WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age of 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

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Chapter Three – Terra Eleven Zeta

Everything again began shimmering and it felt like I was slowly rotating. Had I been alone, I would have reverted to my Ophugalian form to better track where I was. The Ophugalia evolved from migratory birds and our ears give us a great sense of movement and direction. I was now, for better or worse, shifted into the form of a Nine Gammite who was sitting docilely in the crowd watching Spacer Bob’s exotic holographic tour. Even without my Ophugalian ears, however, I was fairly sure that we were, in fact, moving. I didn’t know how, or what technology was involved, but I was absolutely certain that we had somehow moved from Terra Nine Gamma to Centauri Alpha Six and that we were now on our way to Terra Eleven Zeta.

Terra Eleven Zeta is classified as a primitive world. The colony established millennia ago was very successful for many, many centuries. Then the world divided into factions based on the land masses of the planet. Each of the three different factions had developed their own cultures and customs. And each of the three different factions wanted to rule the entire planet. Catastrophic wars raged for centuries.

Earth prime went through such wars and struggles in its history, but fortunately earth was able to establish lasting peace and equity before humanity destroyed itself. Such was not the case on Terra Eleven Zeta. The planet devolved into one, last horrific war. Finally, after 730 years of war came the great apocalypse. There is no record of who first used their “final solution,” but lancer missiles, nuclear bombs, plasma orbs, anti-matter clusters, and even terraforming machines were unleashed by all sides. All cities, all technology, and the majority of the population, were vaporized. By the time the barrage was finally over, the planet was effectively glassed. What air and ground and water remained was badly polluted. The few survivors were forced to live in underground caves and bunkers deep within the destroyed ground. Star Command declared a quarantine on the planet.

That was centuries ago. The humanoid population of TEZ has slowly reestablished itself, but they have no true memory of what occurred. All that is left for them are myths of “The Great Struggle” when the gods destroyed the planet. When the time is right, contact will be made and Eleven Zeta will once again be brought into the modern world. But for now, it is a quarantined primitive world.

When everything stopped spinning I almost auto-reverted. This was not Terra Eleven Zeta. At least it was not Eleven Zeta as it exists today. We were in a large arena that looked like something out of Terra Prime’s ancient history. It was a large, open arena with seating for perhaps three thousand people. Spacer Bob’s benches had somehow expanded and were now superimposed over the bottom rows of seating. The place was packed. There was no way to move so that I was not overlapping one of the Zetaites. I shifted slightly so that at least my head was not completely overlapping the head of a rather large gentleman who seemed to be munching on handfuls of some sort of cooked grain.

There was a high wall separating the sand of the arena from the spectators. Large stone columns rose high into the air at regular intervals all around the wall. On one side of the arena large cloth awnings reached out from above the highest seats to rest on the top of those columns. I was evidently sitting in the cheap seats with no protection from the sun so I could see, on the top of the awning, a huge stylized image of the head of a bird in profile. I could also see that there were long banners hanging on the front of each column. The banners were a deep blue with an image that depicted a giant colorful bird with long, black and white tail feathers.

This was impossible. The Amherst Pheasant was the emblem of the ChiMy faction in the wars which destroyed Eleven Zeta. It’s head with its complex pattern of black and white feathers was printed on all currency and was part of the official seal of their nation.

A loud voice boomed out of the huge speakers which were everywhere in the arena. The voice was speaking a form of Terran Standard but Spacer Bob’s equipment still provided a translation inside my head.

“Welcome to the ChiMy games,” the voice announced exuberantly. “Today we have chariot races, foot races, and of course, capture races.” He paused as six chariots raced into the arena, then he continued, “We begin with the chariot races.”

As the chariots took a preliminary lap around the arena I couldn’t help but notice that they were not pulled by horses, but were instead pulled by four naked men. The men had blinders on so they couldn’t see what was going on around them. They also had some sort of bit in their mouths with reins that went back to the driver’s left hand.