Cydonia Rising

by Dave Walsh

  “Trella,” she said. “You know you can drop the whole ‘princess’ thing, right? We are out here on the fringes, far from Andlios and far from Krigar; I’m not royalty, I’m just Alva.” A pang of pain in her arm reminded her of the large portions of her body that were mechanized and continually working to not only keep her alive but also to make it appear as nothing had ever happened to her. She was self-conscious of her implants at first, always wearing long-sleeved shirts to obscure how much of her right arm had been replaced by biomechanical parts, but after years with the Cydonians, she had grown to be proud of her implants.

  “You are the rightful heir to the Krigan people, Alva.” Alva could sense the pause before saying her name, Trella having to force herself to break the habit of calling her “princess.” “Eventually you’ll have to get used to that.”

  “I’m pretty much living in exile out here,” she sighed. “In fact, everyone thinks I’m dead. My father may have been the Jarl of Krigar, but he’s dead, as are most who remember him or even knew who I was. They don’t care if I’m alive, or that I was technically dead…”

  “Let us not lament on that.” Trella reached out and placed her cold hand on Alva’s left shoulder—the human shoulder. “Someday you will return to their society as a herald from the Cydonians, serving as a bridge between the cultures.”

  “I guess.” She felt a chill run up her spine. She knew that the Cydonians had always had a plan for her, but it was a hard pill for her to swallow that she was some great leader laying in wait for the right moment to ascend to the throne. Her father had been a truly great man and the video that Trallex had captured of him after her death had broken her heart when he played it for her. He had pleaded with Trallex to bring her back, only to change his mind and decide not to play with her life as such. She still didn’t know how she found herself among the living or why, but that topic was a touchy one among the Cydonians. “I just don’t see myself in that way.”

  “You will, Princess,” Trella slipped up again, but it was okay. “Are you ready for your training today?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” She stretched out her arms, her right arm feeling like a natural extension of her body while she walked toward her pulseaxe hanging on the wall. The pulseaxe, a symbol of strength and hope to her people, was a symbol of destruction to the Cydonians, and her possessing one was an act of unmatched benevolence. The phantom pains had dissipated over the few cycles since she had woken up to find herself part machine and her movements had become a bit more natural, but she still recognized the differences and yearned for her body to be whole again, thus the phantom pains. “Oh yeah, I’ve always wondered, is this really my pulseaxe?”

  “No, Princess,” Trella shook her head, her voice slightly breaking up through the mask. “It was as close of a replica as we could provide from our records, of course with our own modifications.”

  “Yeah.” She effortlessly snatched it up from the wall, feeling the weight of it in her hands. “I guess that was too much to ask for, right? I’m not even the original me if you think about it.”

  Trella let out what might be considered a slight laugh, which, coming from a Cydonian, felt as out of place as she felt being immersed in their culture after a lifetime of being raised to lead her own people, the Cydonian’s natural enemy, the Krigans. Just like Alva had learned to adjust to their culture, Trella was picking up some of the minutiae of her human roots. In a way, it was endearing and kind of cute. Alva tapped a few commands into the panel on her right forearm, the wall in front of her parting to reveal the training grounds, filled with holograms of Andlios Republic soldiers and different mockups of Andliosian structures.

  “Shall we commence with today’s training, Princess Alva?”

  “By all means.” She shot a confident smile back at Trella. “I’m ready.”

  002. The Palace

  Kara

  The empress regent sat listlessly, resting her head in her hand, which was propped up against the ornate arm of the throne atop the dais in the Great Hall. Her son, the emperor, was holding court, which he had been doing with less and less frequency of late. Cronus sat atop his monstrous and ominously decorated throne in the Great Hall where his father had held court on a daily basis for many cycles, operating a low-level emulation of Jonah’s court. The throne was made of iron that was stained to look like driftwood and adorned with human skulls on spikes jutting ominously out from the top. When Kara had met Cronus’s father on the Omega Destiny all those years prior, she never imagined herself the empress of a vast empire, more alone than ever, tasked with keeping her royal son in line.

  Jonah had been a bit off in a lot of ways, even aloof at times, but something about him was magnetic to her when she first met him at work. He had handled himself like he was the most important person in the room, even if he wasn’t. That didn’t matter to him, though, because he knew who he was and wasn’t afraid to display it for the entire ship to see. He was more complex than that, though, like all people were. At the time, she herself was lost, a sharp contrast to the cocksure Jonah, who acted untouchable. Of course, the real Jonah was a mere mortal, which had caused some friction for them early on. Their relationship was destined for failure, which only made their eventual marriage that much more of a strange story.

  Things were so complicated, from the meddling Jonah did that led to her father’s suicide, to the events of Andlios Independence Day, where she felt there was no other choice than to shoot him in the stomach after she watched him kill a guard. It was a tale she had told Cronus and Katrijn many times while they were growing up, often at Jonah’s urging while he smiled and listened intently, hanging off every small detail. Jonah had found the whole thing to be a laugh riot, especially considering how things had worked out. He became the emperor of a vast Republic and Kara became his wife.

  “Are you certain she was destroyed?” Cronus’s bark shook her out of her daze. Her son was animated on his throne, decorated in an elaborate silk tunic adorned with gold embroidery. His hair was short and wavy, a crown of pure gold keeping it at bay. The crown itself was fashioned to appear like driftwood—much like the throne—hearkening back to Krigan history, but that was at Kara’s urging. He refused to wear a crown of driftwood, so it was a compromise to have it appear as such. Cronus was barking at one of his admirals, who was on one knee in front of the altar. It was Admiral Baca, an older man pushing sixty who had put on a considerable amount of weight of late, his face ruddy and rounded, his hair a broken crown of grey that was neatly trimmed.

  “Yes, sire,” he nodded, finding it difficult to keep his balance for so long on one knee. “There was no way she could have escaped, there were a few life pods jettisoned but—”

  “But?” Cronus sprung to his feet, his face turning red and his admiral cowering ever-so-slightly. “I want certainty, Admiral Baca, not buts!”

  “I’m sorry,” Kara interjected lightly. “But what is this we are talking about again? I must have drifted off.”

  “Like you are prone to do, Mother.” He sat back down forcefully, his arms crossed. “We are talking about that traitor Katrijn! We’ve finally found her after years of hunting her down, but Admiral Baca here has some ‘buts’ to add to his report.”

  “Oh.” She let out a deep breath. Katrijn had fled right after Jonah’s passing, under strange circumstances. Her relationship with Katrijn was not as strong as the girl’s relationship had been with her father, but it still hurt her to think of her daughter doing something so unspeakable as killing her own father. Cronus had led the investigation, uncovering the poison that was used and linking it back to a Helgean apothecary, who was promptly executed. All signs conveniently pointed toward her daughter, even if it made no sense at all to anyone who knew her and the relationship she had had with her father.

  “Did anyone think to check the pods? To physically check them?” Cronus snarled.

  “No, sire,” the admiral shook his head, sweat beading on his brow. “We scann
ed them for life signs and we found none, though. There was no way the princess could have escaped without us—”

  “She is a traitor!” Cronus shouted over him before he caught himself and lowered his voice. “She is a traitor, Admiral Baca, she lost the right to be called princess when she murdered my father. Bringing her to justice is not a personal vendetta or quest, it is so that the people of the Andlios Republic can rest knowing that my father’s soul will finally have peace.”

  “I understand,” the older man nodded intently. “I apologize profusely for not being more thorough, but I am very certain that she is dead, my king.”

  “Is that a certainty that I can take to my people, a certainty that their children can sleep safe tonight because Katrijn Freeman, the traitor, has finally been brought to justice?”

  “I would stake my career on it,” the man nodded. Kara felt a chill creep up her spine. The whole situation had never felt right to her before and the idea of her daughter being dead or even being the murderer could never sit well with her.

  “Admiral Baca has served us well, my dear son.” She felt the need to interject, to end the whole charade. “If an honorable man such as himself is willing to wager his career on it, I believe that is proof enough.”

  “Fine.” He waved his hand at her dismissively. “Then it is settled. I will make a decree this afternoon that the traitor, Katrijn Freeman, is no more. That my father the king has been avenged after ten long cycles. Where is O’Neil?” he barked to no one in particular.

  “Right here, my lord.” Minister O’Neil stepped into view, just a few cycles shy of eighty, but still somehow looking no older than sixty. His face was tired and haggard, his clothes were plain, but looks were deceiving in the case of Peter O’Neil.

  “I want a proclamation written up before the sun sets that Emperor Cronus Freeman has finally avenged his beloved father. You can do that, can’t you old man?”

  “Of course.” O’Neil bowed to him before walking off, leaving Kara feeling uneasy.

  “If you don’t mind, my dear son.” She stood up and feigned a yawn. “This has all been so tiring for me.”

  “That’s fine.” He was clearly weary of her interruptions. “We’ll have no further need for you here, Mother. You are dismissed.”

  “Thank you, my son.” She stood, turned to him and slightly bowed before gathering up her skirt and heading toward the corridor behind O’Neil.

  O’Neil

  O’Neil felt a hole growing inside of him, a cold, empty blackness that he wasn’t sure he’d ever overcome. It had been ten cycles since the death of Jonah Freeman and in those ten cycles he had done everything in his power to keep Cronus in line, but the boy was drunk on power from the start. If Katrijn was truly gone then there was no hope for the Andlios Republic and everything that Jonah and he had built all of those cycles prior was for naught.

  There had been infrequent contact between himself and Katrijn since she ran, only slight glimpses into her world on the run while she would sense how the years in Cronus’s service had worn him down. The fact that O’Neil was still in contact with her was a closely-guarded secret, though. O’Neil had worked with the Freemans since Jonah hatched his plan to send the Fourth Fleet packing, but it felt like a lifetime ago. After Jonah died, O’Neil quickly went from working with the Freemans to working for the Freemans. The role of prime minister went from one that was vital to the Republic’s operations to one of ceremony and little value. He had done everything in his power to ensure Katrijn’s safety, her being the ace up his sleeve to help restore order to the Republic, but that hope was waning with every passing moment he didn’t hear from her. Could she really be gone?

  “Prime Minister O’Neil,” Kara’s voice echoed down the hallway. He had never had a great relationship with Kara Freeman, but he remained cordial with her. In truth, he had never trusted her nor had he ever approved of Jonah’s marriage to her. It felt like one of convenience more than anything else. Jonah was the new emperor and there was a strange fascination with his love life. At the time, they were so focused on simply restoring order and wanted to give people something to focus on, so the marriage between the two was the perfect distraction. That isn’t to say that Jonah didn’t care for Kara, though. He knew that Jonah loved her, but O’Neil himself never got much of a feel for Kara. She was just a part of the package and he dealt with her accordingly.

  “Your Majesty.” O’Neil turned and slightly bowed, favoring his right leg. After his accident it never quite worked the same, but it was the least of his worries at that time. “How can I serve you?”

  “Are we really supposed to communicate like this?” She sounded downtrodden, and he simply shrugged. “Have we not known each other for a long time now, Peter?”

  “I guess we have, Kara.” Her name felt foreign coming out of his mouth after years of referring to her as the empress of Andlios. He visually inspected her, noticing the lack of color in her cheeks. “Are you alright?”

  “Do you think it’s true about Katrijn?” she whispered, nervously looking back to the doors to the Great Hall. “Is she really gone?”

  “I…” O’Neil paused, taking a deep breath and reaching to the small console on the left side of his chest. He rarely ever noticed the Cydonian implants, but there were certain times when all he could do is think about the mechanisms that existed inside him after his accident and how they’d impacted his life. He hadn’t taken the time to think about how this would all affect Kara. She was the girl’s mother, after all, and clearly loved her. The guilt built inside him for not telling her for cycles that Katrijn was alive and on the run, but he never knew who to trust, even her. “I’m not sure, really.”

  “Admiral Baca seems to think so.” She took his arm and walked with him away from the Great Hall, speaking quietly, her eyes darting back and forth. She definitely seemed paranoid to him, but he understood the feeling.

  “As I said, I’m really not—”

  “No,” she said. “Don’t treat me like I’m a fool, Peter! I’m not a fool. I may be forced to play one for my son and for everyone else, but you know that I’m no fool.”

  “I’m sorry, Kara.” He looked into her eyes, noting her resolve. It broke his heart to see her like this and made him feel like a lesser being for leaving her in the dark for so long.

  “Then tell me what you know.”

  “Fine.” He still wasn’t sure if he could trust her, but he knew that if he just dismissed her, things would only get more difficult for him within the palace walls. “But we need to head to my quarters.”

  They walked in silence through the great palace, which was a mixture of ornate, classical Andliosian-style decor and modern, sleek Earth-like decorations. O’Neil made note that Kara Freeman had aged quite gracefully into her fifties and had done so without the aid of Cydonian technology. Cydonian implants were not all that uncommon but were definitely frowned upon by the elite of Andlios, which was why O’Neil had kept his modifications a secret. Her hair remained hazelnut brown and her face showed minor signs of aging, but overall she didn’t look much different than she did when they had first arrived on the planet. She was actually more slender now than she was when O’Neil had first met her, but she was still in her early twenties then and didn’t have many worries.

  Things had changed in a hurry for all of them after the Fourth Fleet left. O’Neil became Jonah’s right-hand man and Kara became Jonah’s wife, followed quickly after by the birth of their two children, Katrijn and Cronus. Katrijn was the firstborn and while she wasn’t a son, Jonah had no concern over that and had spent most of his time with her, helping to shape her and prime her for the stresses of a life in service to the Republic. O’Neil was tasked with aiding her when the time came, but the girl had a mind of her own and was forced to flee after the mysterious death of her father. He couldn’t blame her, really. There was no way he could have kept her from Cronus’s clutches without being labeled a traitor himself.

  O’Neil placed his hand
on the scanner beside the door to his quarters and held his eye in place in front of it while it scanned his retina. Both independently verified his DNA before unlocking his door. There were overrides and exceptions to it, but it always made him feel safer knowing that no one was allowed into his small wing of the palace without his approval. He ushered her into the room and let the door close behind them with an ominous noise of the door sealing shut.

  “I know you’ve spoken with her,” Kara broke the silence while O’Neil walked down his hall into the room on the right, which was his study.

  “Come in.” He motioned toward her. “I’ll make some tea.”

  “I don’t want tea, dammit, I want to know about my daughter.”

  “And I intend on telling you what I know.” He shook his head, preparing two cups for some tea while heating up some water in a cast iron pot. “This tea is my own blend, I grow it out in the garden and everything.”

  “You grow your own tea?” She sat down on the couch facing the window overlooking the garden. “Jonah told me about your gardening, but I never thought it would be this, well…” She picked herself up, walking over to the window and staring out at it. “Intricate.”

  “It is my life’s passion,” he said, the water coming to a boil and him carefully pouring out two cups, holding one out to her with great care. “I mean, other than serving Andlios.”

  “Of course,” she said. “But that is such an immense garden. I just didn’t know that something like that existed here. I thought Cronus had taken all of the joy out of this palace.”

  “Well, he has.” O’Neil took a long sip from his own tea, savoring the flavor but feeling that he could have let it steep for a bit longer. “But he can’t touch anything here. That’s why I wanted to speak with you alone in here, Kara.”