Gyn: A SciFi Romance

Chapter 1

Gyn

The chicken coop gate’s wooden frame scrapes across the dirt, deepening the groove it runs through. My flock hears the sound and soon heads pop out of their wooden enclosures, clucking in the humid morning air. Gentle sunlight filters through the dense branches overhead, reflecting off the tin roof of the chicken coop and being absorbed by the solar panels on top of my house.

Dragging the bag of seed with me, I toss handfuls of the gritty stuff onto the ground. The chickens and my one rooster all gather around to peck it up. As I close the coop gate, I remind myself for the hundredth time to raise the post a little so it stops digging in the dirt. And for the hundredth time I realize it’s probably not going to happen any time soon.

After closing the coop, I check my traps but only find a Titanus Rodentits, a floppy eared marsupial. The bony critter has poor tasting meat, so I set him free to bound away across the meadow.

I have better luck with the cages sunk into the nearby river. As I drag the first one out of the water, the metal cage teems with crayfish. They’re an invasive species, brought here by the same human settlers of Cajun descent who founded the city of Traxis, whose skyscrapers loom in the hazy distance. The river is teeming with them, and despite a robust industry they have been threatening to nudge out native species entirely.

So I’m not just catching a tasty meal, I’m doing my part for the environment. Score one point for Gyn.

I need to feel like I’m having some positive effect on my adopted world of Titanus Vox. After settling here five years ago, I’ve become something of a recluse. When no one would sell me a home, despite my having plenty of credits, I decided to build one of my own.

But no one would sell me the land to do so.

I suppose it’s only natural that I encounter some prejudice, being the only Shorcu on Titanus Vox who isn’t in military custody. Memories are short, and the brutal battle of Titanus Vox, while a mere skirmish compared to Horus IV, is fresh in everyone’s minds. I fought in that battle, against the people amongst whom I now dwell.

In the end, I was able to purchase a plot of land directly from the government, who were compelled by legal anti bias laws to comply with my request. At the least I didn’t have to hire a legal advocate, or lawyer as the IHC refers to them. I understand they are quite expensive.

Once I’d bought my land, I ordered all of my materials on the Holo Net. Without being able to see my scaled form, they were most accommodating, particularly since I paid my bill in full ahead of time.

You’re probably wondering how an ex prisoner of war alien can afford to purchase land and materials to build a home. That’s simple. The curse which afflicted me at birth became my salvation amongst the humans.

I am what’s known as a proto-Shorcu, a genetic throwback with some features that my fellow three eyed amphibians don’t share. Most importantly, I have both gills and lungs, allowing me to breathe fresh or salt water as easily as air. My body is also adapted to the pressures of deep water, which you might think would make me a desired commodity in the Ataxian military. Most worlds which support sapient life are at least half liquid. But you would be wrong.

Being like me is considered a flaw in my society. We’re considered unevolved, brutish and short tempered, suitable only for crude violence. We are also banned from being allowed to breed, lest our ‘weakness’ be spread throughout the general population.

I have other traits as well, such as dorsal fins on the backs of my elbows and a spiny fin that normally stays flat against the top of my head. At times of extreme stress, such as combat or sexual arousal, it will extend as both threat display and mating signal.

But I digress. The reason my being able to breathe water makes me a man of some wealth is because Traxis is located smack on the river delta, and the Berry River in particular. With all of the barges coming and going—water transport being much cheaper than using hover vehicles with their gluttonous fuel consumption—there’s a constant need for skilled hyperbaric welders. 

Unlike the humans and Alzhon who normally perform these tasks, I don’t have to worry about drowning, or enduring more pressure than my body can withstand. Electrocution is also not so troublesome. My body is neutrally conductive, which means current passes right through me unobstructed, another throwback trait. Even my eyes are ideally suited to the task, being able to adjust to both the gloom of underwater and the bright flare caused by the welding torch.

Once I’ve stowed my night’s meal in the water tank near my back yard, I release the excess creatures and head inside for my fitness regimen. I don’t work out with weights, because I use bodyweight exercises such as pushups and squats. A thousand reps of a dozen different such movements keeps me in peak condition, arguably better than I had been even in the military. 

My breakfast consists of cracking six Axul eggs into a glass and draining it, then washing it down with ten ounces of water. Then I use one of my dental sticks, a type of native root which has been found to both clean and re mineralize teeth, chewing on it as I pull on a pair of trousers.

Most of the time when I’m at home, I don’t wear any clothing at all. I don’t have need of it, since even in the winter months the temperature tends toward what humans find sweltering, and I find quite comfortable. But I always wear pants to work, even if I eschew shoes.

When I head out my front door toward my hover car, my pace slows and I heave a heavy sigh. Someone has vandalized it, again. Long, deep scrapes—possibly from a knife—run down the entire driver’s side, and someone has clearly defecated on the hood. Not to mention the words SNAKEY GO HOME painted on my windshield, possibly with more feces. 

This is why I have a water hose handy. A few minutes of high pressure liquid cleans my car off, even if it does nothing for the damaged metal skin.

I drive toward Traxis, though I’m not actually going to enter the city proper. Rather, my goal is a dock about ten minutes down the Berry River from the city limits. The Maxwell Repair Co. isn’t the top dog in the barge welding business, but they provide me with plenty of work and even pretend like the sight of me doesn’t terrify and/or anger them.

My boss is a human named Dave, with a big bristly beard and thick muscular arms that belie his big beer belly. While we’re not friends, I think he appreciates me more than most. He certainly appreciates my work rate and productive output if nothing else.

“Good morning, Dave.” I place my palm on the time clock scanner until it beeps cheerfully.

He peers up from behind his desk, which is covered in printed invoices and three separate data pads. All of them are broke in some manner but function in others, and between the three of them he somehow manages to get his business done.

“Morning, Gyn. Hope you got a good night’s sleep, cuz we got a garbage scow with a fissure I can put my fist through running about ten feet along the lower hull.”

“I’ll have it done by the afternoon.”

“I knew I could count on you, Gyn. If only my other welders had your moxie.”

I give him a slight smile and pick up my gear before heading to the water. When I first joined the crew, some in the union weren’t too happy. For someone who doesn’t breathe water to do this job requires at least two other crewmen on the surface, monitoring their air and pressure levels. Essentially, my being here deprives people of work.

But there’s not much they can do about it, since I’m a union man as well. I pay my dues, and for all that I still endure a lot of prejudice the union treats me adequately, which is more than I can say for most of the human institutions on Titanus Vox.

Heading beneath the water always calms me. It’s not that I’m more comfortable down there, it’s just so much more peaceful. The sounds of hover cars, air ships and trains are muted beneath the water, and I can get lost in my own world while doing my work.

I see the fissure Dave spoke of, and get to work. It requires multiple trips back to shore to pick up the carbon bars needed to repair the hull. On my fourth such trip, with the fissure a little more than half way done, I find there are people waiting for me.

As soon as I see the two blue uniformed IHC Law Enforcement Officials—ILE if  you’re into brevity—my heart sinks, because I thought I was done dealing with them for good.

“Are you Gyn?” One of them peers at me, and then stares at the data pad in his hand.

“No, it’s the other Snakey Boy who just slithered out of the water.” His partner sneers at him, but especially at me.

“Yes, I am Gyn. What is this about?”

“We’re placing you under arrest.” The less overtly prejudiced ILE officer presents me with a warrant. I stare at it, my third eye focusing the fastest on the tiny lettering.

“There’s some mistake. This says I’m being arrested for thirty four counts of murder in the first degree.”

“There’s no mistake, sir.”

His partner chuckles and grabs my arm. Despite the fact that I tower over him and could easily trounce him, even before he had a chance to draw his slugthrower pistol, I don’t resist as he moves me toward a waiting car.

“Don’t try to pretend ignorance, you fucking terrorist. We got you dead to rights.”

He attempts to bounce my head off the roof of the car while ‘assisting’ me to sit in the back seat, but I’m easily able to prevent this by tensing my muscles. Undaunted, he tries several more times before his partner intervenes.

“Stop screwing around, Mahoney. Captain wants this one done by the book, so no bullshit or ‘accidents,’ get my drift?”

Grumbling, Mahoney gives up and I sit calmly in the back seat. My outer appearance belies the turmoil roiling in my gut.

Under arrest, for crimes I didn’t commit.

And I thought my car being vandalized was the worst thing that would happen to me today. But worst of all, I’m going to have to hire one of those scum sucking lawyers.