Lords of Kobol - Prelude: Of Gods and Titans

by Edward T. Yeatts III

looked at Ouranos but couldn't get a read on his expression. He stared up at Cronus and asked, "Why?"

  "I had to be sure I could stop you."

  Ouranos felt the hairs on his neck and arms stand up. Donovan looked away from Cronus and as he did, Ouranos sprinted. Cronus removed a pistol from his jacket and fired once. The bullet struck Ouranos in the groin and he ran forward into a workstation divider before falling back onto the floor, grabbing his crotch and moaning.

  "Sorry about that," Cronus said. "I was aiming for your leg."

  Ryall began to roll his chair away from Cronus as he asked, "Why are you doing this?"

  Using his gun, Cronus motioned for Donovan to keep rolling away. He complied and Cronus began typing on the panel. "I've been in virtual exile for fifteen years. The Caesar won't have me back." The computer screen asked him to confirm the cancelation of the sequencing program. As he touched keys, he continued, "I knew that you two would continue on the Life Extension Project, even though most of the Psilons have moved on to become praetors or do something else."

  Ouranos slammed his hand on the desktop and tried to stand up. The pain became excrutiating and he collapsed against another nearby desk. Cronus shook his head and kept working.

  "It's petty, I know," Cronus said. "But I can't let Caesar have what he wants as long as I'm stuck where I am." He pressed a few more buttons and then stood up straight. "We Psilons might outlive our usefulness if he can live forever."

  Cronus stared at Ouranos and waited for a reaction. None came. Donovan, however, rolled forward a little and asked, "What are you going to do with us?"

  Ouranos winced. Partly from the pain; partly from the knowledge of what the answer would be.

  Cronus backed up and placed the barrel of his gun against Donovan's temple, pushing it forward and forcing Ryall's head to turn and face Ouranos. "Sorry." He pulled the trigger. The opposing side of the doctor's head departed, leaving a trail of red mist and pink-grey bits to fall to the floor. Ouranos turned away and grabbed his own wound more tightly.

  Cronus pulled a small box from his waist and pressed a button, "Centurion?"

  He waited and then the speaker crackled, "Yes, praetor."

  "Stand by for departure."

  "Yes, dominus."

  Cronus replaced the communicator on his waist and then tucked the weapon into his armpit. He pulled a pair of gloves from his pockets. After sliding into them, he held the gun with two fingers and ran a cloth over its surfaces. Ouranos straightened up again and sighed.

  "Nothing to say?" Cronus asked. He then pulled Donovan's chair toward him and clear of the desk. He wrapped the dead man's hand around the grip and placed a limp finger against the trigger.

  Ouranos sighed again and shuddered. "No. You're too far gone. Alabor, Caesar … the scientists at BBM. They've frakked you up." Cronus smiled and aimed the weapon at Ouranos. The bleeding man said, "Remember all those years ago in the lab, when you found the copies of yourselves?"

  Cronus narrowed his eyes for a moment and thought. "Yes."

  "You said, 'They made us better,' and I agreed with you."

  "Right."

  Ouranos licked his lips and slid a little down the front of the desk. "I was wrong."

  Cronus was expressionless and then he smiled. He lifted Donovan's arm and squeezed the finger. The bullet struck Ouranos' chest. He gasped for air and slumped to one side. Cronus aimed again as best he could, and fired. The next bullet hit Ouranos' face, just under his eye. He gurgled and twitched for a second and then went still.

  LIV

  ZEUS

  120 Years Before the End

  Zeus wrapped the fabric around his upper arms. The air around him was sucked toward the open window more forcefully now. He squinted and tried to see through the blowing sand, but he couldn't.

  "I wondered where you were," Hera said. He looked toward her and then quickly in either direction down the hall. She rolled her eyes. "There's no one around."

  Zeus smiled briefly and then pulled her to him. He gripped the free portion of her wrap tightly and squeezed. She gasped and parted her mouth just before he hovered above it with his own. After they kissed, he released her and looked out the window again. The wind in the storm subsided somewhat. In the distance, the gleaming white, three-sided pyramid, Nahaten's Tomb, stood. The ancient monument to Badar's greatest fayrakh loomed over Fardan, the exiled Psilons' home for most of their childhoods.

  She stood next to him. "Dr. Onesi knows."

  Zeus inhaled sharply and shook his head. "Did you tell her?"

  Hera glared toward him. "No. Of course not." She turned her shoulder to Zeus and peered around the corner of the window. "She saw us two days ago. In the gardens."

  "Frak." Zeus rubbed his temples and shook his head again. "We have to be more careful."

  "Illogical," she said. "We are adults. We can decide how we live."

  Zeus didn't respond. They've had this discussion too many times already for his tastes. "How was Karin today?"

  Hera paused and thought. "The same. Why?"

  Zeus looked down and kicked his foot a little. "We talked yesterday. I couldn't tell how she felt."

  She moved closer and put her hand on his arm, "You told her?"

  "I tried," he began, "but I didn't quite get the words out."

  Hera stroked his arm and looked at the sandstorm again. "There'll be more chances."

  Someone behind them cleared their throat.

  Zeus turned and saw Karin Baraz slowly unwind a portion of the wrap from her head and neck. Hera backed away quickly, bowed toward Baraz and walked away from the window and down the hall. Karin stood still and watched Zeus. The young man did nothing. Then, he slowly lifted his chin.

  Baraz grinned and walked toward him. "There are fewer who don't know than do. Do you know where I stand?"

  "I can guess."

  "She is your sister."

  Zeus tilted his head, "Genetically. We had different parents."

  "But the same parents, too, in a way." Karin shook her head and glanced toward the sandstorm before stepping next to Zeus. "What if you have children?"

  "We are surrounded by scientists," he held his arms out, "and if there are problems, we can correct them in the womb."

  Baraz nodded and looked at Zeus' hair. It was nearly half gray now. She smiled and used her forefinger to push a few strands of silver from his forehead. "Genetics are unpredictable."

  He smiled, too. "They are. Looking at Cronus and Rhea, you wouldn't guess that one of their children would be completely gray by the time he's thirty."

  "No, I would think you'll be gray well before then."

  Zeus took Karin's hand from his hair and held it. His thumb ran over her knuckle and he saw how wrinkled it was. "I love her."

  She patted the top of his hand and said, "I know. I advise against it but," she shook her head, "I don't want our second chance to be marred by me telling you what to do."

  Zeus inhaled sharply and walked to the window. He put his hands on the ledge and looked into the reddish-orange haze. "And yet …"

  Baraz lowered her head. "'And yet,' what?"

  He looked toward her without looking at her, "We are here. We take classes. We are forced to … study, continuously. To find fields wherein we may contribute." She moved toward the window and he continued, "I and a few others are tired. We want to pursue the things that interest us. Not the things you tell us to pursue."

  Karin nodded. "What do you remember of the days before the end in Doria?"

  Zeus thought and then shook his head. "I remember playing with Poseidon. I remember the day Hades was brought home."

  Baraz smiled at the memory and said, "Your parents, everyone's parents, were working toward a better world. They worked in medicine, botany, energy, computers, everything. They looked at the news and they saw their mirror selves, the Titans, and they were ashamed." She patted Zeus' h
and again, "They wanted to set themselves apart. They didn't want to be seen as the Caesar's puppets."

  Zeus nodded. "But, we don't have mirror selves." Karin looked into Zeus' brilliant blue eyes and he continued, "We are already different."

  "You are," Baraz said. "The outside world, though, the world wearied by wars with Tiberia and Titans, may not agree."

  She looked out the window and Zeus watched her stare. He didn't answer her. Her last statement was something he had not considered.

  LV

  AHLJAELA

  117 Years Before the End

  "The Caesar will hear us!" the man shouted. The heavy paper megaphone was unwieldy but it got his voice over the din of the crowd. "We are the workers of Tiberia! We have lost our homes! We are hungry! We are hungry for food and for work!"

  The crowd roared and Sado Ahljaela smiled. He clapped his hands above his head and looked around. Today's rally brought out several hundred. Not as many as yesterday's, but that was to be expected.

  "Machine-men fight in our wars. They work in our factories and on our farms. They have our jobs! We want them back!"

  Ahljaela cheered.

  "Have you heard the latest news?"

  A few in the crowd answered back, "No."

  "Tiberia's unemployment rate." Many in the audience groaned. "Up again to twenty-six percent." Sado shook his head but most in the group voiced their displeasure out loud. The leader waved his hand, "That's not the end of it! That's not the end! We're hearing about more factories switching over to Cyclops exclusively! Is Tiberia for the people?" He waited for an answer and didn't get one. "It's supposed to be, but it's not! It's not right now!"

  Sado nodded and he heard a murmuring in the crowd. He looked behind himself and saw people begin to part and run away. "They're here!" someone yelled.

  The leader screamed from the platform but Ahljaela was trying to leave. He looked back and saw a group of about twenty silver Cyclops with blue coverings moving through the crowd. Some people were hit with batons; others were struck by stunsticks. Three of the machines leapt toward the stage and caught the speaker. He didn't resist but he did scream when his arm was broken in an attempt to cuff him.

  Thirty minutes later, Sado entered a park nearest the river. He walked through several play areas and then made his way under a pedestrian bridge. An old woman forcefully poked her head out from under a blanket-tent. She recognized him and smiled.

  "Good day," Ahljaela said. The woman nodded and retreated back into her shelter.

  He walked between a pair of concrete supports and crouched to get under a wayward shrub branch. Within that large bush was arrayed his possessions, his bedroll, and his wife.

  "You're back sooner than I expected," Gasta said.

  Sado nodded and crawled onto his blanket. "Police broke it up again."

  She shook her head. "I guess that's just the way it will be from now on."

  Ahljaela laid on his back and stared up at his plastic ceiling. Beyond it, he could see several limbs and a small squirrel, sitting and eating an acorn. He sighed and felt a pit in his stomach grow. Even if he had food, he wouldn't have wanted to eat.

  "Ooh," Gasta said. "Feel."

  Sado rolled over and put his hand on her belly. It was very small but he could feel the baby kick. He smiled at her and then kissed her hand. "I can't let our baby be born here. We'll think of something."

  "I know," she said. She leaned down and kissed his cheek.

  LVI

  CYCLOPS

  116 Years Before the End

  The human centurion lowered himself from the rocks and looked down at what remained of his century. In the last four days, he had lost a third of his soldiers to the combined forces of the Pact of Nations.

  "Alright," he said. "They still have their big guns, the big twenty calibers. They only have the two, though." He held his hands up to simulate their positions. "They're on the wall here. You'll see them easily enough. They have shielding, too, so it'll take a direct hit through the vent or a well-timed grenade."

  A subtribune asked, "What about air support?"

  "Tied up to the south." He looked back to his fifty-odd machine-men and said, "I saw the uniforms of Thorians and Atticans up there with the Tyrians. They are all well-trained and well-equipped infantries. They have their twenties, they have their RPGs, but you are better than any of them." The centurion didn't think the Cyclops could feel pumped up by his speech, but he was saying it for his own and his human attendants' benefits, too. "We have been ordered to take out the emplacement and hold it until the Fifteenth Legion arrives tomorrow night. Until then, we will be the only century in northern Tyria. Is that understood?"

  All of the Cyclops nodded their heads quickly and said, "As you command."

  One unit watched its commander walk past and toward the gap in the rocks. It looked at its companions as they readied their weapons. The unit decided that it, too, should make ready.

  "Launchers?"

  Four Cyclops moved forward and dropped a large canister into the barrels of their weapons. They aimed them skyward and fired when the centurion said to.

  The unit's left arm twitched. It looked down and then it held its arm out. Its hand shook. The unit was confused, but it quickly ran a self-diagnostic. There was no damage. It gripped the barrel of its automatic rifle and that steadied the tremor.

  "Smoke's up," the subtribune said while looking through a scope.

  The centurion heard distant yells and then inhaled deeply. "Cyclops, move!"

  Suddenly, the air was rent by the noise of dozens of running machines. Once in the open field, they spread out and the enemy fired upon them.

  The unit scanned through the smoke and saw the wall with its turrets. Humans were assembling along its length and preparing larger weapons. It lifted its weapon and aimed, squeezing the trigger. Its bullets missed. It fired again and hit the wall. It decided to stop running and crouch. Being more steady, it took aim again and fired. The bullets found their marks and two humans fell.

  From the turrets, the loud thrums of the Thorians' twenty-caliber machine guns drowned out almost every sound, save for the occasional grenade explosion. Through the smoke, the unit could see the muzzle flash from the huge barrel as it fired. The flash came toward it.

  A running Cyclops barely three meters away was chewed by the projectiles. Six, seven, eight, nine times it was hit. The sound of the bullets clanging against its armor was as loud as the firing of them.

  The unit went to its comrade and examined it. Four of the impacts were on its chestplate and were embedded deep in the gold metal. Two found their way into the neck machinery. The comparatively lighter and less protective metal was splayed wide open and severed wires dangled from the wound. Another impact cracked the protective glass of its sensor ring. The blue eye no longer swept. Its arm twitched and the unit backed away, unsure if it still functioned or if it was a side effect of being deactivated.

  The thrums of the twenties erupted again. A Cyclops nearby launched a grenade toward the wall and was immediately hit by two rounds. This startled the unit and it turned to face the emplacement.

  It started to run. It took aim again and fired at humans along the wall. It had now reached the halfway mark of the open field. It fired again. A human fell back, struck by its bullets. As it aimed at another distant group, the twenty on the right found it.

  The first round hit its chest and made a loud, metallic thunk. The second grazed its hip and pushed a small panel of metal ajar. The unit then fell to the ground.

  Why did it fall? It lay on the grass, staring into the sky while it considered the question. Why did I fall? Is it because I have seen others fall when they are struck? Then it thought a simple, short word over and over again. I.

  A grenade exploded nearby and it turned to look at the smoldering crater.

  Why do I remain on the ground? Its d
iagnostics were finished. The damage was superficial.

  Its fingers brushed along its chest until it found the dent made by the bullet. It dug into the pit and felt the projectile still there. It held it up against the smoky sky and turned it over and over. Squashed as it was, the round was huge. The base of the cracked bullet was the same diameter as one of the unit's fingers.

  I am uninjured. I should rejoin the battle. Its right arm probed the grass for the rifle. Its fingertips found the handle and it pulled it toward itself. With a jerk, it sat upright and scanned the field. Eleven other Cyclops had been hit by the twenty-caliber machine guns and were lying motionless. Some units were at the base of the wall already and were lobbing grenades toward the turrets.

  It stood and began to run. As it did, it ran to the right, the side nearest the rocky outcroppings of the Baetican Mountains' foothills. It studied the rocks and how the wall was placed along them. It didn't fire as it ran.

  Once it got within ten meters of the wall, the sound of the firing twenties seemed like explosions unto themselves. The humans were trying to aim the barrels down to the wall, firing into the Cyclops clamoring up the bricks. None made it more than halfway up.

  The unit ignored them and leapt onto the rocks. A grenade bounced off the machine gun nest's protective shield and landed under the unit. When it exploded, shrapnel and rock peppered its legs and back. The unit paused for a moment and then jumped to a small rock ledge by the wall.

  The centurion couldn't have seen it from the opposite side of the field, but the wall was vulnerable here. The unit began to fire down at humans as they ran ammunition to soldiers along the fortification. A few Cyclops down below saw what was happening and began to climb the rocks, too.

  The unit jumped some eight meters from the rocks and landed in the pathway behind the stone wall. The wall was ancient, protecting a small region in the foothills for centuries, and these modern weapons were new to it. The unit lowered a metal bar across a door, preventing more soldiers from exiting a supply room within the rocks. It then turned toward the wall itself. The path was jagged to prevent explosive force and debris from reverberating along its length. It crouched low and began to stalk.

  When a human appeared, it fired. Three Thorians fell and it turned a corner where it saw several Atticans. It pulled a grenade from its waist and threw it down the walkway. The noise of the large machine guns concealed both the Cyclops' advance and the clanking sound of the canister as it rolled and skipped across stone. It exploded, throwing two men over the wall and forcing the rest to fall. When they moved, the Cyclops fired.

  After another bend in the walkway, the unit found itself at the protective door to the twenties' turret. The four men inside were still firing down on the field and along the wall. The unit jammed a grenade into the locked door handle and pulled the pin. It leapt back to the bend in the path and saw three Cyclops crouched there, waiting. When the grenade detonated, the door blew open.

  The four Cyclops stood and ran to the turret room. One man was slumped over and two were holding their heads. The fourth was