by Dave Walsh
“My point is, you were once mighty, one of the greatest empires in all of Andliosian history, don’t be a footnote. What I’m doing right now isn’t easy, but I’m looking to remove Cronus Freeman from power and to take back Andlios for the people.”
“That all sounds well and good,” he said, tossing the stick aside. “But it’ll just be the same old shit again. The Krigans rule the land and seas, the Cymages scheme and leverage their technology for power. The Helgeans have essentially abandoned this planet, have you noticed? Helgun is their home now, it’s easier that way for them.”
“So don’t let your people’s culture go to waste,” she said. “I’ve organized a resistance movement back in Krigar and yeah, it is mostly Krigans right now, but I don’t want it to just be about the Krigan people. This is about Andlios, this is about everyone.”
“Even your Cymage friends.” He pointed at her arm, which now felt naked, and she quickly covered it up. “Even for the puppet masters pulling the strings of this whole operation?”
“I promise you I’m not loyal to any one group of people, Zun’thir. If you help me, if you join up with us, it will show the people we are all serious, it will give them hope.”
“Hope from us, the scourge of the wastes and deserts fighting alongside their new fabled heroine?” He let out a chuckle and shook his head. “Why should my people die for this cause?”
“We can get you a new planet, a moon maybe, just like Cydonia has Cyngen and Helgea has Helgun. With time the Zarr’nid people can be powerful again.”
“No,” he said. “We don’t want another planet, we don’t want a moon nor do we care about your throne in Krigar. We want freedom.”
“Then help me and you’ll have your freedom.” She held out her hand toward him.
“This is all well and good.” He stared down at her hand as it hung in the air. “But I do not know if I can trust you, Alva Hedlund. You come here, alone, talking about the great army you are building to overthrow this regime, you come here alone, a dead girl brought back to life by one of the true villains of our time and offer your mechanical hand to me in partnership. I am sorry, but how can I trust you? We already have our freedom, anyway, out here in the deserts.”
“I brought a peace offering,” she said.
“Ah yes, the transport,” he nodded, unfurling his legs and standing up, dusting himself off while he stared back at the crackling fire. “A noble gesture, I suppose, but I’m sure Trallex funded that. If we need transports we simply take them, that is our way. Don’t get me wrong, we will make good use of it, but that is not much of a promise. That’s an expendable thing, a machine.”
“Then what would you have me do?” she asked. “If you consider raiding supply lines freedom then I’m not sure I have anything to offer.”
“Follow me,” he said, motioning for her with his hand.
“Alright.” She picked and dusted herself off, her legs feeling a bit numb from sitting on the ground and sitting in the transport for so long. He led her through a corridor, past a few offshoots—some lit, some unlit—without another word before coming upon another naturally-occurring offshoot with a blanket in a similar pattern to the pillow she was resting on hung over it for privacy.
Zun’thir pulled the blanket over just a small fraction before looking back at her. “Be quiet,” he said. “But look inside.”
“Okay,” she said, slowly pulling the curtain aside to see a small boy laying in a bed made of weathered wood and a beaten down mattress. He was young, looking no older than six or seven cycles with hair much like Zun’thir’s.
“That is my son,” he said in a hushed tone. “That is my son and he is dying.”
“Oh, I…” She paused, trying to compose herself. “I’m so sorry. What’s wrong with him?”
“The dreadlung,” he said.
“Isn’t that curable now?” she asked.
“Yes, it is,” he said. “The problem is that we are limited in resources out here. I’ve been doing my best on our raids to acquire the proper medication, but it has become more and more scarce or they shifted from land-based convoys to air ones, which we don’t have the means to raid. It’s more and more difficult to make it into either Cydonia or Speera, meaning that he has been getting worse and worse.”
“My gods,” she muttered under her breath. “There is just no need for this anymore. Why can’t you just take him into one of the cities for treatment?”
“We’ve tried,” he said. “I sent my wife with him but they refused to treat him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s Zarr’nid.” The words hung thick in the air.
“That doesn’t seem right, it’s not like there aren’t Zarr’nids who live in Cydonia and—”
“They had all adapted, though. They integrated into society. My family went to them dressed as we do and were turned away.”
“So what can I do about that? I can’t fix this right now, this will take time, you and I both know that.”
“You have connections with the Cydonians,” he said. “If so, you can get help for Zum’il. If you can do that then yes, you’ll have the Wild Ones at your disposal. I’ll come personally with four transports and my best warriors and we’ll help you take the capital. You have a lot of promises to keep, though.”
“I understand,” she said. “I think I can probably make this happen.”
“Then you’ll have us at your side, Ms. Hedlund…”
“Thank you so much.” She was feeling overwhelmed.
“…But first, you must prove yourself trustworthy to us.”
Trella
Andlios was a strange place to Trella, something she had only known from a cold distance via projections and simulations. She knew what Andlios was like, knew population densities, radiation levels out in the wastes and even where there were small pockets of nomadic Zarr’nid people out in the deserts. Those were the people who linked back in the line of Cydonians, those were the people that Am’ranth had came from and were also the people that simply ceased to matter anymore. She was able to pull up a map of Krigar and guide herself away from the downtrodden area surrounding the Quorthon, but she still didn’t have a clue where she was going.
The answer was a simple one, considering how few people she actually knew on Andlios or even in Krigar—she had to reach out to Trallex. He had confined her to Cyngen and she knew she was probably considered a fugitive for departing the way she did, but he was the only one who would have answers. Trella could feel her body shaking ever so slightly and her readouts reported a spike in blood pressure and heart rate that forced her to have to dismiss the warning while she initiated a call to Trallex.
“Trella.” His image appeared on the periphery of her visor. He was sitting in what looked like a transport with an all-black interior. “Your locator seems to be malfunctioning, it is reading that you are on Andlios; in fact, it is reading that you are in Krigar just a few blocks away. Why are you not on network, why are you calling me through such archaic means?”
“There is no malfunction,” she said, finding it difficult to speak, her throat drying out. Her suit looked to quickly hydrate her to compensate, a flush of water bursting into her mouth. Trella swallowed hard before she continued. “I’m here, right now. I’m looking for Alva.”
“You were to have no further contact with Alva—I was explicit.”
“You were explicit,” she said. “I just did not agree.”
“There were no reports of you attempting to leave Cyngen, nor were there reports of your arrival. Why are we speaking like this?” he asked, his voice showing subtle signs of irritation. “Turn your network back on and contact me like a true Cydonian would.”
“I feel more comfortable being off the network for now. As for how I got here, I made some new friends,” she said, turning the corner and stepping over a man who was passed out on the sidewalk.
“So I’d assume,” he said. “I presume this is why all of these humans always complain about t
heir offspring so often.”
“I thought my lineage was inconsequential,” she said, doing her best to ignore the rough looking men who were staring at her while she walked through the decaying part of town.
“I’m beginning to wonder that myself,” he said. “Impurities come from only cloning—we do need the occasional child born of flesh and blood alone. There are similarities I’m finding, though.”
“Oh?” She had never heard him speak like this before.
“I’m coming to find you,” he said. “In fact, I believe I see you now. Stay where you are.”
Trella turned around and saw a sleek-looking black transport barreling down the street, an eyesore amidst a street awash in decay. The vehicle came to a stop next to her and the door swung up and open, and Trella looked in and saw Trallex sitting on one side, and he motioned for her to enter the vehicle. “We need to talk,” he said.
She stepped into the transport, settling into the seat across from him while the door sealed shut behind her. “I need to find Alva,” she said.
“That is out of the question,” he said. “She is here on a mission and I believe you would compromise this mission.”
“Then you don’t understand,” she said.
“No, I don’t,” he replied. “Although maybe I am beginning to. For over a thousand cycles I’ve existed, I’m more machine than I ever was man, but you were the last offspring born of my seed. I had entrusted you with caring for Alva, for nurturing her because I saw in you the potential for empathy, although I thought you could control it better.”
“Emotions are not to be controlled,” she said. “I’ve learned that since I’ve known Alva, since I’ve watched her blossom into a woman.”
“So I’ve seen.”
“I know you know where she is, Father,” she said, understanding the weight of the word.
“I…” He paused, an uncharacteristic chink in the armor of the impenetrable Trallex. “I am sorry, Trella. I have failed you in many ways.”
“Then let me be with her!” The words escaped from her at terminal velocity. Trella quickly regained her wits and calmed herself, knowing that showing more emotion would only hurt her in Trallex’s eyes. “I’ve come so far and all I want to do is to assist her.”
“Every step is a step backwards for our people,” he said, turning away from her. “I am truly sorry for what I must do, but you cannot see her.”
They both sat in silence while the transport continued to traverse the city. Trella looked out the window and saw they were approaching the palace. Ornate banners hung from street lamps, the face of Cronus Freeman illuminated with a regal smile across his face. The streets were well lit as opposed to in the other part of the city, and the people were walking around freely, slowly and without care, their clothing immaculate and their demeanors calm. It was a contrast in every way.
“Where are we going?” she finally asked, the transport zipping through a gate toward the palace, through the gardens and into a door on the side of the palace.
“This is the palace,” he said.
No further explanation was needed while the transport moved into an open garage on the side of the palace. It was dark inside the garage but her mask quickly began making the proper adjustments just as the lights came on. The transport came to a halt and Trella saw a host of guards gathered around. “What is going on?” she asked, starting to feel a panic building inside of her.
“I am sorry, Trella,” he said. “I truly am.”
She acted swiftly, pushing the door open with a burst of strength, and it smacked the approaching guard across the jaw, sending him barreling into another guard and they both toppled over. Trella dove from the car, rolling forward onto her feet where she reached out and pushed another guard over from a distance, channeling what abilities she knew how to use of her augmentations, sending him tumbling into a table. Another was running at her with his pulseaxe poised, only for her to step aside and grab ahold of the hilt of the axe, and she guided him down to the ground with a clattering of his armor ringing through the garage.
“You do not harm her,” Trallex’s voice came from the transport, as he calmly stepped out.
“But sir—”
“You do not!” he said, and with a whoosh, the guard went flying back against the wall. Trella felt the axe being pulled from her hand and did her best to fight back, but she was no match against Trallex, who tugged the axe from her grip, sending her crashing to the ground.
A swarm of guards jumped on top of her, and she tried to scream out while she felt them securing her arms behind her back. She was being propped up on her knees, her hands bound while Trallex stood over her, appearing menacing with the pulseaxe in his grip. “Why?” she cried out.
“Because I cannot trust you,” he said. “Because you will ruin everything.”
028. Memory Lane
Jace
Some things had changed while others had stayed the same on the streets of Krigar. Walking these streets again felt different from up close and not via projection; the city was more personal and felt alive again. A part of him felt like he was suffering from a prolonged flashback, while the rest of him understood what he was forcing himself through. Returning to the home that he and his wife had lived in was probably not the smartest decision for a guy like Jace, but there wasn’t much else left for him to do after storming out of the stronghold.
Their old apartment hadn’t been his home in cycles, but after the settlement from Ro’s death, he was able to finally pay it off and not worry about payments anymore. The apartment was there, in perpetuity, a hermetically sealed time capsule full of memories and pain. Returning home shouldn’t be painful, either, it should be a happy time for him, but it hurt. He was going home, to a place full of great memories that he had shared with Ro, the place they called their home. Ro being dead didn’t mean those memories ceased to exist, it was just easier for Jace to deal with the pain from a safe distance, not from up close.
His intense feelings of anxiety and fear only led to him feeling worse about the whole situation. Everyone had told him to remember the good times, remember the good things about Ro and not to lament on how she died or suffered, yet it was impossible for him to shake those thoughts from his mind. She died for no good reason and both of their lives were ripped away from them in that instant. What followed for Jace was cycles and cycles of just shuffling through the fringes like he was already a dead man. Throughout all of it, he kept his name, he kept photos of Ro around and never really tried to start over or hide his past, he just ran from it.
The building stood in front of him, familiar yet alien, like a mirage or a distant memory he had tried to forget. It was warm outside, which helped the unfamiliar feeling, but it was their building he was standing in front of. The building was a few meters pushed back compared to the rest, a few bushes out in front and a set of glass double doors that swung open automatically when you stepped toward them. After what he saw while walking around the rest of Krigar all afternoon, he could only shake his head at the sight. A lot of people were living in poverty while he owned an apartment in a place like this and always felt that it wasn’t good enough for them.
The thought of simply walking by and not stopping passed through his mind; of just heading straight to the hangar, firing up the Pequod and not looking back. Still, curiosity and guilt got the better of him. Jace stepped forward, the doors parting before him and a rush of cold air escaping out into the heat of the day. Jace grimaced at the contrasting temperatures but embraced the coolness from inside. Everything was how he had left it, right down to the fountain in the lobby and the twin glass elevators in the front, adjacent to the front desk. He didn’t recognize the girl behind the front desk, but he didn’t expect to. She had a dark complexion and curly brown hair that fell over her eyes and only gave him a glance and a nod while he walked by. The glass elevator’s door on the right opened for him and he pressed the button for the third floor, and it accelerated gently and brought up him
to his floor.
The smell in the hall brought memories rushing back to him; it was a mix of gardenias and ammonia from the wax they used to clean the floors and the flowers lining the lobby. Jace stepped onto the strip of carpeting that ran along the middle of the floor, away from the perfectly-waxed floors and walked through the hall, passing by each door until he reached the end of the hall, reading the numbers on the door quietly to himself. “325,” he said, pressing his hand against the lock, the door quietly unlatching and gently swinging open for him.
The ammonia and gardenia smell permeated thoroughly, the apartment smelling as such because of the weekly cleaning crew that was stopping by even in his absence. That meant that they hadn’t forgotten, it also meant that they kept the apartment in good condition, the same condition it was in before he left. A photo hung on the left wall right past the door of Jace and Ro on their wedding day, both of them standing in front of one of the Imperial Gardens with smiles illuminating their faces. It was the first thing that took his breath away, making this all feel like a nightmare he needed to wake from.
After taking a deep breath, Jace stepped one foot inside his apartment, his right boot crunching into the mat followed by the other. Memories were everywhere inside, the light blue walls they had painted together right after they moved in, the dark gray carpeting he had fought her on and won, right down to the burnt orange couch that sat in the middle of the main room. Everything was how he had left it and he wasn’t sure how to process all of it.
Life continued on without either of them and it was difficult to comprehend sometimes. The apartment was a time capsule for another person at this point. The man who had lived there was Jace Krios, the happily married man who worked as an Imperial Transport driver. That man lived with his beautiful teacher wife and were planning a bright future together, not Jace Krios the ghost of a delivery man who never touched the core planets. Now this Jace had to come to terms with the Jace of his past and was doing so by sinking into the couch and closing his eyes.