by Dave Walsh
“How is that an option?” Dyvel looked puzzled. “Not only the moral implications, but how is it possible?”
“Have you seen those terraformers outside of Speera?”
“Yes, I have,” the Helgean said solemnly. “But surely something as small as that couldn’t...”
“The Omega Destiny was built to not only be a starship to carry 500,000 people. It was built to be a terraformer if need be. It would take a few years to complete, but the technology is there.”
“They wouldn’t!” Dyvel shouted, the first time either Tyr or Ingen had seen a Helgean that animated before.
“They would,” Trallex chirped. “In our dealings with them, we’ve found them to be quite capable of many terrible things.”
“My people are not bad people,” Ingen said. “But there is a tendency throughout our history to turn a blind eye to atrocities, to build a culture upon the ruins of others -- and then, when everyone is settled in, to look back and shake our heads and say, ‘Why did we do this?’”
“We aren’t sure that the terraformers would have the power to really wipe out everyone,” Tyr stated. “But we know that they are bringing more warships here, and these warships are very capable of doing to Andlios what we ourselves did to it many cycles ago during the great wars -- only they won’t leave anyone to remember it.”
“From what we understand,” Ingen said as he flicked through his holoscanner, “those aboard the Omega Destiny, the civilians, are aware that there is life on Andlios, but not how many live here. I cannot speak for the Helgeans or Cydonians, but our last rough count was around one billion Krigans.”
“Around half a billion Helgeans,” Dyvel said sheepishly.
“How about the Cydonians?” Ingen looked to Trallex, who sat staring forward, unmoving.
“Four hundred million,” he finally said, his voice sounding mildly defeated.
“So there are almost two billion people here.” Ingen scratched the back of his head. “If they only knew how many people were here, how many people were in danger, I’m not sure that they’d stand behind the Earth Ministry’s decisions.”
“Well, then we should make them aware.” Dyvel looked around the table. “Surely that is possible, right?”
“I’ll try to think of a way, but right now is --”
“Tyr!” Øystein burst into the room, throwing the heavy doors open with a boom.
“Øystein, my friend, can it wait?”
“No!” he shouted, his voice echoing throughout the great hall. His face was pale white, which made Tyr freeze in place.
“What is it? Tell me!” Tyr slowly stood up, approaching his old friend.
“Tyr, I...”
“What is it?”
“It’s Alva,” he muttered, tears welling up in his eyes. “They killed her.”
A dark silence fell over the room. Tyr fell to his knees before Ingen could run to him. He held the mighty warrior in his arms, hearing his muffled scream. Both the Helgean and the Cymage sat silently at the table while Øystein stood in the doorway. It was the first time that Ingen had ever seen the mighty Øystein completely helpless and lost.
“Do you have the body?” Trallex asked Øystein.
“What?” Tyr looked up at him.
“I asked, 'Do you have the body?'”
“Yes,” Øystein nodded, unable to make eye contact with Tyr. “They left her in front of the stronghold door while Tyr was making his speech.”
“How long has the girl been dead?” The Cydonian sounded annoyed.
“I don’t know.” Øystein looked around, confused. “A few hours, I guess.”
“Well then,” the Cymage said as he turned to Tyr. “Bring me the body. I cannot make any promises, but we might be able to save her.”
“Save her?” Ingen looked up at the Cymage. “What are you talking about? She’s dead.”
“So was I,” Trallex laughed, and it sounded like a muffled horror through the filter. “That was over one thousand cycles ago. I’m not saying that there is no cost -- there is always a cost -- but she could live again.”
“No,” Tyr shook his head. “I won’t have her turn into one of you.”
“Leave us for now.” Ingen looked to both men at the table. “Give Tyr time to grieve please. We’ll finish this conversation later.”
* * *
Ingen stood next to Tyr on the dock. Øystein stood behind both of them with his arms crossed. There was a huge mass of people all around the banks of the river. Most had never met Alva before, but the daughter of their Jarl was an important figure, and that day felt like a pivotal one in the war against the Banished. They were trying to take over Andlios, which was bad enough, but then they killed his daughter.
They found Alva’s body outside of the stronghold just as the sun was setting on the horizon. It was anything but a clean, quick death. She had been restrained; the marks on her wrists showed that. There were thin, blood-red lines where the restraints had cut into her while she struggled. They had brutally beaten her; there were multiple fractures across her skull, cracked ribs and mangled fingers.
Ingen knew how strong Alva was and that she wouldn’t have uttered a word to them, which just meant that the beating continued until she finally died. It was no way for her to go, especially with the burden that she was carrying for all of them. He couldn’t help but feel the sinking feeling inside of him that he should have been with her, that even if he trusted O’Neil, there were people that weren’t under his direct control. Someone could have seen him and Alva that day in Speera. Someone might have recognized her and her war braid.
It was the first time that Ingen had seen a true body of water for himself. Back on the Omega Destiny, it had been a goal of his to find a body of water and to just witness it, to take it all in. He had felt this great connection with the idea of a great body of water, but now that he found himself standing before one, it felt ominous under the circumstances.
The whole affair had soured many things for Ingen, he found. He had only known Alva for two cycles, but Alva felt like the little sister that he never had. She was also the reason that Tyr even gave Ingen a chance in the first place. If it wasn’t for Alva, Ingen would have been just another head that was cracked open by Tyr’s pulseaxe.
The Cydonian Trallex and the Helgean Dyvel stood on the dock beside them as well. It was not only a show of good faith, but it sent a loud and clear message to all who were watching that Andlios stood together. Helgean, Cydonian and Krigan. It didn’t matter because at the end of the day, there were monsters among them -- and for once, it wasn’t each other.
“I don’t trust ‘em,” Øystein muttered under his breath to Ingen.
“This is how it has to be,” Ingen whispered back, trying to remain inconspicuous.
“He’s lived one thousand cycles!” Øystein whispered, raising his voice slightly but catching himself. “That’s not natural.”
“Just let it go, Øystein.”
“Tyr was considering it, you know.”
“No, he wasn’t.” Ingen wanted to believe was he was saying, but he looked at the solemn Tyr, bow and arrow in hand while the canoe with the coffin on it was pushed out into the river. Tyr looked back at the Cydonian and gave a slight nod, only to turn back, place the tip of the arrow into the fire and wait until the arrow had caught fire.
“Goodbye, my daughter,” he said before setting the arrow loose. It traveled in an arc before sticking into the coffin, and the flames gently spread through the tinder and flowers. The crowd remained solemn as tears began to flow down Tyr’s cheeks.
The fire engulfed the coffin, and Ingen tugged on Tyr’s jerkin. Tyr turned to Ingen, eyes red, trying to fight back the tears. “You are all that I have left, Ingen.”
“I know,” he said.
“Send a message to O’Neil,” he said, wiping back the tears. “We meet tomorrow morning in Helgar, which should be neutral enough for him. We meet with the Helgeans, Cydonians and Krigans. We end this war now.”
018. The Summit
Captain O’Neil
Captain O’Neil sat staring out his window for a long time. He wasn’t sure when he had begun, nor was he aware of the time. He just stared.
Clouds had rolled in earlier in the day and hung ominously in the air, which only added to the dark mood that he found himself in. He remembered sending Alva back out into the wastelands, believing that she’d find her way back home again and believing that he’d see the girl again real soon.
He had only met Alva a handful of times, but her passion was infectious. That girl was something special. A paper note sat on his desk, unfolded but still creased and not laying flat. The news had hit him hard, and Dumas had been very careful in how he had delivered it, via a handwritten note from Jonah that made its way from Krigar to Speera via Helgean monks.
They were calling a summit in the nearest Helgean town, Helgar. What caught his attention was that not only was it in Helgean territory, which was neutral enough so that he could travel there undisturbed, but that there was a mention of Cydonians. The name was scribbled crudely but stood out among the others: Trallex. It was a name that they had heard muttered and whispered about since arriving at Andlios. He was a legend of sorts, rumored to be over one thousand years old.
He had become the leader of the Cydonians after the last Cydonian-Krigan war, making his way up from grunt and foot soldier to their military leader. There was still so little known about the Cydonians -- who the locals called Cymages, out of fear and hatred -- other than their proclivity for technology. The rumor was that the suits that they wore were not just armor or protection from the elements, but they had become a necessity. These suits were a part of their very survival now. They were more machine than man, it was rumored, which led to their longer lives.
Local lore labeled them as magicians of sorts, having the ability to conjure up energy pulses from their gloved hands or able to levitate both themselves and objects for small distances. No doubt it was all integrated technology, but it was still fascinating just the same. The Krigans absolutely hated the Cydonians after the last few wars, so much so that neither side had contacted each other, even after the arrival of the Omega Destiny and the Fourth Fleet.
The decision to let Jonah Freeman live felt trivial at the time; in fact, it felt like he was condemning the kid to death by sending him down on the planet unprepared. He was, after all, just a kid from the Omega Destiny who was looking for truth and doing it all in the wrong way. Sending him down to a hostile planet was surely a death sentence, but it was one that he didn’t have to feel too guilty about, because the kid was dead anyway. O’Neil’s decision left Jonah Freeman’s fate in his own hands, and now here they were, years later, with Jonah Freeman organizing all of the people of Andlios, which was unthinkable.
He chuckled to himself. Just maybe he was finding himself a believer in Jonah Freeman. Jonah Freeman was a fool, just like he was, but Jonah Freeman chased his windmills until the bitter end, while O’Neil just mulled over them and waited for life to happen to him.
This meeting was mandatory for him, he knew that much. That also meant having to face the man who had just lost his only daughter to a few over-eager troops from the Fourth Fleet who felt like “sending a message” to the Krigans, which meant letting the girl bleed out and leaving her in front of the Krigan stronghold, unaware of who she really was, just looking to cause pain.
The sun was setting, and the Omega Destiny was still visible in orbit, an eyesore on the horizon. The ship kept a rather low orbit, meaning that it was always overhead from Speera, with the admiral and members of the Ministry believing that it would help those who relocated to Speera to feel “closer to home.” Home was a concept that felt further and further away for O’Neil now, with Andlios still feeling alien. That feeling was only amplified by the sense of impending doom that hung in the air that morning.
* * *
The trip to Helgar was uneventful and only about an hour's ride from Speera. O’Neil had to leave Dumas behind at Speera, just in case anything arose. He was able to talk Dumas into letting him travel with just two guards, but both would have to be left with the vehicle, regardless of how much Dumas trusted them. The gravity of the meeting weighed heavily on O’Neil as he saw the town of Helgar spring to life. He had been there once before on a diplomatic tour, but this time, his concern was not for his life but for the future.
He informed the guards of their duty to wait by the car and found himself being ushered into what looked like a church by two robed men, with their heads shaved and sandals on their feet. Neither one uttered a word, in line with the Helgean way; only certain Helgean officials were allowed to communicate verbally. There were always problems in Speera of the locals growing impatient with a Helgean trading with them, but O’Neil secretly found humor in the situation.
The heavy doors closed behind him, and the morning light streamed through the stained glass windows in what was most definitely a church. There were pews lining both sides and an aisle leading up the middle.
O’Neil could feel the eyes on him when the doors shut, and he saw the group of men near the front of the church, in front of the altar, gathered around each other. He gave a slight nod as he approached, solemn and doing his best to not make eye contact with the man whom he assumed was Tyr.
It was easy enough to figure out which one was which. Tyr was the taller, muscular man with the long hair and beard; Dyvel was the Helgean with the cowl still hung over his head; Jonah, known as Ingen now, was Jonah; and the ominous, dark figure in the heavy gear was Trallex, the Cymage.
“Gentlemen,” he said quietly.
“No need to be quiet,” Tyr said, his voice booming throughout the church.
“Peter O’Neil,” Jonah said as he turned to him, motioning toward the burly Krigan. “This is Tyr, the Jarl of Krigar, leader of the Krigans. This is Dyvel, leader of the Helgean order.” He motioned toward the Helgean, then paused to look at the Cydonian. “And this is Trallex of the Cydonians.”
“I’ve heard a lot about all of you,” O’Neil said, clearing his throat.
“And we of you.” Dyvel smiled, lowering his cowl to reveal an older man with sunken eyes. “The Great Captain Peter O’Neil of the Omega Destiny.”
“Yes,” he said, turning to Tyr and offering his hand. “Sir,” he said as he gulped hard. “I only briefly knew Alva, but I’m not sure that I’ve ever met a more passionate young woman in all of my years. Her loss is not only yours or the Krigans’ or Andlios’s -- the loss is to all of humanity.”
“I appreciate the words.” A tear streamed down Tyr’s cheek. “Both she and Ingen have placed their trust in you.” Tyr reached out, taking O’Neil’s wrist firmly. It felt like a vice had locked onto him, but he did his best to return the grip. “Therefore, the Krigans and I trust in you as well.”
“I am honored,” he replied. He felt his arm throb under the grip before Tyr let go. O’Neil did his best to not grimace or grab his arm. “I’m surprised to see such a meeting happening like this, I must say.”
“Tyr has removed the restraints, Captain,” Ingen said, biting his bottom lip. “Last night, he told me of the stockpiles that the Krigan have. Then we learned of the stockpiles of the Cydonians -- and yes, even the Helgeans. Captain, we have enough firepower under our command with a unified Andlios to blow any threat out of the sky.”
“Or to blow the planet into extinction,” Dyvel added dryly.
“That too,” Ingen nodded, looking back at O’Neil. “I know that we spoke about the future and how we didn’t know what it held, but our time to act is now, Captain. We just need a plan; we just need to know what Navarro is planning.”
“That’s a tall order.” O’Neil let out a sigh before sitting back onto the bench behind him and staring down at his shoes. “They are gearing up for an attack, that much is for sure, but the impression that I’ve gotten is that they are reaching their limits. The Earth Ministry is displeased with how long it has taken a
nd the losses that the Fourth Fleet have faced here are, frankly, embarrassing to them. He’s been running special drills with some of his shock troops, and by the looks of it, their focus is going to shift away from military targets and toward civilian ones. If that doesn’t work -- well, we’ve heard he’s growing more and more desperate.”
“So basically, we are looking at scorched Earth,” Ingen added.
“Yes.” O’Neil inhaled deeply. The church was eerily quiet.
“Scorched Earth?” Tyr turned to Ingen.
“Destroy everything, start over,” he replied, the room falling silent.
“Surely we can’t let this happen.” Dyvel broke the silence with a hushed tone. “Yes, we of the Helgean order are peaceful, but we cannot allow this to happen. But there must be a way to solve this peacefully. There must.”
“We can try.” Ingen stood next to Tyr, his hand on the giant’s back to help calm him down. “I have an idea, but it is going to take the cooperation of everyone in this room. It will take all of our people placing trust in us.”
“And what exactly is this idea?” The buzz came from Trallex, the first time that O’Neil heard the strange buzz of a Cydonian in person. It was horrifying and inhuman, yet oddly familiar.
“We have enough firepower to blow them out of the sky,” Ingen stated, letting the words hang in the air. “But those people up there aboard the Omega Destiny don’t want this. I’m not even sure that they are aware of it.”
O’Neil shook his head. “Most are unaware of how this conflict started and the tactics that have been used or they plan to use. They just know that they can’t come down here yet. They are restless. They were promised a new life on Andlios, and it has been difficult for them to not have any control over their lives.”
