Cydonia Rising

by Dave Walsh

  Their future was all unclear, but she couldn’t help but see that Jace was in pain being back on Andlios, the same kind of pain she was feeling. This was supposed to be their home, but her family had such an impact on both of them that changed the course of not only their lives but everyone else in the area. Katrijn was doing her best to seem calm and collected, but she was feeling just as exposed and hurt as Jace was and a part of her just wanted to reach out to him and tell him it’d be okay as long as they kept sticking together.

  Before she knew it she was alone in the great hall, sitting there alone with her thoughts and feeling vulnerable. The twisted face of the bum on the street who had tried to attack her sent a shiver down her spine. That was how out of touch she was with Andlios and Krigar, to where she didn’t even know people were living like him now, although they had probably always existed. They were just more brazen now and they didn’t care who she was, who her father was or what her goals were. She was a stranger to them, what would they care if there was another shift on the throne? In her mind she would be able to dispose of Cronus, though, well, she hadn’t quite figured out how she would get to that fateful showdown with him yet, but if her father was able to somehow become the ruler of most of the known galaxy she should be able to figure out how to sneak into a palace she knew like the back of her hand. But in her mind, she was sure that if she could just get him off that throne everything would fall into place.

  Another shiver went down her spine while she picked herself up and walked toward the bunk quarters. They all had their own giant room to themselves since it was only the three of them being housed in a place that could hold at least 1,000 warriors at any given time. Katrijn began turning toward her own bunk and the idea of being alone felt overwhelming to her, so she turned back, looking at both doors that led to the other bunks. To the right was Loren’s and the left was Jace’s; each one would have dozens of beds, each one with a commander’s bed that was a full-sized bed and not just a cot. She cut to the left and stood at the doorway to Jace’s room, looking through the dim line of empty cots to the bed at the end where he lay on his stomach, arm draped over the side of the bed. He even looked goofy while he slept, which made her have to hold back a laugh.

  She quietly walked through the hall of empty cots with her arms crossed, pausing momentarily at the edge of the bed, just watching him sleep peacefully. Katrijn slipped her shoes off and set them aside, shaking her head at herself. Finally, after a deep breath, she tugged gently at the blanket and slid inside the bed, scooting closer until she could feel the warmth of Jace’s body against hers. Her heart was aflutter for a brief second, but it felt peaceful and her mind stopped racing through what-ifs, her draping her arm over him.

  “Wha?” He began to stir.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered.

  He turned to face Katrijn, his hair mussed up from laying on it. She reached out and stroked his cheek, his eyes sleepily opening and her lips moving toward his like they were being pulled toward an asteroid drifting in space before their lips met and she felt him return the kiss, a jolt of electricity coursing through her veins.

  034. Promises

  Alva

  Zun’thir moved effortlessly through the celebrating Wild Ones like a proud Krigan father at his son’s first hunt, congratulating them all while he worked his way over to Alva who was sitting alone in the corner staring into a mug of honey wine. She gave him a slight nod and knew she wouldn’t be able to avoid a talk from him, not that she minded, she was just processing the night’s events. The run was successful but she couldn’t help but ask herself what could have gone differently and the idea of her being that well known already nagged at the back of her subconscious.

  “So you are famous now,” Zun’thir smiled at her.

  “I guess so.”

  “You don’t seem happy about it.”

  “I’m not.” She took a sip of the sweet wine and sighed. “I came back here to help people, not to be taken advantage of.”

  “In a way, you being taken advantage of is helping people, though, I suppose.”

  “Between my father and the Cydonians, I was bred to lead, not be a figurehead.”

  Zun’thir broke out into laughter while Alva watched him unamused. “Oh Princess Alva, you’ll need to learn to accept that when you are in a position of power, in public people will see of you whatever they wish. I’ve been labeled a revolutionary, a guerrilla, a hero and a terrorist. I’m a little of each and not much of any. I have no control over that, I only have control over my own actions and how I treat my own people.”

  “I suppose so…”

  “No, there is no supposition, just fact. I take care of my Wild Ones and they, in turn, take care of me. I can’t control the world and what they’ll think of me, I just have to be true to myself. You,” he paused briefly. “You, Princess Alva, will learn this. What you demonstrated in the field tonight was impressive, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “You wanted to prove yourself, that much was clear, but you handled adversity rather well, knowing when to hand over the reins and when to take control.”

  “My transport was toast, so we had to change the plan.”

  “Leadership isn’t properly executing a plan as much as it is adapting the plan to the situation. I think my Wild Ones wouldn’t mind going into battle with you.”

  “Are you serious?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “Although there is still one promise you made and have yet to keep.”

  “That’s going to take some time, I fear.”

  Trallex had given pause when she made her request. He was usually calm and collected, but at the mention of the Zarr’nid people, she could sense a mood change come over him. She knew he’d be unhappy with the plan, but she never expected his reaction being a flat out denial. She knew the Cydonians had roots within the Zarr’nid culture, but never knew how difficult it was for either side to deal with those roots until now.

  I don’t understand, she said, still moving her lips while she communicated via her internal comms and not quite comfortable yet communicating without speaking out loud.

  I do not expect you to. Cydonians will have nothing to do with those desert-dwellers.

  You want a lot of things from me, Trallex. She was exhausted just thinking of all that he wanted from her. The…you took Trella away from me. She was all I had and you expect me to just get through this without the one person I had left in this life. You need to give me this.

  You were given a task, he said. I expect you to complete it.

  You also gave me full reign over it and this is what I think needs to happen. You might not like it, but I need the Wild Ones, I need the Zarr’nid to know they are appreciated or else I have nothing.

  I believe that—

  This is a child, Trallex. Communicating via CyNet still felt alien to her, never mind interrupting Trallex. All it takes is for you to pull up a link with one person and then this is taken care of and we can all move on. Give me this or just let me go.

  After a long pause his response was curt and to the point. Fine, he said. Bring the child to Dovoth Hospital’s Children’s Ward in the morning, they will be waiting for him. And Alva, don’t make a move on the palace until you have conferred with me. Without any further ceremony, the link was broken and Alva found herself sitting alone inside the cave. She was still not entirely comfortable with all these augmentations, even after all these cycles and all the training, so she understood how dismaying it all seemed to outsiders. Her own discomfort probably showed through, which was the way she excused herself to make the link to him. His final line didn’t sit well with her; it was just another level of control he was attempting to exert over her. She emerged to see Zun’thir with his wife, Tral’de, having a hushed discussion outside the child’s room.

  “Do you have good news, Ms. Hedlund?” Zun’thir asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Tral’de, take Zum’il with you in the morning to Davoth Children’s Hosp
ital and they’ll be waiting for you. It should be all covered and taken care of.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Tral’de was shaking her head. “What if something happens to him?”

  “Take Brun’ta and Tilge with you, my dearest,” Zun’thir said, still in a quiet voice. “Tomorrow I will ride with Ms. Hedlund for Krigar with the rest and will hopefully return with a brighter future for all of us.”

  Tral’de looked at Alva then back at Zun’thir. “I don’t trust her,” she said, and Alva couldn’t help but feel stung by it. “What if she is lying?”

  “You’ll have Brun’ta and Tilge and if so, I’ll be with her.” His eyes locked with Alva’s. “If she betrays us she dies, as does her Krigan friends in Krigar.”

  “I understand,” Alva said, doing her best to be respectful.

  They left the next morning before dawn, Zun’thir kissing his wife and boy goodbye before mounting up with a dozen of his Wild Ones, taking four of their battle-worn transports. Alva sat inside the vanguard transport that Zun’thir drove, the outside of it lined with spikes and barbed wire, the inside threadbare at best with all of the amenities ripped out and only a few poorly-bolted on seats were left that gave full view out of the weapon slits where the windows used to be, the center one giving access to the gun turret that was haphazardly attached to the ceiling of the once-normal transport. Sor’el, Kenta and Jum’en rode with them, the four of them comfortable with each other after the raid a few days prior.

  Alva had returned to Andlios with hopes of reuniting the Krigan people to help depose Cronus Freeman. Instead, she sat inside a derelict transport with a group of renowned desert raiders cracking jokes and felt more comfortable around them than with one of her father’s best friends, a man she had known as her uncle for all of her life. That was her past life, though, which was difficult for her to process still. She had been reborn and while in many ways she was the same, much had changed. Alva knew what she faced when they rolled into Krigar in a matter of hours; she was going to have to face Oystein and the rest of the Krigans. That meant that she was going to have to explain herself, to demonstrate that she was a powerful, worthy leader and that the Cydonians were not controlling her. The Wild Ones were the best shot she had, they were renowned for their fearlessness in the face of battle and known for their hatred of the Cydonians. If she could prove that she had won them over then the Krigans should accept her all over again.

  Without the Krigan’s support, her whole mission was a bust and she’d have to return to Trallex with the report that she had failed. Time was of the essence for him, even if he hadn’t stressed that it was implied by how their conversations had gone and how much he had caved into her demands. When the caravan reached the city limits Alva felt a knot growing in her stomach, her clenching her pulseaxe until her knuckles turned ivory white. The rest of the crew aboard had grown quieter as well, knowing that they were in a hostile environment, even while they drove through the Old District where Cronus’s goons had less control.

  The streets were becoming more and more familiar and she was seeing more and more Krigans lining the streets, patrolling with their pulseaxes and rifles out. It made her heart both soar and drop knowing that they were initially gathering to rally behind her; now they were most likely rallying around Oystein instead. Alva feared what would happen when she had to face him. The sight of the Quorthon only drove her stomach into further knots, the streets almost impossible to navigate because of how many Krigans had rallied to the bar. She had heard about the men and women who were coming, but she hadn’t believed there would be as many as there were.

  Even worse, she knew she had to face all of them. Many had come to see her because they had heard of her return, only now to be told that she was a Cymage and was plotting against them. The transport came to a stop and she saw a commotion near the door to the Quorthon. The group of Krigans began to part when she saw Oystein step out from the bar with his pulseaxe in hand, a few of his closest men behind him. He eyed the transports carefully while Zun’thir and his crew stepped out.

  “Wild Ones?” Oystein spat on the ground. “What’re ye doing out here? Thought ya didn’t ever leave your wastes behind. There’s nothing for you lot here.”

  “We are here to help,” Zun’thir said calmly, a confident smile adorning his face and making his dark features look exotic.

  “Help?” Oystein let out a laugh. “Never called for any, I don’t reckon—this is a Krigan matter, we’ll be fine.”

  “We brought along a friend,” Zun’thir said, looking down into the transport at Alva. This was her cue, she knew that. She took a deep breath and threw the side door open, stepping out with her pulseaxe in hand while a hush came over the crowd. There were whispers, gasps and even a few shouting at her, calling her “Cymage.”

  “A friend?” Oystein refused to make eye contact with her. “Ye know that ye be riding with a Cymage, right?”

  “I’m no Cymage,” she said, cutting off Zun’thir, who was winding up to speak. “You know who I am, you know why I’m here. Yes, they did things to me, but I’m here and my intentions are true, Oystein. I was good enough for you to slap my face onto your movement.”

  He still refused to make eye contact, instead turning to Zun’thir. “I thought ye Zarr’nids hated the Cymages.”

  “She’s no Cymage,” he said. “I’m not sure how I’d categorize her, but you underestimate her. She helped me, helped my boy out. She even convinced us to head all the way down here to help out.”

  “What’d she promise you? Bionic death beam eyes?” A few laughs rang out.

  “No,” Zun’thir cut through them. “She promised a future. Not only for my people but for everyone. That’s more than we’ve got now, so I figure it’s worth a shot.”

  “Oystein,” she approached the mountain of a man, a few of his guards quickly taking point only for him to stop them. “I’m your best hope, you know that. You know who I am and you know they’ll all follow me. I’m here because we all deserve better than this. This movement to you is all about the Krigans, but it’s not just about the Krigans. It’s about everyone, it’s about everyone living under a corrupt government’s iron fist. It’s about our voices no longer being heard and what we can do to change that.

  “I’m not perfect,” she continued. “I know that. I should have told you right away what happened to me, just how far they had to go to bring me back, but I was afraid that you wouldn’t trust me. I made a mistake, my old friend, and I am here begging for your forgiveness and also hoping that we can all do this together.”

  “The damage is done,” Oystein said, hanging his head. “These people don’t want a Cymage leading them into battle.”

  “I am no Cymage.” She stepped forward toward Oystein, pulseaxe extended toward him.

  “You back off,” he snarled.

  “Oystein,” she called out. “In front of friends, the gods and all present, I challenge you to single combat. I challenge you to prove that I am capable of leading you and the rest to victory.”

  “Don’t make me laugh,” he said.

  “I saw you bested in single combat once before,” she reminded him, his face turning red.

  “I was drunk! That boy didn’t know the rules and—”

  “Ingen defeated you,” she stayed calm while the monster raged in front of her. “I was there, I saw it and you know what he turned into. This son of his is no Ingen and we owe it to him to remove him. Either fight with me or fight me right now, Oystein.”

  “What would Tyr think if I crushed his sweet princess down?” Oystein said, clearly torn.

  “You are afraid,” she goaded him. “Either you trust me or you don’t, but I am no coward, Oystein. I am here to reclaim the throne in Krigar for all of us and I will not let you stand in my way.”

  “But your father…”

  “My father is dead,” she said, still staring him in the eye. “Don’t make me bury you as well. Come with me and together we can regain his honor and the ho
nor that Ingen lost.”

  “Oh goddamnit,” he burst out, tossing his ax to the ground, lunging forward with a right hand. Alva was quick to react, ducking under the blow and driving her shoulder into his stomach. She felt the air escape from him, the giant stumbling back a step before catching himself. Oystein regained his composure before he feinted with another right only to throw a left hand that clipped Alva behind the ear, sending her crashing to the ground. Oystein’s large boot hovered over her, the long shadow looming overhead ominously. She thrust her right arm out, taking a firm grip with her mechanically-assisted grip and twisted, taking control of his body and sending him crashing to the concrete.

  “Yield,” she said, standing over him with her fist hovering over his face. “Yield, Oystein.”

  “Never,” he spat in her face, pushing her back to the concrete and climbing on top of her. “I yield to no Cymage,” he said, lifting his fists up and bringing them down toward her chest. Alva’s hand darted out, catching it in mid-air. It took all of her power to hold his hands back. The full brunt of his force was coming down toward her and she knew that she had no choice. Alva reached down into her reserves and concentrated, closing her eyes and letting out one big push. Oystein’s body flew off her, crashing into a group of Krigans and leaving Alva dusting herself off. She approached him while he looked up at her in horror.

  “It’s okay, old friend,” she whispered into his ear. “Come with us, join us while we assault the palace.”

  “Fine,” he spat, holding his hand up toward her. “Tyr would be proud that you turned into such a fierce bitch, you know.”

  “I know.”

  035. Things Falling Apart

  Kara

  Throughout everything they had been through Kara had always held out hope that Cronus would turn out alright, that for all his faults and madness, that somehow she’d be able to snap him back into reality. Instead, she was confined to her quarters after he had a meltdown at her trying to get involved in matters of state again. The problem was that he needed help now more than ever. Giger had complemented him with his own brand of madness, making them a toxic pair of madmen salivating over what their next play would be until it all started crumbling down around them.