Lords of Kobol - Prelude: Of Gods and Titans

by Edward T. Yeatts III

firmly, "We have … to take … that bend … and move on to Pausa!"

  "Given their weaponry and given the state of our centuries, this is impossible, commander."

  The commander pushed the centurion as it released its armor. He kicked a rock into the river and looked at the Cyclops units waiting nearby. They were all watching. The commander was breathing heavily and he said, "About face!" The units complied.

  The praefect tried to speak but the commander shushed him. "Centurions," he said, looking toward the other black Cyclops for the first time, "reform your lines and prepare to go again."

  The first centurion interrupted, "Commander, …"

  "You're going to go again! You're going to run! You're going to destroy those nests!"

  The second centurion finally spoke, "We will not survive, commander."

  After being so angry, the commander surprised the Cyclops by smiling. "I'd rather you die than fail me again."

  The first centurion looked to its comrade. Neither said or transmitted anything. Instead, the Cyclops raised its rifle and fired one round into the commander's head. The humans gasped and stepped back. The second centurion moved away, too. With three more shots, no humans were left in command.

  The golden Cyclops had turned to watch despite the commander's orders. The centurion returned the rifle to its side as its counterpart looked at it, then at the soldiers, and back again. "What should we do?"

  "We leave."

  LXI

  CAESAR

  108 Years Before the End

  The emperor leaned back from the table and stared at the ceiling. I haven't been as connected to the Matrix as I once was, he thought. Could I have prevented this?

  "I am, currently, uncertain of the whereabouts of these rogue units, imperator," Legate Sivius said. "Their locators are disengaged and comm channels are down."

  "Sixty-eight cohorts," a general repeated.

  The Matrix slows me down, the Caesar thought. It works best when I'm in the box … not in this body. This … Cyclops body.

  "Legates, consuls," the emperor said, softly, "is there any reason to think that the Cyclops bodies utilized by many of our citizens could likewise be corrupted?"

  From the periphery, Prefect Gallian exclaimed, "Great Saturn!"

  Technology Consul Fabia said, "No, dominus." She glanced toward the prefects as they chatted among themselves and then back at Caesar. "The Cyclops bodies are just that. The … behavior exhibited by these soldiers is in their programming. In these bodies, the programming is your own. From your organic bodies before they died."

  "Is there no remote control for them?" a general asked.

  "Negative," Legate Sivius asked. "There were rudimentary controls but those were severed when they developed minds of their own."

  Maxentius closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift into the Matrix. He found the Cyclops data transmissions … standard orders and the like. He was reading the transmissions of obedient machines. He dug deeper and deeper. He found empty channels but channels that shouldn't be there. Perhaps if he kept an eye on them, new information would be known …

  "My lord," Sivius began, "we have over two million Cyclops units throughout the Empire that have not yet gone rogue, many of them in storage. There are three million civilian Cyclops in Tiberia alone performing various labors, including police and fire brigades."

  Caesar blinked and then nodded. "I know what you're asking, Legate. I simply don't believe we can afford to …" His attention was drawn back to the Matrix. Those empty channels … a signal was sent; no, it was broadcast. He tried to recover it, just to see what it included. As he dug deeper, the legate's computer panel beeped.

  "My God," he muttered. "Imperator, I've just received word of two more cohorts of Cyclops abandoning command in Ordoga." It beeped again. "Three centuries in northern Thoria." It beeped again. "One cohort in Ghassan." Sivius lowered the glass as it continued to signal him. "Emperor, I …" he held his hands up and shook his head. "I simply don't know."

  "It's expanding exponentially," Prefect Etne said. She crossed the room and approached the large map on the wall. After pressing a few buttons, red dots appeared throughout the Empire's new territories and then vanished. "If we look at them in order of defection," she said. Two dots appeared in Doria. One in Tyria. One in Ordoga. Two in Thoria. Three in Tyria.

  "It's like a virus," Sivius said. "If it's a virus, we can purge it from their systems."

  Caesar saw the data as it was sent in those dark channels. He knew it was no virus. "No, Legate. This is something far different."

  "Indeed," War Consul Iapetus said as he entered the room. "Prefect, if you will?" The woman stepped aside and the Titan inserted a device into a marble brick.

  The map vanished and a scene from the Getulian Desert appeared. From within a tent, a human narrated the video. "Our Cyclops just turned on the commander and tribunes." The camera was forced under the canvas and showed two golden and three black-armored Cyclops standing in close proximity. They said nothing, however, they occasionally gestured to punctuate their thoughts to each other.

  "I think they're talking through their comms systems," the person said. As he did, one of the Cyclops spotted the camera. Shortly thereafter, the others turned toward it, too. Two of them darted toward the tent. "Oh shit!" the man pulled the camera back and frantically pressed buttons on the side before the transmission ended.

  Iapetus pressed a button and the wall displayed the map again. "That video was received by my office just minutes ago. The Cyclops are communicating, planning, scheming. It is a … mutiny. Mass desertion."

  Caesar straightened in his chair and waved the consul over. "Beyond that, I believe the Cyclops now may add 'individuality' to their list of features."

  Some of the advisers seemed confused. Etne and a few others understood the implications and lowered their heads.

  "This is not a virus but it may spread like one." The emperor stood and nodded at Sivius, "My northern magister is occupied in Thoria and Ordoga. My southern magister is occupied in Doria. I will name you as my homeland magister."

  Sivius' chest swelled and he said, "Thank you, lord."

  "You are to sweep all Cyclops, military and civilian, from Tiberia."

  "Of course, imperator."

  "Then, our territories. Advise the praetors as soon as possible so they can make plans."

  "Yes, dominus."

  Caesar made a fist and placed it on the tabletop. "Get the Titans' help if you can. They may have a solution."

  Sivius nodded and stood. "I will move immediately."

  Prefects Curus and Etne stepped forward when Sivius left. "A concern, Caesar."

  Maxentius nodded and sighed. "Speak."

  Etne lowered her head and then looked up at the emperor. "With millions of Cyclops no longer in use, it will … tax our resources. Unemployment remains high, but many of them have not held a position in decades."

  Caesar nodded and slumped into his chair. "Yes. I see."

  Curus spoke next. "And the legions, lord. There are human commanders but we will need hundreds of thousands, if not millions, to destroy the uncorrupted Cyclops and then fight those that have turned."

  "Thank you, prefect."

  "And they will be novices, too, …"

  Caesar looked up sharply, "Thank you."

  Both Curus and Etne bowed and backed away.

  The imperator turned to look at the sunlight outside his balcony doors. "Dominus," Iapetus began, "what of the war efforts in north and south Isinnia?"

  Caesar closed his eyes. His mind flooded with data, information, maps, calculations … he turned off his connection to the Matrix and simply basked in the black silence for a moment.

  "Pull all forces back to the Baetican Line. Hold Ordoga. Abandon all gains in Thoria, Doria, Tyria, Tervinn, and Ghassan."

  Iapetus placed his hand over his heart and bowed. "Yes, Caesar."


  As the Titan left, Maxentius stood and looked across the bowed heads at the table. He made a fist and felt the metal within strain. When he didn't think he could hold it any longer, he brought it down and smashed a large chunk of marble from the table.

  LXII

  THE MESSENGERS

  107 Years Before the End

  Centurion Sado Ahljaela was not a young man. He had been drafted like millions of others by the Caesar. His experience immediately got him a rank.

  "Stay low," he whispered. He looked through a crack of the wall and across the street. The broken buildings were all he could see. There was no movement.

  "Centurion," a soldier said as he tapped Sado's shoulder. "Tribune's looking for you."

  Ahljaela nodded and stood. His knee cracked and he winced. After a deep breath and a tug on the front of his armor, he walked to the hallway of this abandoned apartment building. He passed the cohort's quartermaster and said, "We need more grenades, if you can spare them."

  "I'll try," she said.

  Sado turned the corner and saw the tribune reading a report while sitting on a debris-laden bed. He saluted, "Centurion Primus Sado Ahljaela reporting."

  The tribune nodded and pointed to another bed. "Sit." As the centurion complied, the younger tribune looked up from his computer panel and pulled the collar of his dark armor. "How long did you serve? Before, I mean."

  Sado nodded and said, "Four years, altogether. Three tours in northeastern Isinnia."

  "Did you ever work with the clankers?"

  "I did." He laid the rifle across the tops of his legs as he spoke, "I found them to be useful tools. Until they put me out of work."

  The tribune smiled nervously and said, "They put my father and me out of work, too. A factory in Brixia." Ahljaela nodded. "Something smart about drafting the unemployed to fight the Cyclops. We're motivated."

  "Indeed."

  The tribune handed the computer slate to Sado and said, "That's the town. We're on the western side and we're one of three cohorts ordered to hold the town while the rest of our forces withdraw to Assuria." The centurion nodded. "There's a Cyclops unit of unknown size four clicks away. Our commander …" the tribune ran his gloved fingers through his dark hair and shook his head, "how should I put this? Our commander … wants to take as many of them out as possible."

  Sado scoffed. "Only half my men have the new twenty-cal rifles. Do we have any thirty-threes from Thoria?"

  "Not here."

  "Then I don't see how."

  The tribune leaned back across the bed and thunked his head on the wall. "I was promised air support after the primary column was out of the danger zone."

  "And when will that be?"

  The tribune looked at his watch. "Almost an hour ago now." Sado shook his head. "I'm open to suggestions."

  The centurion looked at the computer panel again, pointed at a building, and handed it back to the tribune. "This structure here … it's on the edge of town and it's damaged."

  "Right."

  "If we put explosives in the right places, we can blow it so that it falls and blocks the main road." The tribune sat up. "Or blow it so it falls right on top of the Cyclops."

  The younger man took in a deep breath and smiled. "Make it happen."

  "Yes, sir." Sado stood and left the room. Ten minutes later, he was carrying a satchel of plastic explosives into the lobby of a damaged office building.

  "These columns here," a soldier said. He volunteered because he was once an engineer. "Every one of them."

  "What about the rear of the building?"

  "We want it to collapse into the street," he said, "so we take away support from the side closest to the street."

  "Go." Ahljaela handed the satchel to another soldier before he went to the cracked windows of the entrance. The road leading to the main street was elevated and a crest in the road blocked their view. He stationed a scout in a different building to keep an eye out.

  "That's good. Go to the next," the engineer said.

  Sado propped his rifle on the side of a flower bed and looked around. The small vehicle path in front of the building was full of bricks and glass shards. No one had lived here since the first Tiberian push into Tyria years ago.

  "Clankers coming! Clankers coming!" his radio screamed.

  They were four clicks away a few minutes ago, he thought. "Are you sure? Where?"

  "They're running up the main road now!"

  After a burst of static from the box, Sado signaled, "Fall back to your unit." He stood and ran into the lobby. "They're coming! Move now!"

  The engineer stopped in his tracks and looked at the devices taped to the columns. "Almost done."

  "Hurry." Several soldiers ran to the centurion and waited for orders. "Ready your weapons. If we have to, we'll hold them off as best as we can until we can blow this up."

  "Yes, sir."

  Ahljaela returned to the brick flower bed and six soldiers took up positions on both sides of the street. In the distance, he could hear the sound of machines coming.

  "Five minutes, centurion," the engineer said.

  Sado shook his head, "You might not have that long."

  "There they are!" a soldier yelled.

  "Quiet!" the centurion said in a hushed bark. "Wait …" There were several black-armored Cyclops up front. They moved to flanking positions on either side of the road as their louder, shinier comrades followed.

  Sado tapped the shoulder of a grenadier and pointed to an abandoned car, parked on the side of the road near the machines' position. The soldier nodded, aimed, and then fired.

  When it exploded, the Cyclops scattered. Some raised their weapons and fired blindly into the smoke and flame. Others knelt and looked around for the source of attack. Many of the soldiers on the approaching road stopped their advance. Their behavior struck the centurion as odd, but he didn't know what to make of it.

  "Ready," the engineer said as he crouched and ran from the lobby. He handed a makeshift detonator to Sado, who then looked along its wires back into the building.

  His heart sank. "It's not a remote?" he asked.

  The engineer shook his head. "That's all the QM had."

  "How long are the wires?"

  "A hundred meters, max."

  The centurion leaned his head forward and banged it on the brick twice. When he sat up again, he blinked and said, "Here's the plan. Fire at another parked car and make a run for the apartments."

  "What about you?" the grenadier asked.

  "I'm going to push the button and run like hell." The engineer nodded and Sado pointed across the street, "Go tell them."

  The man seemed surprised and he looked toward the Cyclops, who were still warily and slowly moving toward them. "Yes, sir."

  As soon as he ran, he tapped the grenadier on the helmet. He brought his launcher up and fired at another car. When it exploded, all of the soldiers began to fall back.

  The ones across the street shot first at the Cyclops. Ahljaela could hear the engineer yelling the orders to them as they moved away. The grenadier fired another round, this time into the nearest clutch of black Cyclops. One was hit directly and two others were knocked back.

  Sado stood and ran backward as he kept an eye on the wire. Can't go too fast or too far. Might pull the wires out. When he reached the limit, he looked to the lobby and then up the front of the twenty-storey building. "That's not a hundred meters."

  He held the bomb trigger against the handle of his rifle as he lifted it to his shoulder. He fired the twenty-millimeter projectiles in controlled bursts at a few golden machines he saw near the first flaming vehicle. There were even a few satisfying, high-pitched pings to let him know his aim was true. He fired again and again.

  Then the Cyclops returned fire. Sado ducked and ran to the side, behind an overturned trash container. The machines' bullets immediately tore through it, taking plastic and years-ol
d paper with each round. His squad was now safely away. He looked over the trashcan and saw that only a few Cyclops were in position to be crushed by the building. He shook his head and ran forward toward a column of that building.

  Shards of stone sprayed into his face when he tried to angle his rifle around the circumference of the pillar. He managed to fire a few shots and he hit a black Cyclops. When he ducked low to fire again, he saw that it stumbled back into the flaming car. He fired again and again. There were now at least two dozen machines standing in the shadow of the target. That might be as good as I get. Sado stood and braced himself to run. He switched the rifle to his left hand and put his right thumb over the button. Then another explosion happened.

  The grenadier had returned and fired two rounds into the advancing enemy. "Go!"

  Ahlajela grinned and began to run. Bullets rippled into the grass and into the brick of a neighboring structure. Sado glanced back and saw that even more Cyclops were pouring into the street in front of the building. As Ahljaela neared the bullet-riddled trashcan, he pressed the trigger three times, just to be sure.

  The first explosion was loud and it shattered what was left of the glass in the lobby. The rest of the explosions followed in short order and threw rocks, bricks, and more into the air and street. Sado was hit in the arm by a piece of stone but he kept moving. Then the bullets hit him.

  He fell and tumbled several times on the asphalt. He rolled over to look at the building and he saw its face begin to slide down before the whole front half began to list forward and fall. Bricks and concrete fell to the street and onto the Cyclops. The iron skeleton became visible and it tilted almost horizontally as it spilled what was left of its coverings.

  The weapons fire ceased. Ahljaela looked at the building and saw that a third of it was still upright. He looked through his feet as best as he could and he didn't see any Cyclops. He didn't feel so bad, so he tried to sit up. When he did, he coughed, spraying blood onto the front of his dusty armor. His head immediately became light and he fell back to the street. Sado looked into the blue sky and felt very, very tired.

  The Messenger watched the centurion slip away while his companions lifted him up and vainly carried him back to their medics. The being was saddened, but its attention shifted to the man's offspring, a ten-year-old in Tiberia who was beginning her first day of work in a factory.

  "God will bless you and keep you forever," Minah Gaber's son said to her as he held her hand. "You know this, right?"

  Minah smiled and squeezed back.

  The Messenger leaned forward and studied the many lines of her face. Her thinning, silver hair. She looked toward her hands with their swollen knuckles and dark veins.

  This life is fragile, the being thought.

  Jarrek wiped his eye and began praying again. He wasn't as loud as he was moments before. The Messenger studied him, too. She remembered when he was a feisty little boy on the farm in Ghattafan. Now he was wrinkled and gray, too.

  "You once told me, mom," he said later, "that, no matter how bad it seemed, God was there." He leaned closer to her ear and said, "God was there. Do you remember?"

  Her voice cracked and she said, "Yes."

  "When we were trying to go west and we walked all