Lords of Kobol - Prelude: Of Gods and Titans

by Edward T. Yeatts III

ten-denar bill and said, "Thank you."

  XXII

  CRONUS

  148 Years Before the End

  "I told you!" he said. "They did it anyway!"

  Cronus was standing in a darkened room. The only light was golden and it emanated from the dozens of casks that surrounded him on the floor. Inside each was a spare body for one of them.

  "Three copies of us all," he said. He knocked on the glass and pointed back toward Hyperion. "There you are." He walked a few paces and saw another. "And again."

  "You're overreacting," Iapetus said.

  "I don't believe I am." He stopped, turned and rested his bottom against a case that held a duplicate of Phoebe. She raised her eyebrow at the unconscious gesture. "It's that memory restructuring fiasco all over again."

  "They told us this wouldn't happen," Rhea said. "Dr. Baraz said, just last month, they would not be making more copies of us."

  "I still don't see the issue," Iapetus said. "If something were to happen to us, our consciousness would be transferred to one of them." He looked at his colleagues and couldn't catch anyone's gaze. "It's a great gift. Why wouldn't we want it?"

  "You haven't heard them talking, have you?" Oceanus said.

  Theia nodded, "I did. Three days ago, Biv and Aemon were talking about more experiments. Narrowing down a … chromosome problem. Biv said they could take us apart and put us together again. Aemon laughed."

  Iapetus' eyes lowered. He inhaled deeply and said, softly, "Dr. Baraz has been good to us. She respects us. She talks to us like … we are people, too."

  Cronus shook his head. "Baraz is the one who keeps us on the tables. She's the one who gives the orders."

  A small woman slowly raised her hand. They turned toward her and Cronus smiled before giving her a nod. Mnemosyne spoke and said, "I don't mind being experimented on … not really." A few scoffed and shook their heads. Mnemosyne looked at Cronus. He didn't balk. He lifted his eyebrows and nodded again, urging her to continue. "We were created to help people. Dr. Hikka tells me all the time about new drugs or new procedures that they do now. We've helped thousands of people."

  Cronus lifted his head and said, "We have. And we can still help people … even if we're treated with respect and not lied to." He stood and walked again between the rows of bodies. "The money has started to flow. Baraz and Hikka aren't here like they used to be. We're left with the pokers and the prodders." Several of the Psilons nodded. "When they need a sample, stick." He slapped his arm. "They don't bother to ask."

  Iapetus and Mnemosyne were still. Judging by the puffed out chests of Rhea, Crius, Oceanus, Hyperion and Phoebe, he had more than a few supporters.

  Coeus spoke, saying, "They gave us these great minds, but they won't let us use them."

  Cronus smiled. "There is one fundamental flaw in their thinking." He stopped and turned. "One problem with their plans." No one spoke. After he looked at each person, he said, "They made us better."

  "They did."

  The group turned toward the entrance and saw Ouranos standing there. His hands were folded behind his back and he was looking at Cronus.

  "Father," he said. "Good of you to join us."

  Ouranos walked past the group and toward their leader. "What are you doing in here?"

  Cronus smiled and said, "Just examining our Psilon brothers and sisters. Our twins. Triplets."

  Ouranos stood a bit taller than the man and he lowered his head some. "And this surprises you?"

  "'Surprise,'" Cronus said, "may be a strong word."

  Ouranos nodded and glanced down into the golden liquid. "They made you better than themselves. You give them something to strive toward."

  Cronus smiled and said, "Yes."

  "But there's something you shouldn't forget."

  The Psilon's eyes narrowed and he asked, "What's that?"

  Ouranos leaned forward and said, "You're not alone." Then he grinned, turned and walked toward the door.

  Cronus began to follow him out. "You? You're old technology. First generation."

  Ouranos slowed and nodded a few times. He spoke over his shoulder and waved toward the canisters. "True. But don't think you can't be replaced." He then turned all the way around and braced himself against the door without pushing it open. "Or made obsolete." He leaned back and then exited.

  Cronus remained in the middle of the room, surrounded by his people.

  XXIII

  DONOVAN

  148 Years Before the End

  "I don't know how much longer I can hold on," Constance said.

  Ryall was leaning against the railing of the boat, watching the birds fly at the fish in the ocean. "Your son is ten now."

  "Yes," she said. She tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair and crossed her legs. "Julian Crispus Valerius." Donovan nodded. "He has been studying … extensively."

  "Good."

  "He will make a good Caesar."

  The doctor turned toward her and then sighed. "Faustus?"

  Now she sighed. "He holds on. His mind is nearly gone but he remains."

  Ryall turned and crossed his arms over his chest. "Five years to go. Still."

  She shook her head. "If he dies before we're ready, I am worried what Max may do."

  "The Caesar would feel an obligation to you. To his nephew." She nodded and Donovan continued. "You would stay on Arba, in all likelihood."

  "Just as well," she said. There was a long pause. They watched the waves and listened to the birds. Constance felt there was something else to be said. "And you?"

  Ryall lowered his head. "I have delayed progress as long as I can." He raised his hands and slowly pulled them apart. "I am torn between making this work and in satisfying my own curiosity. My knowledge."

  She quinted and shook her head. "There is no contest."

  "I know." He dropped his arms and said, "Still, by dawdling further I will draw the Caesar's eye, I know it. He is … his sight is far reaching now. His mind can go places no other can."

  "Why doesn't he help you then?"

  "He does. He has given me several ideas and plans. They worked, of course."

  Constance sipped from her water bottle. "Does he have a body?"

  "A robotic puppet. Better than before, but still. I've held off on minituarization for too long. I'm afraid he will grow suspicious."

  "And these prefects?"

  Donovan smiled. "They pay me to put their minds in a box. Like the Caesar's. That is no problem for me. It's a welcome distraction, though."

  She looked toward the sky and noticed the orange hue. The sun was about to set. "I'll need to leave shortly." Ryall nodded. "What about these people … the ones made in labs in Doria?"

  The doctor rolled his eyes. He bent over to grab the anchoring rope. He straightened up and looked at his small craft moored alongside Constance's boat. "A true nail in my foot. They give Caesar hope. I've managed to talk him away from there for a bit, but I don't know how much longer I can."

  "If they can grow bodies and move memories around … of course Max would want that."

  Donovan turned and shrugged. "Of course. I don't know what else to do. Hopefully they won't be making any more announcements for a while. The last thing I need is for his attention to be drawn toward them again."

  XXIV

  CAESAR

  148 Years Before the End

  It was nearly midnight. As he often had, Caesar spent the late evening in an idle mode, allowing his processors to cool while his cube sat undisturbed atop the marble stairs of his main throne room. As usual, his day was spent scouring all of Larsa. Looking for information. Gathering knowledge.

  In this state, Caesar let his mind wander. Frequently, he remembered times spent with his family decades ago. Hunting in the Gargano Forest with his brother and father. His recall was impeccable. Voices were precise and it seemed as though he were taken back in time wi
th the memory. But even this had its flaws. Because the memories were made with his original organic mind, there were gaps. Great swaths of the landscape were merely colored smears. Background noises were muffled and indistinct. There were leaps and spaces. He didn't remember what vehicle brought them to the forest, so in his recollection, they left the palace at Viminal Square and arrived instantly in Gargano. It didn't matter. The memory was still pleasing.

  He remembered vacationing on Arba with his wife, Mila. Mila. She was so beautiful. He was nearly fifty when she and their son were killed in that accident. In his mind, his processors began to reconstruct the crash scene and Caesar had to will it away.

  Caesar then forced himself to recall happier times. Parties after great battles. Well, only one great battle. Strand. An amphibious assault followed by weeks of jungle warfare against entrenched Atticans. It was hard won with thousands of Tiberian casualties. Hot, sweaty days. The smell of fire and gunpowder. He wasn't there for all of it, but he was there.

  A thick jungle leaf brushed his cheek. His boot squished into the mud and he grabbed a tribune's shoulder to pull himself free. He looked around and felt there. Smears of color dotted his surroundings where his memories couldn't provide details, but everything else seemed real. He moved ahead quickly and found himself in the command tent with an Attican officer on his knees. Caesar held a sword to the man's throat and smiled.

  "I hope I'm not waking you."

  The imperator's sensors stirred and looked toward the source of the voice. At the far side of the room, he saw Faustus Valerius. His brother.

  "I know it's late," he said as he stepped forward across the lush, dark red carpet. "I felt