by Rob Steiner
Aquilina turned to Cordus. “Once I put my palm on that lock pad, they will know we’re here.”
Cordus nodded. “If my plan succeeds, they will be too busy to care.”
Ulpius growled, “Let’s get this over with.” Gracchus nodded his gold-helmed head in agreement.
Aquilina put her palm on the lock pad. It glowed blue as it scanned her hand, then the door clicked open. Aquilina reached for the door handle.
The door slammed into her, flinging her back into Ulpius and Gracchus. Two Praetorians charged through, all black armor and helms with raised pulse rifles. More of them poured out of the doors up and down the corridor, all screaming at Cordus’s team to drop their weapons.
Cordus didn’t have much of a choice with a dozen barrels in his face. He slowly put down his rifle. The others did the same, then put their hands on top of their heads.
Prefect Tarquitius walked out of the Numinatus room, his eyes angry.
43
Prefect Tarquitius paced in front of the prisoners and then stopped before Cordus. He reached up and pulled the ceremonial Custudae helm off Cordus’s head, then gave him an appraising stare.
“You look like him, I’ll give you that,” Tarquitius said. “Your surgeons did a remarkable job.”
Ulpius spit on the floor next to Tarquitius’s shiny black boots. “Because it is him, you whoreson traitor.”
A Praetorian slammed his rifle butt into Ulpius’s stomach. Ulpius grunted and doubled over, but then straightened slowly with a red face and a sneer.
Tarquitius’s gaze never left Cordus.
Cordus searched his Muse memories. Tarquitius had been an apprentice of Scaurus, the former Praetorian Prefect, and Saturnist, who had helped Cordus flee Terra. From what the Muses told him, Tarquitius was loyal to the Republic, the Antonii, and his oaths. He had performed his duty, taking the lives of enemy soldiers or agents when necessary. There were no memories of cruelty by Tarquitius.
Is he still the man the Muse memories say he is?
“How much did Arrius pay you to betray the Dictator?” Cordus asked.
Tarquitius’s eyes narrowed. “I’m no mercenary.”
“That’s right. You’re loyal to the Republic and do what you think is best to secure it and make it strong. You served the Antonii and then whomever held the title of Dictator. But the constant rotation of dictators has worn on you. You see this civil war as a blasphemy that must be stopped. You want the Republic united again, but you don’t care who does it, so long as this conflict ends. Better someone like Arrius become consul and stop the war than have it drag on in perpetual negotiations, deadlocks, and broken treaties. Is that about right?”
Tarquitius raised an eyebrow. “You think you’ve figured me out, eh?”
He drew the pulse pistol from his side holster and placed it against Cordus’s forehead. It took all of Cordus’s will to keep from releasing his bowels. He stared at Tarquitius, praying he masked his terror with determination.
Aquilina said in a strained voice, “Cordus.”
He didn’t look at her. He knew what she wanted him to do. Not yet, not yet…
“So tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now, impostor. You’re the most wanted man in all the Republic. I’d be a Hero, given a Triumph even. Why shouldn’t I take that?”
Cordus swallowed once. “Are you asking me or yourself?”
Tarquitius stared at him with cold, blue eyes. He had Nordic features with pale skin, blond-white hair. The wrinkles around his eyes shifted as he thought.
Don’t make me do it, Tarquitius. Please Jupiter, don’t force me do it.
The Prefect’s head suddenly tilted, and Cordus saw a black com-ring in his left ear. He put his other hand on his throat to activate a voice sensor. “What?” he growled, his gaze and pistol never wavering from Cordus. He listened for a moment, and then his eyes widened. “When?”
He suddenly looked like a very old man. His cheeks sagged, and he gave a weary sigh. He removed his hand from his voice sensor then dropped his pulse pistol from Cordus’s head. He stared at Cordus with a desperation that brought Cordus more fear than relief.
“Are you him? No more games.”
Cordus lowered his hands from his head. “It’s here, isn’t it.”
Tarquitius stared at him a moment longer, then nodded once. “Just came through the way line. Planetary defenses are engaging it now. My orders are to take you to a prison cell.”
“Whose orders?”
Tarquitius’s jaw moved back and forth. “Senator Arrius.”
Cordus felt Aquilina tense at this confirmation of Tarquitius’s culpability in her mother’s death. He prayed she wouldn’t do anything stupid right now.
“Prefect, let me in that room. I can stop that vessel. The Legions may only delay it at best, but they can’t defeat it. Let me help.”
Aquilina shifted next to Cordus. “You can prove it to him.”
Tarquitius glanced from Aquilina to Cordus. “How can you prove it? Because if you can’t convince me in the next five seconds, I’m taking you to a cell.”
“Just for a moment,” Aquilina said to Cordus.
Just for a moment. Surely I won’t be damned for a moment’s weakness? What’s one more time…to save the Republic?
He swallowed, then said to Tarquitius, “You know the Antonii and the Collegia Pontificis were able to command the loyalty of any human being, yes?”
“They were touched by the gods,” Tarquitius said. “I felt it when I was around them. But with you, I don’t—”
Tarquitius inhaled sharply. The Praetorians standing around Cordus shifted in their places, their weapons wavering, some lowering them altogether. Even Aquilina, Ulpius, and Gracchus gave Cordus worshipful stares. The Muses rejoiced at him releasing their power; they reveled in the worship from others, which Cordus spent so much of his energy denying them. He wondered where Marcus Antonius was. Probably too busy soaking in the worship like an addict in an opium den.
Tarquitius cried out, “My Consul!”
He started to kneel, but Cordus shouted, “No!”
Tarquitius looked confused. Cordus immediately stopped releasing the Muse aura and ignored the disappointed cries from the Muses. It took a few seconds for the aura to dissipate. When it did, the Praetorians around him immediately brought their weapons back up as they shook their heads to clear them. Tarquitius blinked several times, but continued to stare at Cordus with the same awe as a moment before.
“I’m not consul,” Cordus said, quieter. “And I will not allow you to kneel before me while I—” He tried to find words that would make sense to someone who was unaware of the Muses. “If you kneel, it must be by your own choice.”
Tarquitius still looked confused, but he nodded. “I won’t pretend to understand what you just did, but it’s the same feeling I had when in the presence of your father. And that’s proof enough for me. Lower your weapons.”
Almost as one, the Praetorians lowered their weapons and backed away. Aquilina, Ulpius, and Gracchus brought their hands down from their heads. Ulpius and Gracchus seemed relieved, but Aquilina still stared daggers at Tarquitius.
“What do you need from me, my Con—” A sharp look from Cordus, and Tarquitius said, “What do you need from me?”
“Make sure I’m not disturbed after I enter that room. And put a detachment on the roof to guard the signal dish.”
“Right. Centurion Drusus?”
A helmed centurion behind Tarquitius stepped forward. “Sir?”
“Station your men outside this door and in all the stairwells. Coordinate with the Custudii Prefect…”
As Tarquitius issued his orders, Cordus stepped in front of Aquilina’s hate-filled stare at the Prefect. “I need you in there with me,” Cordus said.
“You don’t need me anymore,” she said, still watching the Prefect over Cordus’s shoulder. “You’re here and all these fine men will protect you now.”
“I don’t need your protection,�
�� Cordus said. He took her hand, and she looked at him. “I need you.”
A softness flickered in the cold mask she wore. For a moment, he thought he had broken through. But it was as if she realized this, and she strengthened the mask.
“Very well,” she said.
Gracchus cleared his throat. “I’d like to volunteer to stay with you as well, sire.”
“Gracchus, I’m not the consul—”
“Sire, with all due respect, you’ve been my Consul since you pulled my ass out of Reantium.”
Ulpius nodded. “Agreed. But if it’ll make you happy, I won’t bend my knee until you walk out of there again.”
Cordus didn’t know what to say. He realized he had earned their loyalty not by command and not by using the Muses. He had earned it because they respected him. It was something his father and all the Antonii before him could never claim. He would die to protect these men, and they would do the same.
Ulpius broke the awkward silence. “Well enough of this sap. Go save the godsdamned Republic.”
Cordus grinned and then walked into the implant com room.
44
No ceiling light pads illuminated the com room; glowing tabulari and holo-monitors that lined the walls provided the room with flickering multi-colored illumination. The room was no more than ten paces square. A single, high-backed chair was fastened to the floor and faced the tabulari. A headset hung from the right corner of the chair’s back. A rush of memories came back to him—his own memories, not from the Muses—of using a similar device to deactivate Ocella’s Umbra implant six years ago, the night they had fled the Consular Palace.
“Well,” he said, walking up to the chair, “they made the interface easy. What do these monitors do?”
“The ones on top are mundane com bands,” Aquilina said. Two of the three monitors bore the Praetorian sigil: a gold scorpion on a red shield. The third displayed a publicly broadcast news band where a well-groomed female crier questioned a young centuriae in Terra’s Naves Astrum. The sound was off, so Cordus could not hear the interview. A larger bottom monitor directly in front of the chair also showed the Praetorian sigil, but it was a three-dimensional display.
“The bottom monitor shows your message,” Aquilina continued. “You focus your thoughts with images, sounds, and feelings which are transmitted to the other implant. The bottom monitor shows your transmission and then the response.”
Cordus wondered if Marcus Antonius would show up on the monitors while Cordus was communicating with the vessel.
“Most definitely,” Marcus said, leaning on the tabulari and peering at the monitors. “If you can see us, they will see us. They did a fine job figuring this out, considering they didn’t have our guidance.”
Maybe you’d better not show yourself, Cordus thought to him.
Marcus eyed him severely. “You’re going to need us, young Antonius. That strain is more powerful than you can imagine. Even with the golem power, you will still need our council.”
Cordus knew Marcus was right. But what would the others think when they saw Marcus Antonius Primus at his side on that monitor?
“We don’t have time to debate this,” Marcus said.
I know.
Cordus sat down. The chair was padded and comfortable, but it felt more like something into which a torturer would strap his victims. He took the head net, a mesh of clear elastic wires, and put it on. The net tightened so that it fit his head snuggly.
“Now wha—?”
The three mundane monitors above the large implant monitor flickered and then materialized into the same image. Three beings sat upon marble thrones, one man with two women on either side, all dressed in iconic white togas. Cordus knew who they were because their faces were on almost every public building in the Republic.
Jupiter leaned forward, his blue eyes shining with the fires of Elysium. He wore a fatherly smile that gave Cordus chills rather than comfort.
“My children,” his voice boomed from the monitors’ speakers, “your salvation is at hand.”
Juno said in a motherly tone that was at once stern and sad, “Your leaders have failed you, so we have come to bring peace to the holy Republic. Your leaders will try to stop us, for they only desire power above your welfare.”
Minerva, with an owl perched on her shoulder, said, “If you wish for peace, do not resist the angels we are sending to eliminate the current regime and its minions. Once Terra is secure, a golden age will begin that will surpass even that of the Antonii.”
The images flickered again on the three mundane monitors, and then they returned to their previous state. The well-groomed crier stared open-mouthed at a monitor beside her before she realized she was back on camera.
“Blasphemy,” Gracchus murmured.
“Yeah,” Ulpius growled, “but enough will believe it’s them. These Praetorian bands are supposed to be secure. If those aliens grabbed secure bands, they probably sent this out to every com device on Terra.”
Aquilina said, “There are thousands of people outside and inside the Temple right now. The Temple monitors probably showed this, too.”
The holo-monitors inside and outside the temple showed religious ceremonies to as many people as possible. If the gathering crowds panicked and believed the alien “gods” were real, some might take the alien side and try killing off Roma’s leaders. When the “angels” showed up, things in the Temple could get violent.
“Aquilina, how do I get in?”
“If you were contacting another implant, we’d have the codes programmed into the tabulari; you could just look it up and send a transmission.” She took a deep breath. “The vessel is not in the tabulari, so you’ll need to search for it…somehow.”
Cordus nodded. Marcus, that’s where you come in.
“We are ready,” Marcus said.
Cordus closed his eyes. The Muses whispered in his mind as they reached out to find the golem signals, just as they had done on Reantium. At first, they could find none on the com room’s immediate level, but as their search expanded to other temple levels, signals began to appear to Cordus like tiny stars in his mind. More stars popped into existence as the Muses found golems outside the temple and in the surrounding buildings. The search expanded at an exponential speed, racing through Roma, then Italia, then the rest of Europa and the Mediterranean provinces. The stars in Cordus’s mind exploded into a galaxy of signals, and kept growing. A part of his mind was shocked at how numerous the golems had become on Terra, but he had no time to think on it or pray for the safety of their citizen-owners once he took away their safety controls.
“We have all the golem signals on Terra, young Antonius,” Marcus said from beside Cordus.
To the real gods of the Pantheon…forgive me.
Cordus mentally opened his hands wide to gather in all the power. It rushed into his hands as streaks of light too numerous to count. Thousands, millions, he had no idea. Their power filled him with a fire that did not burn, but made him feel…like a god.
He shook away that thought, and tried not to dwell on what the released golems were doing right now.
The vessel. Find the vessel.
Cordus searched the space around Terra and quickly found the alien vessel. He could not see it so much as feel the vibration of its immense presence. Its power overwhelmed any other source in the entire Sol system, like the sun outshone the planets. He drew in all the power from the golems and leaped for the vessel. He surged through the atmosphere faster than was possible for a mundane ship, only his thoughts limiting his speed. He flew through the atmosphere in seconds and entered the quiet cold of space. He knew he was not in space physically, that this was how his mind interpreted what was happening to him, but space felt every bit as cold as he imagined it would. It was agonizing; his body would have frozen solid. At least he could still breathe.
He found the vessel. Its amorphous shape seemed as big as the sun, though he knew that was not true. The power it emitted made it seem much lar
ger to his mind’s eye.
Black shapes, like hornets, streaked past Cordus from the vessel, all racing toward Terra. The drones. Terra’s planetary defenses would engage them soon…if they weren’t already distracted by the golems.
The vessel. Focus on the vessel!
Cordus willed himself to go faster, and he arrived at the vessel almost before the thought to accelerate left his mind. He approached the vessel at an alarming speed, and would crash into its obsidian skin in seconds. But he willed himself to go faster and then closed his eyes as he prepared for impact—
He fell into a patch of tall grass and rolled several paces before stopping. Dirt filled his mouth and eyes from the fall. He blinked away the grit and spit out strands of grass. After his eyes cleared, he looked around.
He was in a vast grassy plain beneath a blue, cloudless sky. A warm breeze swayed the tall green grass around him.
“I’m so happy to see you again, Cordus,” a voice said from behind him.
Cordus whirled around. Ocella stood next to him, wearing the green dress uniform of a Liberti Defense Force centuriae. Her hair was longer, hanging down her back in a shoulder-length braid. She seemed younger than Cordus ever remembered. In fact, she looked only ten years older than Cordus.
Cordus stared at her. “Ocella, what—?”
“You have questions,” Ocella said, holding out a white-gloved hand. Cordus slowly took it, and she pulled him up off the ground. “Come with me, and you’ll have your answers.”
Ocella turned around and marched toward a large temple off in the distance. Cordus stared at the temple; it looked like the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus in Roma. Only much bigger.
Cordus glanced at Ocella again, her back straight and her stride purposeful. Why was she here in what should be the vessel’s Muse mind? Why did she look so young? Disturbing thoughts struck him. Was it really Ocella or a Muse-generated copy? Where was her body?
Ocella turned around. She smiled, but it did not hold the warmth he remembered. “Do you want your questions answered or not?”