Lords of Kobol - Prelude: Of Gods and Titans

by Edward T. Yeatts III

The dirty man rubbed his matted beard in faux thought. "A soldier? You were a soldier."

  Sado grinned a little. "What gave me away?"

  "You still look clean. I'll bet you've been in the street for a year, at least."

  Ahljaela said, "Almost two years."

  "Ah," the man slapped his leg. "See? If I see a beggar like you, clean like you, I know they're a soldier." He nudged Sado and added, "Or that they haven't been a beggar long."

  Another well-dressed man left the marble office building and the throng dove upon him. He lifted his arms and case above their hands and nearly ran to the street where he entered a waiting taxi.

  "Used to be, a person like you would have no fortune getting anything from their people."

  "Why is that?" Sado asked.

  "You don't look desperate enough." The old man smiled. "You're not dirty. Your hair is short and clean. Your clothes aren't so bad."

  "Are you saying I would have a better chance now?"

  The man shook his head. "No. Now, no one's got a chance. There's too many of you out here."

  Sado let his head fall back against the wall. "Damned Cyclops," he said. "The machines have pushed us out of the military."

  "Hmmm. A mistake if you ask me."

  Ahljaela nodded. "Outside of officers, the entire Tiberian military will be Cyclops in the next two years." He looked at the man and added, "Can you believe that?"

  "I can. Same's true in factories, you know." He sniffled and looked across the road. A young man in a suit was looking at a piece of paper and trying to nonchalantly examine the group of beggars who now nearly assaulted a businesswoman on the sidewalk. The old man slapped the side of Sado's leg. "There's something."

  Ahljaela watched the man nervously pace near his vehicle. He kept looking at the group and then turning back to his piece of paper. "Yes. Why is he nervous?"

  "He knows if he comes over here, he'll get mobbed."

  Sado began to stand up, "Let's go to him then."

  The old man smiled and reached his hand up. "Let's go." The younger man grabbed his hand and pulled him up. As they walked along the side of the store, Sado wiped his hand on his pants.

  The duo looked along the street. There was little traffic. They began to cross and the older man said, "Pretend like we're not even looking for him." Sado nodded and the pair moved toward the sidewalk between two parked cars. The suited man spotted them and walked over.

  "Excuse me," he said.

  Ahljaela and his partner stopped. They didn't say anything.

  "Do … either of you have any experience in machinery?"

  "I do," the old man said. "My daddy was a Cyclops." Sado slowly turned and looked at him, concerned. "One night, I seen him pull his face off and there he was. Robot man."

  The suited man took a step back and Ahljaela spoke up, "I served two tours in Saban, one tour in Eshnu. I worked on military vehicles off and on the whole time."

  The man grinned a little and nodded. "Alright. That sounds good. I've got some equipment that needs working on."

  "If you've got the tools, I've got the talent."

  "Let's go."

  Sado looked back at the old man who winked. Ahljaela nodded and understood. When he and the suited man reached the vehicle, Sado grabbed the passenger door handle. His new employer waved his hands, "No, no. In the back, please."

  Ahljaela looked in the rear of the truck and saw various buckets, toolboxes and more. There was a layer of leaves and dirt. As he climbed in, he realized he was cleaner than anything back there.

  He drove for twenty or so minutes before reaching a neighborhood with large estates. Sado got out when the truck stopped. "Grab that blue box there," the man said.

  Ahljaela complied and walked up the steep driveway behind the boss. They turned right into some tree cover and emerged next to a couple of old garages. Lawnmowers, saws and other items were laid out on the ground. A few had been partially taken apart.

  "Fix as many as you can. The guy who used to have my job … he just bought new things when the old ones broke down. No point in doing that if the old ones can be fixed, right?"

  Sado nodded and opened the toolbox. "Right." He studied the nearest grass trimmer for a moment and then looked up at the man, "Assuming I can get at least a couple of these working, how much can I make today?"

  The suited man tilted his head from side to side and said, "Two denars. Get them all working and I'll make it three."

  Sado's stomach sank and his throat tightened. What a waste of time. He looked across the array of tools and nodded. The man left and Ahljaela took the engine cover off the first lawnmower. Maybe tomorrow will work out better.

  The male Messenger remained nearby and watched the hope rise, fall, and then rise again in Sado. The being experienced it with him and thought, I see the allure of remaining with one line of people. Their perserverance is remarkable.

  LIII

  OURANOS

  125 Years Before the End

  Ouranos stared at the blank computer screen. His waiting reflection disgusted him.

  His hair was mostly gray. His cheeks were becoming puffy. The lines under and around his eye became valleys unto themselves. Ouranos, the original Psilon, was getting old.

  When the report finally filled the monitor, he blinked slowly and leaned away. He squinted and read aloud the number at the bottom of the chart. "Three hundred sixty thousand?"

  Out of more than six hundred thousand Cyclops in the Caesar's army, that's the number that developed the files Ouranos had been searching for and deleting for years.

  "Is that the month's total from the legions?" Donovan asked.

  "Yes." Ouranos shook his head and sighed. "I haven't scanned private Cyclops yet."

  Donovan slowly stood and ambled across the laboratory floor. Ouranos looked at him as he approached. At least I haven't aged that badly. "You know it will be nearly that much."

  "Yes."

  "There's almost as many manufacturing and … civilian Cyclops as there are soldiers." Donovan leaned against the edge of the workstation. "Have you told anyone else?"

  Ouranos leaned back in his chair and muttered, "No."

  Ryall shook his head. "I'm telling you, we have to."

  "No."

  "It's been six years since you figured out what's happening. You have to tell someone."

  Ouranos turned toward him slowly. "Why?"

  Donovan laughingly scoffed. "It could change everything."

  "Not as long as I keep doing this," he said as he pressed "delete."

  Ryall shook his head and walked back toward his own workstation. Just before he sat down, his computer beeped. "Hey … Hey!"

  Ouranos spun around quickly. "It did it? It sequenced?"

  "Yes!" Donovan jumped up and said, "One hundred percent. The whole thing!"

  Ouranos stood and darted across the room. He stood behind Ryall's chair and looked at the screens. Everything seemed in order. "I can't believe it. It worked."

  Donovan leaned forward and laid his face in his hands. "All this time. It's over. It's really over."

  Ouranos felt a nagging doubt. He breathed through his nose hard and said, "Run it a second time."

  Ryall looked over his shoulder, "Why?"

  "We need to be sure."

  Donovan was about to protest but he lowered his head and said, "You're right." He typed on his panel as Ouranos went back to his chair. Several minutes later, Ryall said, "Six hours."

  And they waited.

  Five hours later, there was a different beep. It was the door.

  Ouranos was startled from his sleep and glanced back toward Donovan. The old man was asleep in his chair, his head thrown back and his mouth open toward the sky. The door beeped again and Ouranos went to it. He pressed a button and it slid open.

  "Hello, father," Cronus said.

  Ouranos' eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up.
"What are you doing here?"

  Cronus chuckled. "We haven't seen each other in more than a decade and that's how you greet me?"

  Ouranos blinked a couple of times and said, "You're right. I'm sorry. Come in."

  Cronus nodded and walked into the lab. He scanned all of the empty workstations and settled his eyes on the still-sleeping form of Donovan. "Keeping busy down here, eh?"

  Ouranos nodded. "Yes." He looked at the younger Psilon and noticed he was still wearing his military uniform. "What brings you to Tiber?"

  Cronus walked slowly toward Donovan. "Your work, of course."

  The old doctor began to stir. He looked up and saw the approaching Titan. "Cronus?"

  "Praetor Cronus …" he corrected.

  Ryall straightened in his chair and said, "Yes. Still in Alabor?"

  Ouranos watched his "son" as he clenched his jaw and said, "Yes."

  "What about our work drew your attention?"

  Cronus smiled toward Ouranos and said, "Well, I know that ever since we Titans regained the ability to duplicate ourselves a few years ago, you two have been working on a way to translate that process over to anyone else. The Caesar, yourselves …"

  A tingling warmth flushed over Ouranos' body. Something's not right. "And you know something."

  Cronus maneuvered behind Donovan and looked at the doctor's screen. "I know that, several hours ago, you successfully sequenced yourself for duplication." Ryall seemed confused and looked toward the stone-faced Ouranos. The elder Psilon gave nothing away. "I know you've already successfully scanned your mind for such a purpose but it was the … organic component that escaped you."

  "How do you know we solved it?" Donovan asked quietly.

  Without taking his eyes off Ouranos, he said, "I installed a watchman on your system a long time ago."

  Ryall