I must've dreamed a thousand dreams
Been haunted by a million screams
But I can hear the marching feet
They're moving into the street.

Chapter 1: Appearance on Dantooine

Larry picked himself off the ground and looked up, immediately wishing he had not. He was on a large grassland, completely surrounded by...nothing. It was completely barren. The sun glared down at him in what he thought might be a midday position, but this sun was different than the one he was used to. Mystified, he looked around. The reviews for the DreamLand device had not been mistaken; it was as though he actually existed here and his other life in another place was on hold.

On the ground in front of him was a large suitcase, and it seemed out of place for a world that had nothing around it...so Larry bent over and opened it.

A man sprang out of the suitcase, looked around, and said: "Hello and welcome! My name is John Call. I am the creator of DreamLand. You have arrived at a randomly-selected location, which in this case is 'Dantooine.' This suitcase contains your first, and – perhaps - only free equipment that you will receive! I would like to thank you for joining the World of Dreams, where anything is possible!"

The image disappeared and it became apparent to Larry that it was a recording. However, it was so real, it was as though John Call had actually stood right there talking to him.

Leaning over the case, Larry nearly gasped. Inside was a small PDA — he had always wanted one of those — and a long-barreled rifle with a scope. There was a also box of .30 caliber bullets. This weapon he knew only by name and reputation: Springfield '03 model, made by the Springfield armory in 1903, with a five-round magazine. It was used in both WWI and WWII.

Interesting that I should obtain this weapon, he thought.

Larry knew that calculating how much money one has in his account was one of the many uses of the PDA. The funds were a generic unit, as currency was so varied among the users of the system; besides, it was easier to carry in an electronic form. The PDA was also used for contact information and "other uses."

Picking up his equipment, Larry started out across the plain. According to the map on his PDA, he was on his way to a local farmer's home. From there he could get a ride to the nearest spaceport or wherever he needed to go. As Larry walked, he loaded the Springfield and tested out the sights. He hoped he'd be able to find more ammunition along the way.

Fortunately, the rifle had a sling, which he used to sling the firearm over his shoulder. He would have to replace the rifle — he thought idly, as the grass went by — because its bolt action would not be quick enough for his purposes, which included more close-quarter combat.

As Larry continued along, he heard barking. This was no ordinary dog barking like what he was familiar with on Earth. It was a louder type; one that snarled of aggression. After a moment, he heard multiple howls coming from ahead of him, which got louder as he neared.

Larry peered ahead, but all he saw was the glare of the sun and grasslands. More barking. He pulled the Springfield rifle up to his shoulder, squinting through the sun and the scope to find the source of the noise. He caught movement on a ridge just where the sun rested. He squinted even more, and saw the shape that resolved in the scope's crosshairs throw back its head and howl.

Abruptly, shapes came out of the sun at him. They ran low and fast; the barking and snarling increased. They are dogs, Larry realized. Four or five extremely vicious ones, if they are coming at that speed.

Taking no chances, Larry raised the rifle again, lined up an on-coming beast in his crosshairs, and squeezed the trigger. Larry had shot off a few guns before in reality, but most of his shooting experience came from the games that had led him here. The bullet, rather than going into the head of the lead dog, blew into the dog's front right leg. With a snarl, it hobbled and continued onward.

They were close now, maybe a hundred feet or so and closing. Working the bolt on the rifle, Larry forced himself to calm the panic that arose in his mind. He lifted the rifle again, not even needing the scope to aim. They were so close. He squeezed the trigger, and...BOOM! An explosion rocked the center of where the dogs had been. They flew in all directions. Larry threw up his hands to keep dirt and rock shards out of his eyes.

Overhead floated the last thing Larry expected to see in the middle of nowhere: A UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter. There was a man sitting on the outside of it holding a smoking...thing. What he held had six chambers and a very large muzzle. Larry did not want to be on the business end of that thing. The helicopter landed a short distance away. The man leaning out of it with the large gun in his hands was waving frantically. Larry decided not to wait. Loading another round into the chamber of his Springfield, he quickly sprinted toward the helicopter, ducking low to avoid the spinning blades.

"What the heck are you doing out here?" the gun-toting guy said, under a pair of sunglasses and in an accent. He patted the pilot on the shoulder, and the helicopter lifted off.

"Don't you know that the Kath Hounds are incredibly vicious at this time of year?"

"Kath Hounds?" Larry screamed over the whine of the engine, "What are those?"

The peculiar man with the accent looked hard over his glasses at Larry. "Oh, I get it. You just showed up, didn't you? Well, can't say I blame your ignorance then...especially since you got pajamas on."

That was the first time that Larry noticed that he was indeed wearing PJs…this was most unusual, as he would normally notice something like that.

"Let me guess, you haven't come up with a name either?"

Larry still could not place the accent; he thought English or French, but he could not be sure.

"I have too!" Larry said defensively, and snapped his mouth shut. That sounded like he was a six-year old. "It's Harrod the...H...ha...Harrod the Barbarian."

The man in sunglasses threw his head back and laughed. "You hear this, Biff?" he shouted to the slim man at the controls, who just nodded back. "All right, all right, 'Harrod.' Can you shoot with that Springfield?"

"I can shoot...and thanks."

"Thanks for what? Saving you? It's no problem. I got to try out my baby," Sunglasses said, patting the no-longer smoking weapon on the stock.

Larry frowned at it, "What is that?"

"Oh this? I just got it. Picked it off of a raider out on Xantex IV, when recruiting for our clan. It's a grenade launcher. Biffy and I think it's from, like, the Soviet Union or something. Or maybe Mr. John Call just made it up. All I can say is that it looks familiar and blows shit up everywhere." Sunglasses pulled off his pair and wiped off the grit that was not there.

"What is your name?" Larry shouted as the pilot – Biffy? – pulled the Blackhawk in a steep rise over a ridge in the grasslands, scattering some more of those dogs – Kath Hounds? – that had gathered on the hill.

Sunglasses looked like he was going to shoot out the window at the Kath Hounds, but decided against it. "Spacer," he said. "My name is Spacer."

"Where are you from, Spacer?"

"Holland."

"Oh. Where are we going?"

"Chill out, man. We got a ways to go yet and you'll exhaust my knowledge of information pretty soon. We are going to get you some clothes and then we'll let you find your own way. How much money do you have?"

Larry pulled out his PDA and checked, "1000."

"Good, we should be able to get you some clothes. We're heading to an old Jedi enclave where merchants are popping up out of the ground."

The ground broke apart from under the Blackhawk and the pilot, Biffy, flew down into a helipad so quickly that Larry grasped for a handhold, almost losing his rifle out the open door. Spacer snickered as they rolled out through the door.

A tall, light-haired man, who could have been in his early 20s, was standing outside of the entrance to the helipad. Larry noticed his slim frame combined with a pale face that was more used to showing no expression than any expression at all. The man stared, expressionless, at the three coming out of the UH-60.

The pilot, Biffy, and the gunner, Spacer, snapped to attention and saluted. Larry just strung the Springfield over his shoulder.

"At ease," said the pale-faced man. "What did you find?" he asked, with a glimpse at Larry.

"Sir! We managed to find a large number of Kath Hounds and grass, Sir. Only find we did manage was Harrod the Barbarian here."

"He was being attacked by Kath Hounds, Sir, and he only had a bolt-action rifle," Biffy added for the first time. His voice was higher than Larry expected. In fact, he realized that not only was Biffy's voice high pitched, but he was somewhat smaller...he only came up to the officer's chest.

The officer strode over to where Larry was standing. "Did you just arrive?" he asked.

"Yup," Larry replied. "Who are you?"

"My name is Whitestar. I am a Captain in the CH...'Clan Hunters'," Captain Whitestar replied.

Larry frowned, " 'Clan Hunters,' Sir? What's a 'Clan'?"

Whitestar blinked, as though not hearing what Larry had just said, then answered, "Clans are people who share similar feelings, are a team, and an army. With the invention of Dreamland, CH has extended into it. As we all have different skills, we use them to protect our clan and our base and recruit to become the strongest clan. Since Dreamland is new to us, we only have a handful of transport cruisers at the moment and are looking for a base...place to call home."

"I see. Well, I thank you guys for helping me out back there." Larry turned to walk toward the nearest booth to pick up a nicer outfit than the pajamas he had on.

"Wait just one second. This will not take long," Whitestar said, with such an air of authority that Larry turned around and shifted the rifle. "Do you have any skill with that rifle? Or, don't you know?"

Larry shrugged.

"Alrighty. If you give us 500 of your funds, we'll take care of you. Get you some clothing. Set you up with better equipment. That kind of thing. If you decide not to join, we'll just let you go. And, you can have your 500 back...with the clothes, if you want."

Larry thought it over. He'd never been in a clan before, maybe this would work. If worse came to worse, he'd just leave and go elsewhere.

"You guys said you were looking for a base?" Larry said.

"That's for clan members only," Biffy snapped.

With a sigh, Larry decided it would be better to join for a short time. It might work out for the best.

Pulling out his PDA, he tapped the screen to transfer the 500 into the PDA that Whitestar had on his person.

"Where do we go now?" he asked.