Today marks the day that Hegemon Vzaryus abdicated his position five cycles ago and evacuated his military forces, complying with the Yandrul Treaty in accordance with the Zaharil Imperium's Commandments.
The following systems and planets: Ekesworlds, Tyrus, Vis Vangr, Iworu, Akebn, Braoel, Sheltoni, Ejoqni Lin, Cantid, Teorn, Teneis, Ekaori, Irouzzi, Oyzzu, Tumultus, and Nus Tu are the first wave of the dissolved Vzaryus Hegemony territories who had applied for New Canis Majority membership. Many more of the unlawful tyrant's hundred fiefdoms will be gradually liberated with the cooperation of the Imperium and the Majority.
This was the news that had been broadcast over three standard months ago. The recording had traveled multiple systems via data vessels. One had phased into the Etlko system where Nus Tu is. The data vessel’s transmitted signals took around an hour and a half to reach the satellites orbiting the planet of vast, deep blue oceans and scattered archipelagos that orbited between its two suns, Etlko and Accam. The antenna arrays scattered around Nus Tu’s hundreds of island nations, once subjugated by the astropolity of the Vzaryus Hegemony, had received the mass transmissions.
Among the devices it reached was a television in a dilapidated house of corrugated steel and plastics, leftover materials once used to construct the hundreds of resorts in the island province of Jheisan, within the archipelago of Ihjosui that comprised a hundred islands and cultures.
A wet, webby finger had pressed the power button of the green polymer box next to the flat screen that had played the news recording from some far-away system. The waterproof computer had only told the news of their liberation just now. The person living in this shanty house, Iklo didn’t have time to celebrate, as his shift would start after a standard hour.
The amphibian pygmy figure got dressed in his workplace's ill-fitting white uniform of synthetic fibers. Iklo still feels uncomfortable wearing the uniform enforced by the outworlder resort company he worked in, the fabric constantly sticking to his slimy blue skin. Despite being in a hurry, he still finds a moment to utter a brief, grateful prayer to the small metal shrine next to his computer, the house of the device’s digital spirit. Within its case is a coiled serpentine figure made of leftover fiber-optic cable; a gear-shaped mandala is etched on its metal base.
The news had confirmed it. Iklo thanked the spirits of the digital world.
Once, he saw the strange, brilliant motes of lights in the blue sky, flickering, spread across the skies like daylight stars. In the afternoon, it rained metal on the sea, rocking the waves and making craters on the ground. This continued for several standard weeks.
Despite the media blackout on those days, Iklo had heard that the other islands had seen fighting. Every night and sometimes in the day, he heard the crackle of guns and saw faraway islands erupt into blue flame. Rarely does he see strange ships and aircraft that pass by their island. The reptilian soldiers of the “Vzaryus Hegemony,” the people who had conquered their world, had come to their town and imposed martial law, along with the local security forces of their province.
It was a frightful time for him. These soldiers had raided every home, including his. He was lucky not to be one of the bodies floating on the water, drifting away from their town. But one day, his parents didn’t return from their trip to the market a village away.
A standard month later, he saw the outworlder reptilian soldiers leaving. The fighting died down. People could go out at night again without fear of the soldiers arresting them without cause.
With hope, he locked his windows and door before leaving. Iklo walked on the plastic and steel bridges connecting the stilted houses above the water. The native Bulgi that lived in the corrugated slums hung their uniforms to dry, walking around naked; their species’ slimy skin made outworlder clothing inconvenient to wear. The tadpole children swam in the caged pools within the community without regard for the adults who lounged in the sun or headed to work like him.
Their shanty town is a worker’s enclave, the housing given to them by the various companies that managed the resorts and hotels that came to dominate their province. It was held aloft by stilts above the shallow, littered waters of the rocky coasts. A seaside cliff hid the company-sanctioned slums from the rest of the curated paradise that was once their island, not owned by the outerworlders who bribed their government.
As a teen, their family got evicted from their original village in the process of the island’s renovation into a resort like the many archipelagos that suffered the same fate. His brothers were examples of what would happen to them if they resisted.
Iklo redirected his focus away from the shimmering waves and the apparent horizon as he left the vicinity of the shanty town. He sauntered on the paved stone path that traced the cliff that led to the nearest bus station.
The small concrete compound stood apart from the vibrant landscape of rolling hills. Those who guarded the compound were the remaining reptilian outworlder soldiers, now working for the local government and the companies. They left behind as their main force withdrew from their planet.
There was a twinge of fear still as Iklo passed by them and went in line to head to one of the buses. He was wary of their rifles that, at any moment, turn on them and mow them down.
Of course, it never happened. A metal drone floated along the line of Bulgi and scanned the golden tags on their uniform.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
"Employee P30. Iklo. Head to Bus E8." The speaker on the drone buzzed before moving towards the next person behind him.
Iklo headed to one of the white buses parked at the compound. A loose line of people also came with him: employees of the same resort. He sat at his designated seat on the bus. The robot driver blared the usual words from its speaker before the bus closed the door. With a hiss, the bus accelerated.
Iklo stared at the shifting landscape from the shore that stretched to the horizon to the trimmed fields and tamed groves that were once wild jungles and bustling villages. When the outworlders landed in fire and declared they were now the planet's rulers, they had flattened. They bulldozed the once-verdant archipelagos into grand resorts that hosted the outworlders’ fancies.
The bus stopped at multiple destinations spread across the resort, in buildings far from the sight of their outworlder clients. Those who ride the company bus have various duties, but what binds them other than their uniform is their indentured servitude. Without their jobs, they wouldn’t be able to pay their rent and be kicked out of their homes.
The bus had stopped in one of the buildings, a wide stone and wood building that resembled a grand hunting lodge. In proximity to it are a stable for animals and a garage for the all-terrain vehicles, choices for the outworlders to choose to ride when they wanted to hunt.
Iklo routinely went to the bar counter within the lodge, manned by a lumbering grey Bulgi who obsessively cleaned the glass cups stacked on plastic storage boxes. Iklo was surprised that he was the only one here yet.
“Great morning.”
“Great morning, Mister Otjik.”
Iklo spoke to Otjik, the huge bartender and cook who managed the lodge. Unlike Iklo, who is merely in charge of managing the janitor drones or having to clean the stables themselves, the bartender is a paid worker, meaning he lives in one of the residential districts. He is a step above the hierarchy the outworlders imposed on them, yet he treats indentured workers like him well.
The flatscreen television played one of the resort’s commercials, an overhead shot of the entire island and its buildings.
“Mister, have you heard the news today?”
“News?” His yellow amphibian eyes stared at Iklo. “The star-broadcasts?”
“Yes,” Iklo said. “We are finally free from the outworlders!”
“Shh.” Otjik pinched Iklo’s mouth. “Don’t celebrate so loud, young one.” The older bartender looked at the surveillance cameras spread about the lodge.
“I’ve seen the star-cast. Before I heard it whispered among our people. Yes, the brutal reptile folk from the stars are all gone. But we are not free.”
“What do you mean?”
“The outworlders still have our islands.”
They were interrupted by a group of outworlders that came early. They were of different shapes and colors, from worlds Iklo and Otjik cannot imagine. Their voice-generated translators, worn around their necks activated upon their presence, converted their croaking voices to bland, generated Galactic Standard sentences.
“Great morning, esteemed travelers.” Otjik greeted.
While the other outworlders lounged on the lodge's furniture, a scaly outworlder with four piercing eyes stared at Iklo.
“We would like to hunt. Like how the folk of the Zaharil Imperium do it.”
Of course, Iklo was the only indentured worker here. The others were late for some reason. He could not eat breakfast. Otjik was too crucial for the lodge to serve other customers. Fortunately, Iklo knew the basics of the other jobs despite him being a cleaner. Resigned, Iklo grabbed one of the tablets on the counter and showed him the hunting itinerary. It was full of creatures transported from one of the homeworlds of their former invaders to their forests.
“This one.”
The outworlder pointed at a large horned green creature found only in the resort's manufactured forests.
“That would be 500,000 Units per person. Weapons and transport included.”
Iklo looked at his phone, seeing the digital transaction take place. The amount of money within the transaction could pay his debt to the company five times over. Yet, he knows that his salary is only a tiny fraction of that. He glanced at Otjik before guiding the outworlders to the weapons room.
-
A standard hour later, they had set off for the hunt. Iklo’s anxiety set in as he looked at the creature they were hunting. A creature called a “Sklathrazi” is native to the forests of its homeworld of Nakar. Its most notable feature is its head, with its mace-like spikes that could bludgeon a vehicle with the sheer force of its charge.
Despite the brass-colored spears made out of outworlder alloy and civilian-grade force field generators the five outworlders had rented for the occasion, he was still worried about them. When Iklo offered them a civilian-grade exosuit, they declined, stating that they already had top-of-the-galaxy bioengineered implants and bodily modifications from the very best of Zaharil’s bio-artisans that made them stronger than an average person throughout civil space.
Iklo didn’t fully know the proper procedures for a Zaharil-styled hunt. If someone died within the resort, he would be responsible and further into debt.
The self-driving all-terrain shuttle had stopped in front of the forest north of the lodge. The outworlders excitedly hopped out of the vehicle, raising their spears and whooping.
“Warriors!” The outworlder who paid for the trip hollered to his friends as he was a hunt leader, emulating their impression of Zahari Warrior traditions. “The hunt begins.”
Iklo stared at his tablet and pressed a button. The metal container at the vehicle's trunk popped open, releasing flying drones that would find the creature. Moments later, they had found the beast, cautiously stomping around the forest. It was nearby, too close for comfort.
The moment one of them threw the brass-colored spear was the moment that everything had gone wrong in Iklo’s life.