Gyaros Book One: The Mice Eat Iron (YA 17+ Sci Fi Adventure)

by Rohan Healy

  “They call me the Captain, I’m the owner of The Rusty Anchor,” said the bearded man who turned and pointed toward the anchor in the centre of the room, “I once sailed The Great Northern Sea with me ship an me crew, ah ‘tis but a splashy puddle these days, all dried up. Still we sailed, back then we sailed, and we raided and pillaged and we plundered, aye,” said the Captain, with a hint of melancholic nostalgia in his eyes. Miles wondered if this guy was for real, he didn’t doubt that he sailed, but his mannerisms and the way he spoke were like something out of an old seafaring tale. ‘Surely no one actually talks like this anymore,’ thought Miles to himself.

  “One eve aft a raid on a Talos armoury me ship, The Rusty Anchor, she was ambushed by Jack Tar and his band of freebooters. Aye, it was a battle for the ages. There we fought, side by side, our old steel ships hovering on the water like seagulls gliding over the choppy waves. We had a belly full of explosives and Jack Tar knew it, he sent his men to board and we battled hand to hand on the deck for fear of setting off the volatile booty below. I slit the throats of ten men that night aye, and then there was Jack, stood upon my ship in his dirty boots, as the blood of fifty men spilled into the sea. His golden teeth, his big black beard, and the scar down his cheek that I put there meself. Aye the very sight of him was enough to make an old captain sea sick,” Miles and Maxen sipped and nibbled away transfixed by the bizarre Captain’s riveting tale. The Captain continued gesticulating wildly.

  “He came at me like a cannon ball, his electrified rapier outstretched. I brought my resonance scimitar up to meet his blade and an almighty spark shot across the deck illuminatin’ the night sky. He struck again and I parried, I knew one hit from that weapon o’ his would be the end of me. We fought and we tussled, we clashed and we brawled to the screams and battle cries of four hundred men. After deflecting a heavy blow I raised me boot and kicked ol’ Jack in the chest, he stumbled and fell, his rapier bouncin’ out o’ reach. I lifted me weapon and brought it down on his arm, cutting the blasted thing right off. ‘That’s fer boarding me beauty,’ I told him and raised me scimitar once more. But before I could finish off the filthy cur what come’s rolling by but a grenade!” the Captain shouts throwing his arms in the air.

  “And then what happened?” asked Miles eagerly through a mouth full of doughboy.

  “I bent down and picked it up in me left hand a ‘course,” he said holding up the shiny hook, “and I pulled me arm back to heave it overboard when BANG!” the Captain slammed the bar, startling Miles.

  “It exploded in me hand and sent me flying off me beloved and into the cold dark depths of the deep blue. I held on to a bit of a smashed wooden crate that fell off in the flurry and floated away, watching me men fight to the death. Aye never prouder has a captain been of his loyal crew,” said the Captain pretending theatrically to wipe a tear from his eye.

  “And then, as I floated ever further from me one true love I heard an explosion, an’ another, an’ another. The explosive cargo had somehow caught alight and I watched as The Rusty Anchor exploded into a million pieces and scattered across the sea. The last and the biggest explosion sent the anchor flying high into the air. I followed it with me eyes as it flew south west like a rocket.”

  Miles reached his hand out for another doughboy but they were all gone, enjoying the old sailor’s story, he hadn’t noticed that they finished the deep fried snacks some time ago.

  “I made a sail out of me shirt and an old oar and followed the anchor south west. Three days later I arrived at The Dustbowl shore, red from the sun and mad from the sea water. I was taken in by some kind souls and nursed back to health. Right where you’re sitting is where the anchor landed and with the help of a couple of me old crew who survived, and the good folk of The Dustbowl we built it into the finest sailor’s rest this side of The Great Northern Sea. A’course that was twenty years ago, there ain’t much of a sea anymore and it’s just us raggedy lot that’s left. Aye, it’s a sad state of affairs, but we keep our cheer with ale and grog and stories of the sea,” the Captain put out his right hand. Miles shook it, and then Maxen.

  “I’m Miles, it’s nice to meet you, um, Captain.”

  “And I’m Maxen, it’s a pleasure.”

  “You boys enjoy the hospitality, make yourselves at home. I like to sleep during a storm, calms the nerves. I’ll be in me quarters if ye need me. Have a pleasant evening laddies,” and with that the Captain walked up the stairs with a limp and a gait, and retired to his room.

  The wind was picking up outside as evidenced by the loud howling of the gusts blowing through the town. Anything not tied down outside could be heard striking the side of the bar with a loud gonging sound as the thick metal walls reverberated in response to the impact.

  “That is some guy huh Maxen,” said Miles, “I mean, is it an act, or does he really think he’s a pirate?”

  Before Maxen could answer the big barman, who had been eavesdropping, began to speak.

  “Some of his crew survived the battle as well,” he said in a gruff voice while cleaning a dirty glass with a white rag, “they managed to pilot one of the life pods to The Dustbowl. They say it was the loss of his ship that sent him crazy, and his three days at sea with no food and nothing to drink but the salt water. They say he was a great captain, fair and brave, but after the battle he went loopy, started talking like that and wearing a hook on his hand. He’s a good man though, long as you stay in his favour,” with a stern look the barman turned and walked to the other end of the bar to take orders from another couple of patrons.

  “So,” started Maxen with a smile, “we made it, we got food, drink and somewhere to wait out the storm.” His face then turned serious, “but this ain’t gonna last, we’re gonna need to find work and quickly, we need to make ourselves useful to this town if we wanna stay alive. Tomorrow morning we gotta find some kind of work and a place to stay, then we can think about how to make it to New Fortune.”

  “Yeah you’re right,” agreed Miles, “if we don’t prove our worth fast I have a feeling things are going to get pretty ugly for us. I think I’ll talk to the people at a garage I saw on our way in, maybe I can put my electronics skills to work there and work on getting us a vehicle.”

  “Yeah good plan. I’ll talk to some of the town guards and see if they can make use of my talents,” said Maxen patting his metallic arm with his fleshy left hand.

  “But that’s tomorrow, tonight we celebrate the fact that we’re still alive, and toast to those that didn’t make it,” said Maxen raising his cup.

  “To Landi who couldn’t be here tonight, and without whom, neither would we,” said Miles poignantly also raising his cup.

  “To Landi,” echoed Maxen and they brought their cups together with a clank before taking another swig of their drinks.

  “Here let me show you something.”

  Maxen reached into his back left pocket and pulled out a picture.

  “This is my daughter Jenny, she’s eleven here, but she’s sixteen now, and my wife Mellissa, she passed away five years ago.”

  Miles took the photo in his hand and looked down at the happy family. The three of them were standing on a bridge across a body of water unfamiliar to Miles. It must have been somewhere in the Yellow Districts as he did not recognise any of the surrounding architecture. In the picture Maxen stood with his metal arm around the waist of his wife Mellissa and his organic arm clung tight to his, then eleven year old daughter Jenny, holding her around the shoulder. The three faces beamed up at Miles and he felt a pang of sadness as he remembered his own family, back on Carthage, going on with their lives without him.

  “They’re beautiful,” said Miles with a sorrowful smile as he handed the picture back.

  “Don’t I know it, we were happy then. Mellissa died three months after that picture was taken. She was on her way to work when a thief pushed her onto the monorail track while he was running away from Enforcers. He was caught and sent to Gyaros for theft and manslaughter. I stil
l remember talkin’ to her that morning. She said she’d be home late, one of her co-workers was having a birthday party at the office after work. I told her to bring me back a piece of cake. I held her, kissed her and that was the last time I saw my wife alive. After that I was called in to identify the corpse. I walked in the room expecting to see a body. Damnit Miles,” said Maxen making intense and teary eye contact with Miles, “what I saw that day wasn’t my Mellissa. My wife is not a puddle of…” he raised his left hand to his mouth and turned away from Miles unable to finish the sentence.

  Miles placed a hand on Maxen’s back and gently rubbed.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that. From the way you talk about her, Mellissa must have been a wonderful companion,” said Miles as he reached into his top pocket, “I have a family on Charthage as well, a wife and a four year old son.” Maxen’s body relaxed and he turned back to Miles to listen, “Here they are.”

  Miles produced two pictures from his top pocket, one of Hellen and another of Chet, and gave them to Maxen who looked them over. Miles told Maxen all about his college sweetheart, their life together, and the birth of their young son. The wind blew ferociously outside but the strong steel walls insured that the patrons were safe and sound. The bar was lively and jovial, the old piano player feverishly blasted out hi tempo rags and honky-tonk tunes and tense card games were enjoyed by many.

  “She left me about a week ago, she wants a divorce,” said Miles staring down at his drink.

  “Damn man, I’m sorry to hear it,” said Maxen reaching out to provide a supportive pat on the back.

  “It’s kind of why I’m here, it all started with that email.” Miles went on to explain the events of the past week and how he found himself on Gyaros. About the email from Hellen, about almost beating Tyler to death, about being transported to the Yellow Districts, about Le Cinema Magnifique, about Ryker, Wolf, Mr Grayson and the failed plan to contact Chet, and finally about his escape from The Enforcers and his last, emotional, moments with his son and wife.

  “They put me on the shuttle and then, well you know the rest,” said Miles pointing around the room.

  “And this Tyler guy is livin’ in your house right now? Damn it man, that is some tough break. I don’t know what I’d do in your situation,” said Maxen shaking his head and taking another sip of his, now warm, beverage.

  “I know, that’s why I have to get back and make things right.” Miles froze as soon as the words left his mouth. He wasn’t supposed to mention that to anyone, that was to be his little secret. Miles did not want to give away his ace play lest he be pushed for information, or worse; tortured!

  “Go back? You know that’s not possible right? Hell that’s the whole point, it’s the worst thing about this shit hole. I can take the heat, I can take the psychos and the giant ass animals. But it’s the fact that I’ll never get to see my Jenny again that hurts the most,” said Maxen looking at Miles emotionally and placing his hand on his heart. Then Maxen leaned in close and spoke softly.

  “But if you know something I don’t, I suggest you spill it right now.”

  Miles gulped. He had a choice, play dumb and pretend that their life sentence had slipped his mind, or tell the truth. He looked deep into Maxen’s remaining big dark right eye and a wave of empathy swept over him. Miles owed his life to Maxen after the giant rat incident and being a father he knew the pain of thinking that he would never see his child again. Miles began to whisper, “there’s a way back. I know this sounds crazy but Ryker, you know the guy I worked with in the Yellow Districts? Well he swears that he got back to Carthage from Gyaros.”

  “Sounds like your friend is bullshitting you Miles, you know there’s no way off this rock,” replied Maxen still whispering.

  “I thought that too Maxen but then he gave me this,” Miles reached back into his top pocket and produced the small metal cube. Maxen’s eyes widened as he threw out a hand to cover the cube.

  “What the hell are you doing?! Don’t pull that thing out in here.” Miles was confused by Maxen’s reaction but quickly tucked the little item back into his pocket.

  “That’s a token of The Machine. Every member of The Machine gets one, it’s like a digital dog tag, what the hell are you doing with one, and how did you get it?”

  “I told you, my friend Ryker gave it to me, he said that if I get to New Fortune and show it to someone called Mesa then I might be able to get back to Carthage somehow. How do you know what this is? And why do I have to hide it?” Miles asked, nervously looking around at the unsavoury clientele that populated The Rusty Anchor.

  “Well shit, if your boy gave you this then there ain’t no doubt about it, he was on Gyaros and got back to Carthage somehow. The Machine tokens are produced by The Machine, you’ve probably heard about ‘em, one of New Fortune’s syndicates. They’re into tech and robotics. Each one of these tokens is unique and produced by materials that only exist up here. The reason you don’t show that is ‘cause there could be members of other syndicates in here, and they’ll kill you on sight if they see that! Anyway your buddy Ryker made it back alright, we gotta get to New Fortune and find this Mesa dude. Hell man if I can see Jenny again I’ll do anything!”

  ‘Wow, so he was telling the truth after all!’ thought Miles to himself.

  “Okay but let’s keep this between us, this is big, and if the wrong people catch wind of the fact that there’s some way back to Carthage and know we have a lead, well we won’t be long for this world, let’s just put it that way. And in the spirit of sharing information, how on Carthage do you know so much about The Machine?” Miles asked still talking in hushed tones.

  “I told you before, I ran with some nasty people. When Mellissa died I spent 98 days unproductive, I drank and I cried. For three months I wallowed in my misery and barely left the house. Two more days of that and I was gone. I didn’t care if I got shipped but I had to be there for Jenny, so I finally took my sorry ass down to the shadiest part of town and took whatever contract I could get,” said Maxen as Miles listened compassionately. “I got a job at a 24/7 convenience store but it was really just a cover for their real work. They were a home world feeder gang for The Machine. They organised petty crime in the Yellow Districts and if you got shipped they gave you information that would help you find The Machine and slot straight into their syndicate on Gyaros. All the syndicates have home world gangs who fight it out for the best talent to send to Gyaros,” Maxen took a deep breath and leaned back on his stool, placing his hands behind his head.

  “So yeah I overheard plenty while working there. I learned all about how things work up here and all about The Machine tokens. So listen, now we got a plan. Let’s rest up and start working our way to New Fortune tomorrow. Suddenly my night just got a whole lot better!” Maxen smiled swigging down the last of his drink.

  “Well who’s this cutey,” said a gruff, deep voice from behind Miles and Maxen. A fat, dirty hand pushed between the two men and snatched the photo of Maxen and his family from the bar where it was sitting. Miles and Maxen turned to look at the man. He was tall and grossly overweight, his hairy belly protruded from under his filthy T shirt, his greasy black curly hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.

  “Oooh, I like the little one,” said the man, licking his big shiny pink lips “ayup, she’s just my type. Boy the fun I could have with a little black baby like that,” the man groaned and scratched his crotch as Maxen’s good eye burned like the fires of hell.

  “You’d best hand that picture back,” said Maxen tensing every muscle in his body in order to stop himself from killing the man on the spot.

  “Oh yeah? And what if I don’t wanna?” the fat man laughed and drew an old revolver from his pants with his free hand, pointing it at Maxen. Two other men wearing western hats stood up behind the fat man and also aimed their weapons at Miles and Maxen.

  “Y’see,” the fat man continued, “we don’t take kindly to new folk around here. We like things just the way they are, we do
n’t like people coming in and messing things up. You catch my meaning?”

  Miles and Maxen remained still. Maxen looked poised to strike like a cobra coiled before the attack, Miles on the other hand was as white as a sheet and was visibly shaking, his heart racing at a hundred miles an hour, ‘oh God, please don’t let this get out of hand!’

  “Now the way we do thing’s round here is we earn our keep and we know our place, y’hear? ‘Specially the likes of you,” continued the fat man narrowing his eyes and directing his words to Maxen.

  “We don’t like no half robots here, y’can’t trust ‘em. The machine rots their brain, makes ‘em crazy. Just look at him, he’s thinking about choking the life outta me right now!” the three men laughed.

  “Welcome to The Dustbowl boys, you play nice and know your place, then just maybe we’ll let you live. As for this little cutie, let’s just call this a thank you gift from you to your kind hosts here in The Dustbowl.”

  Miles looked over to Maxen. ‘Come on Maxen keep it together, don’t do anything crazy. It’s just a picture, play it smart and you’ll see Jenny again, you’ll hold her in your arms. Please don’t fuck this up Maxen, please!’ Miles frantically attempted to send these psychic messages to Maxen who was becoming more enraged by the second. Miles looked down to Maxen’s metal arm which was beginning to loosen from a tight fist into a more relaxed position, presumably as he understood the seriousness of their situation.

  But then everything went wrong. Not yet satisfied by his act of humiliation the fat man grinned sickeningly and raised the photograph of Maxen’s wife and child to his mouth. He then stretched out his tongue and licked the part of the picture where Jenny was located and let out a disgusting sound of sexual gratification. Maxen gritted his teeth and growled, his robotic arm span and whirred transforming into its cannon state.

  “No Maxen, please don’t,” Miles shouted, reaching out to hold his friend back, but it was too late.

  In an instant Maxen had launched himself toward the fat man and, using his organic arm, began to crush his throat.