The Twice and Future Caesar

by R. M. Meluch

  “Hotel One, this is Rio. Negative life signs in the downed craft. Secure the crash site.”

  Secure it meant fry it. You don’t let gorgons eat your dead. The Swift’s wingman came down blazing and screaming. Melted all the gorgons from the crash site and incinerated the pilot’s remains.

  * * *

  As evacuation landers lifted off from 82 Eridani III, Merrimack’s tactical specialist reported, “Activity on the far side of the planet.”

  “What activity?” Commander Carmel demanded.

  “Gorgon emergence.”

  Tactical read off the planetary coordinates and brought up an image of gorgons climbing out of the ground.

  They spilled out like pebbled lava and crawled over each other, building themselves into a towering mound. Then the mound slipped wide. It looked like a volcano with still more gorgons crawling out of its central crater.

  “Get an incendiary down its throat,” Farragut ordered. “Cook ’em.”

  Merrimack circled half round the planet and breathed fire into the crater until the ground stopped crawling.

  Steam rolled across the rock and froze.

  “Look for escape holes.”

  “Aye, sir,” said Tactical. Then immediately, “There they are.”

  Tactical fed the coordinates to Targeting and brought the area into view.

  More holes formed in the rock several klicks away from the first target, like volcanic vents, spewing live gorgons.

  “Burn them, sir?”

  “Negative. Wait until they give us a bigger surface target.”

  Tactical reported yet another vent, bigger, erupting at the planet’s pole.

  The emerging masses were changing shape. Packing themselves together, building and contracting.

  The XO murmured, “John? What do these shapes look like to you?”

  “I see it, Cal. Do we have anyone left downstairs!”

  “Negative human life down below. We are clear to unleash anything you want on the planet, sir.”

  Captain Farragut hailed the Rio Grande. “Dallas! The enemy are forming up! The gorgons are trying to make spheres! Do not let them organize! Gorgons can achieve FTL in sphere formation. Beams will just scatter them and drive them into hiding to regroup. We need a neutron hose here, and I don’t have one.”

  “Merrimack. This is Rio Grande. We can oblige, Merrimack. Clear orbit. Advise when you are away.”

  Farragut looked to his exec. “Make sure all our Marines are on board and put us somewhere else, Cal.”

  The space battleship Merrimack jumped to FTL.

  The space battlecruiser Rio Grande took a neutron hose to the planet 82 Eridani III, returning the long dead world to deadness again.

  17 September 2443

  U.S. Space Battleship Merrimack

  82 Eridani Star System

  Near Space

  “WHO’D WE LOSE?” Hazard Sewell asked. “I saw a Swift go down.”

  “That was Piotr Czerwonykoszula.”

  “Who?”

  “FNG.” Cole Darby said. New Guy.

  Darb had very recently been an FNG.

  Flight Sergeant Czerwonykoszula flew out of Rio. Still, he was a Bull Mastiff. One of the 89th.

  The Bull Mastiffs sent up a howl for their fallen brother. He was one of us. And next time it could be any one of us.

  There wasn’t so much as a molecule left of him to send home. Old Man Steele told the family that Piotr Czerwonykoszula took a whole lot of gorgons down with him.

  On the voyage home to the Solar System from 82 Eridani, Captain Farragut praised his Fleet Marines. Thanked them. Stood them for a round of drinks—on him personally. And barked the 89th Bull Mastiff salute.

  After the toasts, Captain Farragut, Commander Carmel, the civilian Don Jose Maria de Cordillera, and the Roman Colonel Augustus stayed behind in the bar—the captain drinking Kentucky bourbon, Calli drinking Mezcal sin gusano. Jose Maria still had a bottle of Spanish Rioja left from dinner. Augustus watched ice cubes melt in a glass of seltzer.

  They rehashed the battle.

  82 Eridani III, planet Xi, was so ancient that its core held no vestigial heat. Yet the living Hive had come out of the rock. Not just rock. Bedrock.

  The planet was the multibillion-year-old birthplace of the Arran civilization.

  The archon Donner, the leader of the Arran civilization in the Myriad, had been born on Xi. He and his people had come forward in time billions of years through the Rim Gate at the edge of the Myriad.

  It was Donner who had first posed the question: Why were there no descendants of his ancient people out here among the stars—people billions of years more advanced than Earthlings? Why hadn’t Donner’s people colonized the stars?

  Their descendants should be out here somewhere.

  Now it was apparent what had happened to those people. Before Donner’s early civilization could develop faster-than-light travel, the Hive had arrived at 82 Eridani III—planet Xi—and destroyed all life on it.

  “Why didn’t the Hive destroy all life on Earth at the same time they destroyed 82 Eridani?” Calli asked. “The worlds are close together.”

  “They are close now,” Augustus said. “Earth didn’t exist at the time. Sol didn’t exist at the time. The Solar system is young.”

  Donner’s colonists on planet Arra in the Myriad were all that was left of the ancient Xi civilization. Now their adopted homeworld was under Hive attack.

  “Donner was a good dictator,” Farragut said into his bourbon.

  “Was?” said Calli. “Is he dead?”

  “Not last I knew. But he’s not exactly a dictator any more. He’s overseeing the evacuation of Arra with the LEN.”

  Farragut scowled into his bourbon. Breathed in. Held it. Hesitated to speak again. “I know I’m billions of years late to the party, but why do I have the feeling that Romulus planted those gorgons on Xi?”

  “Because your subconscious is paying attention even if you’re not, John Farragut,” Augustus said. “Romulus didn’t plant the gorgons, but he intentionally woke them up. The money trail for the scientific expedition on Xi leads to an imperial account on Palatine. Romulus set the breakfast table for the buried Hive.”

  “He’s a patterner,” Calli said. “How can we possibly battle a patterner from the future?”

  “Romulus may be a patterner, but he wasn’t made out of patterner material. Patterners are chosen for our integrity, our loyalty, and our intelligence. Romulus is only intelligent. Being a patterner allows him to recognize interconnections and logical outcomes. It doesn’t force him to see anything. He can solve complex problems if he has exposure to the required data. He can outmaneuver us. And he should. But he won’t. He’s delusional. He’s Romulus.”

  “And he knows the future,” Calli said. “He knows everything we’re going to do.”

  “Again, no. The future changed the instant Romulus arrived in his own past. His future knowledge is actually two sets of mismatched faulty data, neither of which is necessarily true.”

  Jose Maria: “And do you not think Romulus the patterner can figure that out?”

  Calli nodded agreement with Jose Maria. “Romulus should figure that out.”

  “He should. But he’s in love with his own omniscience,” Augustus said. “We’re blind to our future. That’s our advantage.”

  “We’re blind—? Now how in the Sam Hill is that any kind of advantage, Augustus?”

  “It keeps you from swinging at a change-up when you’re expecting a fast ball, John Farragut. Romulus has false certainties. And because he’s Romulus, he will continue to refuse truths he badly wants not to see. That is where he will fall. If he doesn’t kill us first.”

  Numa Pompeii issued an Empire-wide mandate from the imperial palace on Palatine for any Roman citizen to kill Romulus
on sight wherever he was.

  Because military service was a condition for full citizenship, Rome’s citizenry was well prepared to carry out the mandate should the opportunity present.

  But Romulus had vanished. He was not in Roma Nova. He wasn’t even on the planet Palatine.

  He reappeared days later on the artificial planet that orbited Beta Centauri. There, Romulus hoisted the imperial flag and his own eagles over the main city. He chose new colors for himself. Red, black, and gold.

  He set up his government-in-exile inside the Italian embassy over cries of treason from Roma Nova and polite objections from the League of Earth Nations, whose world it was. Beta Centauri had no national identity. Romulus met no armed resistance. The LEN officials questioned the legality of his action. It wasn’t exactly a challenge. More of an inquiry.

  The Italian Ambassador claimed to be enjoying lively discussions with his guest.

  “He’s saying that under duress!” Farragut said. He was more than ready to charge into the Centauri system and free an embassy-full of hostages.

  Jose Maria shook his head slowly. “I do not detect any sign of duress from the ambassador, young Captain.”

  “Calli?” Farragut appealed to his exec. Calli knew Rome. Calli knew Romulus.

  “Romulus can be charming. I can believe the discussions are lively,” Calli said. “Honestly, John, I don’t think we’ll be getting an invitation from the LEN to invade Beta Centauri.”

  “I don’t like him there.”

  “I’m right with you, sir,” Calli said.

  Beta Centauri was a strategic outpost. Centauri was the closest star system to Earth.

  Augustus said it. “It puts Romulus a javelin’s throw from Alpha Centauri and within a day’s striking distance of Earth.”

  Lieutenant Colonel Steele, who usually kept quiet on the command platform, broke his silence. “Striking distance? What’s Romulus got to strike with? What’s he got?”

  “I have no information to work with,” Augustus said. “He’s exceptionally good at keeping secrets.”

  “Can someone get a bead on Romulus from Centauri orbit? Sniper shot? Get me to Centauri!” Farragut said. “I’ll do it.”

  “Romulus is on Italian soil,” Calli said. “Hitting Romulus inside the embassy would be an act of war. Against the wrong country.”

  30 September 2443

  Italian Embassy

  Beta Centauri

  Centauri Star System

  Near Space

  “What is this face?” Claudia demanded. That snapped Romulus back to attention. She’d caught him frowning.

  “I can’t locate Jose Maria de Cordillera,” Romulus said. “He’s not where he’s supposed to be. But, you know what? I don’t need to find him. I just need to torch his world. He needs to watch. Now you’re pouting, Empress. Why?”

  “I want it.”

  “Want what, my sweet? You want Terra Rica?”

  “Yes. I want Terra Rica for my domain. I don’t like it here. There’s no society on Beta Centauri.”

  Claudia was accustomed to the operas and shows, sensations, concerts, grand balls, riotous festivals, lavish routs, races, wealth, culture, and the exquisite beauty of Roma Nova on Palatine.

  Romulus considered this. “Destroying the planet does seem a waste of beautiful terra firma. Shall I just remove the people?”

  “Only the boring ones. I want Don Cordillera’s family to be my servants.”

  “I want Jose Maria’s family dead,” Romulus said.

  “Nooo. I want them in splendid livery and waiting on me.”

  Romulus struggled not to tell her the future he’d rescued her from. She had no idea what agonies that saintly monster Jose Maria meant to put her and him through.

  Romulus forced a smile. “You’re right. Death is ugly. I don’t want ugliness touching you. House Cordillera will live as your servant stable. But Don Cordillera needs to die.”

  “Why?”

  For what he would do to you in a vanished future.

  He couldn’t tell her.

  Claudia pulled on his hands as if coaxing him to dance with her. “He would make the most spectacular butler! I want him.”

  “Then you shall have him,” Romulus lied.

  1 October 2443

  U.S. Space Battleship Merrimack

  Earth orbit

  Near Space

  In a public broadcast from Beta Centauri, Romulus stated that a Roman Imperator had the exclusive right to declare war on behalf of the Empire. Romulus announced his intent to exercise that right.

  Calli, watching the transmission from the command deck of Merrimack, lifted her hands, baffled, then let them drop, disgusted. “Now he’s taking powers he doesn’t legally have.”

  “Like that’s never been done,” Farragut said.

  “Romulus doesn’t have the right to make war,” Augustus said.

  “He says he does,” Calli said. “He’s invoking the divine right of kings.”

  “He’s not king of anything,” Farragut said. “So who is Romulus fixin’ to declare war against? Surely not Rome. He can’t declare against his own Empire, can he?”

  Calli said, “A just war, jus ad bellum, requires the means and a justifiable reason. He doesn’t have it.”

  She looked to Augustus, who gave the smallest nod of agreement.

  An alert came across military channels that Romulus had stepped outside the Italian embassy.

  Farragut cried, “Who do we have at Beta Centauri! Anyone got a shot?”

  The newsfeed from Beta Centauri showed Romulus, in full antique regalia—bronze cuirass, greaves, and crested helmet—stalking up the street known as “Embassy Row” to the gates of the U.S. embassy on Beta Centauri. He carried a cornel wood spear fitted with a barbarous iron head that had been dipped in what looked like blood.

  Embassy guards behind the wrought iron bars watched him approach. They weren’t moving as long as Romulus stayed outside the perimeter of their sovereign ground.

  Romulus stood outside the gates and announced: “I, Romulus, and the People of Rome declare and make war on the so-called United States of America. To restore Roman honor and might, squandered by false kings. To remove the false government from the soil of the Roman province of America, a degenerate society that doesn’t value military prowess in its leadership. To uproot the cancerous decadent tyranny that has taken hold there.”

  Saying so he hurled the spear between the iron bars of the gate. The spear point stabbed deep into the embassy’s stout wooden door.

  Captain John Farragut watched the newscast from Merrimack’s command platform. A lot of mouths hung open around him.

  Farragut looked to his XO, hopeful. “Are we at war?”

  “I don’t think so,” Calli said. She turned to Jose Maria de Cordillera, standing at the back.

  Jose Maria shook his head. “I rather think not.”

  “Shucks,” said Farragut.

  Through the porthole in the captain’s quarters on Merrimack, Earth appeared like a white-veiled jewel in the blackness of space.

  Jose Maria de Cordillera sat on the bench and played his guitar.

  Augustus lay flat on his back on the deck grates, nursing a headache. He looked dead. It was easy to step on him, especially when the ship’s artificial gravity gave one of its burbles.

  Farragut mused out loud. “Romulus is a patterner. He has a stealthy ship developed in the future.”

  Only the guitar spoke for several measures.

  “He has a stealthy ship.”

  “You said that,” the floor spoke.

  “It stands repeating.” Farragut turned his back on the porthole. “Romulus has a stealthy ship. He destroyed that ship’s development facility. Why did he do that?”

  “Presumably to keep its secrets.” Jose Maria stopped
playing. “To keep rivals from being constructed. But you know that, young Captain.”

  “Yes, I know that. That’s the point. Is Romulus really overlooking something so all-fired obvious? Or has he taken care of it, and I missed the explosions.”

  The dawn came to Jose Maria. “You mean redundance is good. Redundance is good.”

  “Redundance is extraordinary. What did destroying the Consortium’s development facility win Romulus? The Pacific Consortium must have an offsite backup of all the records they lost when Romulus destroyed the development facility.”

  “More than one backup,” Jose Maria suggested. “Redundance is very, very good. But Romulus is a patterner. He must have noticed that.”

  From the floor: “Ability to see doesn’t make you look.”

  “Thank you for agreeing with me for once, Augustus.”

  “It is so seldom deserved.”

  “The Pacifics lost a facility,” Farragut went on. “But you know they haven’t lost any technical knowledge. They know how this Xerxes ship is going to be put together. I need to get it into the Consortium’s head that Romulus already has their finished design.”

  Jose Maria said, “You cannot believe that developing a failsafe today will result in any changes to the ship that Romulus now flies.”

  “No. But the Pacifics need to find a way around their own defenses. They’re the only ones who can do it.”

  The floor spoke. “Your plan of attack, John Farragut?”

  “I need someone more diplomatic than I am to explain all that to the Pacific Consortium.”

  The Pacific Consortium representative received Don Jose Maria de Cordillera with all the warmth of a Swiss bank auditor. Jose Maria returned to Merrimack too quickly.

  “What did they say?” Farragut asked.

  “Nothing,” Jose Maria said. “I mean that literally.”

  Farragut stood baffled. Mouth open. Nothing coming out. Then the roar. “They have no idea what they’re doing! The Pacifics are creating a ship that can’t be seen, can’t be tracked, can’t be remote-accessed, has no failsafe against being used as a weapon. If that isn’t the dumbest godforsaken thing—!” He couldn’t believe it.