by Dave Walsh
It still struck him as humorous that twice now he had to give up his prized garden that he had cultivated and cared for. Outside of his connection with the Freeman family there really wasn’t much out there left for him. The Andlios Republic was a product of his hard work, but Cronus had done more in his few cycles in power to destroy it than they had been able to do to build it up over Jonah’s lifetime. There was always a distant pang of regret deep in his subconscious that maybe he should have taken more credit for the building of the Andlios Republic, even if he preferred sticking to the shadows. Jonah was the figurehead who gave the speeches, but without O’Neil’s assistance, it all would have fallen apart in a hurry.
Night was falling and the watch was starting to let up in his room. They hadn’t provided him with any communications equipment, but they also hadn’t done a very thorough search of his person, either. They had taken whatever he had on him, but his augmentations went noted but untouched. The truth was they still didn’t truly understand much about Cydonian augmentation in the capital. Since it was looked down upon, there was a belief that it would be avoided, especially by high ranking officials such as O’Neil. The look on their faces when they saw the augmentations was one of shock, that was for sure. Without a doubt that would be reported up the chain of command and would become an issue for O’Neil, another thing to be suspicious of.
Since their knowledge of Cydonian augmentations was lacking, to say the least, they simply let him be. There was a built-in comm unit in his left arm, unbeknownst to them. That arm was custom built for him and had external sensors installed in it, the kind that Cydonians didn’t need because of their helmets that contained the cameras, microphones and technology to broadcast everything. What was built into O’Neil’s arm was lower tech, but still functioned just as well, at least for his own needs. The thought had crossed his mind at some point to take the augmentations further so that he could communicate without having to speak aloud, but there were some lines he didn’t feel comfortable crossing.
The problem, of course, was that standing next to the large wooden doors, dressed entirely in black, were two of Cronus’s guards. They were there to not only make him feel uncomfortable, but to ensure he didn’t do anything he wasn’t supposed to. “Hey fellas,” he turned to them, doing his best to look exhausted. “I’m gonna have to turn in here, would you mind giving me some privacy?”
“Prime Minister Giger told us to protect you, sir, that—”
“This is the Imperial Palace, nobody is getting in here,” he said, forcing out a yawn. “Look, you guys are guarding me, I’m not going to get in the way of that, I just need some shut-eye and it’s tough when there’s someone around.”
“Sir, it’s just that...” the guard started, but O’Neil raised his hand.
“Don’t you respect me? You know who I am, don’t you?”
“Y-yes, sir, we do, it’s just—”
“Then please, let an old man sleep.”
Without another word the door swung open and both men marched out, one pausing at the door. “Sir, if you need us,” he said, “we’ll just be on the other side.”
“Thank you,” he said, the door slamming shut behind them.
Getting the guards out of sight was only a small solution to a bigger problem, but he at least had some privacy to work with. There was a good chance that if he made a communication from inside the palace it would be traced or at least monitored, so calling Loren was out of the question. He did have operatives around Krigar and Andlios, though, ones he had worked with for many cycles. His comm unit was capable of making encrypted calls, but he knew how paranoid Cronus was and only imagined Giger to be just as, if not more, insane.
O’Neil peeled back a panel on his forearm, tapping in a few instructions. Sending a voice message, even with a higher level of encryption, would still not be secure, so he opted instead for sending text. Even if decrypted, they would have a hard time locating the source for it. In the coup, he typed. Inform Zeta to move forward without. His network of agents was able to work autonomously, so he had no fear of the message reaching Loren and Katrijn, the fear was what they would do when he wasn’t there to guide them. The message was sent to a small cluster of his operatives. There was some solace in the fact that if he wanted to be immediately sprung from his imprisonment all he would need to do was send a message, but the chances of that jeopardizing everything they had worked toward with Katrijn was simply too great, so he had to bide his time.
He trusted both of them with his life, no doubt, but he knew they were both dealing with enough at the moment to worry about him. Their backs were against the wall without him and they were trapped in an underground bunker without any semblance of a plan. Perhaps he should have waited a bit and helped them prepare more, but if he had, there was a better chance of him being tracked to the stronghold and the whole thing falling apart. He just had to have faith and wait. The harsh reality was that maybe he never really had much faith in Jonah operating on his own, then seeing Cronus in action only cemented how fragile the Freeman dynasty was. As much as he respected Katrijn, his faith in her was built upon a foundation of Jonah’s foolishness and Cronus’s madness, which all together worried him deeply.
Kara
Trallex had never been the closest friend of the family, nor was he someone Kara had ever truly felt comfortable around, yet in a situation like this he was invaluable. She sat in her own private quarters, the same quarters from when she still lived at the palace, with Trallex standing by the window gazing out of it. At least she assumed he was gazing out the window, his face was at least pointed toward the window that overlooked her own meticulously groomed botanical gardens.
“It’s beautiful this time of year,” she said to break the silence.
“What?” He turned toward her, the buzzing of his voice feeling more grating in the smaller room than it did inside the larger audience chamber. “Oh, right, the gardens.”
“Sorry, I assumed you were looking at them,” she said.
“No,” he said. “I was scanning the latest data from my people on that ring out by Gimle.”
“I didn’t know. I’ve always found it difficult to determine when it was appropriate to speak to a Cydonian that was deep in thought and when to leave them alone.”
“Odds are the latter is the better approach,” he said coldly. “Most of us communicate nonverbally, although when around humans we’ll be forced to verbalize.” The word “humans” sounded unnatural coming from him.
“I see,” she said, keeping her composure. “So what exactly can you tell me about this ring?”
“No offense, your highness, but I’m not sure my time is best spent discussing it with you.”
“As you said, I am the empress and I would like to know what is going on.”
“The truth is,” he said, “there isn’t much to tell yet. The technology is reminiscent of the technology that was used to beam Earth Ministry forces between two places.”
“I thought you said it was Cydonian in nature?”
“It is.”
“But we haven’t been able to mimic that technology yet and yet you are telling me that some Cydonian device out in the middle of space is utilizing a more advanced version of it?”
“More or less,” he said.
“But how?”
“We’ve posited that there is simply no way the Earth Ministry could have the technologies they have without Cydonian assistance.” The words “Cydonian assistance” hung in the air, setting off alarms in her mind.
“Cydonian assistance?” She was puzzled. “I thought you were the leader of the Cydonians.”
“Yes and no,” he said. “It’s not as simple as that. I am the voice of the Cydonians in many situations, but there are elements that work outside of our network; there are also those that were sent away…”
“Sent away? You mean like the Banished?”
“Yes,” he hissed. “The Banished, as you call them, are our prime suspects right now.�
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“But how? That was over 1,000 cycles ago, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was.”
“How, then?”
“We suspect they made contact at some point, although we are unclear of when or how. The records from the Omega Destiny confirmed that the Banished had at least headed toward Earth after they left here, although we don’t find any records of them being affiliated with Earth before the Omega Destiny’s departure.”
“Does that explain their advanced technology then?”
“Perhaps,” he said. “If Am’ranth or his other descendants are still alive, there is a chance they might be able to move things forward like this.”
“Am’ranth?” she laughed. “You mean from the old story about Am’ranth and Quorthon?”
“Correct.”
“That doesn’t seem possible,” she said. “That would make him over 2,000 cycles old; there’s simply no way he could still be alive.”
“Remember,” he turned to her. “That I am over 1,000 cycles old myself and it’s unclear when I’ll cease to be operational.”
“Don’t take offense to this or anything,” she said, looking to carefully tread the subject. “But how much of you is still human?”
“I am Cydonian,” he said. “My mind is still my mind, which means I am still Trallex, which is all that matters.”
“Okay.” She was trying to wrap her mind around the situation. “So what you are telling me is that a 2,000 year old Cydonian outcast, the guy known for building the bombs that turned this planet into shambles—”
“Do not forget also responsible for our early jump drives, the pulseaxe and is the father of Cydonian technology.”
“Of course, he has a complicated history,” she conceded. “But somehow he might still be alive and providing the Earth Ministry with technology. For what end?”
“To return home,” he said.
“How do you know, though?”
“Because when Am’ranth left he swore to me he’d come back, that he’d return Cydonia to its glory and have his revenge.”
“So you knew him, then?”
“Yes,” he said. “He was what you would call my father.”
“My gods,” her eyes widened. “I didn’t know that you could…”
“We do reproduce,” he said. “Not often, but not all Cydonians are clones. We do our best to reproduce as naturally as we can while we still can; most of the bioengineering happens through our DNA later on in our lives. I myself have ciphered a few offspring.”
“You?” She held back a laugh, smiling ear to ear. “You have children. I can’t quite imagine Daddy Trallex no matter how hard I try.”
“I am not sure what is so humorous about it,” he said. “It is perfectly natural.”
“Which is why it seems so against Cydonian way.”
“Then you still have a lot to learn about Cydonians, Your Majesty.”
“I guess so,” she said. “So what are we going to do about this, then?”
“Unclear,” he said. “But our predictions are that if it is indeed complete we could see activity at the ring any day now.”
“Does Cronus know this?”
“No, not yet. From what we’ve found it is better to relay information to Emperor Cronus when we are entirely certain, otherwise he is prone to rather…rash decisions.”
“True enough,” she couldn’t help but laugh. “I really wish I knew where I went wrong with him. You are a father, Trallex, tell me what I did wrong?”
“I…” He paused. “We do not raise children in the same way you do and I might not—”
“Oh, lighten up,” she said. “I was just joking. Oddly enough, some of that boy I helped raise showed through today. There might be hope yet.”
“Hope,” Trallex said, “from what I have found is usually misguided.”
“Hope is human,” she said. “Maybe you have evolved beyond being human—or maybe you are just a nihilist.”
“Either way,” he said. “If that will be all, Your Majesty, I have more data to sift through.”
“Of course, of course,” she said. “If there is anything else to report please come to me before Cronus, is that clear? I know you keep things from him, but you don’t keep things from me. Also, steer clear of Giger, I don’t trust him.”
“I’m not sure anyone should trust Prime Minister Giger, Your Majesty.” With that he exited the room, the door slamming shut behind him and leaving the feeling of a cold, empty void inside the room. What was clear to Kara was that things were piling up and she was less in control now than she ever was before.
027. Wild at Heart
Alva
Alva sat inside a cave, bringing back memories of her childhood living inside the stronghold with her father and his warband. This one wasn’t man made, though, it was a natural cave formation that still had stalactites hanging down from the ceiling and still had its dark corners that felt wild and untamed. Electric torches lined the walls, strung up along the sides and on the ceiling without much rhyme or reason. She was sitting on a purple-and-white striped pillow that leaned up against a wall, a fire pit filling up the central area of the cave while the man who appeared to be the leader of the group kneeled over it, stoking the fire with a stick.
“So,” she broke the silence. “Are you ever going to tell me your name?”
“It’s Zun’thir,” he said without turning back to her. “My name is Zun’thir and these are my Wild Ones,” he motioned with his head toward a few of the men and women who were curiously watching.
“I’ve heard about you,” she said. “From my father.”
“I’m sure you have,” one of the women laughed.
“That’s why you came here with a gift for us, then?” He turned back to her, sitting down with his legs folded in front of him. “Because your father told you about us? I’m not sure what you think that we do or who we serve…but we serve only the Zarr’nid people of the Zahira desert, not some false emperor sitting on a throne in Krigar, nor some Cymage that sullies our shared history.”
“My father was Tyr Hedlund,” she said defiantly, waiting to see the impact on his face.
“'Was’ is correct,” he said, scraping the stick in his hand across the dirt and forming a line between them. “Tyr Hedlund is dead, as for that matter, is Alva Hedlund.”
“I’m very much alive,” she said.
“I was at your funeral, then,” he turned the line in the dirt into an X. “I saw your father shoot a flaming arrow out into your coffin while it drifted on a canoe, hoping to send you to Valhalla.”
“Yet here I am.”
“Curious, isn’t it? How a girl can die yet show up at the mouth of my desert with a gift for me. How can this be?”
“Let me show you,” she said, rolling up her sleeve to show her partially-mechanical arm.
“Ahh, yes,” he said, unsurprised. “So you are one of Trallex’s great experiments then, aren’t you?”
“Experiments?” she asked, curious as to who else Trallex had invested so much time in.
“Yes, well,” he let out a sigh. “It was mostly just talk, we all thought, but the talk was that he was working on bringing back the dead. He was at it for cycles, making bold promises to some of our people. All he brought was pain, though. I’m not sure I can help you. We have no love for the Krigans nor the Cymages.”
“You have no love for Cronus Freeman, either, do you?” she said.
“Ahh, yes, now we get to the point now, don’t we?” He turned toward the rest that were listening. “Leave us now, we’ll need to talk in private for a few moments.” With the shift of his hand they dispersed, a few looking back at her in disbelief, but obeying his orders.
“They believe in you,” she said. “They’ll follow you to the ends of Andlios and back…”
“Because I stand for something, Ms. Hedlund,” he said. “I respected your father, you know that? The Krigans are and always have been foolish people. Conquerors, rewriting the history boo
ks to suit their own needs. They never took the desert, though, they preferred the serene coasts above all else. Did you know that over 50% of this planet is desert? The Zahira desert is expansive and these caves are not uncommon. This is where my people are now; we are few but these are our lands.”
“If you care so much about these lands then why the raids on everyone else?”
“We’ve been living off the land here for centuries now, but our numbers have thinned out. Promises and futures destroyed the once-mighty Zarr’nid people. The great wars happened and we watched, we waited, but then we waited too long, and now look at us. We’re a footnote. The Wild Ones are doing what we can for our people to survive and Cronus Freeman doesn’t miss the supplies we take.”
“The people in Cydonia and Speera might, though,” she said.
“Cydonia, ha,” he spat onto the X he had drawn in between them. “What once was a bridge between all of our people became a Cymage fortress and now it serves only to build an armada for our great ruler. Even now our people are leaving the deserts for the ‘security’ of a life in Cydonia building his warships.”
“Warships?” She looked at him puzzled. “Since when does Andlios have warships?”
“For the past few cycles they’ve been working on this project, recruiting our best and brightest, thinning out our ranks even more. That is why I formed the Wild Ones, not just to raid and provide for our people, but to remind them that we too are mighty and that we are free.”
“You are outlaws,” she said. “You are huddled in caves right now. Does anyone man the castle at Zunhar anymore?”
“It’s impossible,” he said. “Zunhar is in ruins, has been for many cycles now. We don’t have the manpower, supplies or tools to rebuild our great city, nor do we want to do so and simply wait for Freeman and the Cymages to come and force their laws and customs on us.”