The Tyr: Arrival #1 The Tyr Trilogy

by Richard Fox

  “You could’ve just gone home, couldn’t you? Back to whatever planet you came from. Why do this?” Fastal asked.

  “Because if I ran home, I know what would happen to the Tyr, and sitting safe at home knowing I’m a coward is no life at all…and my family would have shared that shame. So we’ll win or I’ll die trying.”

  “If you really mean that, Prince Riktan might believe you,” Fastal said.

  “What’s…going on?” the pilot asked. “Planet?”

  “Ah shit,” Fastal said. “You’re concussed; everything you heard is just crazy talk.”

  “O…K.”

  “Hate concussions,” Fastal said.

  “Me too. Let’s get him loaded into an ambulance. We’re burning daylight to reach the Prince.”

  ****

  “You have everything ready?” Zike raised his arms in front of him and Argent slipped golden robes onto him. She tied his costume against his back, then held up a face mold that activated makeup pigments in his skin that gave him a glow worthy of a deity.

  “Your script is in the teleprompter, sir,” Hower said from a holo station as camera bots floated around an ivory-colored dais. “If you would…perhaps…stay on it this time? Might incur less cost to future operations.”

  “And our visual aid?” Zike huffed into his palm to test the scent of his breath.

  “Ready, but I strongly disagree with—”

  “Then let’s begin.” Zike stepped up to the dais. “I have a design conference with the construction team in forty-five minutes.”

  “Sir…” Hower looked at a Compliance soldier in simple fatigues at the door and tilted his head to one side.

  The soldier smirked and mimed the gesture back at him. Hower left the room, grumbling.

  “Hulegu. Update,” Zike said and the officer appeared in a holo panel projected by one of the drones.

  “Initial landings met with minimal effective resistance,” Hulegu said. “Azure Islands are forty-nine percent clear. Indigs are evaccing without any additional pressure. No organized resistance. We’re shooting down any planes that go feet wet on a course to the islands.”

  “Why are you letting Tyr escape? We’ll just have to exterminate them later,” Zike said.

  “The Marauders are almost at system burnout, but we can push them a bit further…safety recommendations are just suggestions, right? Mind if I let my Myrmidons stretch their legs?”

  Zike flicked a dismissive hand.

  “Nice. We’re ready for the next phase,” Hulegu said.

  “Co-opt every signal the kingdom uses and then let’s ready the delivery to our next target,” Zike said. “Cameras ready? And live in five…four…”

  Dead air across the kingdom—jammed by the Compliance Force—suddenly came alive with a series of pings then a recording of Hower’s voice counting down from one hundred—enough time for word to circulate among the Tyr that the radio waves were working and something was coming. Television stations came back on with the countdown.

  Zike scrunched and stretched his face as lights from the camera drones turned on. A line of text with a bouncing ball over the first syllable appeared just below eye level so he could look down when speaking.

  “Tyr,” Zike said it slowly, letting audio filters lower the timbre of his voice and add an ominous rumble to it. His transmission went over every radio frequency and he appeared on every channel.

  In the ruined streets of King’s Rest, radios in cars and houses crackled with the message.

  “I am Zike, herald of the human race. We will establish colonies for our people. The Azure Islands are now ours. We gave the occupants the chance to relocate. Those that refused will be removed by force. Those that resist our demands will be punished.”

  Standing on the shoulder of a dirt road, Lussea, Bandar, and Michael listened to a small handheld radio.

  “But we are a benevolent people. Compliance will be rewarded. Everything you do is under the gaze of your gods. Be wise. Now…you will evacuate one hundred ‘long strides’ along your eastern coast, from Ice Port to the border with the Worthy People. You have three days to comply.

  “Those that comply will be compensated for their losses. Medical technology that will double your lifespan. Unlimited power generation and devices to perform all the most mundane and difficult labor. Our partnership will bring the Tyr to the stars, end wars, and usher in your next great evolution as a society and a people. All you must do is…comply.”

  Fastal’s convoy came to a screeching halt as their radios finally returned to life.

  “More will be required of the Tyr. But for every sacrifice you make, there will be a reward. Abandon the western coast immediately. Those that refuse will not be spared.”

  Hower stepped into the edge of the circle of light around Zike, holding Quboth by the elbow. The Tyr astronaut wore a brand-new space suit, and his wrists were bound together. His eyes and cheeks were sunken and a slight grey pallor leaked through the white of his ketafik.

  “My first gift to you,” Zike said, gesturing to the Tyr. The camera drones turned on him.

  “My name is Unbloodied Quboth Hallas…I have been a guest with our visitors. They mean…” he rubbed a knuckle up the left side of the bridge of his nose and began blinking erratically, “…they mean us no harm. They cannot be beaten. Do not resist and our lives will be greatly improved. I say this under the gods’ eyes.”

  Hower stiffened, then pulled Quboth away.

  The cameras turned back to Zike.

  “Three days.”

  Red recording lights on the drones turned green.

  “And we’re clear,” Argent said from a control station. “Projection drone delivery to the Most Equal citizen of the Worthy People in ten—no, two…one!”

  Zike rolled his eyes in annoyance and a new holo projection appeared around him. A dozen Tyr were backed against the walls of a bunker, all in gaudier dress than he’d seen King Menicus’ inner circle wearing. Lace frills on long cuffed jackets and pants that stopped at the knees seemed to be the fashion with the nation to the south of the kingdom.

  A targeting circle appeared over an immensely fat Tyr of the Toiler caste.

  “Most Equal,” Zike said with a smile, “I have a deal for you.”

  ***

  “See, that wasn’t so bad,” Hower told Quboth in a hallway adjoining the broadcast center.

  “You said I could go home.” The Tyr rocked slightly, his shoulders drooping and arms hanging low from the heavier gravity. “It’s hard to breathe.”

  “We might need you a little more…I don’t have permission to send you back yet, sorry.”

  “I lived...my clan is from Oshan Point on the coast. There won’t be a home for me to go back to, will there?”

  “Um…” Hower sucked in his bottom lip and looked away. “Wherever we send you, it’ll be better than this, right?”

  “Will it?”

  Hower’s watch beeped and a message scrolled across the face.

  “Definitely. Because they need you for a few more tests.” Hower grabbed him by the upper arm and tugged him forward, but Quboth fought him.

  “You said—”

  “I told you what I knew to be true at the time I said it.” Hower got Quboth moving forward like a recalcitrant child. “It’s not fair to me, it’s not fair to you. This is what happens when the company gets you under their thumb. Your life stops being your own and compulsion drives everything. Like being in the military, right?”

  “Or a slave,” Quboth said.

  “I hadn’t thought of it like that, but I can’t fault the comparison.”

  “Everything Zike said is a lie, isn’t it?” Quboth kept his head down as he walked with Hower.

  “It’s not my decision.”

  “But his promise to punish anyone that resists is true. I believe that.”

  “I…believe that too. Now let’s get you in and out of the lab as quick as we can. It’s the least I can do for you.”

  T
he Tyr—one of the best-known and revered heroes of his people—shuffled along, broken in body and spirit.

  Hower’s heart ached for him and he knew that Quboth’s fate—and even worse—awaited the entire species.

  And he was fully invested in that outcome.

  Hower stayed silent the rest of the trip to the lab.

  Chapter 56

  Molly Argent felt the shuttle touch down and a bit of a thrill ran up her spine. She double-checked her makeup then tapped into micro-drone feeds from inside the shuttle. Director Zike had a serene expression, meant to convey absolute confidence and ease, so the marketing department could turn the colonization footage into advertising fodder.

  “Principal arriving, maintain perimeter,” Hulegu said over the Compliance nets that her earbud was tapped in to.

  “Shiny boy know we’re missing out on kills to guard him against absolutely nothing?” another Myrmidon said.

  “Shut it. If he’s down here and he’s monitoring, then—”

  Zike raised a hand and his fingertips tapped against a holo panel only he could see. A pay-dock order flashed over the slate in Molly’s hand and the offending soldier began cursing. A second pay dock went through and Hulegu killed the channel.

  Molly’s lips pressed into a thin line. She wasn’t sure how wise it was to upset their security element just before they disembarked onto a savage planet filled with hostile indigs.

  “All construction units in use,” an engineer said from a window on her screen. “We’ve got the stage set for the director.”

  “Thank you.” Molly got out of her restraints and put on a winning smile. “Sir? They’re ready for you.”

  The drones began recording.

  “This is yet another successful colonization effort from Bahadur-Getty Incorporated. Let’s see what twelve hours of progress has achieved for our client.” His smile opened to a slight smirk, mathematically set to display a bit of overconfidence.

  The ramp lowered and Molly gasped.

  It was the smell. Burnt wood and smoke heavy with grease assaulted her nose and she gagged.

  “Pause. Argent, you’ll re-record your walk down the ramp with me once you’ve composed yourself. Have the editors splice in the proper reactions. Awe and confidence, that’s what we need to show the clients and marketing. Awe and confidence. Record.” Zike’s face darkened as he spoke to her, then snapped to confidence as he looked down the ramp and waved to the engineers gathered at the bottom of it.

  Molly keyed an antiemetic drug to stop her from vomiting, then an adrenal stimulant to get her back into gear. Her face felt fuzzy as the latter drug took hold and she brought her shoulders back and did her best runway walk down the ramp.

  Dawn light reflected off the distant azure cliffs, sparking like bits of gold were embedded in the jewel face. The frame of an archology was already fifty stories high, with construction bots still printing the skeleton of the upper floors while others laid down walls and utility lines from a gap in one side of the construction—left conveniently unfinished so Zike and the cameras could capture all the work being done.

  Polymer roads with built-in solar cells led to surrounding worksites. The augmented reality filters in her eyes put Peach Tree Towers, Excelsior Rise, Gold Tier Estates, and more over the bare dirt patches.

  She deactivated the AR with a shake of her head. Zike needed genuine, on-point reactions.

  “We’re already nine percent ahead of schedule on the main tower construction,” said an engineer raising an arm at Zike, who leaned forward and squinted ever so slightly. “The new proprietary software in the BGI construction bots is self-correcting for local conditions, and the found efficiencies will be passed on as enhancements to the client’s blueprints.”

  “That’s amazing news, Jerry. What exactly will we surprise the client with?”

  “A holo-masked observation tower on every hab. The colonists can enjoy this spectacular view any time they like without worrying about obstructing the vista for other towers.” The engineer smiled a little too wide.

  Zike gave off a plastic laugh. “Fantastic, Jerry! This is one-of-a-kind work from Bahadur-Getty Incorporated. How much room will the next generation have to expand?” Zike asked.

  “I’m glad you asked, sir,” said another engineer, stepping forward.

  A breeze carried past Molly and her upper lip twitched. She turned around to identify the odor on the air.

  A hasty trench had been cut into a once green and open park. Three incineration units, each built into a cargo container and with their intake chutes open, were spaced along the hundred-yard length of the trench. A long dune of Tyr bodies overflowed the trench, while carrion birds flocked overhead with rasping calls to each other.

  Humanoid robots stood in front of the dead, their giant, meat-hook hands already stained with violet-colored blood.

  Molly felt her jaw slowly fall open, the horror of what she saw pounding against the walls of the drug-induced haze in her mind. There were so many dead…

  A worker next to one of the incinerators waved at her then gave his wrist an exaggerated pat. Zike’s presence must have slowed down his disposal operation.

  Molly turned away and put a hand over her mouth. She looked down and saw a doll in the dirt beneath the ramp, a plush of the bronto lizards from the plains. Her chin trembled and she saw four small fingertips sprouting up through the soil.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and dosed herself again, clouding her mind with a pleasant fog.

  Someone touched her shoulder and she jerked away with a tiny shriek.

  “Ms. Argent, is there a problem?” Zike asked.

  “No. No, sir! Just being down in true air. Have to get used to it again.” She giggled. “Void legs. Land legs. You know.”

  “I don’t like the angle for the recycling operations. We’ll move to the next filming location and get the repurposing foundries in action. Did you know we can extract found materials with a ninety-three percent efficiency?”

  “Sorry, what was that, sir?” Molly tried to smile at him, but a tear went down her face.

  “Practicing my line. Perhaps ‘legacy’ materials. The Tyr’s construction techniques are primitive. It seems they used that ambary for a type of concrete and there are some trace minerals that are upsetting the—what is wrong with your face?”

  “Perhaps an allergy?” Molly turned to stare into the shuttle’s open bay, not wanting to see the bodies again.

  “Every reshoot you have to do is money and time wasted. Get yourself together. Now let’s move on to the next location.” Zike brushed his sleeves and went up the ramp.

  Fine black specks of ash floated past Molly’s face. A primal horror struggled to break through the drug haze as she realized the newest smell of burnt meat was coming from the incinerators. She walked up the ramp on stiff legs, her eyes squeezed shut. She fumbled her way into a seat and the shuttle took off before she was fully buckled in.

  “Oh God, what am I doing here? Why am I a part of this?” she muttered to herself.

  “Ms. Argent? Let’s consider welcoming gifts for the Dauphine. Would local animals be more appropriate or perhaps relics of the kingdom?” Zike tapped his lips and brought up more holo panels that he linked into her AR.

  Chapter 57

  Clay and Fastal stood on the side of a highway, watching as Tyr cargo trucks drove past them, each with a tank strapped down to the open beds. Their jeep was parked in a ring of smaller trucks and utility vehicles.

  “They’re going the wrong way,” Clay said. He felt exposed wearing a rank-less Blooded uniform and missing his laser weapon—or any weapon.

  “According to you,” Fastal said. “Remember who you are. I doubt Riktan’s had much of a chance to process any of this. Not that I have either.”

  “What? You’re practically a pro at fighting sky demons by now.” Clay smirked.

  “Riktan is not his brother. For good or for ill.” Fastal pointed at an antennae-laden jeep as it drove off-road a
nd came straight toward them. More trucks and jeeps followed. Squads of Blooded jumped out from the back of trucks and formed a perimeter around the small clearing.

  A minute later, a powerfully built Royal with a camouflaged sash across his chest got out and approached them. His eyes were hard and he worked a silver toothpick in one corner of his mouth.

  “It is you,” Riktan growled at Fastal. “Heard you’d taken up farming. Eggs.”

  “I was recalled to the King’s service,” the general said. “Not a moment too soon, it turns out.” He glanced at Clay.

  Riktan scowled at Clay’s incomplete uniform. “We’re getting reports about the Azure Islands, some kind of disaster coinciding with the strange broadcasts that—”

  Fastal raised a hand. “It’s true. All of it.” He turned back and waved to his jeep. Elsime got out, half-stumbling through a rut in the ground, and hurried toward the group. “There’s more. The Close Guard didn’t want the news to break before you were ready. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Crown Prince Riktan,” Elsime began, doing her best to curtsy, “as tradition and custom demand, the King’s seal and—”

  “What? What is this? Where’s my brother? Where’s Menicus?” Riktan’s expression softened.

  “Dead, sir,” Fastal said. “Dead at the hands of the invaders from beyond the stars. You’re King in all but name until the final ceremony at the Obsidian Dolmen—I believe that’s how it’s done. I am but a simple Blooded in your service.”

  Elsime handed over a signet ring and a wooden seal with a golden cap.

  “Then we—” Riktan cleared his throat as he choked down his sorrow “—then it’s all true and we have two days before they attack the coastline. Enough time to get my corps into position for a defense.”

  “Crown Prince,” Clay said, stepping forward, “that will only get your men killed. We need to—”

  “Who in the dark heart of Kleegar do you think you are?” Riktan snarled.