Cyrr - A Work in Progress

[CerebralError]

This is a sci-fi intro post I am working on. I would love to get some critiques on it if possible.

A translation guide, for ease.

Kee - Night.
Ree - Light/Day
Cyrr - world
Cyrreekif - Worldstorm
Cyrrsci - Worldhome/village
T'k - star(s)
Kur'kuci - one-thousand steps/distance
Tsoche - death

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          Being slightly smaller than Earth, and with over 80% of its singular landmass covered by unforgiving desert, it is hard to see just how the once widely unknown Cyrr has wound up at the forefront of galactic intrigue. It is not until one either steps back or looks closer that the value of this small, arid world becomes readily apparent.

          The location of Cyrr lies within the Tassau-Gründir Planetary Belt, almost directly between the territory limits of the Triumvirate Governments and the Victis Confederation, and could easily be established by either side as a waypoint for jump-drive equipped ships and used to strike deep into enemy territory. OSR (Orbital Support/Refit) facilities would make a formidable striking point, and with the addition of anti-oribtal weaponry and interceptor craft, Cyrr could also be used as a 'Jump Denial' planet for enemy warships. Both the Triumvirate and the Confederation have established military garrisons on Cyrr, and many fear that conflict is not only inevitable, but that it could quickly escalate into a full-scale and devastating war between the two factions.

          Beyond its military value however, Cyrr is also a treasure trove of untapped resources. The native species, the recently discovered Ke'trel, have lived for centuries at an S1 Technological level, and as such had been unable to exploit the natural wealth that lies beneath the towering dunes of their planet. Already, several mining and extraction companies have staked claims in the vast Cyrran Desert, and it is expected that the first set of facilities will be constructed within the next several weeks as both factions try to bring Cyrr into their spheres of influence. Already, the economic markets in the Triumvirate Industrial Sectors are rising in anticipation of the boon of incoming raw materials.

          However, several humanitarian agencies have been swift to condemn the sudden, and in some people's views, forceful ascension of the Ke'trel, who have seemingly been swept aside in the development of their own planet. NuPeace founder Victorina Bechtel stated in an appeal to both the Triumvirate and Victis governments: "This species went from not even having the wheel to being handed pulse rifles and told to kill anybody not wearing the right uniform that gets too close. There are more of them dead in the last four months than what typically happens in decades, mostly due to irresponsible exposure to technology advanced beyond their capability to use, much less understand. This was all done in a reckless bid for planetary resources and control by outside sources, and accidents and death tolls will only continue to rise until they are given space and time to develop the ability to properly understand the dangerous technology that has been given, crate after crate after crate, to a people that barely comprehend primitive metalworking."

          Currently, the Triumvirate Governments have over 50,000 personnel stationed on Cyrr in advisory roles, with plans to eventually increase that number to 80,000 within the coming weeks. The newly commissioned heavy cruiser TCN Tyrfing is scheduled to depart for Cyrr in the next few weeks, carrying much-needed supplies, equipment, and personnel. The Tyrfing will be accompanied by the destroyers Elysium and Aaru, as well as the Vellph escort cruisers Blockade of Nelien and Fall of Xsel. After departing, the flotilla will make a series of jumps until exiting in the Cygnis system, where it will only take five days of in-system flight to reach Cyrr.

          -Sample taken from 'Cyrr: A Brewing Storm?'
                    -SiGen Media Networks
                              -19.7.270 NDE (Sol Standard Calendar.)

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   Tsik's life had gotten far too complicated far too quickly. After all, hadn't it only been two hundred kee ago that they had been alone and content in the Shadesea? Now, other creatures lived on Cyrr's sands, strange, soft-fleshed creatures who came from above in screaming shells of prismatic green. Who spoke strangely and carried weapons of a type that Tsik couldn't have even dreamed of! Who wore second skins that could deflect even the sharpest of knives. Who flew through the endless skies and even left the limits of the cyrr behind them and flew through the great Shadesea!

   Ever since then, his own cyrr had become frantic and strange, moving fast enough to make his head ache with blood. He had watched as a sea of dull gray had steadily flattened out the sands as those shimmering green shells swept back up into the sky and returned like a steady stream of insects. Each day that gray expanse was a little larger, a little more frightening. It was like watching the Cyrreekif rising on the horizon, dark and gray. Eventually, many of them had been brought to this strange place, full of noise and angular lines. There were Ke'trel there he had never seen before, not from his cyrrsci, and he realized that these new creatures, the whoom'ins, had traversed the deserts with impossible swiftness and united tribes that had never once met. Never even known the other existed. The fabric of their entire society was unraveling, and Tsik felt as if he were being swept up in the Cyrreekif's powerful winds, helpless to do anything about it.

   The whoom'ins quickly taught the gathered and stunned Ke'trel their strange and frustrating language over the course of several kee, full of sounds that he couldn't make, and instructed them to teach the others in their cyrrsci. In a strange twist of irony, most of the Ke'trel languages were incompatible with languages from other cyrrsci, and were soon they only able to communicate with one another through the strange, new language the whoom'ins spoke. Suddenly though, every answer had to be questioned anew. Every tradition, every custom had to be altered. For the first time, territory was no longer designated by the dunes. Trade was no longer limited to within ones cyrrsci. Shaky economies formed where there had once been none, as did rifts between individuals and territorial rivals. Even the Shadesea itself had changed. There were many new t'k above, little specks of light that moved far, far in the distance. The whoom'ins said these lights were vessels many kur'kuci in length! He could even see them during the ree, when the powerful sun blazed down upon him.

   Tsik stood under that oppressive sun, fidgeting uncomfortably in his new second skin, something that the whoom'ins called 'armor'. It was too tight in some places and pinched there terribly, and left his skin covered with blood-filled welts in those places. The fact that he was standing exposed during the day, many kur'kuci from his home was enough to show how much things had changed. Before, the lack of water away from the underground cisterns had made any great distances immeasurably longer, and the heat was devastating even to a desert-dwelling people as his own. But the whoom'ins had brought water to spare, as cool and as pure as the water in the cisterns. And they had so much of it! So much that they could waste it by dumping it over their bodies!

   They could carry it in large, gourd-like packs you wore on your back and sipped at it through a long, flexible tube. Tsik sucked down a mouthful of crisp, delicious water, his eyes nearly fluttering with bliss. For all his life, water was the most precious, most valuable thing in the cyrrsci. Until the arrival of the Cyrreekif, and the many months of rain refilled the underground cisterns, water had to be carefully distributed. Not a single drop could go to waste! And now there was water in abundance. He could drink and drink as much as he wanted! The whoom'ins were even building tall, silvery towers that he had been told could pull water right out of the very air! He exulted in that he would never go thirsty again.

   Along with endless water, the whoom'ins had also brought with them new and strange foods. After it had been determined that it was for Ke'trel to eat whoom'in food, they were able to sample exotic dishes such as 'roast beef', 'cornbread', and to the apparent amusement of the whoom'ins, a dish called 'fried chicken'. While they were all meals of interesting and new flavors, it was not his favorite food. That title was reserved for a delicacy called 'lime jello'. A savory mass of translucent green, it was not a liquid, but it behaved in such a such a fascinating manner! The taste reminded him only slightly of the seekweh fruit that grew underground, only with a sweetness that he did not think a meal could possess. He smiled and licked his thin lips in anticipation of his next trip to the 'mess hall'.

   Something smashed into his chest and crushed the air from his lungs. Even with his new armor on he was practically thrown to the ground, falling into the sand with a squawk of alarm. In the distance, another Ke'trel cawed with pride and hysterics. Tsik curved his neck down to look at the splatter of bright red on the chestpiece of his armor. His throat paled with embarrassment and he sighed, laying his head down on the hot sands. The whoom'ins had also brought something else with them besides water and food. They had brought weapons. Weapons that still amazed and frightened him. Weapons that could strike at far beyond the range of their best spear thrower. Could strike farther than one could see and farther. Weapons that could fire into the great Shadesea and blot out the t'k above. He had watched in dumbfounded amazement as the target exploded into smoking shards when he pushed the trigger of the weapon they had given him. It still felt awkward and bulky in his hands, but he was getting better at using it. At least, he thought he was.

   A whistle shrilled, painfully loud. "Goddamnit! Cease fire!" A voice bellowed from somewhere down the line of trench that he had been 'defending'. Tsik groaned as he sat up, his chest aching. He wiped off the bright red goop that was supposed to simulate blood and looked around. The Ke'trel that had 'shot' him strutted about triumphantly in his trench. "Who the hell just did the stupidest fucking thing I've ever seen in my service to the Corps?" That same voice roared, getting closer. Tsik climbed unsteadily to his feet, thereby making himself known to the approaching whoom'in. "Sike!" Tsik sighed at the mispronunciation of his name, something that the whoom'ins did with regularity, but he still stood to attention. He had refused to acknowledge to 'Sike' once. He had learned from that...mistake. The whoom'in that came charging towards him was tall for their species, but still almost a head shorter than him. Still he stood straight, as he had been trained to do. Sweat poured down the man's face, which was almost as red as Tsik's hide and twisted into a snarl of fury. "You were fucking daydreaming again, weren't you?"

   Tsik had also learned not to make eye contact when he was being yelled at. whoom'ins took this as a sign of disrespect, and often made punishments even more severe. He looked straight ahead, trying to focus on some imaginary speck on the horizon. "Noo, seerchent." He said crisply, even though his throat was still pale.

   "Oh! So I suppose you're just fucking stupid enough to stand still when someone is aiming a gun at you!" The man barked. "Makes sense, since you've got the brain of a fucking bird!"

   Tsik tried not to grimace. He was not accustomed to this kind of verbal abuse. None of his kind were, and not all of them had taken so kindly to the whoom'in's tendencies to scream at them for mistakes. "Sawree, seerchent." He said crisply. "Whon't awp'pen awken." He hoped that his promises of better performance would satisfy the higher-ranking (that was another confusing aspect of his society now) whoom'in and make him go away. It did not.

   "Get your worthless ass out of this trench!" The seerchent screamed at him again. Tsik wondered just how long that the man could yell like this, but he quietly did as he was ordered and climbed out to stand in the hot sands. "I will not have someone who is so fucking stupid as to stand there and get my men killed stand in this trench! Now, you are going to run, and run, and run your feathered ass off until you are too tired to think! Maybe that'll keep you from daydreaming!" The whoom'in cyrrsci was big, bigger than any Ke'trel village, but it would not be too bad of a run, he thought. Until the seerchent added "Ditch your water!" Tsik's eyes widened with alarm. Dump such precious water into the sand? It went against everything he had ever been taught! But the seerchent's anger only grew with each second, and mournfully, he removed the pouch from his armor and poured it onto the ground. The sand sucked it down with an all-consuming thirst. This was far more of a punishment than merely running would have been. He did not want to think on how thirsty he would become while running. Without water, the desert was death. Tsoche.

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