Rise of Tyannahn

The next universe

First Jump is The Deepest

Originally published: 28th January, 2019

There was a loud explosion. Had there been any life to hear the explosion, it would have been heard for thousands of miles around. It did have a large impact on the overall structure of the planet, like that of a meteor or asteroid strike. This planet had barely formed, along with others, from the settling dust clouds around it's newly birthed parent star. It's life had been considerably shortened since the explosion.

She opened her eyes, blinking at the brightness of the dying flash, soon becoming aware of a choking sensation, unable to breathe in the toxic and burned air of this dying planet. She quickly formed an air-pocket around herself, and tried to take in her surroundings. She was stood on a rocky promontory, enough space for her alone, below which she could see vast oceans of newly formed lava crashing over once sturdy land.

She could feel the device nub had pressed into her hand so insistently during her ceremony. She recalled throwing him away from the area of effect. She looked down towards her hands, now blackened from soot, her clothes ragged and burned, still burning. With difficulty she opened her fist and she saw the small device within her palm. She instantly recognised it as one of that old squirrels inventions, a portable personal dampening field. If only she has used it on the first jump. She privately scolded herself for not contacting nub prior to the ceremony, turned the little device on, put it in what was left of her back pocket, and zipped off to the next unknown location.


The outerlying regions of the Rablelle System were ripe for colonisation, no less than three worlds were found to reside within the life-giving zone of it's central star, two of which, Rabell Prime, and Rabell Augment were found to have perfect conditions for planetary exploration and settlement. The third, Rablelle, turned out to be a little more unpleasant to life, but was still settled by a much hardier breed who supplied a lot of agricultural output to both the other burgeoning worlds. This world did not rotate upon it's axis like the others, one side was in perpetual darkness, the other in light. The area of the planet leaning toward the star was heavily cultivated, it's conditions perfect for crop growth. The further out one went, the colder the climate became. Most of the interplanetary and planetary transportation systems were based around the central farming zone. Further out still were the independent settlers, miners and farmers, working in some of the harshest conditions in perpetual evening-light. It was with some consternation then that these fine upstanding explorers saw, apropos of nothing, an enormous explosion in the sky that lit up their world, if only momentarily. Much was discussed about this phenomena, but ultimately, this costly colonisation project for the entire system had to be abandoned when conditions became unsustainable for life owing to the dust and debris now orbiting the local star that was blocking most of the light, some time after an inner planet collapsed for what appeared to be no reason whatsoever.


The Meeting

Originally published: 1st June, 2023

The Traders Alliance were headquartered in one of the most picturesque parts in the city of Prablon, it's streets filled with the most extravangent offices of many multi-galactic corporations, great towering structures of steel and concrete, with fascias of gold, platinum and black marble, along with vast displays endlessly repeating the benefits of their business in their particular fields of expertise. The headquarters office building was a magnificent wide and towering structure, situated in the central section of an arc of office blocks surrounding a plaza dedicated to the art of negotiation.

It's vast frontage looked out upon a glittering and, some would say, magical garden, festooned with flora from across the planet and decorated with twinkling lights carefully thread through the undergrowth. Surrounding this stood several high class outdoor recreational areas; restaurants, coffee shops, snack bars and relaxation zones providing space for the executives and their aides to participate in meetings and gatherings whenever the opportunity arose.

The Traders Alliance entourage waited patiently for the arrival of their counterparts from the Anarchist Collective. The meeting was already running late yet they were all fully aware that the nearby spaceport and connected transportation hub were currently in the throes of industrial action. Once their meeting with the Anarchist Collective was complete, the Traders Alliance would be tabling a motion for yet another internal meeting in an attempt to end said actions.

The head of inter-relations, Cary Ganten, leafed through her notes, whilst the head of technology and science, Harrald Retson, stared into the middle distance not really paying any attention to the wide and variagated leaves of the large tree waving gently in the light breeze. Both of their aides were sat nearby in deep discussion about the topics yet to be tabled. They had large stacks of paper piled up alongside their personal documentation devices, and were preparing the necessary forms in case any agreements were reached.

Cary looked once more at her personal communication device, "This is embarrassing," she gruffly stated, "We really need to bring these strikers to their knees, they knew this meeting was happening today."
Harrald slowly turned and looked toward her, "To be fair," he replied, "they do have their grievances, the internal-relations board haven't entertained a single one of their demands, and it's been going on for years now."
"But why now?" Cary demanded, "Why would they pick today of all days?"
"You already know," Harrald dryly stated in response, "They have to choose their moments carefully, to cause maximum disruption for people like you and I."
Cary looked away, determined not to have this conversation with Harrald again, he always considered himself to be pragmatic, but she thought of him more as stubborn. She wouldn't get any soothing words of reassurance from him either way.


Wendle Kerwick smiled.

He and Tyrone Hallfast had only been on the planet of Superbia for thirty minutes and already they could sense the impact of the strikes. When ambassadorial channels into the city was slowed to this much of a degree, it was obvious that the depth of the actions were much greater than usual. Whilst they waited patiently at the terminal desk, they could see the skeleton staff doing their very best to keep up with the work, but even they knew that providing a standard service during this time would be anti-thetical to their cause.

Eventually an official came to the desk and greeted the representatives of the Anarchist Collective with a large smile across his face. His old eyes twinkled and his moustache crinkled as he reviewed their documentation.
Whilst checking through the documents, he spoke eloquently, "I am glad to see such luminaries visiting us during these troubled times, I do hope you will be able to provide words of support for our comrades on the picket line."
Tyrone stiffened slightly, but Wendle responded in kind, "We will always support those who fight for better conditions, we are your allies. Where can we find the nearest picket line?"
"They have been forced to stage their action just beyond public entrance D, which is quite the distance on foot, but I can arrange for someone to shuttle you over in about 15 minutes, if that's okay."
"Absolutely," Wendle was bristling with excitement at the prospect of giving an invigorating speech to his comrades-in-arms.
"We do still have that meeting to attend at the Traders Alliance HQ," Tyrone reminded Wendle.
"They can wait a little, surely?" Wendle inquired.
Tyrone conceded with a slight nod, "Not too long though, we're already running late."
"And they already know why." said Wendle, nudging Tyrone with his elbow.


Cary looked around the plaza, trying to catch the attention of the low number of staff handling orders from other customers. Looking down at her long-finished latte, she leaned over toward Harrald, "Is everyone on strike today?" she queried, "This is getting ridiculous!"
Harrald smiled and moved his as yet unused napkin to one side, "They're on short staff today, you just have to be a bit more patient than usual." His smile turned into a smirk.
She ignored his jibes, "I just want another coffee, it's been ten minutes since I sent the signal."
The aides across from Cary and Harrald started to become agigated, they were both studying one of the communication devices and exchanging what appeared to be worrying glances.
"Problem?" Harrald queried of the two.
Stef, wearing a very formal business suit, turned toward him with a concerned look on her face, "I think you may want to see this," she handed the device to Harrald, "both of you." she continued, indicating toward Cary.
Harrald positioned the device to be visible to himself and Cary and increased the volume.
A large crowd of strikers holding placards is shown with a large stage and podium set up beyond them. One of the organisers approaches the podium and begins to speak...


"I want to thank you all for being here, comrades, what we do today will make a difference to not just your lives, but to all of those who follow us in decades to come." The speaker annouced, he had the appearence of an old man with many years of hard labour under his belt, he wore several badges proudly upon his jacket, those of both social and worker organisations, his hair was wild yet not unkempt. His tone suggested that more was to come.
The strikers cheered and shook their placards in defiance of the authorities who stood nearby, closely watching the crowds, and communicating silently with their co-ordination superiors. They stood in regimented formations, a dozen members across and three rows deep, another grouping stood at the opposite side of the crowd, as if ready to pounce on the crowd in a pincer-like movement. They held their long batons and riot shields closely to themselves, they gave no indication of their orders or intentions just yet.
"It is with great pleasure that I introduce a very special guest today, who would like to talk with us this day." the speaker turned to the left, raising his arm and welcomed a tall man from the wing of the stage, "Please give a rousing welcome to my comrade and yours, Wendle Kerwick of the Anarchist Collective!"
The crowd went wild, banging on their placards, blowing whistles and whooping with delight. The two groups of Enforcers shuffled uncomfortably and looked toward the stage. Those running communications were suddenly chattering into their microphones, and listening intently to their earpieces in turn. The regimented formations lost some their cohesiveness and the other Enforcers began looking at one another in what appeared to be confusion. Hand-signals were made from one group to the other; signals that only the Enforcers were privy to.


Cutting Reveal

Originally published: 16th December, 2023

When the Traders Alliance agreed to bring Hantren Daefic under their protection, they weren't entirely sure why. Frenswan Elbumen of the Anarchist Collective of Beta Sector bent more than a few rules to bring him, and the situation, to their attention in the first place. Both groups, the Anarchist Collective and the Traders Alliance, didn't exactly get along particularly well. Their views on life and human existence in the universe were diametrically opposed to each other. It was practically unheard of for them to ever come an agreement, beyond allowing access to neutral territories and necessary technologies. But this seemed different, the urgency in which Frenswan spoke was enough to sway them into approving the transfer, one that would prove very difficult to explain away, given Hantrens' history within the Galactic Collective Expedition Group.

Sygria sat uneasily in her oversized office chair and stared questionly at Frenswan, "So how can I help you today, Frenswan?"
Frenswan looked into his lap and creased his eyebrows, seemingly deep in thought, "I have been approved to speak with you further regarding the Daefic situation."
"Well, it's about damn time," Sygria rifled through a pile of papers on her desk, "a lot people have been asking, firmly, in some cases."
Frenswan looked worryingly at the official seal of the Traders Alliance Central Command clearly visible on the top sheet, "It's been... difficult to get any movement from our end."
"I appreciate the difficulties you may have faced, but we really need to know why Hantren was pushed onto us."
"I... can assume you heard about the transmission?"
"I've been briefed, the contents didn't make any sense to our analysts, but they have concluded that it was likely of extra-terrestrial origin."
"I'm afraid, it wasn't extra-terrestrial..."
"But the audio signature was not known to us, what aren't you telling me?"
Frenswan coughed and looked around the otherwise empty office, "It appears to have been extra-dimensional..."
"Extra... dimensional?" Sygria couldn't believe what she was hearing, "How can you be so sure?"
"Our analysts ran their own tests and had originally concluded the same as yours, but given the contents of the message, it just didn't add up."
"How so?"
"Well obviously there hasn't been any wars in any sector that we are a member of for thousands of years, and the Universal Translation Service caused a massive power drain more than any message we have ever encountered in our voyages. It was also phase-shifted, and was carrying an underlying message as well."
Sygria stood up and walked over the window, looking out and said, "And what was this other message?"
"We don't know, but we have our suspicions that it had an effect on Hantren."
Sygria turned on Frenswan and leaned heavily on the desk, visibly angry, "And you deemed it necessary to force him on us? What the hell is going on here, Frenswan?"
"There's another." Frenswan said simply.
"Another what?" an exasperated Sygria asked.
"Another crew member, she was er... also affected. And there was something else too," Frenswan added, "Just before the message we detected an intruder in one of our cargo holds, the one containing your, shall we say, more sensitive technology."
"Don't be bringing that up again, is this what its been about all along?"
"All I can tell you thus far, is that after Hantren had been relieved of his duties, we had some officers investigate the hold, and whilst we could find no intruder, they did find one container had been opened somehow, and some of it's contents were missing."
Frenswan leaned to the side, picked up his briefcase, popped the hatches and slowly opened the case. He reached in and pulled out a file, "This is everything we know about the situation at this present time." He dropped the document upon Sygria's desk.
Sygria began flicking through its pages, "This is quite lengthy, I'm going have to review this with my staff."
"Then I shall take up no more your time." Frenswan closed his briefcase and began walking to the exit.
Sygria looked up from the file, "Don't go too far, Frenswan, I'll need to speak with you again very soon!"
Frenswan opened the door, paused, and looked back toward Sygria, "Very well."


Yantrifal was frustrated, ever since the grilling she had received at the hands of the Anarchist Collective oversight committee aboard The Deep, she had been ordered to undergo multiple medical and psychological tests, and was placed on temporary suspension from her duties. She couldn't really understand what had happened to her. The simple usage of the phrase "Thuds' sake" was the only explanation she was given. How could such a thing be deemed worthy of this much attention? How had none of them, in particular Rebert, never heard the term before? She was certain that she had used it on multiple occasions throughout her life. Even when she asked Erundan about it, he had insisted that he hadn't ever heard her say it before either, she had pressed him on it, but he was adamant. It was so frustrating!

Then she remembered her dream... Was that where she had heard the phrase? But how could that be? Her dream had happened only a few days ago, and that was after everything she had gone through. What was her subconscious trying to tell her? What was going on?

Her eyes drifted around the room, deep in thought. She should probably make herself another coffee, all this thinking was tiring her out. She got up from the sofa and moved toward her kitchenette.

Powering up her espresso machine, she turned to her fridge to grab some milk to heat up. That was when she saw it.

A note.

It was attached to the door of the fridge. It certainly hadn't been there earlier. How did it get there? It had only been an hour or so since she made her last coffee, she had been in the room all along. She looked around again, frantically, whilst also listening for any noise. Was someone in here with her? There were no signs of disturbance, other than the mysterious appearance of the note.

She took the note from the fridge and read, "Meet me in The Garden, T."

The Garden was a communal garden aboard The Deep that provided a relaxing space for everyone aboard the ship. She hadn't been there in a long time. She had no desire to go there today, and it would be difficult anyway as she was ordered to isolate in her living quarters. And who the hell was "T."? Tipfali Ferraane? Why would he want to meet her? And how could he manage to get in and out of here without her noticing? There is no way it could be him, but she would love it if it was.

She had to think about this. How could she get out of here without it being known? There had to be a way. Maybe this "T." had the answers she needed, it all seemed far too coincidental and strange to not be related. There is only one way, as drastic as that may be.

Yantrifal headed to her bathroom and picked up the razorblade. She stared deeply at her upper arm. She had to remove the tracking device they had implanted into her without her consent. She grabbed a large towel, stripped off her clothes and stood in her bath, razorblade in hand...