Gyaros Book One: The Mice Eat Iron (YA 17+ Sci Fi Adventure) (15 page)

“I guess they don’t call it The Dustbowl for nothing. We’d better pick up the pace if we wanna outrun that scary son of a bitch
,” and so Miles and Maxen broke into a jog. Dust storms on Gyaros were no joke, with tiny particles of dust and rock flying at speeds of two hundred kilometres per hour, it was like being in a blender for anything softer than stone or steel. They ran and ran picking up speed as the storm grew closer. The path between the two stone walls wound and continued as they looked out for a cave or relief where they could last out the storm. Luckily, however, they didn’t have to because it was at that moment that the path opened out suddenly into a city.

“
Welcome to The Dustbowl,” stated the ugly sign written in the same style and same red paint as the ‘Fresh Water’ sign they’d come across earlier. The Dustbowl was surrounded by a three meter tall electric fence, and having met the local wildlife Miles could understand why. Underneath the sign there was a large double door made from the roofs of two Talos shuttles. Just about everything, it seemed, was made from shuttles, the houses, the shops, the city walls. Even the public furnishings like street lights and benches for sitting were covered with the Talos logo.

Miles and Maxen, incredibly relieved to have finally made it to The Dustbowl sprinted toward the gate. At the to
p of the gate sat two men, one was shirtless with pierced nipples and short blond hair, and the other a little stockier and completely bald.

“You boys can just stop right there,” said the shirtless one
in a slow and slurred voice. He stood up and displayed his firearm, which looked to Miles like an antique, “I ‘spose ya’ll be wantin to come on in huh.”

“Yes, yes please,” Miles shouted up to the men
, “We just landed this morning and we need a place to sleep, and to take shelter from the storm.”

“Hahaha,” the two Dustbowlers laughed heartily displaying their rotting, a
nd in some cases missing, teeth.

“That sounds good for you two but what do we get out of this little deal, huh?”
said the shirtless one.

“Yeah what do we get?!”
repeated the bald one.

“Well I don’t have anything of value really. I’m an engineer a-and an electrician, I can fix things, I can be useful
to you!” Miles appealed desperately.

The two guards conferred privately with each other for a moment before the shirtless man began speaking again.

“Yeah okay, you can come in, ‘sides Kyle here says you got a pretty face.”

The bald man smiled at Miles, who
gulped and sent a conciliatory smile back, while at the same time thinking, ‘what the fuck kind of place is this?’

“And what about the big black buck over there, he don’t talk much huh?”

“Yeah and I don’t need to ‘cause I got this,” Maxen transformed his arm into its cannon state and began to charge it.

“Whoa there buddy, no need for that, you two come on in outta that big 'ol storm.”

The large gate began to slide open and Miles and Maxen made their way through. On the right of the gate Miles noticed a digital display that read ‘Population: 1502’. A gunshot could be heard somewhere in the distance, Miles looked back to the display ‘Population: 1501’. He swallowed hard as he and Maxen stepped over the threshold and the gate slid closed behind them.

“Welcome to The Dustbowl boys.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 11

As Miles and Maxen sheepishly took their first steps into The Dustbowl they scanned the environment. Shuttles were stacked on top of each other creating makeshift apartment blocks up to ten shuttles high. The blast shields were removed and curtains were hung behind many of the windows, out of which could be seen the faces of residents peering at and scrutinizing the new arrivals. The red dirt road crunched under their feet as they passed tall green cacti, and their shadows spread far out in front of them as the low evening sun broke through the approaching dust storm from time to time. The residents of The Dustbowl could be seen scurrying around frantically in order to prepare for the storm. The women were taking down the clothes from the lines that hung between the shuttles, and the children hurriedly collected their toys and ran indoors. The men of the town were bursting out of the bar and the general store holding food and drink for their family, shouting frantic instructions to each other. Apparently these storms were no laughing matter. As the last of the residents made it off the street and safely into their homes, the wind began to pick up.

“We need to find somewhere to shelter from the storm,” shouted Miles over the ever loudening gusts
, “over there, the bar.” Miles pointed to what appeared to be the town’s public house. The building was made up of a number of Talos shuttles, cut in half and placed sideways to form the walls. There was a balcony on the second floor, and a mature red bearded man stood up there, leaning on the railing looking out into the storm. Miles and Maxen ran toward the bar and looked up. A sign above the door swung wildly in the wind. It said “The Rusty Anchor” in big bold letters above a picture of a ship. Miles thought it strange that it should have such a maritime theme considering it didn’t look like there was a sea for many miles in any direction.

“Please, open the door, we’re going to die out here,” Miles shouted up to the man on the balcony. The bearded man looked down and laughed, he had a hook instead of a left hand and
a pipe hung from his lip.

“Aye, me and your friend there have something in common,” he said in a rough voice, lifting his left arm
, “come aboard and make yourselves comfortable, there’s a mean squall a’comin.”

The door to The Rusty Anchor creaked open
and the duo stepped inside. The heavy steel door slammed behind them and locked shut. A motley crew of drunks, thugs and other undesirables stared intimidatingly at Miles and Maxen as they entered. In the centre of the room stood a giant rusty anchor, it appeared that the entire building was built around it. There was a bar, eight round tables, each of which sat over a big wooden barrel, a stair case at the back and an old piano in the corner, which was being played energetically by an old man with overalls and a cap. The man from the balcony came walking down the stairs and greeted the two new patrons.

“Ahoy there lads, come, take a seat at the bar.” Miles and Maxen obliged the ragged old sailor, who they now presumed to be the owner of the establishment, and joined him at the bar.

“Two flagons of our finest bumboo and a plate or doughboys for these two picaroons,” the bearded man laughed and the burley barman slid two large pewter flagons of mysterious liquid along the bar, followed by a plate of what looked like deep fried doughy dumplings. Hungry and thirsty from the perilous trek Miles and Maxen helped themselves ravenously to the food and drink. The doughboys were savoury and salty, made up primarily of flour and animal fat, and they certainly did the trick. The drink tasted like sweetened and watered down rum, Miles swallowed it down, but soon realised that he should consume it slowly despite his thirst. He did not want to pass out in a place like this. The bearded man took a seat on a bar stool directly to the left of Miles, Maxen was on his right.

“They call me t
he 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 ev
e 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.”