by Dave Walsh
“Here I am,” O’Neil said. “Just in time for your big birthday celebration.”
“Isn’t that kind of you.”
“I haven’t had time to get you a present, though,” he held his hands out.
“Do not mock me, Uncle,” Cronus turned away, arms akimbo. “It is by my good graces that you weren’t shot on sight.”
“For what? Returning home?”
“You were sent away to perform a duty,” he explained, his back still to his uncle. “That duty was to be the steward of Helgun, not to return to Andlios in a matter of weeks without a direct order. This is treason.”
“Treason,” he repeated aloud. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes, treason.”
“On the Omega Destiny, I had to levy a similar claim against your father. It was my leniency that not only spared his life but helped to lead us to where we are today. We shared a vision and working together, we were able to achieve more than if I had just executed him then and there.”
“What you consider leniency I consider weakness.”
“So you wish that you were never born, then?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” he shouted over O’Neil, turning to show how red his face had grown.
“Well then enlighten me, dearest nephew.”
“You are impossible.” He knocked on the steel door three times, the guard outside swinging it open and Cronus stepped out and disappeared into the blinding light. “I’m giving you time to think about this, to admit whatever scheme you are up to. Don’t take me not executing you in public as a sign of weakness, Uncle, because I will not hesitate to do so in the blink of an eye. I simply wish to know why you are here.”
“Can’t a guy come to his dictator nephew’s birthday without being tortured?”
“Very funny,” Cronus said, motioning to slam the door while looking back only for O’Neil to raise his hand up.
“Let’s say I have someone on the outside waiting for me, and if I don’t check in something bad might happen.” He kept a stone face while Cronus stared down at him in disbelief. They both knew the play, as it had become legendary as a part of the Andlios Republic lore—it was the Jonah Freeman play.
“You wouldn’t,” Cronus said. “Do you truly think I’ll fall for that?”
“Your father wasn’t an idiot, Cronus,” he sucked at his teeth. “It worked for him, it’ll work for me. Or maybe you want to have your celebration ruined? Maybe it’s worse than that, maybe I’ve been talking to Alva—”
“Gods damn you.” The name Alva clearly upset Cronus. He turned and stomped away while O’Neil chuckled to himself, hoping that he hadn’t just sealed his death warrant by prodding him too much.
Shortly after, a set of guards came and the door swung open again, pulling him from the dingy cell and walking him through the dark corridors toward the palace proper. They walked quietly through the palace, letting him walk out in front of them with his hands bound, through one of the guest wings of the palace before stopping at a door and guiding him into it. They weren’t his old quarters—that much was clear—but he was inside the palace, which meant he’d had some level of access to communications devices. O’Neil had called his nephew’s bluff and thankfully there was historical precedence to plant the fear of an upheaval done in the manner that Jonah had used all those cycles before, but O’Neil still wasn’t in the clear just yet.
The rest of the day passed without incident, O’Neil running a few self-diagnostics on his augmentations to pass the time. He didn’t have any of his usual gear, but most of his robotic innards were meant to hold up for months without breaking down or have any real need for maintenance; it was something to do and he could do it discreetly. Checking his augmentations had been a nightly ritual for him, so it felt natural to simply zone out and make sure everything was running smoothly, not that it really mattered. It was best to conserve his strength considering that Cronus was unpredictable and could at any time throw him into a cell and start torturing him—or worse.
The sound of footsteps outside and the lock being removed from the door jarred O’Neil away from his diagnostics, quickly closing the panel on his chest and buttoning up his shirt. The door creaked open and Alistair Giger stood in the doorway, a smug look upon his face and a ridiculously posh tunic, cape and hat adorning his increasingly pudgy frame.
“Well, if it isn’t my predecessor,” he feigned a smile, slightly bowing to O’Neil, who picked himself up from the chair and nodded to him. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“I’m sure, Prime Minister Giger.”
“Ah yes, always good with the titles,” he wagged his finger at O’Neil. “Quite the proper old man, aren’t you?”
“I am the steward of Helgun, you know.”
“Of course, the honorable steward of Helgun, Mr. Peter O’Neil.” Giger sat in a chair behind the desk in the center of the otherwise mostly empty room. “So why are you here, Mr. Steward?”
“From what I understood, I was a free man,” he smiled at Giger. “In fact, I am one of modest power. I didn’t know that it would be such a problem for me to return home for my nephew’s birthday celebration.”
“Of course you are a free man, Mr. Steward,” Giger folded his hands and rested his chin on them. “No one is claiming you aren’t. There are just…expectations…for Emperor Freeman’s trusted advisors, is all. In the future, we would like some sort of communication to alert us to be prepared for your arrival. We simply felt a bit foolish to find out through back channels that a man of such influence was in Krigar unannounced.”
“So that is why I was scooped up in public by a platoon of elite guards and tossed into a cell?”
“A simple miscommunication is all. Emperor Freeman informed his guards that you were to be brought to an audience with him immediately and they are not exactly well-versed in handling delicate matters, as you’ve seen.”
“Sending elite guards to pick up a politician seems a bit heavy-handed.”
“These are troubling times, Mr. O’Neil, we both know that.”
“Troubling times, eh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Having some difficulties with the locals?”
“Nothing we can’t handle,” he said. “You know how it is. Being a ruler is tiring work and not everyone will agree with the decisions. There are bound to be a few rabble-rousers.”
“Especially those who were brought back from the dead.”
“Yes,” he shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “Or so they say. Contrary to your belief, Mr. O’Neil, you are not being detained against your will.”
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Correct, this is actually for your own safety. You are quite…” Giger spun his finger around in the air. “…I guess the word is notorious? Your scalp would be quite valuable and they would do anything to undermine what we’ve all worked so hard to build.”
O’Neil made a mental note of Giger taking credit for helping to build the Andlios Republic after playing a small, menial role over the past few months. He simply nodded at Giger and kept quiet while the man fidgeted in the chair, standing up regally and pacing back and forth. Giger had come from money but his family held very little power in Krigar, which made his ascent to prime minister all the more confusing. O’Neil hadn’t seen it, which was what troubled him the most. One day he was just there and O’Neil was sent to the fringes.
“A thank you is in order then,” O’Neil stood up and offered his hand toward Giger, who simply stood, hands clenched behind his back and stared down at his hand for a long moment.
“Well of course, Mr. O’Neil.” He offered a gloved hand and O’Neil gave it a solid squeeze, noting Giger’s soft touch and the pained expression he made. “Everything we do is for the good of the Andlios Republic. I’m sure you understand that.”
“It isn’t easy,” he said.
“I’m glad we agree,” Giger strode to the door before pausing and turning back at him. “Oh, one last thing.”
“Yes?�
�
“Our agents spotted you with a rather motley crew of people, would you be as kind as to let us know who else knows you are in the capitol? Just for peace of mind, you know.”
Kara
Perhaps it was naive of Kara to assume that the return of the empress of Andlios would elicit a formal greeting, that there would be fanfare, a royal greeting party and something more than a few of Cronus’s elite guards to escort her back to the palace. Yet her arrival was almost low key in comparison to her departure, which was mildly unsettling after her second flight through space since the Omega Destiny arrived on Andlios decades prior. Krigar hadn’t changed much since she left outside of the giant banners of Cronus hanging up all over the city, but it was nice to ride through the city and for her to look at the city that she had inhabited for many cycles but rarely ever got to see in person. Most of her adult life as empress was spent inside the palace, not quite a prisoner, but maybe a prisoner to her own devices.
The guards were mostly quiet, although courteous to her, but after the short flight from Andal-3, she was just happy to be back planetside again. Space travel still did not feel natural to her, even after all of those cycles on the Omega Destiny. There was a huge difference between a ship traveling within the confines of physics just under the speed of light and bending time and space with a HyperMass drive—the latter leaving her feeling sick to her stomach whenever she returned to normal space. The city was mostly quiet, which seemed unsettling to her, with the banners of Cronus adorning the walls of most buildings. What surprised her the most was seeing the few that were defaced. Red “A’s” written over his face with what looked like an old pulseaxe serving as the cross.
“It seems like not everyone loves my son,” she commented, not expecting a reply.
“Fucking rebel scum,” one of the guards snarled.
“Rebels?” She was surprised to hear that an actual movement existed, never mind in the capitol. There had been attempts at uprisings in the past but Cronus was quick to squash them with public brutality and precision.
“Yes, Your Highness,” he looked embarrassed at cursing in front of her. “I’m sorry for that outburst.”
“It’s fine, tell me more about these rebels.”
“We don’t know much about them, ma'am,” he said. “Just that it’s a few old Krigans led by some red-haired girl who claims to be a descendent of Tyr.”
“Tyr?” Her ears perked up at the sound of his name. “What’s this rebel’s name?”
“She claims to be Alva Hedlund, Your Highness,” he said. “But we all know that Alva died before the formation of the Republic.”
“So she did,” Kara said, smiling warmly at the guard before losing herself in thought. “Her name evokes strong feelings, though, doesn’t it?”
Her question hung in the air awkwardly, all of them knowing that Tyr Hedlund was just as important to the Andlios Republic as Jonah and O’Neil were. There had been whispers of Trallex and Tyr coming to an agreement but it was written off as hearsay considering the grand public ceremony that was held to honor Alva’s passing. Jonah was dear to Alva and if she was alive there would be little chance of keeping them from each other, with Jonah considering her his little sister and all. Jonah and O’Neil had enough covert agents around the Republic to where such a tremendous secret could not be kept. There was just no way.
The very idea of Alva not only being alive but leading a rebellion with what was left of Tyr’s supporters seemed absurd to Kara. Collective imaginations had run wild in the wake of Cronus’s rule, with the people hoping for Alva to be back from the dead on a path of bloody vengeance. Well, some people. The rest were living in fear of that bloody vengeance. Then again, this was a world in which her son had murdered her husband, chased his sister into exile and either murdered or dissolved what was left of the Senate. Nothing would surprise her anymore, especially the Cydonians being able to either keep Alva alive or bring her back to life and use her for their own political machinations.
A part of her wanted to warn her son about the dangers at hand, but the other part wanted to see his cruel reign come to an end, even if that meant him losing his life. The time for a peaceful resolution had come and gone, she knew that even if it pained her. She would see her son again, but she wasn’t sure if it would be one of the last times she did and if she would be a part of his demise. The thought turned her stomach. He had decided his own fate when he poisoned Jonah and framed Katrijn for it. Everything else since then was only further proof that his quest for power had driven him mad. If anything, him being stopped would be a kindness to not only everyone living under his rule, but also to the sweet boy that was alive somewhere inside of him crying out in pain.
When she arrived at the palace, there was no fanfare, just like at the hangar, just Giger standing there looking like a smug fool with a few guards at his side. “My empress,” he gave her a slight bow. “I hope your travel was without incident.”
“It was fine, yes, Mr. Prime Minister Giger,” she gave him a warm smile.
“Emperor Freeman is currently attending to official business at the moment, but I have told him that you had arrived and he wished to see you at once in his audience chamber.”
“Well, I am a bit tired, but I don’t want to leave the emperor waiting.”
Giger led her through the palace, the guards flanking them, which felt like overkill in what had to be one of the safest places in the entire Republic, but there was a lot less activity in the palace than she had ever remembered. It felt like she was walking through a dream, like the great palace that was once abuzz with activity was now nothing more than a memorial to what once was. The palace was a veritable tomb; the only noise came from the shuffling of the armor on the guards and the clanging of Giger’s saber against the chain on the side of his cape.
The audience chamber was as she had left it—Cronus sitting upon his throne looking tired, a few guards scattered around at the entrances and the curtains drawn shut. The room was dark and foreboding, which is what she had always assumed Cronus was going for. Projected images lined the curtains of live feeds from around the city and on distant parts of the Republic. The image in the middle was of one of his banners hung up in Krigar with the crude red “A” over his face. His eyes were fixed on that image while a Cydonian stood by his side speaking softly to him. Not just any Cydonian, but the chosen representative of the Cydonian people, Trallex.
“Excuse me,” Cronus held his hand up toward Trallex, who simply stopped talking, and Cronus turned toward the door. “Mother. Giger informed me that you had arrived.”
“Yes,” she bowed to him, and Cronus waved his hand at her.
“Yes yes, dispose of the pleasantries,” he said, sounding flustered. “I’m sure you remember Trallex.”
“Of course,” she gave a nod to the Cydonian, who returned it. “How nice to see you again.”
“You as well, my empress.” His voice was still unsettling to her after all these cycles, but she did a better job of hiding how much it bothered her now.
“I must admit that I’m surprised to see you here.”
“There is a matter of concern that I am attending to,” he said, deftly avoiding giving any actual information.
“Oh?” Her curiosity was piqued.
“Oh just tell her,” Cronus crossed his arms and pouted. “Everything is all fucked right now, anyway.”
“There are reports of a mechanical device appearing in the space by Gimle.”
“The gas giant Gimle?” She looked at him, puzzled. “The one out on the fringes past the Andal system?”
“Yes,” he hissed.
“What kind of device, exactly?”
“A giant fucking ring,” Cronus interrupted, pounding his fist on the arm of his throne. “A giant fucking ring that is unlike anything we’ve ever seen before and that no one informed me about until days ago!”
“Well sir,” Giger said, sounding nervous. “We believed it was—”
“That do
es not matter right now,” he cut off the prime minister. “Trallex’s people have been scanning it and he claims that while it is not theirs, it includes some Cydonian designs.”
“Does it have anything to do with those defaced banners I saw on the way here?” she asked.
“Blast if I know,” Cronus growled, clearly overwhelmed and still staring at the defaced banner.
“Perhaps we should be talking about this some other time,” Giger gave a slight nod toward Kara.
“Oh fuck off, Giger,” Cronus snarled. “It’s my mother, I should have never sent her away in the first place. Everything is all fucked up right now thanks to you.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Giger bowed to him. “I have matters to attend to if you’ll excuse me.”
Giger slithered out of the room while Cronus watched him with his lip curled. There was clearly trouble in paradise for the two of them, although Kara was unsure if it was good or bad for Andlios. She wasn’t sure if she should say anything about Giger, or if it really mattered. Everyone other than Cronus thought very poorly of Giger. There was a slight glimmer of hope for her son yet if he was seeing through Giger. Trallex’s involvement was troubling, though, she had never been able to trust him quite as much as Jonah and Peter were able to. If he was here and concerned about something then it was something to be deeply, deeply worried about.
“Is everything alright, Cronus?” she asked, stepping up onto the platform and sitting down in her old chair next to the throne, grasping onto his hand. Maternal instincts were difficult to suppress; even if her son had grown into a troubled man, he was still her son.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think it is.”
024. The Wild Ones
Alva
After all that preparation, all those cycles of honing her skills and abilities, of mentally preparing for whatever Trallex was going to throw at her, it was difficult for Alva to not feel like she had failed. There she sat, inside a comfortable fully furnished apartment provided to her by Trallex after Oystein and his band of Krigans had rejected her. In fact, it was Oystein’s rejection on top of his deception that hurt the most. She was angry with what Oystein had done, but couldn’t help but feel great shame at his reaction to what she had become, to what she was. He reminded her that she was not simply Alva Hedlund anymore—instead she was something much different, she was the amalgamation of Krigan and Cydonian culture as engineered by Trallex. She was Trallex’s personalized evolution for the human race and it made her feel like a filthy traitor to her father’s people—her people.