Cydonia Rising

by Dave Walsh

  The news of what they projected to be a gate being constructed by the Earth Ministry with the use of Cydonian technology unlike anyone—even Trallex—had seen before was distressing, to say the least. There was a secret peace agreement that was upheld between the Earth Ministry and the Andlios Republic that Jonah and Peter had worked tirelessly to not only honor but to keep a secret. If those in the Republic had known they were working with the Earth Ministry, there could have been major problems. In hindsight, keeping it a secret only led to more stress down the line, especially for someone like Cronus who so vehemently hated the Earth Ministry and all it stood for. By the time Cronus was of age, his mind was so clouded with hate for them that the very idea that his father had cooperated with them made any respect he may have had for him dissipate into the ether.

  None of that really felt like it mattered anymore because the days of Cronus’s reign as the emperor of the Andlios Republic felt like it was coming to a tragic conclusion. The fact that Peter was here in the palace meant that Katrijn was not far behind and while Kara was flustered about seeing her daughter again after so many cycles and how she’d explain to her why she never spoke out against her brother, there were other troubles brewing as well. The natives were restless and there was more and more unrest in the streets, forces converging to undermine and overthrow Cronus while he simply laughed it off. There had been organizations before that looked to usurp him but he had no need to take them seriously; with everything going on, it felt like a critical error to push everyone who cared about him and the Republic away and to undermine them. Then, of course, the monolithic force that was the Earth Ministry was possibly waiting for them and it could mean all-out war.

  The problem was that the Andlios Republic was not prepared for war. There were whispers about a secret armada being built in the mountains of Cydonia by Cronus, the whole plan masterminded by Giger, but it felt like the blind leading the blind. The Andlios Republic had never had much of a fleet to speak of, never mind the bodies to operate that fleet and to do it with the efficiency that the Earth Ministry had. Ship-to-ship battles had consumed human history since man went to the stars and somehow they felt that they didn’t need to worry about that in Andlios and even if they were preparing now, it felt like too little, too late.

  The bigger problem, of course, was that there wasn’t much she could really do at this point. She had been held inside her room overnight and had simply gone through her normal morning routine to keep her mind occupied, but the sense of impending doom hung eerily over her head throughout her shower, getting dressed and eating breakfast. The guards were all quiet, tense like they knew something was coming. If dogs barked before an impending storm was rolling in then the sullen faces on the usually rigid guards were a beacon to everyone that things were about to get ugly.

  Just when she was about to try to make herself comfortable there was a knock at the door. This meant it wasn’t Giger, which at least gave her a sense of momentary relief. Giger had it in his mind that he was just as—if not more—important than anyone else inside the palace. Barring Cronus himself, Giger saw his power as without equal and tended to come and go as he pleased. The last thing she wanted to deal with at this time of day after being “softly” detained would be Alistair Giger and his smug smile relishing in ordering the empress regent around. Instead, it was one of her guards.

  “Yes?” She peered out the door.

  “Uh, Your Majesty,” he said, stumbling over his words. “The emperor requests your presence at court today.”

  “So I can leave, then?” she asked sweetly, trying not to sound agitated.

  “Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” he guffawed. “We were only holding you for your own safety.”

  “I’m sure of it,” she said. “You’ve done a splendid job, as you can see, I’m quite safe.”

  “Good,” he said. “If you’ll just come with me, then.”

  He gestured for her to follow him and seeing as though these weren’t her normal quarters, she didn’t feel too bad leaving everything else behind. They were simply things that were given to her during her stay, not her own, which were mostly now on Andal-3. “Why the need for the security, anyway?”

  “Well, Your Highness,” he said. “There’s a lot of things going on right now. His Majesty the emperor insists on making a public declaration today, it being the day of his birth and all, and our security has picked up a lot of disturbing chatter.”

  “Chatter?” she laughed. “As in?”

  “Assassination attempts, organized riots, the works,” he said.

  “This doesn’t sound too unusual, especially considering how things have been of late.”

  “You are right,” he said. “The problem is that it’s hard to tell who is making idle threats and who is serious anymore. Prime Minister Giger has been keeping a lot of ‘em secret, but there have been more and more lunatics making runs at the palace.”

  “Things feel off, don’t they?” she asked while they strode down the quiet, ornate hallway, their footsteps echoing on the marble floor.

  “Feels like the bloody end of days, Your Majesty,” he said with no sense of irony while they stood at the door to the audience chamber. “Please, after you.”

  036. Crash the Gates

  Alva

  After watching her father head into so many battles Alva knew what to expect and what to do—to a certain extent. Trallex and the Cydonians had turned her into a new breed of warrior, had given her new life and she was intent not to squander that but was willing to die for what she believed in. Everyone expected it of her and they were all willing to do that themselves, so there was no turning back for her now. She had done what would have been considered the impossible by banding together what scraps were left of the proud Krigan people with the desert-dwelling madmen known as the Wild Ones, the remnants of the Zarr’nid warriors from Zahira.

  The bar looked more like a fortress than it did a place where anyone would go to get a drink. The windows were boarded up and reinforced, and guards were posted at every door wearing bright red armbands, pulseaxes in hand. Barbed wire lined the front of the building and the top to ensure that no one would attempt to get in from anywhere but the main doors. There were sharpshooters on the roof as well, but they had never fired a single shot. Outside sat a small fleet of four armored transports led by Zun’thir, as calm as ever and joking around. The Krigans had taken to them quickly when they realized having those armored cars for the assault on the palace would make their lives a whole lot easier.

  None of it really mattered, seeing as though there were no major assaults on Quorthon Hall and it was only serving as a staging point now, for today was the day when Andlios would be freed or they would all die in the attempt. Alva did find it a bit unsettling that there was little resistance toward their movement over the previous few months. Either they weren’t taking the movement seriously or they were dealing with other matters, which left her feeling even more unsettled. That didn’t matter now, though—today was their judgment day. Their plan of attack was simple: an advanced team consisting of the Wild Ones with hordes of Krigans aboard were going to head in and disable as many of the defenses as they could and Alva would lead the charge right in the front.

  It was bold, it was public and it was perhaps foolish, but it would be inspired. That was the main goal: inspiration. Cydonians weren’t great military tacticians, but they were sneaky. Alva’s mind went back to Trallex and how he had told her to wait and inform him before she moved. There were enough factors and interests tugging at her that his interests were no longer her main concerns. Alva had done everything he had ever asked from her and now was the time for her to act on her own. She assured herself that if everything went according to plan she could deal with him in due time, find out exactly what his angle was. For now, it was about freeing Andlios from Cronus Freeman’s oppressive rule.

  “I’m ready.” Oystein emerged from the back room, slapping his pulseaxe down on the bar with a thud. He wor
e his old scarred battle armor that had seen many a battle in its day.

  “Alright,” Alva turned to him, trying to brush aside her fears, partially hoping that he’d be the Oystein she remembered from her childhood. “I guess you and I finally go into battle together, then?”

  “Looks like it,” he said.

  “Sorry you have to compromise like this, you know, going into battle with a dirty Cymage and all.”

  “Bah,” he scoffed, folding his arms. “I went to war many a time for your father and you, my girl, have become just as good of a warrior as your father. He would be proud if he were still with us. I was being an ass. This is the least I can do for penance.”

  “Thank you, Oystein. I know that things have been…difficult for us.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.” He reached behind and grabbed his pulseaxe, hefting it over his shoulder. “I’m still a fool, a mighty fool at that, but a fool. Thank me once we’ve destroyed this pipsqueak and put you on that throne.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “You aren’t sounding too sure of yourself, princess.”

  “No, it’s nothing, really,” she furrowed her brow. “Just the closer it is to a reality, the less and less I see myself sitting on that throne.”

  “You somehow pulled us here,” Zun’thir broke into the conversation.

  “Aye,” Oystein nodded in agreement. “Who would’ve thought we’d see the Krigans and Zarr’nid banding together like this?”

  “Just remain true to your heart, Princess,” Zun’thir said. “Nobody is ready to lead, it is simply a call that some of us answer and learn along the way.”

  “Nobody is ready for it, they just deal with it. I was with your father when he became the Jarl of Krigar, then when he came to rule over all the Krigan people. He was never ready, it just happened and he dealt with it.”

  “He always seemed to have everything together,” she said.

  “Not after your passing, no,” Oystein frowned. “Tyr was never the same again, sadly. Good things happened, even great things happened, but there was a sickness inside him after you passed.”

  “I don’t understand,” she took a deep breath. “If he made a deal with Trallex, why would he be so sad?”

  “To be fair, none of us knew about that deal and I think that deep down inside he really didn’t believe you’d come back, or if you did that it wouldn’t be you. He was wrong, Alva. You are exactly the woman he had always hoped you’d be.”

  “Thanks, Oystein. I guess that’s something, right?”

  “Aye,” he shot her a rare, crooked smile. “That it is. Now you’ve got a rebellion to lead.”

  “That I do.” She slapped him on the shoulder and took a deep breath, jumping up onto the bar that had served as a rallying point for their revolution over the past few months. “My friends!” The assembled crowd turned and faced her, faces with red paint streaked on them, an assembly of pulseaxes, rifles and plain axes. “Today we show Andlios what we are made of. Today we show this Republic the strength of the Krigan people, the strength of the Zarr’nid and most importantly, the strength of all the people of Andlios. No longer will we live under the oppressive rule of Cronus Freeman. Today we retake Krigar! Today, we retake our destiny!”

  A roar rang out throughout the bar, Alva pumping her father’s pulseaxe into the air before springing down off the bar and the crowd parting, giving her a clear path to the door. She marched through the crowd, feeling her heart starting to beat faster and faster. Time had slowed down for her, she could feel the tension in the air around her and knew that if there ever was a time for a confident face that it was now. She kept her expression stony, but her palms were sweating while they gripped onto her father’s pulseaxe.

  “The time for speeches has ended,” Zun’thir said to her while she stood in the doorway. “That was a fine one, but now we must ride.”

  “Thank you, my friend.” She clasped his shoulder.

  “We are united for a cause.” He took a deep breath. “The air smells right, I can smell the gardenias, Princess. We ride.”

  They nodded to each other while Zun’thir leaped into action, slapping the side of his transport and jumping into the front, the rest of the Wild Ones boarding up and the uneasy Krigans gripping onto anything they could along the outside, making the already ominous derelict transports look even more fearsome with war-hungry Krigans ready to pounce. The fleet of transports crawled ahead of the rest of the Krigans, Alva and Oystein organizing their ranks. They marched through the streets, Alva out in front, a stern expression on her face and her father’s pulseaxe gripped tightly in hand. At first, there was just the occasional onlooker through windows, then the farther they marched, the more people were out. Some were just there to gawk while others were cheering them on. Street by street they marched, their supporters growing by the end of each block until they were in the Imperial District and it was a struggle to get through the large mass of bodies.

  Oystein remained at her side, but she knew he was struggling with this. This wasn’t the kind of battle he had ever envisioned. Without a doubt, she would have preferred a straight, hand-to-hand battle, just Krigans—and their pride—but knew that public opinion was what mattered here. This wasn’t just about Alva or Oystein, this was about all the people and their freedom. There would be blood staining the blade of her ax on this day, but it wouldn’t be now. That didn’t make her any less anxious.

  “Miss Hedlund!” A woman was breaking through the crowd, her hand held high with a holoscanner active. “Miss Hedlund!”

  “What?” she said, not able to hear her own voice over the chaos of the crowd.

  “I’m Florence White of the Krigar Times, what would you say that your plan is today? Is this just a demonstration?”

  “She doesn’t have time for this bullshit,” Oystein swatted at her holoscanner, the reporter snatching it up and falling back into the sea of humanity.

  A group of guards stood at the palace gates only for the roaring of the engines on the transports to drown out their cries for them to stop in the name of the emperor. Zun’thir revved the engine on his transport and chaos broke loose when he drove full force toward the gates, the guards jumping out of the way and the transport slamming into the gates. They were no match for the transport, quickly giving way while the guards scattered, shouting out orders. The Krigans on Zun’thir’s transport had already hopped off and were attacking the guards, proving to be a rather gruesome display. Alva grimaced at the sight.

  “Not what you had expected?” Oystein asked.

  “I wanted to give an impassioned speech for them to open the gates,” she said, feeling her stomach churn. “But I’m not going to complain about their methods since I was the one who brought them here.”

  “Aye,” he said. “It’s something to behold.”

  “Halt,” a guard shouted over the cries of the crowd and the revving of the engines. “In the name of Emperor Freeman and the Andlios Republic! This is an unlawful assembly and you will disperse and return to your homes at once!”

  “This is my home,” Alva said with a smile on her face, raising her hands up and motioning for the fighting to cease. There were grumbles but Zun’thir got the message and ordered the Wild Ones to halt and everything seemed to freeze.

  “This is the Imperial Palace,” the guard said, clearly with no sense of humor. He marched toward her, ignoring the legions of Krigans behind her or the transports in front of them. He was flanked by two guards who looked uneasy, looking around to see a few of their comrades already laying on the ground bleeding. “You will disperse and return to your homes at once or—”

  “Or what?” Alva asked, the grip on her pulseaxe tightening. “Andlios is our home—Krigar is our home! None of us are safe as long as Cronus Freeman is sitting atop that throne. You will tell him to surrender at once and there will be no further bloodshed today.”

  “No bloodshed?” The guard chuckled, turning to the guards behind him, who forced out nervous laug
hs as well. “Your group of barbarians here is very impressive, but Emperor Cronus Freeman fears no—”

  “You all heard me warn him, I hope,” she said, quickly hefting the pulseaxe high into the air and bringing the blade down with a sickening thud. The blade cleaved through his ornamental helmet and dug deep into his skull, his knees buckling beneath his body, his ax dropping to the ground with a clang while a hush came over the crowd. Alva placed her foot on his shoulder and with a tug pulled her pulseaxe free from his skull, blood freely flowing from his head and staining her blade. She pushed him over with her boot, the body falling into the other guards. “NOW CHARGE!” she shouted, a roar coming from the crowd and the energy at her back.

  Trella

  There was a commotion coming from outside her cell—shouting and general confusion. Luckily, Freeman’s men knew very little about Cydonians and made no efforts to block or disable any of her augmentations. Sadly, it was believable, a lot more believable than Trella making the mistake of publicly searching for Alva like she was when she was apprehended. Trella was guided by emotion when she ventured out of the stronghold and the end result was finding herself locked up in the bowels of the palace.

  She had never expected that Trallex would not only be in the palace but working for Cronus Freeman. The very idea flew in the face of his mission, but there had to be some pieces of this puzzle that were missing still. Trella focused and pulled up her comm interface, searching the local comms. It would take some degree of deception to gain access to the elite guards’ frequency, but she decided to ignore what she would usually see as off-limits, considering her circumstance.

  It was only a matter of seconds before she was able to break into one of the comm channels for the palace guards, and what stood out to her was one name: Trallex. She found herself immersed in his activities and was trying to find the pattern, the key to what he was doing. It was illogical for him to invest so much time and effort into Alva’s training and resurrection if he was simply going to expose her, which meant that he was most likely pulling strings behind the scenes to set up for her coup or he expected her to fail and was working another angle on the side. It made sense to her but seemed more like he could be playing both sides of the game to put himself in a better position no matter the outcome.