Cydonia Rising

by Dave Walsh

  “That plan has worked quite well, I must say.” She took a deep breath. “Since I’ve been back I’ve noticed more and more of her supporters. They are everywhere, I mean, look at what is going on out there right now.”

  “It looks like today is the last day of Cronus’s rule,” he said. “This is what I’ve been actively working for now for many cycles, but I wanted it to be peaceful. You know that, don’t you, Kara?”

  “Of course, remember when we first met about this? When you first started to trust me? That night in your garden?”

  “Yes, I do.” A smile broke through his pained face toward her. “But I thought we might be able to do it peacefully—put him on trial, exile him or something. I never wanted there to be blood spilled. Jonah feared what Cronus might become, but he still loved Cronus very much and I’m sure even knowing that Cronus would murder him he would have wanted mercy for Cronus.”

  “It looks like the time for mercy has passed,” she said, sullen. “He’s made a lot of enemies, it seems.”

  “For right now we’ll deal with this one problem at a time, alright? If you can get me comm access I can try reaching out to some of my old Earth contacts to see how much of a threat that gate is. There might still be time. As for Alva and Katrijn, I can try to reach out to Katrijn but the only way I could possibly reach out to Alva is if you can get Trella freed.”

  “That’s a tall order, Peter, you know that.” She crossed her arms. “That would mean explaining all of this to Cronus and you know he’s far from level-headed.”

  “You are the empress, Kara.” He smiled at her. “You aren’t detained like I am, you can do whatever you damned well please.”

  “That's…” She burst out laughing. “That’s a fine point, Peter. C’mon, we have work to do.”

  039. The Palace

  Alva

  Alva’s chest heaved, her lungs fighting to regulate her air intake while she stood on the steps of the palace. Oystein flanked her while the rest of the Krigans and Wild Ones clashed with what was left of the guards and police. Her father’s pulseaxe was in her right hand, the blade scraping along the steps and leaving a trail of blood behind it. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, that it would be a bloody affair to storm the palace, but never in her wildest dreams did she imagine it being like this.

  She surveyed the scene, a collection of severed limbs, injured men crying out in pain and lifeless corpses that would never take another breath thanks to Alva and her friends. This was how it had to be, she reminded herself. If there was a way to win back Andlios without blood she would have done it, but their culture was drenched in the blood of the elders, in the blood of the Krigans, Helgeans, Zarr’nid and Cydonians. All were complicit in Andlios’s gore-filled past and all would understand the display she left for them today. Battles from Andliosian history had always been brutal and bloody, always a focus on melee, hand-to-hand combat and as little use of firearms as possible.

  “Quite a scene,” Oystein spat on the ground; Alva was unsure if the blood was already on the ground or from his mouth. Neither would have surprised her, with both of them sporting new wounds from the battle that raged on around them.

  “We aren’t done yet,” she said.

  “Aye, we aren’t,” he laughed, hefting his ax up onto his shoulder. “Tyr would have been proud, you know.”

  “That’s what I was aiming for,” she said. “Now it’s time to do something that both Ingen and my father would be proud of.”

  “That it is,” he smirked, stomping toward the grand wooden door to the palace. He shifted the ax off his shoulder, transitioning it into both hands before he lifted it over his head and brought it down with a mighty crash into the gap between the two towering doors. He swung again, this time the doors slightly giving way. Finally, he pulled his foot up and slammed his boot into the door, the doors jumping open, splinters flying everywhere. “We’re home, Princess Alva. After you,” he motioned for her to enter the palace.

  “Why thank you, Oystein,” she smiled at him, feeling the end of their journey finally in view. “We are indeed home, aren’t we?”

  “I wouldn’t celebrate so quickly,” a voice came from the balcony above the entryway. They both looked up to see a man dressed in white with a cape slung over his back, a saber hanging off of his right side, a sidearm on his left.

  “Are you our tour guide?” Oystein joked.

  “No, you fools,” he said. “I am Alistair Giger, the Prime Minister of the Andlios Republic and you are intruding.”

  “Okay,” Alva looked over to Oystein and laughed. “Thank you for informing us of that, now if you’ll kindly show us to your master.”

  “You think you are clever, don’t you?” He sneered at them, his gloved hands resting on the banister. “But you aren’t as clever as you believe you are, at least not more clever than I am. Emperor Freeman is too busy to deal with the likes of you.”

  “I’m sure he’ll enjoy it when we deliver your head as a centerpiece for him,” Oystein joked, although Alva understood that Oystein was likely to deliver on that promise.

  “Such brutes,” Giger said. “You think you’ll win the throne with such displays? This isn’t the Krigan warlord days anymore. The people are civilized now, they’ve learned under Cronus Freeman’s reign.”

  “They’ve learned fear,” Alva retorted. “They’ve learned about brutality and injustice.”

  “So you are here to change that, then?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Frankly, we don’t have time for this, Prime Minister Giger.” She motioned for Oystein to climb the right set of stairs while she set for the left, effectively surrounding Giger at the top of the stairs.

  “Aye, and you don’t seem to have any sort of backup, now do you?” Oystein was advancing on him, carefully clomping up the stairs in his massive boots, his pulseaxe gripped in both hands.

  “That’s not entirely true,” he sighed, turning to the door behind him and opening it, pulling a bound woman with a sack over her head roughly behind him. “I have her.”

  “And she is?” Alva asked, puzzled and amused.

  “You know her quite well, I think.” He pulled the hood off, tossing it off the balcony. The sack fell gracefully to the polished marble floors, landing in one of the pools of blood left by Alva and Oystein while Alva’s jaw dropped.

  “Trella?” She couldn’t believe her eyes. “Trella, is that you?”

  “Go ahead,” Giger pushed her. “Speak.”

  “Alva,” Trella’s voice sounded uneasy, with a cadence that Alva had never heard before. “It’s me.”

  “My gods,” she muttered. “I…what are you doing here, are you alright? Have they hurt you? By Freyja if you hurt her I will carve you up—”

  “She’s fine, Ms. Hedlund,” Giger was becoming more and more arrogant by the moment. “In fact, you three can walk out of here together, just lay down your arms.”

  “You know this Cymage?” Oystein grunted over to her.

  “Aye,” Alva said. “She was my only friend on Cyngen, she got me through some tough times.”

  “So this is Trella, then?”

  “That it is,” Alva said, keeping her eyes on Giger for any sudden movements.”Trella, my friend, we are going to get you out of this.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Alva,” Trella said. “You’ve come too far to throw this all away for me. Forget about me.”

  “What?” Alva looked on, incredulous. “Forget about you?”

  “Don’t be a fool, Ms. Hedlund.” Giger tightened his grip on Alva. “Step back, throw down your weapons, send your people home and I’ll personally arrange to have you all transported to wherever you like. You can live happily ever after, don’t you see? Just walk away. Just walk away.”

  “Trella, I’m so sorry,” Alva was fighting back tears. “If I had known, I would have come for you sooner, I…I…”

  “It’s okay, Alva, I came here in search of you. Trallex locked me away, flagged me as a danger to myself and to Cydoni
ans. I had to find you though, I had to try.”

  “Oh sweet Trella,” Alva kept advancing, slowly, to not set Giger off. “I don’t know what to say, I don’t—”

  “Stop right there!” Giger shouted, pulling his gun from its holster and pointing it at Oystein, then to Alva before resting it by Trella’s temple. “For fuck’s sake do you not hear what I’m saying? Am I invisible? I have the power here, not you!”

  “Oh fuck off already,” a voice came from down the hall, and Giger quickly spun with his gun, only for a shot to ring out and hit him in the hand. He cried out in pain, dropping the gun and loosening his grasp on Trella only for a man to dash toward him and tackle him to the ground, sending Trella reeling back.

  Alva rushed up the stairs, bounding up three steps at a time before she slid to cradle Trella’s head in her arms. Tears were flowing from her eyes freely now while she looked down at the masked face she had dreamt about every night since she left Cyngen. Trella pushed herself up to her elbows and looked over to the men struggling on the ground.

  “Jace?” Trella asked.

  “Who?” Alva asked her.

  “That is Jace Krios, he helped bring me here.”

  “In the flesh,” Jace was standing over Giger, looking back at Trella and Alva. “See, I’m not that bad of a shot, am I?”

  “You’ve improved,” Trella said.

  “This must be that Alva you’ve spoken about, huh?”

  “It is,” Trella nodded.

  “Well shit,” Jace scratched the back of his head with his gun. “Looks like it’s all converging now, isn’t it?”

  “I guess so,” Trella said, Alva helping her to her feet.

  “I’m just happy to be a part of the—shit!” Jace grasped at his side, looking down to see a chunk of his shirt missing and a gash in its place. Giger was on one knee, his saber in hand, seething with anger.

  “You little shit!” Giger snarled. “I’ll bring your head to Cronus if it's the last thing I do.” Giger sliced at Jace again, who jumped back, clumsily pulling his pulseaxe off his back. He brought it up just in time to block a jab from Giger, moving in and kicking Giger in the stomach, pushing him back.

  “Jace!” Trella shouted out.

  “I’ll be fine!” he shouted, parrying another blow with the hilt of his ax. He looked outmatched to Alva—Giger looked like a skilled duelist, even with his right hand out of the equation. “You all just go do what you are going to do!”

  “Let’s go, Alva,” Trella looked at her. “Jace can handle himself.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “He’ll be fine; we need to go.” She looked back at Jace, who was locked in close with Giger, headbutting him, who was completely unprepared for such an unseemly move. Trella couldn’t help but let out a giggle. “Jace!” she shouted over the clash and grunts. “Where’s Katrijn?”

  “She’s headed to the audience chamber right now with Loren, just go!” he grunted. “I’ve got this, okay?”

  “Let’s go,” Alva said, trusting Trella’s opinion, motioning for Oystein to follow.

  “You will do no such thing!” Giger gritted his teeth, looking back at Alva for a brief second, giving Jace an opportunity to land an elbow to his jaw, sending him reeling back.

  “Fuckin’ waste of flesh,” Oystein grunted, walking by the battle before pausing and taking a swing with his ax, it biting into the back of Giger’s knee. Giger shouted out in pain and dropped to his back, clutching at his knee with his right hand while desperately searching for his saber with his left.

  “Thanks,” Jace was battling for his breath. “I didn’t need it, though.”

  “I know,” Oystein shrugged. “I just don’t like this piece of shit.”

  “Oystein,” Alva called, amused but reminding herself that they had a larger battle ahead of them, plus the thought of Katrijn Freeman being there had unsettled her a bit. “We’ve gotta go, I think he can handle this.”

  “Aye, Princess,” Oystein grunted, spitting on Giger before turning and following in tow.

  Trella

  The clash of weapons between Jace and Giger filled the hall while her heart continued to flutter in her chest. She had finally found Alva, whose hand was tightly grasped in her own leading her down the hallway with a brute of a man next to them. It was Oystein, she knew that—she had heard tales of him many times, but it felt odd seeing him in the flesh like that. Everything was overloading her senses at the moment, to the point where she had to find a way to calm herself down.

  “Alright,” Alva stopped, kneeling down before Trella and pulling a small knife from her boot. “Let’s get these restraints off you and regroup for a second here.”

  “You knew that guy?” Oystein asked Trella while keeping his eyes scanning the hallway. There was a lack of guards due to the scene outside, but Trella had been in the throne room and knew how many guards were with Cronus.

  “Yes,” she said, feeling the restraints fall away. “He’s Jace Krios, captain of the Pequod. He helped to smuggle me, Prime Minister O’Neil, Katrijn Freeman and one of O’Neil’s operatives onto Krigar.”

  “You’ve been pretty busy, haven’t you?” Alva smiled at her, strands of her hair stained a deeper shade of red and sticking to the side of her face. “I always thought I’d have to blast back to Cyngen to get you.”

  “You were really going to come to get me?” Trella asked.

  “Of course I was.” She looked up at Trella, her eyes starting to mist over. “I thought about you every day, Trella, I—”

  Trella, with her newly freed hands, quickly wrapped her arms around Alva, almost sending them both crashing to the pristine marble floor. She could feel the range of emotions inside her running the gambit, but mostly feeling overwhelmed with how comfortable she felt about herself after feeling unsure for so long. Her mask was starting to quickly combat the condensation accumulating on her face but she didn’t seem to notice or care, she just didn’t want that moment to end.

  “I know,” Trella said.

  They stood there in an embrace for what felt like just an instant, but Trella’s internal sensors told her that it was a solid minute before Oystein cleared his throat, “While I’m not one to break up a reunion or anything…”

  “Right, sorry Oystein,” Alva pulled back, and Trella picked herself up and watched Alva lean on her pulseaxe to help her to her feet. “We have a mission, don’t we?”

  “Aye, that we do,” he grunted. “We still don’t know what we’ll be facing ahead of us and it’s been a long day as it is.”

  “I do,” Trella said.

  “Do you?” Oystein looked at her with his one eye, his haggard face showing his age even if his body was in deceptively good shape for his age.

  “Yes,” she said. “Giger had initially brought me to the audience chamber to present this plan of his to Cronus. I counted approximately 12 of Cronus’s elite guards. Four on him, two on each of the three doors and two in the hallway.”

  “We can handle that, can’t we?” Oystein looked at Alva.

  “Yeah, that is definitely something the three of us can handle,” she confirmed, looking back to Trella. “Although we need to get you a weapon.”

  “Oh,” she reached to her hip and pulled out Giger’s gun. “I snatched this after Jace shot Giger’s hand.”

  “Ha!” Oystein let out a deep laugh, slapping her on the back. “I like this one!”

  “I do too, Oystein, I do too,” Alva smiled warmly at Trella.

  “Now, which way is it again, anyway?” Oystein scratched his head. “I haven’t been in this blasted place in cycles.”

  “Follow me,” Alva pointed down the hall.

  They walked carefully down the hall, Alva taking up the center, Oystein on her right and Trella on her left, gun primed and her heart beating rapidly in her chest. She had augmentations that could control it, but something about it all made her feel so alive, so much more human than she had in her whole life. Oystein was about to round the c
orner at the end of the hall when Alva caught him, pulling him back against the wall. “If Trella is right, there should be two guards posted over there,” she whispered.

  “Aye, I forgot how close we were,” Oystein tried to whisper, his voice remaining gruff and somewhat loud. “What do we do now? I vote we blast ‘em.”

  “No,” Trella shook her head. She tucked the gun into her belt, her hood draped over it and covering it up. “Be ready on my signal.”

  “What’s the signal?” Oystein asked.

  “You’ll know,” Alva smiled.

  Trella took a deep breath and tripped out from around the bend, catching herself against the wall and catching the guards’ attention. “My gods,” she muttered.

  “You there!” the right guard shouted out.

  “It’s that Cymage from before,” the left one said, raising his rifle.

  “Yes, yes,” she said, breathless. “You must come quickly, they’ve attacked Prime Minister Giger, he was hurt and sent me to get help! You must come now.”

  “Fuck,” the one on the right looked to his companion. “Let’s go.”

  They dashed from their position, slipping slightly on the polished floor while they ran toward the corner. Trella focused and sent a low pulse around the corner, which she knew Alva would recognize. When the first one rounded the corner, she heard a yelp only for the second one to turn the corner and run right into Oystein. Oystein swung his ax in a brutish motion, it dancing in an arc and the blade slamming into the ribs of the guard, penetrating the armor and sending him spilling to the ground. Oystein quickly planted his boot on the guard’s jaw before pulling his ax out and slamming it down across his face, blood spraying out onto Oystein’s already stained face while he cackled. The other guard was hurt but was clawing his way around the corner, shouting out. Alva descended upon him with an overhead blow, bringing the ax down onto his shoulder that left him crying out. Trella quickly pulled the gun out and shot him in between the eyes.

  “I had that,” Alva said, slumping back onto her knees.

  “I know,” Trella said. “I just didn’t want anyone to hear him anymore.”