Colony- Olympian

by Gene Stiles

  Somewhere in the melee that followed, Set’s minions quietly set him free and spirited him from Nil. Now he and his imprisoned commanders were in the wind. Though sullen and silent in the aftermath, over half the city now supported Set and called for Ra to step down. Even here in these exalted chambers, Ra could see the deep scars of division among his own officers.

  “Thank you all for your opinions,” he said finally and flatly. “We will take your words under advisement. We shall recess for three days to decide on a course of action. I thank you for your service to Nil. Good night.”

  “We have no recourse,” Astraeus grumbled darkly after the room emptied. “If we do not take direct action against Cronus, the people will rip the city apart. The only thing keeping many of them from storming this hall is the love and respect they have for you, Ra…and their fear of our armor.”

  “We do not rule through fear,” Ra sighed, exhausted from the battle and the energies released. As Raet learned the first time she used it, unleashing such power took a heavy toll on body and mind. “As much as I dread the mere thought of war, we speak and act by the will of the people. The people do not bow to our will. That would return Nil to the horrors and enslavement of the first Trinity. We did not defeat them only to become them.”

  “Are you saying then we are to take the war to Atlantean shores?” Raet asked, her face blanched and her dark eyes turned misty. Though she understood the necessity and her duty, the grisly abominations she had just visited upon other human beings would haunt her nightmares forever. To bring such horrific devastation to an entire continent ate at her very soul.

  “Not yet,” Ra replied, barely easing her angst. He ran a tired hand through his wavy blond hair, his fingers catching on snarls caused by the helmet. “First we wait to see the Lord Father’s response. Should he retaliate against us, we will have no choice. Should he not, I believe it is past time we do something I have been unwilling to do.”

  Ra’s lake-blue eyes were sad but icy. He looked at his brethren to see if they would agree. “It is time to open our Cydonian technology to Zeus. If Atlantis is to fall, it should be at the hands of the Olympians.”

  Chapter XVII

  “How many more shall die before you end this despicable war?” Thea shouted, her corona of golden-blond hair swirling around her like a thick fog. Her emerald eyes blazed like polished jewels in the sunlight shimmering through the pyramid windows. Her vehement words echoed off the granite walls of the near-empty council chamber in a chorus of accusation.

  Themis stood next to her twin sister at the end of the huge mahogany table, her fists quivering at her sides. The tight braid of her glowing blond hair rolled over her shoulder and down between the deep cleavage of her heaving chest. A crimson flush covered her high cheekbones from the heat coursing through her trembling body.

  “My sister is right,” Themis added, the words acidic as she spit them at Cronus. “I have supported you as long as I can. This vendetta is no longer a matter of justice for the Olympian attacks on our home. It is not even about your insane fear of Zeus and your children. It is about your quest for power and nothing more. It must stop!”

  “You threaten the lives of all Atlanteans by ignoring the words of Ra,” Phoebe said, her voice as sharp and bitter as the other two women. Her pale blue eyes were narrowed to mere slits and her platinum hair sparkled like polished steel. She swept her hand toward the six disheveled men staring at the floor as they cowered in the corner of the room. “How dare you continue to maintain a base on Nillian soil after Raet warned you of the consequences? How many died for your arrogance this time?”

  Cronus raised his eyes from the monitor at the head of the table and looked up at the three women. His ruggedly handsome face appeared to be carved from granite, all sharp edges and as cold as stone. His eyes were like polished malachite, swirls of black and red shifting within. The tendons stood out on his bulging forearms, pulsing like veins where he leaned against the table. His curly, fire-red hair rippled softly in the warm currents of air circulating around him. Cronus stood to his full height, his lips pulled tightly beneath his full, red beard.

  “You are not welcome here,” he said smoothly in a tone so emotionless and chilly it seemed to freeze what little moisture hung in the air. “I thought I made that clear when I disbanded the Twelve. I do not need nor want your counsel. Leave at once or I will have the Aam escort you out.”

  The trio of women stood stock still, their mouths agape. Cronus’ rumbling voice was detached and dispassionate, devoid of anger or fervor. The four Black Guard near the huge, carved-oak doors split to flank them, their faces as still as a placid mountain lake, but their hands rested on the ornate hilts of their swords. From their firm stances, it was plain they would cut the women down in a heartbeat if the Lord Father so ordered.

  Sensing the danger they were in, Phoebe and the twins turned sharply on their heels and stomped out of the room without another word. Once out of the room, the massive doors shut firmly behind them, they hurried down the hallway toward the foyer.

  “He has gone completely mad,” Phoebe muttered bitterly. Her pinched, ruby-red lips seemed almost blood-like against her pale, alabaster skin as if she bit through the flesh in her anger. “If we do not find a way to stop him, Atlantis will be reduced to smoking ruins. There must be a way.”

  The gigantic entrance hall at the base of the Central Pyramid was a hive of frenzied activity. The People hustled through corridors and seethed around the fluted granite pillars like an anthill rushing to escape a flood. Black-clad Aam Commanders and their aides split the tide on their way to the war rooms, no one daring to impede their progress. Every desk scattered about the antechamber had lines of people awaiting their orders or seeking information. Even Phoebe’s extraordinary beauty failed to draw more than an occasional glance of appreciation. The dense fog of tension filling the room was almost like a living thing.

  “Look at this,” Themis said gravely, waving her hand at the milling masses. “Can you feel it? It is not fear driving these people. It is pride, purpose and fury. They truly believe they are the righteous ones defending their homeland and way of life. That is difficult to combat.”

  “Cronus controls the narrative,” Thea said grimly as they stepped out into the bright sunshine. “He twists the facts and modifies the images to prove it is the Olympians and the Nillians who are the instigators and invaders. As long as he maintains ultimate authority over the information, he can manipulate the story any way he sees fit. The People believe in him. To many, he is still a god.”

  “And he commands the Aam,” Themis added. “They are fiercely loyal to the Lord Father. Without the help of the military, there is no stopping him.”

  “We must find a way,” Phoebe said, her body trembling as a vision of the city in flames filled her mind. “If Ra joins with Zeus, all the legions of Atlantis combined could not withstand their combined power.”

  That very thought gnawed at Cronus and churned the food unsettled in his stomach. How the Tholus base was discovered after decades was unknown and, at this point, irrelevant. From what the few survivors told him, there was nothing left of the city. No matter his outward appearance, the fact that it took only two of the Trinity to wipe out over two thousand men and destroy the entire harbor fortress shook him to his core. That monstrous alien armor must have a weakness, but his ally in Nil had yet to find it. How could he fight such awesome firepower? What he needed was to have it for his own.

  Despite his ultimatum, Cronus doubted Ra would invade Atlantis. The Lord Father understood the Nillian ruler. The only thing he valued more than the lives of his people was that precious Message he was determined to send. He would not divert his attention to a war with Atlantis if he could avoid it. Far more than Cronus, Ra feared such a confrontation. He might have his armor, but that was only good in personal combat. It would not stop Cronus from using his new, long-range missiles from leveling his cities and crumbling the Nillian pyramids to dust. Ra would no
t risk it.

  The only real threat posed by the Trinity was if they joined with Olympus. Ra did not use the ancient Cydonian technology in his possession for offensive weaponry, but Zeus would. So much was unknown about that alien science, but if their armor was any indication, it could create armament of unlimited power. If that happened, all would be lost and the Prophesy of his doom at the hands of his son, Zeus, would come to pass.

  Cronus slipped out of the pyramid through a secret passage that ended in a warehouse a block away. He threw on a bland, tan linen, hooded cloak and mounted a sled. The city was bustling and beautiful as he slowly wound through the crowded streets. He was going somewhere he had not been in decades. Somewhere he could be alone without distraction. It was not a release for his soul-numbing fear nor the rage that coiled inside him. Cronus needed clarity of mind and he knew of only one place he might find it.

  The long winter had passed finally. The sun was high in a near-cloudless azure sky. Flowerbeds and parks throughout the city blossomed with vibrant colors and renewed life. The fragrance of their blooms mixed pleasantly with the aromas of eateries and food stalls creating a heady and succulent perfume. The skyscrapers and twisted spires of the city reached their metal, crystal and glass arms to the heavens, sparkling in the light of day. The People filled the sidewalks, a sense of pure joy radiating from their smiling features. The underlying worry of war held no sway on this incredible day. Cronus passed it all by, luxuriating in the sights and sensations and soaking them in to give purpose to his life.

  The humid, perpetual darkness beneath the One Tree was calming and serene. A thick carpet of moss was the only vegetation that survived beneath the gigantic, intertwined branches of spade-shaped, evergreen leaves that blotted out all sunlight from above. It was thick and spongy but dry, absorbing the moisture deep into its roots. Patches of flickering candlelight dotted the darkness marking the places others gathered in quiet meditation.

  Using only a tiny lightcaster to navigate the huge, curved roots that broke the ground near the mammoth base of the great tree, Cronus found a spot far from anyone else. Flat Reflection Stones were scattered around this sacred place where countless pilgrims before him lit candles as their only light. Like him, they sought illumination in a different way. Cronus took a stick from his pouch and put fire to the wick. Dripping wax onto the stone, he planted the candle and leaned back against the trunk, his legs crossed beneath him.

  The One Tree was like him, a living relic of a world eons gone. A sprout from the great tree that gave life to the caves of Atlan, it was planted here by Iasion while the People slept in the twelve buried borithium ships that brought them to this planet. No one could have known the alien tree would continue to grow for countless millennium, immune to insects and diseases. The chasms that opened around it sank to unfathomable depths creating an island surrounded by an eternal curtain of steam. Strangely, the branches never extended beyond that swirling white border nor higher than where the thick plumes began to dissipate. It was if the Creator confined it in its own private dome of perfection.

  Cronus sat staring into the flickering flame, his back on the rough bark of the ancient tree trunk. He felt a deep, abiding kinship to the One Tree. Not only because they were of otherworld origins, but because, like him, it had endured for millions of years past the time when it should have disappeared into dust – Cronus because of the deep sleep stasis in his ship, the One Tree because of the alien soil in which it resided. Neither should be alive today so there must be a purpose to their continued existence. There must!

  Cronus had killed his own father to bring the People to this world to ensure their survival. The horror of that moment still tortured his soul and invaded his dreams. His purpose must be to see that Atlantis thrived forever no matter what price he had to pay. This is what he fought for. This is what he created through his own will and his dedication to the People. They must understand. He could not let them devolve into Izon beasts. Cronus created the Nephilim to enhance the strength of the People, not supplant them. The Creator granted him such a long life for this very reason. Only he could guide Atlantis to its full glory and its rightful place in the world he, himself, had created through his own sacrifices.

  This was what he could not let Zeus take from him. It was not death he feared. Or was it? All things died. No, he thought gravely. Dying was inevitable. It was the certainty that all would be lost without him. That is why the Creator put him here. This he told himself and this he believed it.

  But, came a nagging thought as he stared into the flame, had he gone too far? Was he, like the One Tree, to be confined to one place by the Creator? In truth, was his task not now completed? As much as he hated to admit it, eons of Izon had spread the seed of the bloodkin across the globe. The scions of the People populated continents far from Atlantis. Between them, the Cro-Mags, the Nephilim and the Izon, the world was inhabited by uncountable millions. The societies of humanity were vast and diverse. Should he step aside and leave the rest of the world to his sons and daughters?

  Cronus lifted his head, tears streaming from his blurry jade eyes. Also, like the One Tree, he stood against nature and the tides of time alone. His beloved Rhea was long gone. His children hated him and sought his demise. Hundreds of thousands fought against him. Thousands more had died at his command. Maybe his mistakes had been too many. Maybe the war was only driven by his fear and his own ego. Maybe it was time to surrender.

  “Am I done?” Cronus whispered to the blackness surrounding him. “Is it your will I cannot defeat Ra and Zeus? Please, Creator,” he prayed solemnly. “Show me the road I must take. I submit myself to your righteous judgment. I beg of you. Give me a sign.”

  And the sign was given. The beeping of his comlink was loud and intrusive in this silent sanctuary. Cronus clicked it on and answered, irritated his contemplations were interrupted. “Yes?”

  “Lord Father,” Iapetus said quietly, a hard edge to his voice. “Please return to the pyramid. Carius needs you at once.”

  Cronus was fuming by the time he reached Sirenum. He was not used to being summoned, but the weapons master refused to come to Atlantis. What he had to show the Lord Father must be done at his facility and in person, he said firmly. There was no other way. The heatwaves rippling off the barren desert floor only added to Cronus’ displeasure. He stepped from his sled and onto the hard-packed, rocky ground, slamming the door behind him as Iapetus exited from the driver’s seat.

  Carius waited a few feet away, standing on the wide slab of smooth granite near the steps leading into his laboratory complexes. If he was at all concerned with the dark scowl on the face of Cronus, it was not apparent by the look of excitement written on his sharp-chinned features. The dry, arid breeze rippled his long, loose, mahogany curls and sent flecks of dusty sand into his bright hazel eyes, but he did not seem to care. His tall, athletic body visibly vibrated as Cronus approached. Carius wrung his large hands together at the waist of the floor-length, white linen wrap he wore, more in anticipation than worry.

  “This had better be worth the trip,” Cronus grumbled menacingly, his emerald eyes blazing as he advanced upon the weapons master.

  “Oh, I promise you it will, Lord Father,” Carius replied, nodding his head assuredly. The acid in the Cronus’ words rolled off him like drops of rainwater. “Please,” he said, stepping aside to usher his guests into the cool confines of his facility. “I have refreshments laid out for your arrival.”

  “I do not care about your refreshments,” Cronus said harshly. “I care about why you called me here so abruptly.”

  “And I shall show you at once, Lord Father,” Carius said with a slight stammer, his elation dulled somewhat by Cronus’ tone. “However, I beg your indulgence before I do. It is important first for you to understand what happened and how it led to the discovery of the greatest weapon ever created.”

  His greenish-blue eyes danced with exuberance and pride. A wide, brilliant smile spread across his darkly tanned, full
lips. His next words swept the irritation from the Lord Father’s mood as a cool wind could alleviate the desert heat. “You wanted a weapon which could defeat even the power of the Trinity,” Carius said boastfully, his chest swelling. “You now have one.”

  A quiet female maiden in a thin, thigh-length shift served the three men cold drinks and offered breads and cheeses. Cronus waved her away, not even noticing her incredible beauty and flirtatious eyes. He sat in a large, richly padded brocade armchair in Carius’ quarters looking up at the huge wall monitor. The images scrolling across the screen were horribly amazing. He listened intently to his host, his mind swirling with the possibilities. Somewhere in the depths of his soul, he heard a dark, deadly whisper. ‘The Creator has answered my prayer.’

  “The accident was a perfect storm of circumstance,” Carius was saying. “A sled transporting explosives to one of our outlying test sites forty miles away was crushed by an avalanche of rock that fell during an earthquake that shook us less than two months ago. It just so happened one of our camera/scanner arrays was pointed in that direction at the time. This was the result.”

  The blast of light and sound was unlike anything Cronus had ever witnessed. The closest analogy that came to his stunned brain was the power of Nillian armor. A huge, yellow-red and purple mushroom-shaped cloud erupted from the barren wastelands. It rose two-hundred feet into the clear blue sky like a noonday sun arising from the desert floor. The solid granite walls of the buildings a mile from the epicenter turned to scattered dust blown by a hellish wind. A group of men awaiting the sled in front of the outpost vanished in a puff of blackened ash. The tall mountain ridge that had tumbled down on the hapless craft was smashed into a million pieces like lava blown from a volcano.