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.
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.