I think it was right after I hit my head for the fifth time that I truly began to appreciate the dexterity, balance and grace of a hamster running on a wheel. Our ship rolled round and round on its side tossing us about like laundry in the dryer.  None of us had any future as wheel-running hamsters. After what seemed like an eternity, the ship stopped rolling and we stumbled out into daylight. I felt like I'd just survived a ride on the tilt-o'-wheel from Hell. Amazingly, no one seemed too badly hurt, beyond a few scrapes and bruises.

"Are we alive?" asked J.P.

     "No, dude. We're dead," said Jack. 

     "Do dead people throw up, cause I'm pretty sure that's what I'm gonna do next," said J.P. 

     "Great," I said, "that will make at least three planets you've thrown up on. That's got to be a record." 

     "Shut up, Tom," said J.P. 

     I was so shocked that he'd called me Tom instead of Tommy or butt-head or something equally annoying that I just let it go.  I guess after everything we'd been through, J.P. figured even enemies can give it a rest every now and then.  Besides, a quick look around made it pretty clear we had bigger problems. 

     "Out of the frying pan and into the fire," commented Mr. Fisher. It sure looked like there had been a fire, lots of them at some point. The planet was a mess. Everywhere I looked, the ground was blackened and torn up. Huge rocks were split into pieces as though some monster wielding a giant hammer had walked across the land destroying anything larger than a bowling ball. I guessed there used to be trees, maybe even a forest in the area our ship landed, but all that was left were shattered stumps and a few young saplings struggling to grow among the wreckage. I didn't have much hope for them, though, as the land looked like it had given up on trying to grow anything. 

    "What do we do now?" asked Brian. 

    Good question, I thought. I was no rocket scientist, but even I could tell our ship was not going anywhere without some serious repairs and there was no interstellar gas station in sight. Looking at the faces of my friends—expressions of fear and anxiety like they were hanging over the edge of a cliff supported only by a small tree—I felt sick for having gotten them into this mess (yes, even J.P.). I might have said, “at least things couldn't get any worse,” but I'd been to enough bad movies to know better than that and, of course, things were about to get worse. 

     "At least things--" J.P. started to say. 

     "Shut up!" everyone else yelled. 

     "Don't move. You cannot escape," a voice called out from behind a group of large boulders to the left of the ship. 

     "How come no one is ever happy to see us?" Jack asked. "I mean, how about asking if we're hungry or need a little help with our ship. No, it's always 'we're going to blow your ship up' or 'stop, or we'll kill you.'" 

     "Why don't you be quiet, as well as still," said the voice, who materialized as a man from behind the boulder. Looking more human than the Ashtapada, there was still something alien about his appearance as though all the parts hadn’t been put together in exactly the right way. His neck was a little too long, his arms just a fraction too short and the spaces between eyes, nose and mouth just a bit off. His clothes blended in with the landscape so well, it was difficult to tell where he ended and the ground began. Just as the land around us had clearly seen better days, so had this man's clothes, and, for that matter, the man himself. He was average height with shaggy brown shoulder-length hair that looked as if it had been cut with a very dull knife. His skin was deeply tanned and dirty or possibly mildly tanned and really dirty. Either way, it was difficult to tell how old he might be. 

It was not, however, difficult to see he held a weapon, which whether you are from Earth or wherever we were now, was clearly some kind of gun. Equally easy to now see was that he had friends--five of whom appeared from behind our ship. There were three women and two other men and all were as darkly tanned, worn-looking and armed as the first man, who spoke again. 

     "Now, here's what we are going to do. You're going to quickly collect your belongings from inside the ship—especially medical supplies, clothing and food—and then you're going to come with us," he said. 

     "Who are you and where are you taking us?" asked Mr. Fisher. 

     Sighing, the man said, "Really, you are terrible listeners. My name is Soldat and where we are taking you is our business. Please hurry. It's not safe here." He pointed his weapon at the ship for emphasis. I caught Jack's eye and shook my head slightly. Until we knew more about where we were and who these people were, showing off Jack's shape shifting capabilities seemed a bad idea. 

     "Why isn't it safe?" asked J. P. As if in answer, a noise like thunder rolled across the sky. Looking up, I couldn't see anything but bright sunshine. 

     "Come quickly!" yelled Soldat. "Leave your things." The men with Soldat swore loudly and looked ready to rush our ship, but Soldat held them in their places with a stern look. 

     "What is it? asked Jack. The ground exploded near his feet. Smoke drifted upward from the end of Soldat's weapon. 

     "I will simply shoot you all if you do not shut up and move quickly. I have no desire to let the Chatrang know we are here. Do you?" We moved, quickly. 

     Soldat led the way as fast as possible, occasionally veering sharply to avoid blasted rocks or charred tree stumps. His companions followed closely behind, shoving us in the back to make us move faster. The noise from the sky continued to grow louder. About five hundred feet from our ship, Soldat disappeared. 

     "What the--?" Jack tried. 

     "Heck just happened?" finished Mr. Fisher. 

     "I thought we were over that," Jack said with a smile. 

     "Apparently not." 

     "Fine, but where did he go?" 

     A voice from behind us said, "You will soon find out." We were shoved hard from behind. I fell forward stumbling into a dark shadow. The ground disappeared beneath my feet. I realized too late that the shadow was actually a steep ramp leading down into darkness. We tumbled head over heels arms and legs flailing. An elbow hit my head and I kicked someone in the back. 

     "Ow!" 

     "Sorry." 

     "Holy crap!" 

     "Jack!" 

     "Sorry." 

     We came to a stop, a jumble of seemingly interconnected bodies looking like a multi-headed monster coughing up dust and covered in dirt. Soldat stood impassively staring down at us as his five companions skidded to a stop behind us--all on their feet and smiling, I noticed with annoyance. 

     "Come," Soldat said. He turned and walked farther into the darkness. 

     At the end of a long narrow tunnel, we came to a well-lit cavern, though where the light came from I couldn't tell. It seemed to come from the walls themselves, leaving no shadows anywhere in the room. Twenty or thirty people were clustered in small groups around the cavern. The low sounds of conversation and occasionally laughter carried to where we stood at the mouth of the tunnel. Looking around, I could see several other tunnels leading away from the cavern. There were crates stacked around the room, none higher than the tunnel we'd just walked through. In the center of the room was a tremendous pile of clothing and on top of the pile, flinging clothing in every possible direction, was a boy who looked to be about eight years old. Oh, and he was completely naked. 

    Soldat turned to see what we were all staring at. Brian laughed. 

    "Oh my," said Mr. Fisher. 

    "Pion!" yelled Soldat. The boy froze. "Just pick something out and get down here." The boy started muttering under his breath, but stopped throwing things and began holding shirts and pants up to his body to check sizes. 

     "That's a lot of dirty laundry," commented Jack. 

     "It's not dirty," said Soldat. "When someone outgrows or tires of what they are wearing, they wash it and place it there. Usually the pile is more orderly than that, but Pion and those like him are not known for neatness." Brian, Jack, J.P. and I all exchanged looks clearly thinking of similar, though smaller, piles of clothing strewn about our rooms at home. 

     "It's not really that messy," offered J.P. on behalf of boys from every planet in the galaxy. Before Soldat could question his sanity, Pion appeared, fully clothed, at his side. 

     "Hey dad. So there were survivors, eh?" he said, smiling at us. 

     "Remarkably so, yes," said Soldat. "Though the Chatrang are hunting them, so we may not recover their ship or supplies." 

     "Oh," said Pion and his carefree mood seemed to fade. In that one word I got the feeling that Pion was older than he seemed, if not physically, then by the things he had seen in his short life. 

     "What will you do with them?" he asked his father, as if we weren't standing right there. 

     "For now, give them a place to sleep. Later, we'll see." 

     "Hello, we're right here" said Jack. "Don't we get a say?" 

     Soldat looked at Jack and smiled slightly like Jack was an unexpected joke at a funeral and any more of a reaction would be inappropriate. "Sometimes in life, boy, none of us gets a say regardless of where we are standing. Pion will show you to a room you can use for now. Rest and we will talk later."  

     We followed Pion down a dimly lit tunnel, his mouth running at twice the speed of his feet. 

     "What'd you do to get the Chatrang so angry? Wow, that was some crash, and the rolling and 'Bam!' I saw it from the tunnel. I wanted to go with the soldiers to meet you—if you were alive—but my dad wouldn't let me. Are you going to stay here? Is the rest of your family dead, too?" He stopped suddenly and looked at me. 

     "Whoa, what, no, my family is fine. Well not really, but they're not dead," I stammered. 

     "Not yet," added J.P. 

     Jack smacked him on the back of the head. 

     Mr. Fisher stepped forward and put his hand on Pion's shoulder. "What happened to your family?" he asked. "Wasn't that your father we met?" 

     "Yes," Pion answered. "My dad and I are all that's left. My mother, my aunt and uncle, and my sister died a few years ago in the war. No one has a full family, you know." Pion said it matter-of-factly like he was recounting a trip to the store. 

     "You're at war with the Chatrang, too?" asked Brian. 

     "Of course not. How could we fight the Chatrang? I mean the war, you know, between the Chatrang and Ashtapada." 

     "If your not at war, then why--" J.P. started to ask. 

     "If you don't know, I don't think I'm supposed to tell you. You could be spies, you know," Pion said. 

     "Good thinking," commented Mr. Fisher. "While you may not believe us, we are not spies for either the Chatrang or the Ashtapada. In fact, we have been threatened with a variety of harm by both over the past few days." Pion looked at each of us as if waiting for one of us to crack and confess our allegiance to one enemy or the other. 

     "It's true," I said. "We're from a planet light years away from here and really all we're trying to do is get home." Pion looked skeptical, but said, "What's your planet called." 

     "Earth," I said. 

     "That's a stupid name," said Pion. 

     "Is not,"countered J.P. 

     "What's this planet called?" asked Jack mercifully interrupting what was likely to be a lengthy 'is not/is to' discussion. 

     Pion hesitated for a second, then said, "Latrunculorum." 

     "Oh, that's not stupid or anything," said J.P. 

     "J.P., please be quiet,"said Mr. Fisher. We all walked in silence down a curving tunnel occasionally passing small openings, some of which led down other passageways and some that opened into small rooms. At about the tenth opening, Pion stopped. 

    "You can stay here," he said. 

    I ducked down to enter the room, which was barely bigger than my bedroom at home. The floor was stone and dirty. There were boxes stacked against the walls and sacks of something that on Earth I might have guessed were potatoes, but here, who knew. We piled in too tired to ask any questions. 

    Pion stuck his head in and said, "You better stay here until I come back and get you for meals. It's easy to get lost. If you need to, you know, do personal stuff, the second opening past this one is where you should go."

"Good to know," I said.