Tiam Goodsun

Tiam Goodsun stood on the loading dock chewing tobacco. It was not good tobacco like back home, this tasted like moss and dirt. It was a cheap substitute harvested on an uninhabitable planet they had passed a while back. The good stuff had run out a long time ago.

Supplies were hard to come by these days, so you made do with what you could harvest.

Lots of things could be made using properly harvested minor materials; everything from toothpaste to shoe polish, for the officers of course. The laymen, the lowly passengers who happened to be on the ship, were more interested in the other uses for these materials – food, water, tobacco and whatever clothing could be made.

Tiam Goodsun was one of the latter group. A tall man with a broad back, a square chin and a mass of curly black hair. He seemed to have more angles and lines than a man should. He was pure muscle. He stood there, looking rugged in his frayed woven vest and worn-down trousers, bare feet like roots planted deep into the ground.

Soft footfalls on metal came up from behind him. He knew who it was. You learn to recognise these things on a ship like this.

“Goodsun, sir?” a thin voice said. It was Cleman, Tiam's self-appointed runner. He was only twelve years old and as scruffy as they come.

“What is it, Cleman?” he said in his gruff, authoritarian voice.

“Goodsun, sir, I came to tell you there is an unknown system up ahead, sir,” Cleman replied anxiously. He was always anxious, and most people thought he was a coward. But Tiam had seen him stand up to a pair of bullies and get beaten very badly – but he stood up to them when there was no chance of winning, and Cleman knew it.

“Thank you, Cleman. Good job. Who did you get this information from?”

“I overheard the Captain sir.”

"Brave boy," Tiam thought, "Or maybe just reckless."

'Passengers' of the lower strata were not allowed in the upper levels of the ship, and if they were caught they were flogged.

“Dismissed,” said Tiam.

“Thank you, Goodsun, sir,” replied Cleman, fumbling an attempt at copying the salute he had seen the crew use, then did an about face and marched back the way he came.

"This is it," thought Tiam. It was time to stage the mutiny. No more oppression, no more wandering from system to system on a crazed search for Genesis, no more losing numbers slowly but surely.

The Captain, Damnation take him, would probably want to try the first landing in only a few hours. Each landing meant taking a team of the lowly and sending them out with nothing more than a shovel between them. In the last 23 months they had lost 243 people to strange animals, disease and famine – but the Captain thought of them as tools to be used and discarded rather than people.

Tiam spat a dark wad to the side at the thought, and walked away.

* * * Seven Years Earlier * * *

"Sir!"

Tiam fired a few more shots at the intruders, then turned to spare a glance for the new recruit lying on the floor a short distance away. He was missing a hand and the gun it had held not so long ago.

"Stay still boy!" he bellowed at the young soldier.

They had been on a routine patrol of the planet Sine, Sector 9, when an unidentified ship had landed not far from their makeshift base. Tiam had gone to see what their intentions were and the intruders had begun firing on his inexperienced team. Tiam himself had been on many campaigns and had lived through them all. He liked to think that it was his luck that saw him through, but he knew that it was his ability to kill. He did not want to kill. He wanted to protect. But had failed at that now.

A blue streak of light came dangerously close to his head. He shrunk down further behind the tree stump he had been using for cover. He glanced back at the young soldier who had been injured – he was dead.

A sudden realisation dawned on him that he was now alone. Could he fight his way out of this?

The shooting had subsided and voices were coming through the trees. He looked at the charge on his rifle. Empty.

He threw the rifle to the side, disgusted with himself.

A figure in red uniform stepped into his view. He pounced.

* * * Present Day * * *

A long ring of the bell came about four hours later, signalling the start of the landing.

Tiam had spent those four hours setting up for his plan. Everything had to be exactly in place and everyone had to do exactly as they were told. It was a risky plan, but it had to work.

He stood with his usual team in the eating hall waiting for the sentries to 'escort' them to the gangway. Sure enough, heavy footsteps, falling in unison, came from up the hallway. Those sentries would not leave this room again.

As they approached, the squad leader barked an order and the rest of the squad split into two groups, rounding the bunch of sorry lowers and creating a circle around them. This was standard procedure.

Some of Tiam's team looked nervous, frightened, or otherwise troubled. But Tiam himself stood as if the sentries were his honour guard.

The squad leader extended a shovel toward him from outside the circle. Tiam gripped it just above the handle.

Giving the shovel a quick tug he pulled the squad leader into the circle, then whipped it in an overhand swing slamming it into the squad leaders head.

“NOW!” he bellowed, signalling his team to attack. There were enough of them to have two men on each sentry, and within seconds every sentry was on the ground. Every one of them was dead – but that is what you get for being inhumane.

Tiam's team worked efficiently stripping the sentries of their uniforms, which were conveniently red to hide any blood, taking their weapons, then hiding the bodies in a forgotten maintenance vent.

Tiam and his team donned the uniforms and he barked order for them to form up in ranks. The ones for which there were no uniforms would stay behind and direct what was to come.

They all looked fairly composed now. "It must be that they see the hope, thin as it is," he thought.

They marched out of the eating hall and into the corridor, as efficiently as the sentries themselves. Tiam had spent many hours with them practicing in secret in the loading bay. He had also carved a replica of the riot guns the sentries carried out of wood and taught each one of them how to hold and fire it. Now he would find out if that training would be enough.

"Gods, I hope they paid attention," he thought grimly, or else we are all dead men. The penalty for mutiny was being thrown from an airlock.

Tiam lead his men up the corridors and stairs towards the bridge. The Captain would be there.

An alarm started to sound throughout the ship – the sentries watching the viewers must have realised that Tiam and his men were not the same sentries that went down to fetch the lowers, not to mention the lack of a landing team coming out of the lower strata.

Tiam had predicted this though. That alarm was the signal for every lower on the ship to rush toward the upper levels and let chaos reign. A typical mutiny scenario to any sentry that did not get an express message about who exactly they were looking for.

Tiam and his men broke into a run, winding down the halls with weapons raised. As they ran he could not help but notice how professional they looked. "Necessity," he thought, "It can make a man capable of anything."

They came upon a group of sentries who were desperately defending themselves against angry lowlings. Tiam ran towards them as if to help, shouting an order to his men to dispel the crowd. The men responded with violent bursts from their riot guns at the sentries who cried out in confusion as they died. The shots from the riot guns had left blue lines in his vision. He had gotten used to that once, but it bothered him now.

"Good, they really do know how to use them," he thought.

The crowd moved off in the opposite direction and Tiam continued his charge towards the bridge. As he passed the dead sentries he could not help but think that they were, like himself, stuck on a ship helmed by a madman and just trying their best to do their duty. But the memories of countless beatings delivered to him by those same men squashed that small bit of sympathy and fueled his rage to a blazing fire.

They had only two more encounters with sentry squads, which his men handled efficiently and easily. They were getting close.

He saw the doors to the bridge up ahead and picked up his speed, his men matching his pace.

The doors slid open – and there he was. The Captain. The Devil himself, as far as Tiam was concerned. The famed “Genesis Seeker”.

* * * Six and a Half Years Earlier * * *

Lying in the brig of the dingy ship, bloodied and bruised, Tiam fought down the pain.

Another kick to the ribs came and he heard a crack. White hot agony shot up his side and engulfed his mind. Thoughts became elusive and his vision started to fade.

Through the darkness he heard a haunting voice. The voice of the Captain.

“Why are you so defiant, young man? Do you not have enough broken bones?”

The laughter that followed echoed in his head as he sank into the void of unconsciousness.

* * * Present Day * * *

Tiam launched himself at the Captain, ramming the butt of his riot gun into the man's chest and knocking him to floor. His men opened fire on everyone that moved, killing by the dozens.

The Captain was no civilian though, he too was a soldier. They rolled as they hit the floor, the Captain shoving Tiam off to the side, coming up on a knee and drawing his sidearm. Tiam moved with the speed of light itself, swinging his gun and knocking the puny weapon out of the Captain's hand. This man would not die with honour.

The Captain gave a growl and threw himself at Tiam with all his weight, knocking him off guard and causing him to drop his gun. Tiam's men watched, but did not interfere, just as they were ordered.

Grabbing the Captain by his belt and collar, Tiam used every drop of strength he could muster to throw the Captain over the bridge console and into a short railing five paces away.

Pulsing with the rage he had harboured for so long, Tiam strode towards him, fists clenched. The Captain raised his own fists preparing to fight.

“Your men do not help you!” screamed the Captain, “Why?”

“Because they know that you deserve a slow and painful death,” Tiam replied with teeth bared.

Tiam raised a fist and–

The doors opened and swarms of sentries came rushing in. His men died at their hands so quickly that Tiam barely had time to realise what was happening.

Gods be damned!

A fist connected with his jaw and he dropped to the ground dazed. Then the blackness took him.

* * * Six Years Earlier * * *

Tiam sat with his head in his hands. His cell was dark and cold. The metal grid beneath him dug into his bare flesh.

“Have they broken me?” he thought to himself.

“Never,” a voice in the back of his head seemed to say. It was more of a command. Not forceful, but as certain as the Suns rose and fell.

* * * Present Day * * *

Slowly opening his eyes, Tiam realised he was tied hand and foot, lying in an airlock. A nearby sentry noticed him stirring and got onto the bridge holograph.

“Captain, sir!” said the sentry in a weak, nasal voice, “He is awake!”

Tiam's body ached all over. It was as if he had been beaten time and again for a week. And he probably had been.

Soon, a man came walking towards the airlock. It was the Captain and he was alone.

“So our little mutineer is awake. How does it feel to know you will die having failed?” said the Captain, a grin splitting his square face.

Tiam managed to get to his knees and look up at the man who now towered over him.

“Not as bad as it would be to live a day in your shoes,” he replied. Gods, his head ached.

“Let me know this.” He paused, “Tiam, was it? What was your reasoning behind such a futile attempt to take over my ship?”

Tiam just knelt, silent.

“You see, I understand that you lowlings do not appreciate this search as normal people should, but the Genesis is the key to high living, you see? Once you have that, you have everything a man could wish for.”

The Captain's smile widened.

“But of course, you wouldn't understand, would you. Your brain is too under-developed.”

Tiam felt the rage start to build up again.

“Do you even know what the Genesis is?” the Captain asked.

Tiam continued to glare at him. He had never really been told what to look for other than 'something buried in the ground'. There were exact mathematical formulas that allowed one to work out where, on any given planet, this buried item was. They would just be dropped off and told to find the spot, then dig up a 500 square pace radius of ground.

“Then again, how could you know?” he said

“The Genesis is a set of plans. Plans to build a machine that could wipe out entire planets, possibly entire systems with as much ease as the push of a button. Do you know what a man could do with that power? He could extort fortunes, he could rule galaxies, he could do whatever he wished!”

Impossible as it seemed, his grin got even wider as he stared off into the distance, as if at some unseen treasure.

“So you see,” he continued, looking back at Tiam, “the Genesis is not just an item of value. It is priceless!”

A small shout rang out from where the sentry was standing, followed by a thump and a clatter.

Cleman!

He had thrown himself at the sentry from an air vent above, knocking the surprised man to the ground.

Acting fast, Tiam launched himself straight into the Captain's gut, causing the bulky man to double over. The Captain caught his balance and planted a solid fist on Tiam's chin sending him backwards to land on the hard metal floor.

The Captain laughed hoarsely and walked slowly over to him.

Tiam's vision was swimming, but he managed to make out a small body lying next to the sentry who was checking his head for bleeding.

“You bastard,” Tiam mumbled, dazed and in pain.

“What was that?” the Captain asked.

“I said you're a bastard,” Tiam said louder.

The Captain gave a snort and sat on his heels next to Tiam.

“You,” he said, “are just a pawn in my grand game. Everyone under my command is. The only opposition I have is Time and Space. Everything and everyone else are just flies. I would gladly give the life of every single person on this ship for a chance at the Genesis.”

“You are exactly the type of man I swore to protect people from. If you can even be called a man,” Tiam said. His head was spinning so furiously that it was hard to stop himself from retching.

The Captain stood and pulled out his sidearm training it on Tiam.

“And yet you cannot even protect yourself,” he said, smiling.

A bright blue flash of light burned through the air. And there was a dull thump as the Captain's body hit the floor.

The sentry stood not far away with a look of horror on his face and a trail of smoke rising from his riot gun. The Captain was dead.

“Come untie me,” Tiam said.

The man complied immediately.

Once untied Tiam turned to the late Captain.

He leaned down and rolled the man onto his back. On his chest sparkled a gold insignia badge. He unpinned the Captain's insignia, holding it in his calloused hand.

“The boy?” he asked.

“Alive,” said the sentry.

“What is your name, kid?”

The sentry was young, maybe in his twentieth revolution.

“Alix,” he replied. He was still in shock.

“Well Alix, you have done the Universe a favour here today.”

Tiam raised the insignia, preparing to throw it to the end of the airlock.

“Wait!” said Alix. His eyes were pleading.

“Lead us,” he whispered almost under his breath.

Tiam hesitated a moment. Could he really do this again? Swear to protect those in need? He thought for a long moment.

“Give me that gun,” he said eventually.

Alix did as he was asked, moving away slowly as soon as the gun was out of his hand. He was no doubt regretting parting with his only weapon.

Tiam walked over to Cleman and scooped him up onto his shoulder.

“Come Alix. Let's go.”

With Cleman over his broad shoulder, they walked out of the airlock – and into Freedom.