Cydonia Rising

by Dave Walsh

  I see that you turned on your CyNet, Trallex’s voice came through her mind.

  Yeah, she said, lips still moving, much to her embarrassment.

  You are home, Princess Alva. What you do with it is up to you.

  What do you mean? She felt a wave of anxiety run through her.

  I know that it makes you feel uneasy, but my job was to teach you the ways, to understand that while we are different, we all want the same thing. You are a bridge, Princess Alva, and I cannot influence what you do from here.

  Can you at least point me in the right direction? she asked. Alva was aware that they were able to detect each other’s emotional state while connected. Trallex’s state was jumbled, though, incoherent to her.

  There is an unmarked transport sitting out in front. It is biolinked to you. I have also reserved a room for you to stay in, which I have transmitted the details to you as well. What you do now is up to you.

  I’m not ready for this.

  No one is ever ready, Princess Alva.

  Where do I go?

  That is not up to me. I recommend somewhere that attracts your people, to start.

  I haven’t been back here since I was a child, Trallex. You know that, what do I know about my people?

  That is for you to work out.

  There was never a goodbye with Trallex, never anything above and beyond what was necessary for a conversation. Just like that she was on her own on a planet that should have felt like home to her, but was instead full of complicated, difficult memories of a time long past. She took in one last deep breath of the fresh flowers and pushed herself off the railing and moved toward the front of the building. From the outside it was indiscreet, just another large, ominous, unmarked warehouse in what looked to be a small sea of them out on the edge of town. This one, unlike most of the rest, was in good condition. A small white transport sat waiting for her out in front. There was little in the way of decoration on it, it was just a ground car without much in the way of frills to it. Her display locked onto the door, and it glided gently open for her while the black leather seat invited her in.

  Alva settled into the seat of the car, letting it envelop her while the door slid shut, leaving her on her own in Krigar. Krigar was a huge bustling city and she had no clue where to start. She quietly studied a map of Krigar and was looking for anything to give her a sign of where to go. There had to be a clue somewhere as to where she could look. Trying to narrow down Krigan spots in Krigar didn’t do her much good, which led her to check through news displays of the past few months, looking for anything. Cronus’s birthday was approaching and seemed to be one of the bigger topics, as was talk of the dissolution of the Senate and installing a stewardship system for each planet. Trallex had mentioned in passing that he was now the steward of Cyngen, but that his role hadn't changed much, nor would they pay too close of attention to what was happening on Cyngen.

  Events on Krigar over the past few months were confusing in a number of ways. There was the chatter of organized uprising movements—labeled terrorist cells—throughout the city, which quickly caught her attention. News clippings and vids were sparse on these events, but eventually, she was able to narrow down to one of the purported leaders of said movement. She enhanced the video, which filled her field of vision and began playing, showing a group of Krigan men and women smashing up a building, flames engulfing it before a strong brute of a man emerged, arms outstretched and a pulseaxe in his strong hands shouting out “Down with Cronus!” Her heart skipped a beat, quickly pausing it on that image. The man was older but strong looking, and gray streaks littered his otherwise red hair and beard, and a scar ran along the side of his face to show his eye was sewn shut.

  “Oystein,” she muttered under her breath. It had been many cycles since she had seen her father’s friend and protector, but his face was unmistakable to her. That was Oystein and he was right at the heart of the Krigan uprising. Now all she needed to do was to find Oystein. The only thought that crossed her mind was to find a place where Krigans were congregating. Much had changed since her time on Andlios, but she doubted that Krigan bars had become any less of a breeding ground for proud Krigans to beat their chests and drunkenly brawl with each other to prove their honor.

  Her first destination was clear to her in an instant. She would head for the Quorthon, the old Krigan bar in a run-down district of the city that was nearby. The Quorthon was the kind of place of legend, named after the old Jarl of Krigar during the initial Cydonian uprising. That bar symbolized everything about stubborn Krigan ways and would be a place where she could at least find some information on where to look further. The transport had already begun moving in the direction of the Quorton, and Alva forgot that she still had her CyNet activated and that her car was linked in with her. The streets were growing more and more populated as she moved deeper into the heart of the city. The bar was still on the outskirts of town but there were at least people there as opposed to in that old industrial district where the Cydonian landing pad was located. This was her city, she reminded herself, this was the heart of her people.

  The transport began slowing down as the traffic and density of pedestrians amplified the closer she got to the bar. The Quorthon was teeming with life, Krigans coming and going like it was a busy anthill. Alva parked across the street in a nearby empty spot while a band of younger Krigans walked by shouting obscenities at her. She did her best to ignore them while she reached for her pulseaxe and strapped it to her back and checked the charge on the gun holstered on her hip. The last thing she wanted was to walk into a place like this without being prepared.

  Alva crossed her arms and strode forward toward the warm glow of the neon light for the bar, grabbing onto the cold metal handle and pulling the door open. The smell of stale beer and sweat rushed out from the door along with the sound of traditional Krigan music and chatter. It was exactly what she would have expected a Krigan bar to be like: dark, dingy, and full of brutes shouting and posturing over each other. There was a lot of hair, sweat, and testosterone in the air of the Quorthon—it was the perfect place for a revolution to brew. Most would feel uncomfortable there, but to her, it reminded her of home, it reminded her of the time she spent in the stronghold with her father, his warband and Ingen.

  “Well, mercy be to Freyja,” the barkeep barked at her. “If I haven’t died and gone to Valhalla, I’ve seen an angel.”

  “I’m sure you have.” She sat down on a stool, leaving her pulseaxe strapped to her back. “That’d make two of us.”

  “Ha!” He let out a mighty roar that broke through the music and the chatter. “So what’ll it be?”

  “Just a beer.” She rapped her fingers nervously on the bar. “You choose, I haven’t been on Andlios in a while.”

  “Of course, smart woman,” he said, grabbing a glass and pouring a beer from the tap, swiping off the foam with a stick before slapping the mug down onto the bar. “Off-planet, eh?”

  “Just around.” She took the mug in her hand and took a big gulp. It was bitter but sweet, accentuated by the distinct taste of honey—like home. “Came back to find my home quite a mess, actually. Can’t believe what they’ve done to it.”

  “Aye,” he said, picking up a mug and wiping it with a towel. “You wouldn’t be the first, my dear. You’ve come to the right place here. A place of like-minded individuals, you might say. Talk like that in the street will see you hung.”

  “Hung?” She almost choked, letting out a cough to clear her throat. “Are you fucking kidding me? They have stooped that low?”

  “Stooped? Ha,” he said.

  “Why isn’t anyone doing anything about it?”

  “Who’s to say they aren’t?”

  “Well, I’d like to meet someone who is doing something,” she said.

  “You aren’t the only one who’s come in here asking questions, girlio.” He pretended to be preoccupied with cleaning a mug. “I’m not sure I can help you with that.”

  “What if
I told you I was looking for someone?” There was a readout on the bartender telling her that he was growing nervous. She didn’t need the CyNet readout to tell her that, though, he was wearing it plainly on his face. “This seems like the place to go to get involved, I’d say.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “I think you do.” She traced her finger along the rim of the mug. “I’m looking for Oystein.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” He glanced nervously toward the back of the bar where there were two armed guards in front of a door. “I don’t know any Oystein, lady, I’m sorry.”

  “Wait,” she called after him but he scurried away from her toward other patrons. She looked back toward the door he had glanced at and did a quick scan. It was probably about time she took full advantage of all of the modifications that had been done to her, anyway, and being able to look for heat signatures was valuable. There were the two guards, obviously, but there was a larger signature coming from the other side of the door.

  Alva picked herself up and strode toward the door, working her way past the drunken Krigans at the bar who were staring at her or making lewd gestures. There would be time for them later, she told herself. She was alone in a strange place and as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was scared. If there was something she could do to take control she had to do it and now seemed like as good of a time as ever. The barkeep looked up and saw her heading toward the door. “Hey, where you are going?”

  “Just checking something out,” she muttered.

  “You can’t go back there!” he shouted, looking at the guards. “Johnny, Blake, she’s heading back there, you gotta stop her!”

  Both had their pulseaxes at the ready, and Alva began to unhitch hers from her back before stopping herself. Bashing both of their skulls in felt like the right move, but it would not be a great way to start off a relationship with the Krigan resistance movement. “I need to see him,” she said.

  “See who?” the one on the right asked.

  “You know who I’m talking about. He’ll want to see me.”

  “Of course he will,” the one on the left said. “But you aren’t his usual piece of tail.”

  “I’m not his piece of tail, you moron,” she said.

  “Then why should we let you in?”

  “Because I’m Alva Hedlund and I’m back from the dead.”

  “That’s rich,” the right one said, laughing to the other one.

  “Yeah, it’s like—”

  Alva had seen enough, and she reared back with her right arm, delivering a swift punch to the jaw of the one on her right, which sent him reeling, his pulseaxe falling to the ground while the left one quickly covered up. She moved quickly, gripping on to the top of his head and driving her knee up toward his face, and he collapsed in a heap on the ground. There was commotion all around her now, and she could hear the barkeep shouting at her to stop but she was focused on the door. She pulled her boot up and drove it into a weak point on the door near the knob, and the door burst open as an older brute of a man sat behind a desk looking alarmed.

  “Who the fuck thinks they can disturb me like this?” he called out.

  “I did,” Alva stood in the doorway, looking down at him.

  “And who the fuck are you, sweetheart?”

  “I’m your niece and I’m back from the dead.”

  “Gods,” he muttered. “Alva?”

  Trella

  There had been stories about the Old Man all throughout the Andlios Republic, but mostly he was a figure of legend. Trallex served a similar role for the Cydonians, but she had spent most of her life around Trallex, making his presence that less special and fearsome. Even though he was Cydonian, he was still at his core human with his own quirks. Peter O’Neil, though, was a mystery. There were vids made about him and his heroics, and his romantic dealings with an Earther scientist were publicized and over-dramatized in all of these vids. O’Neil was a bonafide celebrity on top of being a historic figure, which made him seem out of place within this context.

  Awe wasn’t the correct term for how she felt to be in his presence, but instead, it felt closer to respect. He had been the most powerful man aboard the Omega Destiny and was happy to throw it away and move into the shadows, to let Jonah Freeman be the emperor, even if O’Neil had the better credentials. Even in his advanced age, there was something about the man that she found difficult to explain.

  The younger man, Jace, had kept a close eye on her. She wasn’t sure if it was out of distrust or simply concern. From what she understood, he had experience dealing with Cydonians before and he possibly saw some differences between her and the rest. That made her feel exposed and slightly bashful around him, because he knew something was going on with her beyond what she had let on. He sat down next to her while Katrijn Freeman sat with her uncle and uncle’s agent and drummed his hands on the bench in front of him.

  “They are kind of cute together, aren’t they?” Jace said.

  “I guess so,” she said, unsure of how to react. “From what I understand they have always been close and she was reported to be deceased.”

  “She would have been,” he said, “if I hadn’t found her lifepod before Cronus’s goons did.”

  “It is a good thing you did, then.”

  “Yeah,” he was clearly distracted. “So what about you, huh? I’ve known my share of Cydonians and while you are no Jol’or or anything, breaking protocol as you did is pretty nuts. I thought you were all connected via some net and knew every passing thought.”

  “I did what I had to do,” she said. “I’m concerned about Alva.”

  “That is what gets me. As I said, I’ve known Cydonians most of my life and their concern with human life—or even each other—doesn’t seem to be that great. You guys live for a damned long time due to the augmentations or whatever, so life and death don’t seem to be your concern, but here you are, concerned about Alva Hedlund. I just never got much of an impression that the individual mattered much.”

  “I suppose it is a bit strange,” she acknowledged. “I cared from her from the moment we revived her until days before she left the planet. Nobody knows Princess Alva like I do.”

  “But that information, all of that stuff you learned about her, that was probably passed onto whomever they stuck with her back on Andlios, right?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Then why do you care?”

  “I…” Trella paused, legitimately unsure of how to answer the question. “I don’t know.”

  “What?” He shook his head. “That is not something that I ever, ever imagined I’d hear a Cymage say when it came to relating to another person. Bullshit, I call bullshit on this.”

  “Excuse me?” She was finding herself tripping over her thoughts.

  “It’s bullshit.” He was tapping his fingers on the table next to them in a broken rhythm. “There’s something weird here. We both know it, that’s what brought you out here; something is broken, at least in a Cymage kind of way.”

  “Mr. Krios,” she said. “I would prefer it if you didn’t use that term.”

  “I know you guys hate that,” he said. “I’m just trying to get a rise out of you, which I am. You have feelings for her, don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure what you are implying, Mr. Krios.”

  “You know,” he gestured toward her. “Like love?”

  “Love?” The word sent a tingle running through her body.

  “See, I saw something there,” he slapped his hand down on the bench and sprung up. “That pause, the intonation of your voice. You were just a little bit different. You have feelings for this Alva, that is why you are out here—on your own—looking for her. You don’t belong out here, hell, I doubt you’ve ever been far from Cyngen. You’d never break from Cydonians like this unless she meant something to you. They didn’t want you by her anymore, but you couldn’t handle it.”

  “Mr. Krios, I’m not sure what you are talk
ing about.”

  “You can feel it.” He held his hand toward his chest. “It’s burning inside you, but it goes against your programming. You aren’t a robot, none of you are, you just want to act as you’ve evolved past all of this bullshit, but you haven’t. You are just as human as the rest of us. They saw that as a weakness, didn’t they?”

  “I’m not…”

  “Didn’t they?”

  “Yes,” she said. “They saw it as a weakness and wanted me to be rehabilitated away from her. That is fine, I’m not concerned with what happens to me. They can wipe my memories if they see fit, recondition me or even terminate me, but my lone concern is what happens to Alva.”

  “My gods,” he muttered. “That’s beautiful.”

  “I just want her to be alright, Mr. Krios.”

  “Look.” He sat back down and lowered his voice. “Apparently I have to drop this lot off on Andlios on my way out to Gimle. I’m not sure I have much of a role to play in their little conspiracy they are concocting right now. I have my own unfinished business back on Andlios, but it’s with Katrjin’s brother. I kind of feel like everyone else does as well, so I’m probably at the back of the line since I’m not trying to dethrone him or take over the known universe. Seeing how you feel about this Alva has kinda hit me, though. So, I’ll do what I can to help you find this Alva again when we are there. I lost someone important to me a few cycles ago and I know how it feels. I can’t get her back, but if I can help you get your Alva back, well, I’ll feel a little bit better about this fucked up galaxy of ours. After that, I can go on my way. But regardless of what any of them have to say, you are coming with us.”