The angry sharp wind cascaded over the hills with enough force to knock sheep off balance, bend trees and make the heather move more than John Prescott at an all you can eat buffet. If there was any religious beings out in this maelstrom they would’ve reached the conclusion that their God(s) had got sick of the current state of the planet and taken matters into their own hands.

But it wasn’t the apocalypse, this was just Scotland, in summer. Although there was no denying that there was a storm of some description on its way. Even if its effects would only be seen by the occasional lonely Shepard who had spent too long in the company of sheep it wasn’t the sort of storm that would have old men building boats and rounding up animals in groups of two (although considering the mental state of some of the locals this wasn’t as unlikely as it seemed).

It was a bizarre irony that the only thing –apart from the sleeping hills themselves- not feeling the effects of the wind was at its weakest moment, and it was only because of the blinding shroud that misery tends to bring with it that he didn’t feel the dagger-like wind, or hear the loud thunder cracks above him.

  He had been stood here for the best part of 3 hours, doing nothing; his usually restless mind was currently going slower than an Octogenarian in a Reliant Robin. He wanted it to end. Now. For the past year his life had been nothing but hell. This time 12 months ago he’d just left his Junior School and it was the end of an era. The 4 years of happiness, innocence and being called ‘gay’ for doing anything out of the ordinary (this included holding doors open, being a vegetarian, not having the latest yoyo, fancying a member of the opposite sex and especially for not watching the latest episode of Pokemon) had come to an end, and he’d been full of hope for the future.

  He had already made up his own version of how things were going to turn out. He’d imagined making new friends (he’d purposely chosen a high school that hadn’t received many applications from his school) getting A’s on all his work –as he’d often done in the past- losing a lot of his weight and then getting into a good college and eventually pursuing a successful career in Palaeontology. But life had a tendency to bite him in the flabby backside. His first day in high school concluded with him being upside down in the Canteen bin with various year 11s smacking him in the legs so that he screamed and thus inhaled more of the fetid leftovers that only a person with no tongue or sense of vision would consider eating. To say that was the worst he’d had to endure would’ve been a terrible lie. He spent the next year walking between beating after beating, some were nothing more than a shoulder barge that knocked the small weak boy off balance and ultimately into the path of someone else, who would then attack him for being knocked into them.

Inevitably he decided to fight back. This would prove to be one of the biggest mistakes of his life. The person he chose to fight back against had decided that it would be a ‘laugh’ to throw the fat boy with his shirt tucked in down the nearest flight of stairs, simply to “See if ‘e could bounce”. When his new toy lashed back and managed to break his nose with one swift punch he was quite shocked to say the least, as was the boy himself. He’d never fought in his lifetime, until that moment. That punch had started something that he would have no idea about until a month later.
It was then that he discovered that the year 10 boy who had tried to make him his own personal bouncy ball was part of a pathetic club of upper years, who spent their dinnertimes (and money) on organising fights between younger students (they especially loved to see two year 7s fighting each other). There was never any thoughts given towards the participants in the fights (which gained the nickname ‘Cock’ed fights’), the only incentive for them to carry on fighting was the fear of what sickening punishment the year 11s would bestow upon them if they stopped.

There had been a point when he grew a large enough spine to turn his back on them. But he quickly learned not to turn his back on their group. Before he knew what had happened he had a laceration running along the entire length of his right arm to the bone, he had nearly bled to death on his bedroom floor but by a miracle he survived. But the injury had taken away what bravery he had mustered and he became subservient again. The fear he had for his life propelled him to become a brilliant fighter, such to the point where he became part of “the big league”. Meaning that he now had to fight upper years.

As the events of the previous year screamed through his head like a fiery ghost train that he had no control over, his left hand found its way to his right arm and he stroked it tenderly, this was the first time he’d moved in over 3 hours, after all these months it still hurt like nothing he had ever felt before. Except perhaps the feelings of betrayal and abandonment that came when he approached his head of year –Mrs Harris- and told her everything. Instead of action or even what he would’ve expected the least she would’ve done, an empty promise that only came into action when his mother entered the argument he received a heartless dismissal that went along the lines of “grow up boy! This is high school, not nursery, if your not going to be responsible for yourself now when will you be? This place is always rough, especially for people like you”.

It had been that moment and the subsequent walk of shame up the corridor past the ‘club’ (who knew all too well why he’d been in Harris’s office, the only people who went in were victims of bullying) that he made the decision to get out of that Church of England endorsed hell. His mother worked in another school in the area; its reputation wasn’t exactly credible (and the school he was in had the best reputation in the area). But she had assured him it was just hearsay. Indeed when he went for a tour of the school he found it to be a place with a much friendlier atmosphere than that of his current school.

Within two weeks the papers had been signed, his teachers informed and his only friend Jonathan was spending his last few weeks with his only best friend at the time. All he had to do was survive to the end of year 7 and he would be free. But when his ‘owners’ discovered their little prizefighter’s treachery they hadn’t been too pleased. Their idea of a ‘leaving present’ was to clamp his left hand under a drill and slowly lower the whirring piece of metal into his flesh. Luckily the teacher for that room arrived and they had to leave. There was no question about why a large group of year 10s had surrounded a year 7 and appeared to be in the process of mauling him rather horribly with an industrial tool. And that had been his last week at Hesketh Fletcher high school.

Now, most people would think that with all that behind them someone would be happy to start a new life in a new school. But quite frankly it was too late for him. He had no trust for the human race or himself. And sure he was leaving hell, but what was he going to? He couldn’t face another year of abuse, loneliness and the English Education system.

“There’s nothing left for me,” he said aloud, although the conditions were so extreme he could barely hear it himself. He gazed down the chasm he was currently using as his headquarters of self-pity; this was where he’d chosen to end it all. He had figured out -mainly by applying the rule of thumb- that the sheer drop that ended in a shallow plunge pool was big enough to kill him, he realised that if the fall didn’t kill him, the shock of landing in the freezing pool of water would. Looking over the edge was frightening for him, he wasn’t afraid to die; in fact he was quite looking forward to it. It was the place itself, the idea that this obscure waterfall in the Scottish lowlands was where he would draw his last breath scared him, mainly because he was there, and he planned his end to be within the next minute or so. After he’d prepared himself.

  He was so enveloped in his own sense of melancholy and despondency that he didn’t even realise the loud non-thunderous bang in the sky just above him. Despite the fact that it made the ground shake and the nearby nesting Ravens take to the sky and abandon their (until then) well tended for young with a cacophony of throaty cries. Even the flash of light only partly pricked up his senses but he quickly subsided into his own little world once more. He went back to staring down into the deep chasm and the plunge pool at the very bottom.
*

  Ravaak continued to wrestle the controls of the Phoenix as it went into the landing procedure. When they’d entered the planets atmosphere the device Stryka had been given to trace their ‘saviour’ suddenly burst into life, this had caught him off guard slightly as he was rolling around in his own head, thinking of the endless ways he could make the Dark Lord suffer and expire painfully. The device pointed to a small island to the north of the old Phori land of Dinpherim (what is now Europe).
“We’re closing in on it” Ravaak said through gritted teeth. The ship was malfunctioning slightly, it tipped and banked pointlessly as it hurtled through the atmosphere. This unnecessary movement was putting Stryka on edge, he hated technology, and so being in what to him was a metal shell with propulsion engines heading quickly towards the planet at a considerable speed put him on edge. Also the small beeping thing in his palm didn’t help.

The Phoenix was arguably one of the most impressive and advanced craft the Phori had ever created. Its name wasn’t just an extravagance; it had got it from its appearance. It looked like a bird in flight, with its neck stretched forward and the head (cockpit) at the front, the long elegant wings folded forward and over the main body until their tips were just a few metres apart above the cockpit. It was Ravaak’s pride and joy. It could go faster than almost any of the other ‘secret craft’ that had been secretly designed and made a long time ago (long before the war against the Mersae) it represented a time that had been lost. This (like the other ships in the fleet) was from dark time of their race that had been lost to history and known by only the most learned.

“Watch out for that dust-ball” Stryka said mockingly. Ravaak shot him a sharp look over his right shoulder. Then the two laughed, before Ravaak quickly gave all his attention to the controls once more, and the incessant beeping from the tracker. Once the beeping grew stronger he continued to point the ship in that direction, it required a lot of effort and skill.
“Why exactly is it doing this?” Stryka asked, gripping the edge of his seat, in the knowledge that if he came of it he wouldn’t be likely to get back up without a little help.
“Gah!” his pilot replied, “it’s the air”.
“How can it be the air?”
“There are a lot of chemicals in the atmosphere that weren’t there when it was made, the damage shouldn’t be too bad.”
As he said that the ship shuddered like it had run over something rather large in the sky and suddenly the tossing and turning stopped. Ravaak turned to his passenger and gave him a tiny barely noticeable smile, indeed Stryka didn’t notice it, he was busy with the tracker. Ravaak wasn’t surprised the ship had reacted in that way to whatever it was in the atmosphere, a few weeks earlier he had been talked into going on a recon mission to the silent planet below the Phori fleet. Its atmosphere was filled with more poison than Crippen’s drinks cabinet and the surface was incredibly unstable, it was as if the planet itself had been killed from the inside out.

“By the Pitt, look where its leading us to” Stryka said from behind him. Ravaak didn’t truly know where they were heading to; he was just following the beeps as slow as he could.
“It’s Eem” finished Stryka. Ravaak groaned, he couldn’t be bothered with patriotic Phori at the moment. The beeps reached the point where they were nothing more than a long high-pitched drone, and then they slowly became beeps again.
“I think we went over it” Ravaak banked the craft round and began to descend as slow as he possibly could. As the ship reached ground level Stryka could see through one of the slit like front windows a figure ahead. That was the first glimpse he caught of his soon to be apprentice.

The ship had landed about 60 feet behind the figure; Stryka put down the device and began the arduous process of getting up off the seat.  
“There’s no other human life within range, it has to be that” Ravaak said, checking the ships scanners carefully. Like Stryka he wasn’t overly fond of humans, but unlike Stryka it wasn’t a deep-seated hatred, more of an intense disapproval of them respiring, he was willing to give them a chance, but it would take awhile for them to excluded from his slight prejudices.

“Why’s it here?  The disk showed them in huge stone areas, not in nature” Stryka asked rhetorically. Of course he realised that the area they were in couldn’t really be considered ‘nature’. He had heard that the area had been covered in forests at the time they had left the planet. And now there were no trees in sight, no doubt due to the destructive nature of the humans.
“Maybe it knew we were coming” Ravaak suggested.
“Impossible, Venotarian said that only the other knew of their purpose…although he also mentioned that they have a mental connection” Stryka tapped his metal knee thoughtfully. This couldn’t be right. Admittedly he wasn’t an expert on their species, but he knew a juvenile when he saw one, he also knew an unhealthy juvenile when he saw one.

“Can it see us?”
“No, just before we entered the atmosphere I put the chameleon shield up”. Stryka had always disapproved of such shields; in his eyes they were dishonourable and cowardly, though in this case he could see why it was needed, the last thing the Phori wanted was the entire human race knowing they still existed and were sending ships to earth on regular recon missions, to prepare for this moment.
“Perhaps it will be less of a shock to it if we lower the shield” Ravaak suggested. Stryka remained silent; he did nothing but stare intently at his soon to be protégé in disbelief. Then finally he spoke, “Open the doors”. Ravaak reached for the small switch above his head that lowered the ramp in the middle of the cockpit.

Stryka stood at the top of the ramp and looked at the earth below him, solid ground, for the first time in months. He slowly walked down the metal ramp, Ravaak stayed close behind him, partially to stop him from falling and also just in case the human got violent. The texture of the rough heather on his foot and leg was one of the best feelings he’d ever had, he’d missed nature, and to feel the branches of heather scraping against his leg was a reminder that he was more or less home.

The human was still stood there, his head bowed; he swayed slightly in the wind, as did the slightly long untended mass of grease that was sat atop his round chubby head. It hadn’t even noticed the two Phori walking up behind him noisily, as both of them were relishing in being on the earth again, also Stryka’s gears and mechanical parts made a slight whirring noise (although to be fair the only being that could hear the noise was Stryka himself, and it was driving him mad). It got to such a point that the two Phori were stood behind him and doing nothing but looking at each other uneasily, Ravaak didn’t want to touch it, he knew that they had a tendency to carry diseases.
*
Matthew inhaled. His last breath, or so he thought. He stuck one foot out and raised his head so that he was looking across the small valley and to the face of the hill opposite, the Ravens had returned to their nest and their cawing chicks, they and the wind were the only things he could hear, he had blocked out all other noise. His neck felt strangely warm all of a sudden, like someone was stood behind him with two hair dryers. But he didn’t care. He closed his eyes and began to lean forward, the considerable weight of his body meant he descended quickly. Behind him there was a strange noise it sounded like someone speaking in a bizarre language, little did he know it was Phori for “Grab him!” Sure enough as his other foot left the edge something very heavy and powerful locked around his stomach. He felt all the oxygen in his lungs get forced out and what he had intended to be his last meal (cheese and tomato pizza-slightly over cooked due to his self pity) surge up his throat. He had no idea what had just happened, but he saw the plunge pool rushing towards him and he closed his eyes waiting for the end.
*
As soon as the chubby human had stuck his foot out Ravaak had leapt towards him, his powerful legs driving him towards the suicidal creature, whether this was the ‘chosen one’ or not it had posed no threat to them and thus could be considered an ally, so probably didn’t deserve to die by its own hands. He threw his arm round the creature and drew it close to his own body. He hoped to all that was good that the drop wasn’t large enough to cause any damage to him. When he was able to see what he was destined to land in, he was slightly relieved. He turned his body so that his back would take all the strain of the impact and his ‘passenger’ would do nothing but get slightly wet. He closed his eyes and braced for impact.

When they hit the water Ravaak let out a small barking cough, it hurt, quite a lot. When he opened his eyes his human had slipped out of his grip and was floating above him, for a nano-second it didn’t move and simply floated above him (the large amount of fat in his body acted as a floatation device) and then suddenly it seemed as though everything began to work again and his arms and legs kicked furiously to keep him afloat. It was then that Ravaak’s limbs sprung to life, and once more he used his muscular legs to propel him through the water and to the human. Once more he grabbed it round the chest and began to swim to the shore. The human coughed and spluttered, obviously not knowing what else to do with himself.
*
When he finally regained coherent thought he managed to look down at whatever it was that had locked itself round him. It was a long thick scaly black arm, which was covered in various scars and what seemed like tattoos etched deep into it. Round the wrist was a thick band of what looked like silver. He could see that they were heading towards the scree laden shore on the opposite hill face. As they got closer to the shore and the water got shallower and shallower he realised that whatever it was that had saved him was considerably taller than him and was strong enough to hold up his entire weight by just one arm. He was too exhausted to do or say anything. Though he was disappointed that whatever it was that had saved him (at this point he was expecting a big black man with a weird skin disease) had suddenly decided to become a good Samaritan.

When they finally reached dry land Matthew was dropped onto the bank which -when his considerable inertia is put into the equation- hurt quite a bit. He landed face first into the sharp rocks and made a stunning variety of bizarre wheezing noises into the ground. When he’d stopped and his throat felt like it had been scraped clean with a large batch of Thistles he turned look at his saviour, and his aching jaw dropped.

The figure stood in front of him was at least 2 metres tall and as dark as the last episode of Blackadder Goes Forth. But it wasn’t his height or skin colour that shocked him the most. The aforementioned scales covered the whole of its body, as did the series of scars and strange tattoos. Two bright red eyes stared at him from behind a long snout, and an equally long lower jaw, lined with a row of small sharp teeth opened slightly trembling from the slight shock of entering freezing water from such a tall height and such an intense speed. The creature turned its head so just one large eye was looking at him now, its nostrils flared as it took in his stench of B.O..
“I am named Ravaak” it said sharply in a voice that showed English clearly wasn’t its first language. “Do you have a designated name?” it said with all the warmth of a chip from a Chinese restaurant. But Matthew couldn’t remember his name; he could only remember one word from his childhood that summed up what he was seeing before his eyes
“D-D-D-Dinosaur!” he blurted stupidly, before passing out on the rocks.  

Stryka thought it was a strange thing that the human that was now under their ‘care’ was able to remain unconscious while he was hoisted onto Ravaak’s back, his head being battered against his saviours muscular back. Then of course there was the wind, the never-ending howling force that enveloped and attacked all 3 of them. He and Ravaak were practically immune to the weather; after all he had spent most of his life in the forests of his homeland Ghallen, but he knew that humans were often vulnerable to the elements. Also he couldn’t discount the poking, when Ravaak had finally climbed back to the top of the hill Stryka had felt an unstoppable urge to poke his apparent apprentice sharply in the arm with one of his claws, still nothing.
“Are you sure its still alive?”
“It was making enough noises on the way back” complained Ravaak irritably. Only when it was in the most comfortable situation so far, in the large chair behind Ravaak in the Phoenix did it regain consciousness and try to fight. This only caused Stryka more concern, other than the fact that it was way too young and way too fat of course. As he watched the flabby limbs wave around pathetically with less control and accuracy than a drunken English cricketer he couldn’t help but feel his heart sink into his groin. He had to train this? He knew from experience that they were impressionable and relatively quick at picking things up, but still, the only thing it seemed that this specimen would pick up would be a huge piece of meat, and possibly the award for the most unlikely candidate for bringing the Phori victory…if the award was food no doubt.

Stryka had never learned to be patient with them, when the wriggling and kicking start he clenched his jaw, trying not to literally bite its head off. But this proved hard, it was lucky he’d never sired offspring, he hated youngsters, be they Phori or human. He’d always ignored the fact he had once been young and foolish…and hopeful.
He gave up with being civil. In one swift movement his right arm lashed out and caught the human by the left wrist and pinched it between two of his mechanical fingers, and he applied his old rule of ‘struggling=pain’. It didn’t take long for it to get the message and he stopped moving altogether.
*
His left wrist felt like it was in something patented by the Spanish Inquisition and he knew his plan had failed. So he decided to co-operate, if he had been religious he would’ve prayed to God, (but he’d stopped believing in God a long time ago) that his captors spoke English, and that their appearances were merely (incredibly convincing) disguises used to intimidate him.
“Did Jong send you?” the one holding his arm just cocked its head and released its grip slightly. Liam Jong had been the boy in charge of him, and he’d always threatened that if Matthew ‘disappeared’ he had friends that could find anyone and convince them to do anything, all he knew was that it involved a burger bun, some Ketchup and a starving Yorkshire terrier (they used to have a Doberman but it had fallen ill and died for an unknown reason). He expected that he was in a car heading back home to meet his master, it was a good two and half hour journey so he would attempt to sweet talk them as best he could.
“You can take those Dinosaur cossies off now, I know who you are, good disguise though”. Silence.

Then he looked ahead, past the driver and through the window. That clearly wasn’t the M6. For a start there was less traffic, and there didn’t appear to be a floor. It was pitch black, aside from the vast amount of small bright lights all around them.
“Where are we?”
The driver didn’t take his eyes off the way ahead, but after a few seconds pause he said “Just out of the planets atmosphere”.

Dressing up as a Dinosaur was one thing, but pretending that they were in space made them clearly insane. Also the inside of their car was strange, it seemed much larger than any car he’d ever been in. He turned around to see if there were any traffic behind them, a vehicle of this size had to cause a lot of congestion problems. But instead of a steady stream of glaring headlights and furious drivers he saw a long dark corridor.
“Smeg” he said as quietly as he could. From all the evidence he had gathered in the past few seconds he had arrived to a conclusion, he had been kidnapped by two Dinosaurs’ and if that part was true then he realised that the black ones comment about being in space must also be true.
“Smeg”. He turned to the one that held his wrist (still tightly) and smiled sheepishly.
“Could you let go? My hand’s turning purple”. It seemed to take awhile for the large grey one with artificial limbs to register what had been said, and he slowly removed his claws from Matthew’s wrist, all the while his sea green eyes never left Matthew’s. ‘Must be simple’ he thought to himself. It had never occurred to him that perhaps seeing as they were ‘Dinosaur’s’ they didn’t speak the same language as him and so it took them a few seconds to process what had just been said to them and then return with a reply, also in English. He also hadn’t taken into account that although they understood English they had never had to speak to a northerner, who like most spoke in such a dialectal manner that was practically a different language.
He decided to be cliché about the situation, he was pretty sure that the shock would sink in eventually.
“My name is Matthew” he said like a typical British person faced with foreigners, he spoke loud, slow and patronising. The grey one next to him nodded slightly and then said in a tone mirroring Matthew’s “I am Stryka Banaeous Gak, commander of the Rhanian forces and ruler of the central territories”.
Matthew nodded and smiled, not quite understanding what the titles meant (and feeling slightly intimidated by them).
“And you are?” he asked the one in front of him.
“Covert agent Ravaak Micak Karr”.
He was blinded by all these strange names and titles that they seemed to possess. “I suppose I should thank you then…thanks,” he said expecting a reply, but he got none.

He looked around the place he was in once more but couldn’t find anything he could strike up a conversation about so he decided to go for the obvious ones.
“What am I doing here? Why have you taken me into space? Where are we going?”
There was an awkward silence as the one called Stryka (the seemingly slow one) looked at him disapprovingly, before finally saying.
“Am I to ignore the fact that if I answer one of those questions I answer them all? Or do you just want me to act like a human and just do the same thing but slightly differently each time?” Even though Matthew obviously wasn’t an expert on the topic of Phori modes of address he was pretty sure that there was a hint of…what was the word? Ah yes, loathing.
“Well you only have answer one then…if you want” was his reply, he had no idea where he got this bravery from, it was like his fighting skills, there was no logical reason for them to be there but they just were. And he guessed that just like his fighting skills, in the face of what could only be described as a Velociraptor that had knowledge of pressure points and absolutely despised him, this newfound bravery was going to get him in trouble.
“We are taking you to meet the Grand Admiral Venotarian, you will find out about the rest of your purpose there…no doubt he wants to tell you personally so he gets his dramatic moment”      

Matthew looked at Stryka blankly, just a few minutes ago he had been stood in the middle of nowhere trying to commit suicide and now here a Dinosaur was telling him that he had a ‘purpose’. Of course it wasn’t the first time he’d been told he had a ‘purpose’, the first time someone said that to him they meant that he was going win them money and a quickie behind the porta-cabins with someone’s girlfriend (when the Better ran out of money he’d use his girlfriend, which surprisingly rarely brought up any protest, usually because the girl rarely understood what fidelity was). A pleased smirk crept across his face as he remembered the time Jong contracted drip dick from one of his prizes. The smile could also have been attributed to the small craft knife he had in his pocket.  
*
“Not much longer” Ravaak said trying to ease the tense silence between his two passengers. He knew that you needed a good rapport with your apprentice; otherwise you might as well give up straight away. But Stryka wasn’t even trying. He knew the human would at least try. If he wasn’t going to right now he certainly would later on in the ship. He was usually good with first impressions and the first impression he got of ‘Matthew’ was that although he was obviously human, he had the Phori qualities that were obviously needed. Like he knew that the only reason why he had been so calm was that he was planning his escape/revenge. He could tell with the way he looked around and was fumbling around in the storage patches in his lower garments. He liked this human. Most of them would’ve simply cowered in a corner and pledged their allegiance straight away. But not this one. He was brave, or unintelligent. The only problem with assessing him by letting him make the first move that there was a high chance Stryka would use it to justify having Matthew destroyed, and the Phori couldn’t afford that right now.

They emerged from the large wormhole that had been made by the fleet a few months ago. The wormhole itself didn’t come from or lead to 2003 CE; it was merely the stepping stone the Phoenix used to travel to that time. The hole actually travelled to Earth around about 40 CE. The time the Phori had escaped from. Ravaak heard the gasp of surprise and wonder from Matthew when he caught his first glimpse of the fleet. Seven huge ships orbited the grey smoky planet, their design was surprisingly bland compared to the Phoenix. The were essentially huge oblong masses of metal with thrusters at one end and a relatively tiny cockpit jutting out of the ships body at the front. Also many much smaller ships were constantly zipping between them no doubt ferrying important commanders to the lead ship for the equally important meeting that was about to take place. Ravaak steered towards the lead ship, it was much bigger than the others and had a different finish to it, so that the pilots of the other ships could pick it out of the others and follow it easier. Matthew was still amazed by all he was seeing, like a Neanderthal being presented with a toaster.

“Now would be the time to stop thinking about using whatever weapon it is in your pocket, you’ll only hurt yourself” Ravaak calmly announced as he banked the craft so that it turned towards its own special landing platform. Matthew’s stomach felt like it had been sucked out by an industrial vacuum cleaner. Stryka suddenly shot him a terrifying glare, he had been too absorbed in his mental cursing of Venotarian to take note of what he had been doing. The look was a combination of deep distrust and embarrassment that he hadn’t spotted it. Without uttering a word and just using the look on his face to convey what he would’ve said he held out his hand near Matthews face. Knowing he couldn’t win he simply took his hand out of his pocket and put the small craft knife in Stryka’s huge hand. The two thumbs (both on the underside of the hand) snapped into the three huge fingers and broke the knife into several pieces. Matthew simply groaned.

“Nice try” Stryka said suddenly with quite possibly the tiniest possible tone of almost affection. It had shown cunning, and admittedly it wasn’t a huge feat to hide a knife from two beings that had taken you into their ‘care’ but it was a start. The human had shown that it had at least one brain cell. And that had won it a merit point in Stryka’s book. Naturally Matthew didn’t pick up on this, he was too embarrassed about getting caught by someone who wasn’t even watching what he was doing to notice any subconscious tones in Stryka’s voice. Ravaak had picked up on it though and gave his reflection in the window one of his classic undetectable smiles. There was still hope for these two. Now they just had to add the final part of the trinity into the mix.

The Phoenix reached the platform, and as soon as the bird-like feet touched the platform two long self controlled cables came down from above and found the two recharge ports on the back of the ship. Time travel tended to drain energy quicker than a fat Chav running the London Marathon after having a kebab the night before. If they had taken any longer the ship would’ve shut down and they would’ve spent the rest of their lives floating around space with little chance of rescue. Naturally he hadn’t told Stryka or their guest, which would’ve only made matters worse and depleted the practically empty oxygen supply.

The platform raised into the ship and into what could only be described as pandemonium. There were hundreds of Phori in the landing bay watching intently to catch a glimpse of one of their saviour’s.
“Oh slag” Stryka mutter under his breath. He hated crowds, especially crowds that wanted to see him. And right in the middle of the crowd, with an expression of pure ecstasy was Venotarian.
“Publicity stunt?” Ravaak asked when Stryka rushed to the front of the cockpit and leaned over the control panel so he could get a better idea of the numbers he was dealing with.
“I was under the impression this was going to be a quiet thing” Ravaak said flatly
“So did I” Stryka muttered.
“There’s so fuckin’ many of them” Matthew said from his seat, he was promptly ignored.
“Now what do you think’s going to happen?” Stryka said grumpily. “He’ll either make it all about him being a great leader who’s willing to take a risk…or he’ll give me the credit so when it goes wrong I’m the one who suffers”
“First one” Ravaak said instantly. “He’d rather get credit for taking a risk and it going wrong than get no credit at all” Stryka nodded in agreement.
*

This short exchange sounded like nothing Matthew had ever heard. Of course now that they were talking together the Phori were using their own language and naturally it was alien to his ears. He would later discover the Phori had two languages, an ancient language from many millions of years ago and a more ‘modern’ language with actual words that could be translated. The ancient language was indecipherable to all but the Phori. It made use of a large chamber within their snout; which could create an almost infinite range of noises, each with its own complex meaning. Not that that mattered now. Suddenly the floor between his chair and Stryka’s lowered. This sudden movement startled him, which in turn made the other two turn round and look at him like he’d just defecated himself.

He wanted to go home, he wanted to die in peace. He didn’t want this. If he had known that going to die in the hills would’ve resulted in him being kidnapped, taken into space and no doubt being parading in front of a crowd of anthropomorphic Raptors (he would’ve thought that if he knew what anthropomorphic meant) he would’ve stayed in the caravan and slit his wrists instead, sure it was messy and meant a lot of waiting around but at least he wouldn’t have been abducted. He hoped that all this would be over soon so he could go back to Scotland and die in peace. His internal moaning reached such a peak that at one point he’d even forgotten why he’d wanted to die. But a quick glance at his right arm and the fading mark there reignited his self-loathing and pessimism for the future.

He saw a shadow that grew from the bottom of the ramp and stretched up along it into the cockpit. He hoped that the species as a whole were much more friendly than the two he had encountered up to now. The shadow finally gained an accompanying figure. Seeing that as soon as the figure came into view Stryka and Ravaak saluted, (though it should be noted that neither of them were particularly energetic) Matthew guessed that it was important. And he found himself strangely doing the same without even thinking, it was his ability to make himself blend in with the crowd kicking in instinctively, despite the fact that it clearly wouldn’t work.

The raptor looking at him was different than Stryka and Ravaak, not only by status but also physically (even though Stryka and Ravaak looked nothing like each other either). He was striped various shades of brown and wore what could be considered clothes, rather than Stryka and Ravaak’s almost comical loin-cloth style fashion statement. These were robes of deep crimson; which had various symbols that he presumed were related to the strange language being spoken around him. This ‘thing’ didn’t even look at him until Stryka and Ravaak stopped talking. He then turned to Matthew and said proudly “I am Venotarian, Grand Admiral of the Phorusrichians and the Tethysian army.” Matthew nodded, still trying to take all this in.
“I’m Matthew” in his head it had sounded much more mature than it did when it left his mouth.

Venotarian didn’t seem to take this in and he simply said “We must be quick Faram, I will explain everything to you on the way”
Matthew looked behind him for this ‘Faram’ he was addressing. It took him awhile to realise that he was addressing him. This angered him slightly, this ‘Phori’ clearly hadn’t listened to him, so he decided to confront him there and then about it before the name stuck.
“Actually, sorry sir, but my names Matthew not Farm”. Once again, it sounded better in his head.
Venotarian looked at him slightly confused but then he realised that perhaps everything had to be explained to him. It was something he was willing to put up with.
“Your human name is ‘Matthew’” (it was a hard name for him to pronounce properly)” but now that your one of us your name is Faram”.

Matthew was slightly taken aback by this. He didn’t consider himself to be ‘one of’ them and had never even agreed to coming with them.
“Stryka, you will be with us wont you?” Venotarian asked politely
“Do I have a choice?”
“Well you have to be briefed too remember?”
“You’ve already told me once a day for Phorus knows how long, train, try not to kill, when a war happens look to see if there’s anything Mersae related” when he said this he gave Ravaak a guilty look as if saying the M-word around him was taboo. “If it is Mersae related send Faram off to defeat the enemy…”
Yet again what was being said was lost on Matthew, though he figured it was about him as Stryka emphasised the name ‘Faram’ with the typical amount of contempt. Then Venotarian said something to Stryka in a tone that seemed to suggest the latter had got something wrong, and indeed Stryka seemed quite put off by whatever it was Venotarian said. It was then that Venotarian turned to Matthew and said.
“Its time to meet your partner”
He then led him down the ramp towards the crowd of Phori, eager to see an example of a ‘modern’ human. Stryka soon followed behind as quick as he could, while Ravaak stayed behind to ‘repair the ship’.