Tyche's Crown

by Richard Parry

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Recruitment

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Glossary

  Enjoy this book? You can change the world!

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  EXCERPT: UPGRADE

  CHAPTER ONE

  TYCHE'S CROWN

  Richard Parry

  TYCHE'S CROWN copyright © 2017 Richard Parry.

  Cover design copyright © 2017 Mondegreen.

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9951041-7-4

  First edition.

  No parts of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form without permission. Piracy, much as it sounds like a cool thing done at sea with a lot of, “Me hearties!” commentary, is a dick move. It gives nothing back to the people who made this book, so don’t do it. Support original works: purchase only authorized editions.

  While we’re here, what you’re holding is a work of fiction created by a professional liar. It is not done in an edgy documentary style with recovered footage. Pretty much everything in here was made up by the author so you could enjoy a story about the world being saved through action scenes and witty dialog. No people were used as templates, serial numbers filed off for anonymity: let’s be honest, October Kohl couldn’t be based on anyone real. Any resemblance to humans you know (alive) or have known (dead) is coincidental.

  Details on how to get your FREE STARTER LIBRARY can be found at the end of this book.

  Find out more about Richard Parry at mondegreen.co

  Published by Mondegreen, New Zealand.

  For Greg, who always finds a way to make me think about the universe’s limitless possibilities without making me feel stupid at the same time.

  RECRUITMENT

  “KOHL? KOHL, NO.”

  October Kohl looked at the bartender — same glowing green braids, same pissed off expression — and then around the bar. He kept on turning until he arrived back at the bartender — yep, definitely pissed off — and then kept on walking forward anyway. He put his empty glass on the bar. “Joni? I ain’t working today.” Kohl figured that was obvious, what with him in a plain grey jacket rather than a ship suit. He figured his dreads and fitted shirt made him look a little more shoreside too.

  She eyed him with what he figured for a high level of suspicion. It was hard to tell, on account of him being drunk. “What are you doing then?”

  He gave that some thought. “I’m recruiting.” He frowned at his empty glass. “I was drinking.”

  “Which is it?” she said. “I can fill your glass. Hell, I’ll give you a whole damn bottle. But if you’re working, you can … Kohl? Look at me.” She reached across the bar top, raising his chin with her hand. “If you’re working, you can get the fuck out of my bar.”

  He spent a little more time processing that. It gave him time to take in the grime level of the place while he did it. The place had seen a lick of paint since they were last in town. More than a lick: the bar had seen more love than Kohl himself in any given week. Which made sense, because last time he’d been in here a whole mess of Republic troops had come in and set fire to everything.

  Technically, they’d shot the place up with plasma weapons, but the secondary effect of a good plasma volley was fire. This particular spacer bar — that’s what the captain would have called the place — had been given a good facelift. Knocked twenty years off, maybe thirty. Then someone had gone around putting the dirt back in. Grime in the corners. Sticky floors. A holo stage was flickering its life away behind the bar. He squinted at it, trying to focus on the words imprisoned in the light. “Earth beer?”

  “You want one?” said Joni, almost hopeful.

  “Naw,” said Kohl. “Beer gets you full, not drunk.”

  “So, you’re drinking?” said Joni. “You want the good stuff or the cheap stuff?”

  Kohl massaged a pocket, teasing out a stack of good Republic coins. He put them on the bar top. “Good stuff,” said Kohl.

  She looked at the pile of coins, not taking any of them. “I have to wonder, Kohl. I came on shift not two minutes ago. You’re already listing. Sheets torn, flapping to the winds. How’d you get so drunk? Tommy doesn’t like you.”

  “You don’t like me either.” Kohl sniffed. “I mean, I don’t know. I guess I can live with Tommy not liking me.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Oh, hell,” said Kohl. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of behind him. “There was this asshole over there who got in my way. So I took his drink.” He looked at the empty glass. “Before that, I was drinking on the ship. Before that, I said I’d go recruiting. Problem with these Resistance types is they’re all soft. They’re, how do you say it? Trimmed fingernails. That’s it.”

  Joni looked at him, then picked a couple coins off the top of his stack. They disappeared, a kind of magic trick Kohl had never managed to work out, and a fresh glass — waste of time, old glass was fine — appeared on the bar in front of him. A chunk of ice as big as a fist — not one of Kohl’s fists, because he grew them at a proper size, but maybe one of Joni’s fists — entered the glass. A generous pour of amber liquid followed. Kohl watched in silence, then looked at the pile of coins. “Y’all not going to take the rest?”

  “Not if you’re drinking,” she said. “That’s more than you need for even the good stuff.”

  “Huh,” said Kohl. “I tell you what. You hold on to ‘em for me.”

  “Kohl? No.” Her eyes widened at something behind him, and Kohl let himself smile. Hell, he didn’t even have to work at this recruiting business. The work did itself.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder. Strong, big. Familiar in a way that said I own you rather than I am your friend and here for a good time. A touch like that would have put Kohl’s teeth on edge if he hadn’t been so well lubricated before setting out today. He let himself be turned around, leaving his drink on the bar. Kohl’d get back to it in good time. He stared at a man. Large. Muscles everywhere, and not dirty bulk. Lean like a tiger. Angry as one too. “Asshole,” said the man. “Did you beat up my buddy and take his drink?”

  “Might have,” said Kohl. “Which one of these fuckers is your buddy?”

  “Say,” said Tiger. “Don’t I know you?”

  “I sure hope so,” said Kohl. “It’ll go easier on both of us if you do.”

  Tiger’s eyes narrowed, lips tightening. “You h
eld a gun to my head. Last time.”

  “Might have,” agreed Kohl.

  Tiger laid three punches into Kohl’s gut, bam-bam-bam. They were hard and fast. If Kohl had been sober, he might have done something useful about them, but things being as they were he let them come. He wasn’t in much of a position to do anything, on account of the liquor. Also, this guy would ease up faster when he worked out that Kohl was a bigger bear.

  Both men stood still. Kohl heard Joni say something like fuck all this shit and the emergency shutters slid down over the bar behind him. Neither man moved at the rattle and clang as they locked into place. Kohl rubbed a hand over his gut. “That’s not a bad right you’ve got there.”

  Tiger looked at Kohl’s gut, then at his right hand. Then up at Kohl. “I … hit you. I hit you hard.”

  “Naw,” said Kohl. “This is hard.” He swung, giving it a good seventy percent. Enough force in the punch to lift Tiger up off his feet, push the air out of his lungs, and leave his eyes wide, mouth wider, trying to suck in a tiny spoonful of air through a paralyzed diaphragm. “See what I’m saying?”

  Tiger nodded, but that was about it. Gracie would know what to say here. Course, Gracie wouldn’t be in this situation. Gracie doesn’t know how to drink proper. “Look,” said Kohl. “You’re a Marine. I get it. You’ve been through the training. Used to having big guns and a whole bunch of other assholes with you. Right?” Tiger gave a nod, sucking in some air. A knife appeared out from behind him, held in an angry fist, which Kohl more or less expected, so he took the knife away — short block, grab the wrist, and twist, but not too much, because he was recruiting. The knife dropped out of Tiger’s hand to clatter on the floor of the bar. “Nah,” said Kohl. “Let’s not do that. Where was I? Marines, check. Big guns … oh right. Yeah. So, you’re out of work, is where I’m going.” Kohl frowned, because that was about the most words he used in a given day, and he was out of runway. What usually helped was alcohol, but his drink was on the other side of the emergency shutters. Kohl became aware — gradually, like the coming of a new dawn — that the entire bar had gone silent. Nothing from the jukebox, because it shut off in emergency situations. But the other patrons, if you could use a polite word like that to describe them, were all staring at Kohl and the Marine. A couple had gone towards the exit, and those were the kind Kohl wouldn’t have wanted to recruit anyway. Probably didn’t grin when they fought. You need to get recruiting, October Kohl. Like you said you would. He cleared his throat. “Say. If I get Joni to lift these shutters and offer to buy you a drink, will you at least hear me out?”

  The Marine looked at him, rubbing his own gut in an absent-minded way that said I am hurt, but I am more curious than hurt. Which was good. He looked at the shutters behind the bar. “I don’t think they’ll open ‘em up for us.”

  “Sure they will,” said Kohl. He reached behind him, not turning away from the Marine, and rapped the back of his hand against the shutters. Clang clang clang. “Joni! Joni, it’s all good out here. I need a round of beers. Or something.”

  Her voice came back, muffled by the shutters. “No way, Kohl. No way.”

  “No, we’re good,” said Tiger. He gave Kohl a look that said, may I? Kohl nodded for him to go on. “We … just want to talk.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Joni,” said Kohl. “If I wanted to mess the place up, it’d be messed up.” He winced. Not the best approach. “I mean, uh…”

  The shutters rolled back with a clatter, and Kohl turned to see Joni. Hair still green, face still pissed off. She pushed his drink across the bar at him. “Here.”

  “And one for all my new friends,” said Kohl, his arm encompassing the entire bar. “Anyone who wants to sit and listen.”

  • • •

  That senior officer guy Evans was still behaving like an asshole, even without his uniform and stripes. Kohl leaned on the table between them. “Hey, Evans.”

  The man looked like he wanted to twitch at that, because he was used to Lieutenant coming before his name. There’d be a lot of things he’d need to get used to. “What is it?”

  “Stop being an asshole,” said Kohl. “Drink your drink.”

  Evans made to rise. “I don’t have to listen to this,” he said. “I came here as a courtesy.” Kohl had to admit, the guy sure wore casual clothes like they were officer’s finery. Pressed shirt. Nice black jacket, if that’s your thing. Bit scrawny, but officers tended to that general direction. It was, Kohl figured, all the hand-waving and pointing rather than the actual soldiering. Not that Kohl thought much of soldiering either. It was a good way to get paid poorly while wasting a lot of time. Plenty of better ways to do the same work for more money.

  The Marine — Sib — put a hand on Evans’ arm. “It’s okay, sir.” He cleared his throat, remembering he wasn’t a Marine anymore, and this asshole wasn’t no Lieutenant neither. “Evans.”

  “See,” said Kohl, “I know how it is.”

  “You do?” said Evans, leaning forward. There was real anger there. Anger Kohl might have responded to if he hadn’t already been so drunk. “How can you know?”

  “Well,” said Kohl, “I figure the way it is, is kind of based on how my captain blew up the moon.”

  The circle of watchers — all holding their free drinks, all a rough and ready lot — leaned in closer. Kohl took a sip of his whiskey, frowned at the glass — too much ice melt, not enough strong liquor — and continued. “We had all these aliens. Which you sent us to go find, if I remember it rightly. You sent us out there — ‘downed transmitter’ my ass — and hoped we wouldn’t die. Or we would. Hell if I know. Don’t care. What I know is that we blew up a moon, and it was because you started something.”

  Evans sat down, like he was a mechanical construct, hissing back into place. “Okay,” he said.

  “And the thing you started was the downfall of the Republic,” said Kohl. “There’s a real Resistance and everything—”

  “There’s always been a Resistance,” said Evans.

  “I know,” said Kohl, then took another drink. It was okay if you guzzled it. “This time your people are on the team. Hang on. One of them said to say something to you. Uh. Lieutenant Karkoski? You know a Karkoski?”

  “I know Captain Karkoski,” said Evans.

  “Whatever,” said Kohl. “She said she sends her regards.”

  “Any special messages? Code words?”

  “Naw,” said Kohl. “She said you and her never had time for that bullshit.”

  Evans nodded at that. “That sounds like Karkoski. What about her?”

  “She’s fixing to overthrow the Senate, on account of ninety percent of them being alien scum,” said Kohl. “I dunno. She figures a new broom? Sweep ‘em clean. Keep the same structure. I’m all for it. I like the Republic. What I don’t like is fucking mind bugs that get in your skull and eat you out.” He shuddered, remembering the one that had clawed inside him. How Gracie had saved him from doing something horrible. “But you know all this. It’s why you’ve been busted out. Republic’s shut down here on Enia Alpha. Office has closed. Discharged your sorry asses. The time for fighting’s come, Evans. And we’re needing people to do the fighting.”

  “While you’re in charge?” said Evans. “No thanks.”

  “Me?” said Kohl. “Hell no. I don’t want to be in charge. I guess you could say I don’t have the temperament for it.” There was a snigger from one of the men around them, and Kohl looked at the man. “What? You got a fucking problem? No? Didn’t think so.”

  “Who’s in charge?” said Evans. “Who’s footing the bill for this merry escapade to rebuild our Republic?”

  “Bills, I dunno,” said Kohl. “That’s Karkoski’s area.”

  “Okay,” said Evans. “Who’s in charge?”

  “Karkoski,” said Kohl.

  “No,” said Evans. “I don’t think so. Who is it really?”

  CHAPTER ONE

  GRACE STOOD IN front of the Intelligencers, arms cro
ssed, sword at her back. “You’ve got to decide if you want to live or die,” she said. The sun of Enia Alpha was a balm on her skin. She liked the feel of its kiss, almost as much as she liked the feel of Nate’s kisses. Grace had shucked her usual leather jacket just to feel its touch on her arms. She shook her head. Not now. Focus. “Do you want to live?”

  There was a general round of nodding from the Intelligencers, some of it more enthusiastic than the others. Chad shuffled his feet. He was still too damn slim for someone about to go to war. “I think that’s a given, Grace.” They were at a place Chad claimed to own but probably didn’t. The house was square, constructed around a large open area in the centre. There was real grass underfoot.

  “Then you need to act like it,” she said. She sighed, not sure why she felt angry. “We … just don’t have—”

  “Chad,” said Nate, walking up behind him, and clapping the esper on the shoulder, “what Grace is saying, if I can … paraphrase … is that we don’t have time for you to get your shit together. What we’ve got here is a basic time-meets-opportunity problem. We’ve got no time, and plenty of opportunities.”

  “Sure,” said a woman’s voice from somewhere near the back. “We’ve got the opportunity to get killed.”

  “You want this one?” said Nate, cocking his head at Grace.

  “I’ll take it, sure,” she said, wanting more time herself. More time to be alone with him. To talk, or dance, or fly among the stars without being shot at. Instead, here she was, trying to teach a bunch of people used to giving orders how to prepare themselves for being on the front line. She looked out over the crowd, not sure who’d spoken. That was the problem with this lot. Her usual gifts could pick out people’s emotions. But the Old Empire’s Intelligencers were all strong espers, pick of the crop, top shelf to the last. They could shield their thoughts like most people walked and talked at the same time. They’d been teaching Grace the trick, and it was working. But it made singling out people in the crowd difficult. So don’t bother. “You’ll get killed either way,” she said. She waited for the gathering to stop their nervous shuffling. “You’re either going to die on your feet or on your knees. The Ezeroc are coming. Sure, we blew a hole in Earth’s moon. Took their Queen out. But that was just one. They’ll send more. We need to be ready. And we need you for that.” She paced, realized it was her nerves — because she wasn’t used to being front and center, her role was always behind someone, hiding from something — but went with it. “Normals against these things? They can’t compete. It’s our time to do what we were made for. We need to save the human race. If we don’t, then everyone will die.”