathman had revealed Sten’s birth surname of Ziegal, showing his Kaslar roots for all to see. It was too much for the man’s pride and fanatically he sought either death or capture for the Saken officer.
A sharp voice snapped Sten out of his thoughts.
“Well, make your call Sten,” Trelt said to him over the radio-net. He was one of the senior Ryders who led the fliers. “We can’t wait any longer!”
“Give the devil the dish then!” the Kaslar said, using a Rabian saying. They knew to tarry would allow Galt time to prepare, as it was he was likely to still be asleep and unready.


All three of the Fell Ryders now opened the throttle on their machine packs and launched themselves from the riverside towards the Pathfinders workshop and home.
All three stopped within earshot. The noise of his whirring hover unit would be easily heard by Galt being so close and Trelt wasted no time. He began the declaration that was required by Triamese Law before they could begin assaulting the place.
“Galt the Pathfinder!” he addressed the building as the protocols of the declaration required. Moving around it slowly as he spoke, scanning for body heat through the walls and shutters. No Fell Ryder had equipment akin to artifact-level, but their flight-helms, at a pinch, could do the job of scanning buildings in this way.
Over the radio-net Trelt began the rest of the summons declaration. The key bits were jotted down on his wrist slate, having been translated from Triamese script the evening before.
“It is decreed that Galt the Pathfinder of this place shall be apprehended and brought to a court of law for the following offences,” Trelt shouted the words with his flight-helm’s chin-piece and visor raised.
This was important for it meant no speech-modulators could affect the words, they had to be from a natural voice and Trelt made his full intent known.
Although mercenaries, he and his Fell Ryder’s were lukewarm allies to The Zealander’s fledgling faction of Nexers. Yet they relished the justice due to this one, they too had been slandered and insulted by Galt. Trelt continued now describing the offences.
“Slanderment of a Triamese business, besmirching the good name and character of Sten Zealand along with several others whose names will be made known to you. Whoremongering and upsetting the natural order of the land.”
Of all the offences the first and last were the serious ones. Sten himself was an outlander and low on the pecking order for the most part. The whoremongering charge was practically a mis-crime in Triam, such was the general indulgence in it. Yet upsetting the order of the land along with slanderment of Triamese businesses were less trivial. Galt’s hasty words attacking a friend of Stenmans, along with the Triamese business he worked for, now looked set to bring him down.
Now Trelt detected movement. His Scry-Lens made out two bodies from within which moved about inside. Trelt took no chance of being seen and he dropped down to the first floor level and flattened himself against the coarse wall. He could take no chances. As a Pathfinder, Galt was almost certainly armed, with visual capabilities the match of his own. More than a match for mere Enforcers, being as he was on his own turf.
The other two Ryders followed in his lead.
“Leave this building, submit to Triamese authorities or face extra-judicial consequences,” Trelt shouted out before slamming down his helmets chin and face visor, the declaration of arrest complete. Now they could kill or apprehend as needed.
Trelt reached for his slung SCAR carbine and chambered a round knowing that the noise would herald its own authority in the ears of the Galt. Twice more the cocking sound echoed from the others. Aython was around the front and Perep at the roof.
“There’s no escape Galt this is your last chance!” Trelt boomed, this time with his helm closed, the voice now taking on a scrambled, sepulchral address.
The wordplay was over, it was time to see if Galt could fight as well as he made out on the Nexus.
Trelt signaled to the other two and all three began their attack. Three times the Fell Ryders swooped past the Galt’s building at high speed. Their deployable wings suits made stabilization and horizontal flight was a breeze. The wide-angle, variable thrusters meant transitioning to ascent and descent hovering enabled unparalleled flexibility.
Each time they flew past they opened fire on the windows and entranceways with their carbines. Repeated gunfire raking the rendered breeze-block masonry, almost penetrating it in parts. Concentrating their fire on the shuttered windows the flyers had some success with bullets piercing the thin metal.
Down below a contingent of Triamese Enforcers now scurried forward, shotguns and pistols in hand. The distraction from above did not make them reckless, they darted from one piece of cover at a time as a singular group.
For the Triamese locals had been long since on the wane to Galt’s doings. Wandering womanizing and swaggering about like a macho-man European was one thing. But this one who claimed he came from higher beings than they rankled more than a few Triamese elders. His reckless license to do almost anything he pleased had used up his earlier grace and favor. Sten was not challenged when he approached the Enforcer commander with an arrest bribe. The generous support from wealthy Sten soon switched Galt’s guard militia with little argument to the contrary.
The Fell Ryders fired again without respite, having already changed magazines once.
Sten shook his head in disbelief as the Ryders opened fire pre-emptively.
“Those gunning fools! They are to cover the windows and roof to prevent his escape, not shoot him to death. You call this even-handed Merth!?” Sten cried, stunned by the sudden turn in expectations.
“He’s a Pathfinder they face Sten,” the swarthy Kaslar said matter-of-factly. “Fell Ryder’s aren’t soft when facing hard-cases like this.”
“Maybe, maybe. But there could be consequences in doing this. Perhaps I’ve taken this gambit too far,” Sten said.
He looked through the mag-lenses as another passing attack caused gunfire to echo back sharply.
“He brought this on himself Sten,” Merth responded. “How many times was he told to shut his ranting mouth? Calm yourself my friend, let the Triamese and Ryders do their work.”
“I know, but I fear the locals may yet rally to him.”
Sten cast a few worried glances about but the place was quiet and still elsewhere.
“The locals may rally, but you’re getting rid of that which threatens your own ways. Think of your own family and little ones how Galt indirectly affects them too,” Merth said sagely. It was no secret that Sten had children to a Triamese woman.
Suddenly a set of steel shutters now rattled upwards at the entranceway. The way-in was now open and someone was leaving.
“That’ll be the honey-trap I planted,” Sten gleamed with satisfaction.
“She’s the one from the hostess bar? The one who told us of this place?” Merth quizzed.
“Yes, it took a while but she managed to get her claws in to his lair,” Sten said, the creep of a smile about his face.
Sure enough, it was their girl, Lek who was their eyes and ears into Galt’s world. She was just barely dressed but determined to move.
Lek had been crucial in tracking down Galt to his home base. Her week-long insidering meant sharing a bed and her body for the Galt’s pleasures and needs. Sten had carefully recruited her and payment more than bought her heart and body for honey-trapping Sten’s prey.
The Triamese wench was stereotypically five foot nothing, dark-haired with a light-brown complexion. She ran from the building towards Sten’s vehicle. The small woman moved quickly in a characteristically ungainly fashion, one that was common to many Triamese women.
“Faster! Run Lek, run!” Sten urged with attraction in his eye.
For a moment Sten feared that one of the trigger-happy Fell Ryders would shoot her out of alarm. They concentrated on the building itself for another blazing attack run though, firing whenever they caught a spectral glimpse of Galt within.
The shutters were down on the upper two floors, but with their sophisticated Scry-Lenses the Ryders could see and interpret Patterns and images of the Galt. That’s what Sten hoped they were doing anyway.
The Ryder’s had not allowed him into their world of wonder-flight, helmets that could see on all manner of spectrums and more besides.
The enforcers were aware to the girl’s subterfuge and did not attempt to arrest or stop her. She ran on as fast as her sandaled feet carried her. Once at Sten’s truck he opened the door, allowing her to dive onto the back seats.
“Well done little sister,” Sten said, addressing her as a arousal vibrated through him. He patted and caressed her in a way even Merth thought inappropriate.
“He alone in the house, no have guard,” Lek said in faltering English.
Her word’s confirmed Sten’s belief that, on the nights when Galt took a woman home, he’d dismiss his guard-force entirely for privacy. Sten pumped his weedy fists triumphantly. Sten had big plans for Galt. Parading him through the streets of Banroth like a prisoner of the state was one fanciful notion. That was probably too much to wish for though, he’d not committed any capital crimes. Having him chained within the entertainment zone for the mockery of all would be achievable. Afterwards prison was likely and that would be just the start of his woes.
“Oh you’re mine now Galt, after I’ve finished with the your humiliation then it’s the Enforcers’ turn,” Sten said out loud. Several years awaited Galt in the ‘Monkey House’ as the Triamese called their prisons.
Another burst of gunfire came from the Fell Ryders, attracting Sten’s attention. Galt had been trying to close the steel shutters Lek had opened, but Aython emptied a full magazine of ammunition, driving back the startled Pathfinder.

Copyright - Tyler Danann
Link Posted: 10/19/2016 6:03:44 PM EDT
[#1]
Link Posted: 10/19/2016 6:18:25 PM EDT
[#2]
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