the leaves of a flower.
Friseal came back inside the bridge, carrying the bag over his shoulder. He let it drop next to the tilted seat where Ailios was being cleaned and stitched not long ago. “Damn, this thing’s heavy,” Friseal groaned. He took out the golden hand first, examined it, put it aside. He took out the Cyon next, holding him with two hands on its midsection. Ailios stood up and helped Friseal put the Cyon on the seat. The leather still smelled of alcohol. Too bad it couldn’t help the Cyon as it helped me.
His ruby eye was even fainter now – dark red and going black toward complete shutdown.
Friseal took a step away from him. He put his hands on his waist. “What do you plan to do with him?”
Ailios didn’t know yet. He hoped the Cyon would have some answers about the sect, to give him some directions where to go next, but he didn’t know how to make the metal head talk. He needed a Cyon doctor to fix him first.
Olivia put the spraying bottle in a drawer under the plants, and she ambled closer to the Cyon. “He looks dead,” she said.
“He’s not dead,” said Ailios. Not yet, at least. He wondered if they could kidnap a doctor from one of the Cyon battleships and make him repair this one.
“Ha! You’re insane,” said Olivia. “They would never let us get close to a battleship, let alone land on it.”
“I didn’t say we should do it, I was merely considering our options.”
“Well, I am telling you it’s impossible. You better think of something else.”
The entire Cyon population was on their way to Talam. What else was there to think of? Ailios put his hand under his chin. “What about Palatine?” he asked.
“What about Palatine?” Olivia asked. Then she realized what he meant. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”
“Why not? You said every fighting-capable Cyon along with every ship they have are on their way to Talam. There has to be some fighting-incapable doctor left on their entire planet, don’t you think?”
“What I think is you are crazy.”
“Friseal? What about you? You think we have a chance to do this?”
“I don’t know, team leader. I’m thinking if the Cyon here truly knows what happened on Timor. What if he was there by accident? We would be risking our lives for nothing.”
“Cyons hate ancient temples, you both know that,” said Ailios. “They are rarely seen inside of them. They call them bases even – how disrespectful can that be?” He jabbed his finger at the Cyon. “He was there for a reason. He knows something. We just have to make him talk.”
Friseal shrugged. “You’re the team leader.”
Ailios looked at his pilot. “Olivia?”
“I am definitely opposed. We’ll have a better chance landing on a battleship. You do realize they have planetary defenses? You know, those big cannons that can wipe us out before we can even reach the surface? And once we land, then what? You don’t think they can recognize us? I don’t know if you noticed, but we don’t exactly look like Cyons.”
“They won’t recognize us,” Ailios said. “I’ve traded artifacts with human-looking Cyons before. They had skin and hair and they dressed like us. They even had a bloody brute with them…”
“…but those were cybernetic copies, not the real thing.”
“And you can tell the difference?”
Olivia shrugged.
“No one can. At first I thought they were one of us. So trust me on this, they won’t think we are some crazy Bions, as they call us, who decided to land on their home world in the middle of an all-out assault on our planet.”
Olivia considered what Ailios said. “What about the cannons?” she asked. “How do we deal with them?”
“You said we have spies … is there anyone left on Palatine? Can you contact them?”
“We have to get closer for that. But as far as we know our spy can be on his way with the Cyon fleet.”
“…Or still on Palatine. I say we take our chances.”
Friseal nodded. “It does sound crazy, but it’s still better than going head-on against four hundred ships and the full might of the Empire. I think this plan might work if we can find a doctor.”
Olivia shook her head. “You’re both insane.”
Ailios nodded. “You said that already. But insane or not, if this works we’ll be one step closer to saving our planet.”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “If that Cyon has no clue what happened on Timor; if some of us die on Palatine, I’ll plant such terrible thoughts in your head that you’ll regret accepting this mission.”
Ailios didn’t like the sound of that, but nodded again. “Fair enough.”
She stared at him for a long moment. And then she turned and sat on her seat. “Major Ailig,” she spoke over the dashboard, “we are changing course.” Olivia briefed him on their next move, and few more buttons later, their trajectory was changed by almost hundred and eighty degrees.
They were on their way to the Cyon home world.
LUCIUS
It took them three days to reach Palatine. Three excruciating days full of preparations to storm the palace and win back the throne. Lucius trained his soldiers in deadly hand-to-hand combat and all sorts of tricks that his personal guard Carus had once taught him. The entire ship was transformed in a drill station and every few hours the cargo crates were rearranged to simulate different settings. His nine soldiers were separated in two groups of six against three, where the six always defended the cargo hold. Three soldiers had to be clever enough and able to breach their defenses and steal Arrius’s sword, which was used as a mission objective. The only respite they got was to recharge their bodies for the next round. Lucius was determined to make them the deadliest group that every served the Empire, no matter what. It only saddened him not to be able to show these moves and combos, but explain them with words. Some of his soldiers had difficulty understanding him – like using the grav-boots to maneuver on the walls – and that really frustrated him. Thankfully, Helvius and Bruttius were fast learners. They tried their best that this lack of communication goes by almost unnoticed; to those that couldn’t understand they would demonstrate themselves. All in all three days were enough to improve their skills and even by little to increase their chance of success in the upcoming battle.
On the fourth day they landed the Power Comet in the outskirts of ancient ruins, approximately seventy klicks from the capital. Lucius didn’t want to land inside the city as the remaining dockworkers might have wondered where the Power Comet’s crew was. He wanted to avoid raising the alarm and clashing with the defenders until he could find out their exact numbers and strength. But whatever that may be, he knew he was outnumbered.
For a moment he wondered if he did the right thing to leave one of his soldiers behind to guard the ship’s crew. Even Arrius thought it unwise. “One man can make a difference between victory and defeat,” he said. “Better to have the crew in forced sleep, than to waste a man like that.” But Lucius didn’t tell him the real reason behind the abandonment. There was a full shipment of mini fuel cells inside as well. In case their group needed backup in the assault, the soldier could make the fuel cells unstable and drop them from above. It would replace an air support or maybe even create a diversion, and it would be good knowing they had that option in their sleeve if need be.
Now, eight soldiers plus Captain Arrius and Emperor Lucius walked across the wasteland through winds and dust and treacherous ground that seemed to shift every time the wind would blow. The group had covered their bodies from head to toes with rags they found in one of the Power Comet’s crates. Even the weaponry they carried with them was nicely covered and protected from the dust and curious eyes they might encounter. But once the winds would pick up, Lucius knew nothing could protect them as a shelter would. They had to reach the city before that. The sky above their heads had a hue of morning blue, the pale sun beamed lightly above the horizon, but the winds dragged dark clouds from the west. Soon they would hide the sun and end the day w
ith heavy rainfall. It was always like that. The terrain under their feet was another obstacle. It was riddled with holes and craters of various sizes, concealed deftly by the sand. Some of those holes were enough to break a leg or a foot to those who weren’t careful. The group had to tread carefully.
Actually, they had to tread carefully, but not the emperor. He was strapped on Arrius’s back like a backpack, separated from the captain’s body by his blue cloak. It was uncomfortable, it was humiliating, but it was the only way.
Fortunately for him time was passing by faster than Lucius thought it would. Maybe because he left his pride somewhere along the road of claiming his throne. Or maybe because he was enveloped in his thoughts and tried to find a way to sneak into his palace without fighting. Whichever it was, it made the walk bearable. But it also made his capital drew closer, and he had no specific plans on how to get in.
The robot guardians were easy to handle, he knew that quite well. He just had to say a keyword and they would instantly deactivate. He used that trick every time one of the robots tried to stop him from escaping the palace. But the real obstacle that his mind couldn’t get over was the automated defense system. The palace was deserted and the system would be active and triggered by anyone who failed to pass their visual scan. The main problem was that turrets and traps guarding the corridors were well hidden inside the floor, the walls, the
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