Arrin drew his knees up and used his shoulder to push to his feet, but as he was straightening, the bald guard slugged him on the side of his head with his club. Weak from lack of adequate food and water Arrin fell onto his side, his vision blurring, head feeling as if it had been split open like a melon.

“On your feet,” commanded the bald guard, readying his club for another blow.

In blinding pain and a bit disoriented, Arrin once again struggled to his feet.

It was a rough journey down the hallways of the ship with frequent unnecessary shoving and clubbing from both guards. Arrin managed to stay on his feet and emerged from the ship victorious, into the blinding sunlight and boiling heat of two monstrous suns in a vast tan sky.

After the dim confines of...

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