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What is loneliness? Being on your own with no one who sounds like or even looks like you. Is that loneliness? What does it mean? Is it when you’re on your own, truly alone, with no one to talk with or to touch? Perhaps.

Is it when you are in a place filled with beings and yet none so much as dare look at you, let alone speak to you or offer you a brief moment of kindness?

To be human is to be alone.

Once, humanity had ruled the cosmos. They brought wonders to the countless trillions, brought wealth, security and the light of their god. And yet, even after all they had done, those same masses turned upon them. Now, the former masters of the stars are so few in number that many believe them to be extinct or close to it.

Thrackham Kay is human. He walks amongst the thronging aliens of Stellios Andraste Station, a forgotten relic of mankind’s empire, long abandoned by its creators. Yet he may as well be a ghost, for none dare cast their eyes upon him.

He stands tall on two long legs, broad across the shoulders and powerful in build. If any of the surrounding aliens knew enough about the human condition, they might describe him as being in peak physical condition. Though, to give them some credit, there is little of that physique to see beneath the armour, helmet and cloak.

The Halcyon suit’s Vantalloy frame is sheathed in interlocking plates of Gravene, with a layer of Kinetex beneath to absorb the force of impacts. Voidweave protects the flexible joints and forms the ragged cape hanging from his shoulders, while a single piece of polarised Phaseglass conceals his face.

Ah, that is why they do not dare look at him. They recognise his attire, not his shape, not his species. He wears the armour of a Nomad, and nothing save those with a death wish or plenty of credits would want to interact with such a person.

A reputation for skill unmatched in battle, the Nomads’ fearsome reputation acts like a buffering shield, pushing tentacles, talons and claws away.

Why is such a being here on this station? Does Thrackham feel loneliness? His demeanour says otherwise. He strides through the parting crowds, his cape flowing and whispering against the carboncrete floor, his helmeted head fixed on the structure in front. He ignores the chaos all around.

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Above, the air is filled with thousands of gravcars and drones attending to a million different tasks. Around him, the neon lit markets bustle with a million aliens of every shape and size imaginable. Could he name them all, their species, that is? Impossible. Yet these were the same aliens his people had lifted from the darkness and who had received the great gifts of civilization and the one true god.

Thrackham neither cares nor ponders such things. To him, mankind’s glory days are no more than a myth told by the elders of his tribe. All he knows is that he is one of the last. He walks on, and the large metallic doors of the structure slide open with a hiss. He steps through.

Inside, the saloon is teeming with aliens. Behind the bar, an eight-armed Octisar is serving drinks and screeching insults at a rowdy bunch of Himcari through a tentacle-covered orifice that acts as a mouth, they holler and snarl in return. Their thick black and brown hair fills the air. It must be the moulting season for the ape-like aliens.

Thrackham ignores them and walks deeper inside. A diminutive Sarleeen bumps into him, immediately squealing an apology before scurrying away on its forty-five legs. Cockroaches, that was what they were like, insects that could, should be rightfully crushed under Thrackham’s boot. Alas, he cares not and presses on until he reaches a back room being guarded by two giant Edutai. Standing at twice Thrackham’s height, with their four monstrous arms crossed, their beady, yellow, reptilian-like eyes regard him. The one on the right growls, the sound like fingernails scratching wood. Thrackham waits as the AI in his helmet translates the primitive language.

“It asks what do you want.” That’s my voice, by the way. I am Herald, an AI who has been stuck in this helmet for years beyond counting, and now I serve Thrackham. One benefit is that at least he is human and not some filthy alien. To have ended up serving one of them... Well, the thought is abhorrent to me. I was created by mankind to serve mankind. To serve their beauty and masterful talents. The rude Edutai growls again, this time more impatiently. It would be amusing to see these things try to harm Thrackham, but that is not his business today.

“They say that you must have an appointment to see Omgu.”

Thrackham tilts his head.

“I have an appointment,” he says, his deep voice heavily modulated by the helmet, and I, of course, translate it. He raises his left arm and presses a thumb against the surface of his wrist gauntlet. A projection shimmers into life. The invitation. I feel some disappointment that Thrackham would not need to show these Edutai thugs who’s boss. Never mind. With another series of grunts the two step aside and the door opens. Thrackham steps through.

On the other side is a circular chamber filled with smoke from a dozen pipes. Analysing. As expected it is Soari plant smoke. The most addictive narcotic known in existence and the aliens in this room are smoking it. Disgusting. Thrackham’s helmet protects him from the foul smelling herb. He walks to the center of the chamber. In front of him lying on a couch made of Zari silks and Epuli cottons is the grotesque visage of our contact. The cartel boss Omgu of the Dista race. Their bodies are large and bulbous and covered in an ever secreting slime. The chamber is exceptionally damp with high humidity, the environment the Dista love the most. Hailing from a swampy rock the slug like abhorrents wallow in their slime. How such things became powerful crime bosses is beyond logic, but perhaps it is because of their mentality of being quick to violence. Omgu narrows his six large eyes as he spots Thrackham. It opens its huge mouth and a vulgar language that sounds like two small rodents copulating emerges. All high pitched and grating phonics.

“At last you arrive, Nomad. I sought you out long ago, you are lucky the contract is still active,” I translate.

Thrackham nods slowly.

“I was waylaid.”

Omgu laughs, if you can call it that. It sounds more like a cat drowning. Horrendous.

“I heard the Zuzu pirates tried to claim your head. I see they were unsuccessful.”

Does this wretch wish to claim the bounty? I would very much like to see it try.

“They were. As were the Dista enforcers that tried to intercept me on my approach here. You can see the wreckage of their ships circling the station if you look out of a window.”

Sure enough, drifting slowly past the chamber’s large oval window was the wreckage of three Dista ships and if you looked closely, the corpses of their slug-like crew.

Omgu’s equivalent of a smile dropped. Was that fear in its eyes? It sure looks like it. Omgu spoke again, its noises more frantic and high in pitch. Oh, it’s pleading now, claiming it had nothing to do with it. That it knows nothing of such a bounty.

Thrackham cares not. With one smooth motion he draws his sidearm, aims and pulls the trigger. The head of the Dista sitting next to Omgu explodes, sending brains and matter all over the place. The other Dista in the chamber react almost at once, their ability to shrug off such a shocking act so quickly is admittedly impressive. Thrackham blasts another before it leaps at him and using the thrusters in his boots leaps backwards over the whip-like tail of another. He lands in a crouch and reaches for the Vantadium sword on his hip. He draws it in one smooth motion, ducking under another strike and slashes upwards cleaving the tail from the foul alien’s body. It yowls in its alien tongue.

The chamber doors burst open. The two Edutai charge through, daggers drawn, their four arms spread wide as they thunder towards him. Thrackham turns to face them. He unclips two discs from his breastplate and sends them spinning across the chamber. Each strikes an Edutai squarely in the chest. His thumb touches the detonator.

Both discs explode. The Edutai freeze mid-charge. For half a heartbeat, they remain standing. Then their upper bodies slide from their waists and strike the floor with two heavy, wet slaps.

Omgu looks at the chaos and the dead in disbelief. Thrackham turns to face the cartel boss.

“You have a contract for me?”

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I’m excited to announce that I’ll be serialising my new science-fiction adventure, Nomad, as part of Sci-Fridays.

New instalments will be released every Friday on Substack and Royal Road, following Thrackham Kay, a deadly human mercenary trying to survive in a galaxy where mankind has fallen and hostile alien powers are determined to keep it that way.

If you love science fiction packed with action, adventure, alien worlds, ancient technology and dangerous enemies, subscribe or follow along. And if you enjoy the story, please help spread the word!

Part 1 posts next Friday and you check out a brief synopsis below.

Humanity is dying.

Once, humans ruled the stars. Now, the last survivors wander a hostile galaxy, hunted by alien races determined to ensure humanity never rises again.

Thrackham Kay is one of the lucky few. Born into a tribe of Nomads, he was raised among the galaxy’s most sought-after mercenaries. Skilled, deadly and armed with technology coveted by the xenos, the Nomads fight for anyone willing to pay their price.

When Thrackham is hired to protect a Freen scavenging expedition, a routine mission ends in disaster. Their ship crashes on Terain, a mysterious planet littered with the remnants of a forgotten civilisation.

Stranded far from his tribe, Thrackham must battle alien predators, deranged machines and secrets that could reveal what really happened to humanity.

But the greatest threat waiting on Terain is neither alien nor machine.

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