By RD Rivero

October 25, 2000

[Part One]

Grune's prison was no larger than his body, tailored to fit to the slightest contour of his form. It was so tightly cramped that he could move his head only from side to side. If he tried hard enough he could stand on tiptoe and, angling his up, he could see through the clear dome that covered his head.

At any given time he could peer out into space -- that eternal darkness, interrupted here and there by the faintest glimmer of distant stars. He came to learn quickly enough that between stars and planets the universe was cold and alone. An ordinary man would have gone mad long ago -- but he was not just anyone, not just any one at all.

He was Grune, Grune the Mighty, Grune the Destroyer. The ex-Thundercat. The outsider. He was driven to survive the crushing isolation by anger and hatred -- a deep and unquenchable desire for blood and vengeance that kept him alive.

The machines that fed him -- powered by the latent energy of space itself -- began to hum and shake violently. Once again he was awake, alarmed by the sudden disturbance. Not that it should have seemed sudden for by then it had been creaking its telltale tones for five years.

The shards of the broken panels rubbed against his chest -- a certain spot under his right nipple that was rough and fur-less. He was sure it was bleeding, too, but the wound, if there was a wound, was superficial and meaningless compared to -- he shifted slightly. He had tried to destroy it -- the machines -- but he had no leverage and had managed to break the external facade and nothing more. He tried again and again and again but, after a while, more than anything else he wanted to live -- to live in defiance with every breath, with every moment boiling his blood and rage against that --

Perhaps it was so, perhaps a certain madness had crept over him.

He had been careening through space at superluminal speeds -- the tachyonic matter of his prison hurtling him deeper and deeper into the past.

The past --

He tried to sleep. The humming had lessened and he was comfortable enough to rest his chin atop a heavy bulkhead. In his mind he could hear countless voices, thousands upon thousands of Thunderians chanting his victorious name:

"Grune! Grune! Grune!"

He smiled and waved, turning his face from one side of the wide avenue to the other while above his head the crown of the gods, the red sun cast beams of light across the land. He and his conquering army, fresh from the last, decisive triumph against the mutants, marched into the capitol city of Thundera. Flowers, gold and silver pieces were thrown at him and at his men. Little children and snarfs wandered the pavements, collecting the ornaments in glee. One small child -- a wildly-maned lion -- crawled up to the side of his chariot.

He took the boy into this arms and whispered softly into his ear, as if in defiance of the loud booming of the massive crowds: "And remember, little Liono, that the only good mutant is a dead mutant." The child looked up adoringly, flexing his eager fingers around the man's white tusks -- he had two then and scared no one.

Up ahead, at the base of the familiar, looming figure of Cat's Lair, he caught sight of two men --

"Ahhh!" he screamed and jolted back, awake once more.

The nightmare was only one of the many victories of his long, esteemed career -- but he was young then and naive. He could not see -- or he would not see -- what was really happening, what was really being done to him by those men he worshiped and even called 'friend.' In the back of his mind there was always a part of him that suspected it, but Jagga -- he sobbed, it had been so long since he had last uttered a word that he had reverted to infantile behavior -- but Jagga seemed to be an upright and just man, incapable of that kind of evil.

He had no regrets and only wished he could have done more. More. More. More -- he shook his head while the words echoed in his brain.

A strange shot of light came from the world outside -- he turned to see. The scene had changed abruptly. He was approaching a solar system. Its yellow sun grew larger and larger. Soon planets appeared but wild and distorted in shape. Rocks, shining rocks, sparkling and shimmering in an ethereal glow passed before his widened eyes. One blue planet in particular became distinct and prominent and for the first time in the longest time he was afraid --

Grune was going to crash.

[Part Two]

Through the course of untold millennia nature had at last reclaimed the Black Pyramid. The sentinel obelisks were covered by thick vines that bloomed strange, multicolored flowers that scented the air in a sweet perfume. Birds and small animals made their homes in the deep cuts of the hieroglyphics carved into its sides. Only the main structure of the pyramid itself retained its original character but it, too, had been transformed in many ways.

Suddenly the ground rumbled. Suddenly the clouds thickened and coalesced in a rolling fog high above the sharp peak and the land everywhere was covered in darkness. A chilly breeze swooped down from the north and shook the flowers in its wake. The birds fluttered from the scene, leaving behind young chicks in their nests, squeaking for attention.

Lightning struck the faces of the pyramid, scorching and burning the greenery. The obelisks were blasted next, exterminating instantly what unfortunate life remained attached to them. In a matter of seconds the forests began to die and wither, receding into the distance, retreating.

Within the pyramid the sounds and disturbances did not go unnoticed. Thunder rumbled and the lid of the sarcophagus creaked open. A glowing red light emanated from within. A single, bandaged arm broke through the dusty cobwebs.

"Who dares disturb the eternal rest of Mumm-Ra, the Ever-Living?"

The four statues of the ancient spirits of evil stood motionless before him. The mummy, dressed only in his linens and red cloak, ached forward to the circular pool. Over the stone basin he waved his arms and an oily, purple liquid oozed from the pores of the rock -- a thin smoke clung to the ground.

"What is this? What do we have here?"

In answer there came a whisper from the vast expanses of the chamber -- a whisper that began almost inaudibly and grew louder, more potent. "LOOK INTO THE WATERS, MUMM-RA!"

The old one complied.

A vision of a clear field came into view. Unicorns grazed innocently and unaware while their keepers chattered with one another. A strange noise echoed from above and everyone looked up -- the sky was painted by a single, bright streak of light, arching from the void of space down to the solid form of the earth. It speed up, screeching, screaming toward its doom --

"A meteor?" Mumm-Ra wondered. "How many of these have hit Third Earth in my sleep that I have to be awaken to see this?"

"THIS IS NO ORDINARY METEOR --"

It stopped -- rather it slowed down and came to rest gently on the ground, glowing red in extreme heat.

"IN THE POD IS A MAN WHO CAN BE YOUR GREATEST ALLY, OR YOUR WORST ENEMY."

"I don't understand."

"YOU WILL -- BRING HIM TO THE PYRAMID, HE IS ON THE THROWS OF DEATH."

"But if he might be my worst enemy, why should I help him at all?"

"DO WHAT YOU ARE TOLD, MUMM-RA!"

The eyes of the statues seemed glowed a deep, electric red, their heads seemed to arch down, toward him. The ground rumbled once more and that was enough. He knew what he had to do.

The waters faded and the vault was quiet once more -- dim, dying torches from the open halls nearby lit the scene mysteriously, eerily.

Mumm-Ra wrapped his shoal over his weak form and disappeared, materializing in that field he had seen in the foamy bubbles of the boiling waters of the pool. The wildlife and the natives had fled aghast and in terror. He approached the mangled reck of the pod -- it had come to rest on its side, splitting open.

He waved his hands and the smoke cleared -- he heard a low moan or wail. He knelt down over the rubble and dug through the shrapnel to reveal a large, burly figure. A half-man, half-cat being. It turned its head and collapsed, breathing deeply in a loud whiz. Blood tricked from its flat, black nose, tainting its otherwise brown fur.

Mumm-Ra pulled back the man's long, black hair to reveal more details of its face. He took off his cloak and wrapped it over the prostrate figure. In a blaze of light he was back at the pyramid, the fallen, broken man in his arms.

He placed the injured on a slab of metal that served as a makeshift altar. He studied the naked cat who looked strong and agile enough to survive. He examined the body closely and with his sorcery and magic he repaired the physical injuries.

"STOP!" the choral of voices ordered. "DO NOT REPLACE THE TOOTH!"

Mumm-Ra stood at attention.

"IT MUST REMAIN IMPERFECT TO REMIND HIM OF HIS PAST, IF YOU ARE TO CONTROL HIS FUTURE."

"I see," Mumm-Ra said, rubbing his chin. "And what would his name be?"

"GRUNE."

"Ah, good. Now, ancient ones, what am I to do with him? I have fixed him and he will live -- but what next? What of him?"

"THE LUNATICS HAVE BEEN ENCROACHING ON OUR TERRITORY LONG ENOUGH, MUMM-RA. THEY MUST BE DESTROYED OR ELSE WE MIGHT PERISH."

The mummy looked stunned. "The Lunatics? When did they get here? Why did they --"

"THEY MUST BE DESTROYED AND ONLY GRUNE CAN MAKE IT SO."

He looked down at the sleeping figure.

"Where did he come from?" He hovered over the now-named figure. "And if he does defeat the Lunatics, what of him if he becomes just as powerful? How is he to be destroyed?"

"HE WILL RULE A MIGHTY EMPIRE ON THIRD EARTH AND HE WILL HAVE HIS DAY IN THE SUN ONCE MORE, BUT YOU, MUMM-RA, ARE EVER-LIVING. WHILE HE MIGHT HAVE A SINGLE DAY, YOU WILL HAVE FOREVER."

"'Have his day in the sun once more'? I must know more about this man, this Grune," he thought to himself.

A bright flash came from the rim of the pool and caught Mumm-Ra's attention. He hobbled over to it. It was a flask, a bottle that contained a yellow oil.

"THE ESSENCE MUST BE POURED OVER HIM," the ancient spirits of evil commanded. Mumm-Ra held the potion in his hands, having already removed the cork. "IT WILL MAKE HIM IMMUNE TO THE EFFECTS OF THUNDRAINIUM."

"Thundrainium," again he muttered to himself, "only one creature in this universe is allergic to Thundrainium."

Mumm-Ra turned the bottle over Grune's heaving chest, over a small spot around his breasts where the fur had rubbed off and the skin was raw and bleeding. The glittering substance trickled down over the contours of the body in winding streams, spreading and soaking into the fur, fusing into the flesh.

"That would explain his feline appearance," he continued to speculate to himself, "and the ancient's curiosity with him -- if he is Thunderian he might know about the Eye --"

"ENOUGH, MUMM-RA. ALL THE DETAILS WILL COME TO YOU WHEN IT IS NECESSARY FOR YOU TO KNOW."

"Fair enough, ancient ones." Mumm-Ra waved his arms in the air as though in repentance. "If it's the Lunatics you want destroyed then I believe I have a plan."

[Part Three]

The world as he saw it exploded in a rage of blazing, bright light. At once his eyes were blinded by the intense glare and dried, evaporated by the heat. His body ached and at once he felt a massive heave of blood rupture from his veins and arteries, running down to his abdomen. He tried to scream but he had no lungs left and the searing pain was too great, much too great. The machines that had kept him alive hummed and raced frantically and then they went off-line, destroyed by the abrasive action of the dense atmosphere. Soon death, or a state akin to death, too, spared him of the memory of the crash.

In the spiraling twilight of his mind he saw himself -- his body -- broken and battered, prostrate over the land of that strange, green-blue planet. He was sure that he was lifeless and, more angered than ever before, he tried to claw his way forward, he tried to get back to his body. In shock and horror he realized that he had no hands, no arms anymore. He was nothing more than an idea and a few, collective memories.

The world went black at last and in the cold, enveloped darkness his words echoed: "Is this how it ends? Is this it?"

Grune's disembodied memory entered the large, decorated hall. Above him the room was lit by hanging candelabras and torches of soft fluorescence that adorned the walls. The great meeting room and its occupants were ghastly forms -- the guard posted at the doors, the scribes seated on the floor, the council of Thundercats huddled over the round table -- everyone and everything was a foggy, opaque shape, shifty and fuzzy.

Cloudy visions without substance.

Clawdus was wheeled into the room, a white towel was wrapped around his eyes -- their spots were unmistakably located under the linens for they still bled badly. Little Liono climbed down from Grune's arms and tottered toward the open arms of his father. For the first time he was aware that Jagga stood next to him.

The incoherence of voices silenced with Clawdus's raised hand.

"Jagga will be the new Lord of the Thundercats -- until my son comes of age --"

The crowd applauded.

"How did you decide?" Grune shouted -- though his voice came out as barely a whisper.

"Decided?" Clawdus was confused. "Was there ever an alternative? Was there ever an equal?"

"Am I not as qualified as he to lead?"

A nude, red-black tiger strutted up to Jagga with the sword and the shield in tow while the room around roared with laughter.

"You, Grune? Are you serious?" Jagga asked, the look of shock painted on his face.

"We are equals --"

The clothed jaguar let out a roar of this own, scornfully: "But, Grune, you know full well that no, throwback, can ever be allowed to lead the Thundercats!"

The images faded, coalesced in a quivering mass -- a mist that continued to laugh and mock him. He heard voices or the suggestion of voices, soft, familiar -- "The only good throwback is a dead throwback," little Liono quipped.

The mended figure on the stone slab opened his mouth and let out a great gasp -- a resounding cry of pain and in that bloodcurdling scream he was reborn.

Grune's eyes fluttered open -- he touched them with shaky hands in utter disbelief. His body had come back to him -- his injuries were no more, he felt no physical pain, no pain at all. And the more he thought about it, the more alive and invigorated he seemed.

He laughed and tried to sit up but an old, bandaged hand, unnaturally strong for its age, held him back.

"Not so fast --" a deep, gruff voice spoke.

"Who's there? Who is it?" He looked around but there was only darkness -- he was in the physical world again and subject to the same limitations that he had known his whole life. "Where am I?"

The unseen stranger withdrew his arm. A pang of thunder followed the swift action -- and then the lightning. The flash briefly lit the vast chamber, giving tantalizing views of the space within. His eyes had gradually become accustomed to the dim ambiance and in the ensuing shadow he caught a glimpse of something -- some crazed, hunched figure waving his arms.

Around the scene torches and wooden barrels came to life in cackling fires -- but the air remained cold, as cold as the hand had been. He looked to the left, to a circle formed from four, immense statues, whose hideous faces were obscured in darkness. To this right was a rock, carved in the shape of a skull with what appeared to be a coffin, open and upright, between the hollowed-out eyes.

The cloaked stranger hovered his attention over the cat.

"Who are you?"

"I am Mumm-Ra, the Ever-Living. And you are Grune, of the planet Thundera."

He nodded in answer and shivered --

"I know because I know and see all."

"You brought me back to life?"

"Yes -- at times the ancients ones let me resurrect the dead."

"Am I your servant?"

"In a sense -- I don't get much good, evil help these days."

"Evil," he thought, "I used to fight against evil."

"Used to -- but not anymore --" Mumm-Ra said, as if to show his superiors that he, too, could read minds.

"Then you know about Jagga and Clawdus and of my rebellion against the Thundercats?" From the look of surprise on the mummy's bandaged face he regretted having said so much.

"I know of the Eye of Thundera."

Grune's eyes widened: "You do know and see all."

He got up slowly from the altar aided by Mumm-Ra who held his arm while he walked the cat to the pool.

"This planet is called Third Earth," he began, "and I rule it from the pyramid. I cannot leave my sarcophagus for long and so I need -- I rely -- on the strong, powerful men of the time to do my bidding -- and the bidding of the ancient spirits of evil --" he pointed up to the statues whose heads were only then beginning to break through the haze. "That is why I need you -- you were once mighty."

"I was a conqueror."

"Yes -- but here you will have to start from the beginning again -- nothing will be given to you that you have not earned."

Grune nodded in understanding.

"So you are not uncomfortable fighting for evil?"

"I fight for who and what I want to. I don't answer to the norms of society, Mumm-Ra, for I am not normal to it to begin with."

"Ah, yes, yes," he ran his hands around Grune's cheek, his overt feline features. "Revenge -- hate can keep a man alive and I can see now that you will do well, my young apprentice."

At that moment Grune regained his strength and stood on his own.

On the reflective foam of the pool he was shown what he had to do to repay Mumm-Ra's little favor. The Lunatics, a band of dangerous mercenaries he was already faintly familiar with, had crashed on Third Earth and had made their home in a castle called 'Tomb' that they had built from the remains of their vessel. And while the mummy slept they had grown powerful -- raiding and marauding unsuspected natives.

He was confused: "Are they not your allies in evil? Why destroy them?"

"Because no one can ever become more powerful than I, Mumm-Ra, the Ever-Living. I will not destroy them outright -- I will keep them alive but in storage, as it were, until a day that I may need them. What I want from you is to destroy their stronghold." The mummy put his strong grasp around the cat's shoulders -- "Unbridled evil is my department and I will have no competition, not even from --" he was about to say more but he stopped in the guise of deep thought. He waved his arms once more and a small bag appeared between the men. "You will need to know more about the Lunatics, their stronghold, even about Third Earth. I confess, mortal, I have no patience for such matters and for that reason I am sending you to Zeno. He is a powerful wizard who lives on the coast. He will arm you and teach you what you need to know. You will take the sack -- in contains star charts, maps, compasses and everything you might need along the way. You will go east along the course of the only river that flows by the pyramid -- it will take you directly to him. Go, now, do not fail -- and remember, I will be watching your progress."

Grune took up the bag and looked behind him, in the general direction where Mumm-Ra pointed.

"And how will I know Zeno?"

No answer.

He crawled reluctantly to one of the hallway openings from which the sounds of trickling water echoed. He stopped and turned around -- but the mummy was gone and the lid had slid back to cover the coffin. Again there was thunder -- so loud it shook the foundations -- and then there was lightning.

"What have I gotten myself into?" he muttered under his breath.

He followed the hallway carefully with this hands outstretched. His fingers brushed against the dust that covered the large, gray bricks, the engraved markings and designs. He was terrified at first by the omens of those figures but after a while he was able to block them out of sight, out of mind. The winding passage eked up to the sky, to a flood of light from a rectangular hole in the ceiling. He stumbled upon a small staircase and climbed out of swinging, horizontal doors into freedom -- away, a whole world away from the claustrophobic confines of the Black Pyramid.

He inhaled the stagnant air and almost choked on the arcid, ashy smoke. Above, the sky was black in convoluting clouds that violently clashed with one another. Below the ground was scorched and burnt -- he walked quickly for his feet were unprotected in his stark nakedness.

He heard the babble of water come from the distance. A river bubbled up from the ground in a violent torrent of white-water. It led east -- so the compass told him -- and it was the only river near the mummy's tomb. Without hesitation he followed the outline of its reed-filled banks and silty shores. It was a mighty river and one rich in life -- in complete contrast to the desolate wasteland of the pyramid.

[Part Four]

The river began its life in the center of a wide basin and carved its way through the valley of green mountains. The clouds were thick but they did not block out the light in any depressing way and they provided a welcome relief from the heat, the beating heat. Far from Mumm-Ra's pyramid the sky was blue, flowers bloomed and the air was full of birds, butterflies. He was surrounded by a plethora of strange colors for he was only used to Thundera's drab, red sun and dark atmosphere.

During the first hours of this trek Grune hopped along at a weak pace. He was still getting used to the fact that he could move his legs. Although the machines in the pod did much to keep his muscles from atrophy there was nothing like a real hike in the wilderness to get the blood flowing.

He stopped on occasion to catch his breath in frustration -- and when idle he would look at the map to catch his bearings. With detailed measurements taken with his eye he calculated how much progress he had made and deduced that a trip to the coast would take him four or maybe five days. It would not be easy and it occurred to him that he would have to cross the river -- he looked out over its breath, it was unmanageable, violent and untamed.

Near the coast the water was cool and refreshing and, ten hours into the trip, by which time the sun had passed its peak above him, he decided to take a dip. As a cat he prided himself on cleanliness and it had been ages, literally ages, since he had immersed himself completely. The foamy crests tickled his feet as he waddled into the calm bank. In the soft silt -- that his toes readily sunk into -- he sat up to his neck and then dunked his head in, splashing his long, black mane in the water. The spray hit the bag that the mummy had given him and that he kept on dry land next to a boulder.

Relaxed, a vision came to him. He had been calm like that once before, after he had stormed out of the great council chamber in tears. He threw down his insignia on the ground and stomped it to pieces with his boot.

He had always known the prejudice throwbacks faced in Thunderian society. His childhood had been particularly difficult -- he could still see it, the children's taunts, stares, "Is he a man, is he an animal?" they whispered to one another, behind hands concealing their quivering lips -- it had driven him to amputate his tail as soon as he had come of age. If only it had let him fit in a little more, but it was not enough and no amount of surgery could fix his face. The face that always gave it away.

But the Thundercats? Surely, not them, too --

The sun sank behind the western ranges casting long shadows over the land. The sky darkened in a haze of purple and violet. He was back to reality -- his stomach hurt, ached for food, real food. He searched the bag and found only some flint sticks and a knife.

A stone sounded from the nearby forestry -- a twig snapped. Grune looked up -- a single deer strode through the underbrush. He held the knife between his teeth and slowly crawled on his stomach to the his prey. His eyesight was excellent -- a holdover trait from the more primitive forms of puma that hunted at night.

"Those high and mighty Thundercats -- those fools. Slackers."

In the undergrowth he stalked the deer while it wandered hopelessly lost in the darkness. The forests were quiet except for the hooting and ruffling of owls -- a distraction he took advantage of.

The deer, sensing no danger, sat on the soft tufts of the ground to rest.

"How stupid can these animals be?" he whispered. "They should have died out ages ago."

He jumped on its back and lunged the knife into the neck right under the head. The beast struggled and reacted quickly, flipping him over but it was loosing blood fast. He struck again and drove the knife around its collar. The blade was sharp and he was swift -- the head was all but cut off, only a few ligaments and strips of flesh kept it connected to the rest of the body.

He dragged the carcass to the riverside, next to the boulder and the sack that to his relief was unmoved, unmolested. He washed the blood off of him then quickly gathered enough leaves and branches to start a fire. He carved out the meat and roasted it over the flames.

That day's catch was easy, perhaps too easy and there was no guarantee that he would find a quick meal like that again so he feasted on as much of the meat as possible. When he was done he dragged the body to the river and let the currents drag it away.

By the warmth and protection of the fire he slept the night -- the eerie moon gazed overhead and the stars -- he turned his face from them.

The next morning he awoke to the sounds of screaming -- his own.

The sun was breaking through the heavens -- the fire was out having long since consumed itself. He stood and faced the river seeing nothing, nothing at all. He reminded himself that he was not on Thundera anymore.

Again he set on and as the course of the trail wound away he noticed that the plants and animal life had receded toward his right by about twenty yards. The very soil had been replaced by a black, brittle strata. He was also elevated above the level of the river a good ten or fifteen feet -- he looked down the sharp cliff to the water-worn, eroded rocks below. The half-eaten body of a deer had washed up on the shore -- birds and large rats were having their way with the carcass.

He recognized it and smiled and pressed on.

The stones thinned and it became apparent by the contours of the ground that there was something more beneath the surface. He dug at it with his claws and revealed a series of wooden planks tied together at their ends by two parallel metal beams. The long, iron bars were badly corroded, brittle -- they were a gradually-liquefying mass.

"A railroad," he said aloud. "We were experimenting with those on Thundera before I was exiled."

For the first time he realized that there was more to Third Earth than he had thought. Someone had built that track and perhaps more, some thriving civilization. What ever became of it? Could the Lunatics have had something to do with it? Then more than ever he was determined to get to Zeno -- his curiosity was irresistible.

Several miles passed and the railroad had at last emerged from the gravel that had buried it for millennia. He found that it was easier to walk over its wooden planks than the rocky surface. He made good time that way.

It was well past midday when he came across the bridge. The side of the river he was on stopped suddenly and abruptly with the off-branching of a strong tributary. That second river was even more violent than the main branch he had followed. He looked down its length and checked the map. About ten miles inland that river began at the base of a tall waterfall.

Grune had no choice, he had to cross the bridge. He stood before it and studied it for a while with his eyes only. It seemed to fit what a rail bridge would look like: an odd mix of metal and concrete. The iron trusses had buckled under its weight, weakening, cracking -- it listed to the side a few degrees. The central section seemed to be detachable, like a drawbridge but it was hard for him to image lifting or moving such a contraption.

He decided to go for it -- the upper level was flat but littered with scraps of wood and splinters of rails. The concrete sections were loose and wabled and he was especially disturbed by the fact that no birds nested in the numerous crevices.

A voice -- a high pitched snort caught his attention.

"Well, what do we have here?"

"I don't know, Jeb, is it a man, is it an animal?"

Grune looked up -- in the upper support structure of the bridge was a large, blue hut soldered into the leaning beams. Two odd-looking men looked down on him from the railing upon which they leaned -- they had no hair and a thick, leathery hide, their heads had extreme pig-like features. One of them jumped down before him with a big stick in its hands -- three, thick, black fingers and no visible palm.

"Well, just what are you?" he asked while rubbing the tip of the stick under Grune's chin and looking down between his legs.

"Are you too stupid to tell?" he answered enraged -- he had heard it before. He snatched the stick out of the larger pig-man's hands with a single strike from his open palm.

"Get him!" the other shouted -- the smaller pig-man was crawling down side of the bridge.

The larger one thrust at Grune but the cat picked him up and threw him backward. The smaller one surprised him with a metal rod and though he was given a deep blow to the stomach he was still able to wrestle the object from him and bash his skull with it until he drew blood.

The large pig-man came to his friend's aid and tackled Grune to the ground but the Thunderian simply rolled on top of him and butted heads together. The small pig-man wrapped his hands around his neck, snorting and squeaking, weakly trying to choke him into submission -- but he only stood and with that whisked him off.

"What's going on down there?"

Grune looked up -- there were more blue boxes, there were more of those strange pig-people, clothed and armed. A small mob had formed down the length of the span, blocking him from trying to run to the other side.

"You have to pay a toll to cross this bridge --"

He had heard enough -- he took his sack and stormed out of the bridge, to the crest of the forest, past the gravel-topped trail. He continued his retreat until he was well within the cover of the trees and hid in the underbrush. No one followed him and he was safe.

His blood boiled in rage: "Am I a man? Am I? Am I, Jagga?"

He vowed revenge -- but he had to wait, until dark.

Grune used his lookout position to study the bridge. It was only fifty feet above the river and seemed to have a lower section -- or at least parts of a lower section still intact. He found that all of the blue boxes were built around that central, movable section -- and that the pig-men seldom left it. He noticed, too, that there were huge counterweights attached to that part of the span, holding it in place.

He wondered what would happen if they were detached.

The sun set and in a few minutes the heavens were aglow in a dull, eerie starlight. The moon had not yet appeared so he had to act fast. He walked toward the side of the river and climbed down the face of the cliff where he treaded knee-deep in the violent white-water.

Cautiously he maneuvered to the underside of the bridge -- the scene was dark and silent, the stillness unbreakable. He jumped up to one of the lower beams and angled his weight such that we was level, elevated horizontally. He crawled slowly upward to the lower level -- although most of it had been destroyed, the extreme edges were intact -- he only needed to reach one.

It took him a half hour to reach the start of the span, forty feet above the rushing waters. He looked up -- the ceiling of the lower level was the road topside. Several sections had holes and cracks large enough for him to see through -- hopefully no one would be astute enough to see through to him.

The moon loomed precariously over the eastern horizon and with its appearance he was no longer in darkness. He was not worried for by then he had made it to the central section -- deeper than he had come before. He almost walked passed it without realizing it -- he stopped and trailed back.

Attached to the very edge of the structure was a series of metal wires, inches thick, wrapped and braided around each other. He had no weapon or strength capable of cutting through the supports -- but he did not have to. The wire was secured by a series of small rods, grotesquely corroded. With the sharp point of the knife he dug into the flaking layers of the brittle metallic ash until the rod split in half. One part fell into the river, the other bounced on the concrete -- the noise seemed to have alerted someone but the voices were far and distant and no one approached.

Grune waited first five then ten minutes before he continued. The next time he was more careful and caught the broken parts of the rods before they fell. When he finished that section the wires hung loosely for a moment or two -- apparently they had rusted in place and that was fortunate for only then did he realize that cutting the weights free would cause them to fall noisily and he would have been caught for sure. He thought for a moment or two before he attempted to do it again -- for they might not all be rusted.

He crossed the broken pavement and performed the same procedure only in complete darkness for the moon was up, over the cover of the bridge. After countless, untold minutes those wires were free too and did not move -- a strong wind came from downstream and the bridge shook. The current had loosed the central section somewhat and it became obvious that part was leaning down toward the water.

Quickly he sprinted across the two hundred foot span at the edge of the support structure. The base of the lower level had decayed and crumbled into the river and remained so for the rest of the span. He reached the other end of the movable section and with the knife that was unfortunately dulling he again undid the twisted wires. He had a little problem but, keeping his eyes focused on the objective, he crawled across an intersection of trusses toward the other edge where he was safe again in the thin remains of the crawl way.

It was the last of the connecting structures and it was tightest. By then the moonlight was hitting him from the west -- soon it would be early morning and he wondered how long he had been on that bridge. He was lazy and careless and let the shrapnel drop. That time when the wires were loose the worst thing he feared happened: the weights fell and fast and the metalwork rose into the air in a sharp, screeching noise.

The pig-people were no doubt aroused and he had to get out of there fast. We was only fifty feet from opposite edge and he sprinted, ran to it as fast as he could. He heard their squealing and high pitched voices, he heard them clamoring about how the bridge was leaning sideways, about how it was going to collapse.

Grune climbed down the rocks and again maneuvered through the thin, fine line between the river and the shore. The cliff was rocky and loose and it was hard for him to climb. Halfway to the top he looked back -- central part of the bridge was falling into the water very quickly. The superstructure, that was already leaning to one side, exaggerated the distortion and almost flattened itself completely. Meanwhile the blue boxes came undone from their security and each flopped into the strong currents.

He reached the top of the cliff and laughed at the horrific scene that had played out before him the sounds of which could have awoken the dead -- the stretching and breaking of the iron, the cracking of the cement, the screams and wails of the terrified pigs.

[Part Five]

Grune followed the railroad tracks to the opening of a tunnel that was carved into the hillside. Already more than mile away from the wreck of the bridge, he judged he was safely distant from the pig-men if they wanted do seek payback -- if they suspected him at all. He took his bearings one last time then stopped to rest for the night under a crevice in the mouth of the cave. He curled up on the floor and shut his eyes.

He awoke to the sounds of rustling from the nearby bushes. He thought nothing of it but it persisted. He rolled to his side almost awake at that point -- it had been a calm, peaceful sleep, the kind of rest he had known little of for five long years, the kind without vivid nightmares, but then he might not have slept long enough to have had dreams. A twig snapped and his eyes, by their own instinct, followed the noise to its source.

An upright shape -- a walking shadow eased itself between trees.

He was ready to dismiss it until sat up and saw that his bag, his precious bag was gone. Roaring with anger he sprinted up to his feet and stormed into the wilderness -- he swung at the trees and shrubs that were in his way, tearing off entangled vines, shredding branches from their dead and dying leaves, kicking soil and rocks over the rough ground.

The thief was still ahead of him but he still managed to get a few, tangible glimpses -- it was not one of the pig-people and, secretly, he was relieved.

The stranger, by then aware of his blatant stalking, cut into the thick, ten-foot-high underbrush. He would have lost sight at that point had he gone in. He swung up onto an overhanging limb and watched while the interloper struggled through the vegetation. He gauged where to catch up -- he jumped down and circled the bushes.

Both were already deep in the forests, far from the audible, rhythmic flow of the river. He was worried about that -- he did not want to get lost. He was already behind in time and he did not need anymore complications on top of that.

A dark cloud ascended the heavens and for a brief but eternal moment the world was cast in shades of gray. He stopped in his tracks and heard scuffling -- he stepped forward -- he saw the thief climbing down the gentle face of the hillside. He approached the edge, cloaked in the cover of the leafy greenery -- he saw out into the vast, inland plain. Third Earth was an unspoiled Eden, aching to be tamed.

Grune turned back and ran a few yards north to climb down the hill elsewhere, hidden from sight. Rocks and loose soil slid under his feet. More than once he almost slipped and fell. Safe, at the base of the fifty foot incline he hiked around the bend, tackling the stranger in complete surprise.

The thief still had the bag around the waist. Grune growled and roared above the figure whose face was pressed down on the gravel. He stooped slightly and turned the thief over --

It was a woman --

He struggled to speak but only broken, stuttered syllables came from his lips.

Crouched and huddled, she shivered in terror. He could smell the fear in her. He tore the bag from off of her with his sharp claw. Using that small window of opportunity she struggled and broke free, kicking him across the face, knocking him on his back. He secured the bag around his shoulder and, on his feet, he again tackled her from behind -- but that time he did not take her down, he pressed her up to his body, keeping her still.

With an arm that was slightly free he ran his hand down her smooth, black hair, stroking her eagerly.

"What are you going to do? Eat me?" she gulped.

"No," he laughed a little, loosening his hold, "I eat thieves, not people, not especially someone as beautiful as you."

Her ashy cheek was tainted by a hint of red. She turned her head back to face him. She looked at him with deep, watery eyes. Her fear, if it was ever there indeed, had faltered -- he wondered if she wanted him to catch her all along.

"You look as if you've not seen a woman in years."

And now it was his turn to be nervous: "I haven't. No."

She smiled and though she tried hard not to look she could not help her eyes from wandering -- he saw and felt the pressure of her stare and tried to back into the shade. She held him back and kissed his cheek where a bruise had begun to form. She ran her hands into the wild, air-whipped strands of his mane.

"My name is Grune --"

"Grune. Grune."

She turned back and fled.

"Hey!" He ran quickly behind her. "Hey! You haven't told me your name!"

"I'm Winter," she harked back, taking another glance at him -- at what had first attracted her to him back at the mouth of the tunnel.

Winter led him to a branch of the river that snaked into the flatlands in a cascading waterfall. She dove in fully clothed in her loose outfit. He watched her swim in the pond over the yellow rocks that lined the bottom. Her hair was spread out, radiating -- she was an angle, he thought. He set the bag down and joined her.

"Winter," he spoke in a low, dull voice. "You are so beautiful."

"Stop." She turned away in a sort of inbred modesty -- a modesty born from years of abuse. "You don't, you don't mean that."

He pressed her lips with a kiss.

She rubbed him under the chin and made out his ears under his wet hair, playing with them lovingly.

"What were you doing, stealing? Someone as sweet as you."

"I live alone," she turned from him, he put a hand on her shoulder. "I have to survive."

Winter got up from the water and sat on a boulder -- the bag was behind her. Grune followed and clothed her with his body.

"It wasn't always this way. I once had a family. I once lived in the Treetop Kingdom with my sisters, the Amazonians. But I was different. I was always different as far back as I can remember. I have no real attraction for women or for men, I guess. When I wouldn't participate in their ceremonies and rituals I was expelled and humiliated in exile. I was thrown away because they didn't want to deal with me."

She began to cry in his shoulder. He petted her head softly, gently and for the longest time there was only silence between them. Winter touched with the back of her finger Grune's remaining saber tooth. The puma looked on, lost in the thought of a deep and horrid memory while the woman kissed his lip where the broken stump of the other, missing tusk began, right from under the jaw.

"I, too, never belonged."

He paused for a moment to look into her ready eyes.

"I come from a planet called Thundera. The others there don't all look like me -- I'm ugly, I'm what they call a throwback, a genetic aberration. I thought I had friends --"

"I understand, I know what that is exactly. You're not ugly, Grune. How did you get here?"

"I gathered up outcasts like me and I began a rebellion. We could have won, we almost won, if it wasn't for that -- when I was captured I was given, mercy, I was sent into space, into a small box barely larger than my body. I was imprisoned, alone in that tomb, for five years until I was rescued."

Winter had her arms firmly around the cat's chest, horrified and shocked by what he had revealed. "Who rescued you?" she whispered.

"A mummy. I think he's a wizard, I'm not sure. He appeared powerful."

"Mumm-Ra!" Her eyes widened. "Mumm-Ra! but he's evil."

"He rescued me and I owe him this favor."

"Owe him what?" she spoke.

"Don't be afraid."

He hugged her tightly.

"Get away from him, far, far away. He can't hurt you outside of his pyramid. He'll just go back to sleep and forget about you --"

"I repay my debts, all my debts, Winter."

"What does he want you to do?"

"To destroy the Lunatics."

"Are you serious? Didn't he bring them here in the first place?"

"Apparently not -- why don't you come with me?"

She smiled, petting his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and whispered: "Once I'm done fixing the Lunatics I'll be free, free from him."

Again she broke from his hold and ran into the fields -- he followed her hot on her trail not more than a few feet from her.

"If you want me to come with you," she began, "you have to prove yourself."

"Prove myself?"

Winter threw a stick at him.

"Prove your bravery, your loyalty. I come from a race of warrior women," she twirled her stick expertly.

"Wait a minute."

"What's the matter?" she jabbed him quickly but his cat reflexes were fast, too and he dodged and blocked her with his stick a bit awkwardly. "Afraid to hit a girl?"

"No," he retaliated.

She fought him back -- he inched forward -- she held her ground.

Mumm-Ra paced alone around the circular pool of boiling froth. He saw Grune and Winter fight a mock battle -- he saw them draw near each other several times, each time getting closer and closer and freer with their bodies until lips locked and sticks were flung to the side to roll together down the gentle curves of the turf toward the trees.

"Free!" the mummy shouted. "Free from me?"

He shook his fists violently in the air then turned once more to the reflected waters.

"What's this? This? That woman'll get in the way of my -- no! No, wait!"

He angled his face up to the statues, up to the leaking, trickling ceiling.

"Free from me, is it? It's perfect, ancient ones, perfect! He will be my servant forever."

His laughter echoed in ghastly unison to the violent pangs of thunder that followed and with that the pyramid was again basked in darkness, in absolute darkness.