by Rob Steiner
“Sir, please press your thumb here,” the Custudae said, holding a thumb pad out to him. Lepidus did so, and then looked at the indenticard. The small card blinked, and then his picture and name displayed. Lepidus frowned, uncomfortable with having his arrival recorded. At least the card didn’t show his name, only his Evocatus rank. His name had been classified years ago.
The courier led Lepidus to an elevator, and they took it down to the sixth floor. They walked down an ornate hallway with frescoes, statues, and portraits of the gods lining the walls on either side. Red curtains hung next to the multiple windows on the left and right, golden sunlight illuminating the hall. At the end of the corridor, the courier guided Lepidus onto a balcony above the Temple’s main floor. Below were hundreds of worshipers on their knees surrounding two flamens standing on a raised dais. The flamens wore white tunics with blue togas and waved incense burners over a chained pig in the dais’ sacrificial pit. The flamens chanted an old Latin hymn asking Minerva for a bountiful harvest in the coming autumn months. Lepidus paused, then bowed his head and clasped his hands in front of him.
The courier walked back to him. “The Pontifex is waiting.”
“He can wait two more minutes.”
“Evocatus, he asked—”
“You are a soulless golem, so I don't expect you to understand, but human beings respect the gods.”
The golem closed its mouth and then waited next to Lepidus.
Lepidus knew how to affect a certain tone and a glare that made most people give him what he wanted. Courier golems, however, could not be intimidated. It likely realized Lepidus wouldn’t leave until the ritual ended. Lepidus didn't care, so long as the golem left him in peace to give his respects to Minerva.
Once the hymns and the squeals of the dying pig stopped, Lepidus raised his head. “Lead on, golem.”
The courier turned and took Lepidus to the right, along the balcony that encircled the Temple’s vast hall. They approached the entry to another corridor guarded by two Triad Custudae on either side. While they wore the ceremonial fluff of the Custudae, Lepidus knew they were trained as well as the Custudae on the rooftop. Lepidus and the courier walked past them, and they did not blink. He knew sensors along the way scanned his identicard. If he wasn’t authorized to be here, he never would have made it into the Temple.
The hall they entered was more opulent than the one connecting the Temple to the administrative building. Though Lepidus had never been here, he knew the offices of the Collegia Pontificis were close. He frowned at the statues within the alcoves along the hall. Unlike the Temple hallway, these statues were of previous Pontiffs. Lepidus thought it unseemly for statues of mere humans to have such a prominent place in the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus. He understood they were not in the worship hall proper, but at least a token acknowledgement to the gods should be displayed.
Lepidus calmed his annoyance. The Collegia had been the voice of the gods for a thousand years. The gods spoke to the Collegia and Consul, who gave the wisdom and technology of the gods to the people through divinely inspired Missives. He had to trust in the Collegia, for they would do nothing to anger the gods. He had faith the Collegia knew best.
The courier stopped before a large, polished oak door.
“When you enter, Evocatus, please kneel and—”
“I know how to address the Pontifex, golem.”
The courier nodded, then put his hand on a control pad next to the doors. The lock in the doors clicked, and the courier turned the handle on the right door.
Lepidus entered an office that could have been used by the first Pontifex. Marble shelves filled with scrolls, leather-bound books, and parchments lined three entire walls of the large, rectangular room. The shelves rose from the polished, white marble floor to the ceiling twenty feet above. Ceiling frescoes depicted the gods granting wisdom to the Pontiffs, and then the Pontiffs announcing that wisdom to the Roman people by reading from Missive parchments. On the office’s far end, a large oak desk covered in scrolls stood before the bookshelves. Three cats, a large gray and two whites, lounged on the desk at different corners, their tails swaying back and forth languorously. All three stared at Lepidus through squinted eyes.
Besides the light domes on the ceiling, there was no technology in the room that wasn’t used when Marcus Antonius became Consul.
At the door to an open balcony stood the Pontifex Maximus Decimus Atius Avitus. He surveyed Roma’s skyline, his hands clasped behind his back. The Pontifex wore the dark blue tunic and matching trousers all flamens wore when not performing rituals or speaking to the people. The only physical difference between Avitus and a flamen was the Ring of the Pontifex on his left hand, and the rings of his House on his right.
Lepidus and the golem sank to one knee, bowed their heads, and waited for the Pontifex to notice them.
“You may leave us, courier,” the Pontifex said, his back to them still. The courier stood, retreated out the door, and then closed and locked it.
Though Lepidus continued bowing, he sensed the Pontifex turn around and approach, his soft-soled sandals whispering on the smooth floor. When the Pontifex stood in front of him, he said, “You told the courier one hour, brother. You're three minutes late.”
“Am I excused to look at Your Grace?”
The Pontifex sighed. “Get up,” he said and then walked back to his desk.
Lepidus grinned and stood. He rarely spoke to his older brother Avitus since his election to Pontifex Maximus three years ago. Such was the nature of a sacred position—not to mention Lepidus's frequent missions across the Republic—that kept the once close brothers apart. When he did talk to Avitus, he never resisted the chance to give his brother the same teasing he'd given when they were children. Avitus may be a Vessel of the gods now, but he was still an Atii.
“What is so urgent that it makes you send a courier in a grav flyer to bring me here?” Lepidus asked. “You’ve always used golem messengers.”
Avitus eased into the high-backed chair behind his desk. The large gray cat stood up and then hopped into Avitus’s lap. Avitus stroked the cat’s back, his vacant gaze locked on a point beyond Lepidus’s left shoulder. It made him feel like Avitus was talking with the gods. Maybe he was. That gaze was one of many things that changed when Avitus was elected to the Collegia Pontificis.
Along with his sudden love for cats.
After a few moments, Avitus focused on Lepidus. “Brother, a matter has come up that requires your talents to remedy.”
Lepidus put his hands on the desk’s polished wood, eyeing Avitus. The two white cats regarded him without moving. There were no chairs before the desk. The Pontifex Maximus accepted guests who either knelt before him or stood at attention.
Lepidus was neither a supplicant nor a lackey.
“Just which one of my many talents do you require, Your Grace?”
Avitus stared at Lepidus, and then his face sagged. Lepidus saw the fear and fatigue Avitus hid so well. It shocked Lepidus, and he blinked. But within that blink, his brother’s face returned to that of a stern Pontifex Maximus.
“What I’m going to tell you is sensitive,” the Pontifex said. “You have an apprentice, yes?”
“Gnaeus Hortensius Appius.”
“You trust him?”
“I wouldn’t have made him my apprentice. Brother, your drama act is wearing on my patience.”
Avitus rose to his full height, the gray cat jumping off his lap. “I don’t care about your patience, Praetorian,” he snarled. “You will hear the mission in good time.”
Lepidus stood straight and then bowed his head. “Forgive me, Your Grace.”
“I want your oath that you will not reveal the mission details to anyone but your apprentice. You may use any resources you deem necessary, but they are not to know all of the details.”
“What details?”
“You will know when I tell you the mission,” Avitus said. “I want your oath upon the soul of Triaria.”
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Lepidus snapped his head up, glaring at Avitus before he could stop himself. The pain and anger in his eyes must have been startling for Avitus blinked uncertainly.
“I swear,” Lepidus said in a low growl, “upon the soul of my wife Triaria that I will not reveal the mission details to anyone but my apprentice.” Then with a sneer, he added, “And I will know which details when I hear the mission.”
Avitus nodded, satisfied with the oath Lepidus just swore. He sat in his high-backed chair again, putting his ringed hands on the chair’s arm rests.
“Three days ago, Marcus Antonius Cordus went missing from the Consular residence.”
Lepidus shrugged. “The boy has been known to wander Roma in disguise. He’s a curious lad. So what?”
“We think this is more than exploring. When he ‘wandered’ in the past, he always took a trusted slave with him as a protector and guide. He was never alone. This time he took no slave.”
“So he wanted to be alone.”
“On the second day he was missing, a slave found a tabulari pad in Cordus’s rooms that no one in the Family gave him. The Family limits his access to external information, and a non-secure tabulari is forbidden. Cordus had one. The tabulari was encrypted, but our technicians opened it.”
Avitus paused, and gazed over Lepidus’s shoulder again. His right eye twitched and his lips moved as if whispering something to…someone. Lepidus waited until Avitus refocused on him. “The encrypted files held a diary written by Cordus expressing his desire to defect to Libertus.”
Lepidus scoffed. “Brother, a member of the Consular Family, touched by the gods, cannot have a ‘desire to defect to Libertus.’ The gods would never have allowed such a blasphemy to be born into the Consular Family, much less as the Heir.”
“No, the gods would not allow such a beast to wear the Purple. That is why the boy’s corruption is not natural. It was instigated by a Liberti agent.”
“How could a Liberti agent get close to the Consular Family? The minds of anyone who enter the Consular residence are scanned for nefarious thoughts. I’ve seen the screenings. They do not miss anything.”
“Perhaps not on a normal agent. A Liberti Umbra Ancile is a different matter. They have ways around our security that we do not understand.”
“Don’t tell me you believe in the Liberti numina, brother,” Lepidus said. “That would not do for the Pontifex Maximus.”
“Umbra Ancilia are real, but they are not numina. They are as human as you or any other Praetorian. They simply have technology we do not understand. Yet.”
Lepidus frowned. Talk like this disturbed him, especially from the Pontifex Maximus. How could the godless Liberti have technology greater than Roma’s? For that matter, why would the Pontifex Maximus admit this to Lepidus, even if they were brothers?
“According to Cordus’s diaries,” Avitus continued, “he wanted to see Libertus, but without a Pontiff’s guidance or Praetorian security. In other words, he wanted to go alone.”
Lepidus shook his head. “More circumstantial evidence. Just because the boy wants to visit a foreign country does not make him corrupt.”
Avitus sighed. “I do not expect you to understand how the gods interact with the Consular Family, nor do I wish to explain it to you. Suffice it to say the gods do not allow such desires to exist in the Consular Family or the Collegia.”
“You just said he might have been corrupted. How could he be corrupted into defecting to Libertus if the gods do not allow such desires to exist in him? If he is missing, then it is obviously a kidnapping, as improbable as it seems.”
Lepidus still found it hard to believe any kidnapper could get into the Consular residence, even a fabled Liberti Umbra Ancile. But that thought was preferable to the idea that a boy one step below deity could be ‘corrupted.’ Such a thought chilled and sickened him.
Avitus studied Lepidus, as if considering what else to tell him. Lepidus knew his brother. Despite the years apart, and his connection to the gods, Lepidus could still tell when Avitus held something back.
“Kidnapping is possible. So is the unthinkable case that Umbra somehow severed Cordus’s link with the gods. That is where you come in, brother.”
Avitus stood up, reached into his toga, and pulled out a data chit. “I want you to go over the boy’s diary entries. Find any clues as to his current whereabouts. If he was kidnapped, you will rescue him from the Liberti barbarians. If he was corrupted, you will terminate him.”
Lepidus glared at Avitus, who did not look away.
“I know what I am asking, brother,” Avitus said quietly. “I know I have asked you to do hard things in the past. This is the hardest, which is why I came to you. If the boy is corrupted, he is no longer touched by the gods and he is no longer the Heir. He cannot be allowed to live. His defection would sow doubt among the people regarding the infallibility of the Consular Family. I don’t have to explain how disastrous that would be for the Republic.”
Avitus walked from around the desk and put his hands on Lepidus’s shoulders. “It is the will of the gods,” he said. “And the will of the Consul.”
Lepidus nodded. “I will do my duty, Your Grace. As I always have.”
He took the data chit from Avitus and placed it in a pocket within his toga. “I will either rescue the boy or I will kill him. Anything else, Your Grace?”
Avitus shook his head. “You may go.”
Lepidus bowed and then hurried from the office without another word. He feared if he opened his mouth he would vomit on the Pontifex’s clean marble floor.
11
Daryush wailed and pounded on the glass outside Caduceus’s Cargo One. Dariya put her hands on the glass from inside. She spoke into her collar com, which transmitted her voice to the crew.
“’Ush, you have to calm down,” she soothed. “I will be fine.”
She looked at Kaeso standing with folded arms behind Daryush. Kaeso returned her look, but he knew his eyes held no confirmation she told Daryush the truth. While massive anti-radiation serums eliminated any diraenium in her, the wounds from the Plague-ridden attackers were another matter. Nestor had examined Dariya’s bite wound, and it had broken through her EVA suit and her skin. More tests confirmed she had a small fever, which would get worse in the coming hours. Kaeso noticed a slight puffiness around her neck already. If she followed the typical pattern of the Cariosus, she would lose consciousness within six hours, stay unconscious for another twelve, and then wake up a violent, inhuman creature. She would no longer be Dariya, the brave and intelligent Persian Kaeso had hired. She would be an animal. The only cure Kaeso could give her at that point was a pulse bullet to the head.
“Listen to me, ‘Ush,” Dariya said, her voice preternaturally calm given what she knew would happen to her. “I need you to do something for me. Can you go to the engine room and re-tune the ion drive’s coils? I never had a chance to tune them when we landed, and it has to be done before we take off. Can you do that for me, ‘Ush?”
Daryush stopped wailing, but his chest still heaved and tears streamed from his eyes. He thought about what she asked with the far-off gaze he got while lost in an engineering problem. He nodded, then turned and walked past Kaeso toward the engine room.
Dariya watched him go through glistening eyes. She sat down hard on a plastic crate and put her face in her hands.
Lucia came down the ladder from the command deck and stood next to Kaeso, watching Dariya. She clenched her teeth. “Do we need to keep her in there like an animal?” she asked. “The Cariosus is not airborne.”
“If I go mad,” Dariya said in her hands, “I will attack you all, and then I will have your deaths on my soul. Even yours would bother me, Trierarch.”
“Nestor said you won’t be symptomatic for another six hours,” Lucia said. “Don’t you want to, I don’t know, hug your brother one last time?”
Dariya looked up at Lucia. “More than you know, Roman.”
“Then how can you be so callous
?” Lucia asked. “Daryush is—”
“Enough!” Dariya screamed. She jumped up and slammed both palms on the Cargo One window. Then slammed them again and again. Her palms turned red, leaving bloody prints on the glass. She snarled and yelled in the same nonsensical gibberish as the other Cariosa in the vaults. The language of the Cariosus.
“Dariya!” Kaeso shouted.
She didn’t listen. He rushed to open the cargo door to restrain her, but she stopped abruptly. She gaped at them as if she'd just woken up. She looked at the glass and then her hands. Kaeso watched helplessly as she sat down and cried.
“Please, just go,” she whispered.
Kaeso motioned Lucia toward the ladder. Once they were on the command deck, Kaeso saw through the windows that night had fallen over the dead city. Even with the command deck’s overhead lights off, and the only light coming from the control panels, the view out the window was blacker than any deep space he’d ever seen.
Lucia turned to him, her face alit with the reds, blues, and whites from the display panels. “We can't let her become one of those things.”
“I know,” Kaeso said, sitting in the pilot's couch. He thumbed his collar com and said, “Nestor, report to the command deck.”
He turned to Lucia. “I have an idea, but we have to go to Libertus.”
Lucia hesitated. “Why Libertus? Do they have a cure they’re holding out on Roma?”
A sharp pain from Kaeso’s implant reminded him of his Umbra oaths. “Something like that,” he muttered.
“Even if the Liberti can help us, we still can’t leave this system. Dariya used our last way line plasma, and you know the Romans won’t sell us any. They're my people; I know how they think.”
“I know how they think, too,” Kaeso said. He activated his tabulari and searched his personal folders on Caduceus’s network.
Lucia stood over his shoulder. “Equipment manifests for Roman Eagles? Centuriae, that data is classified. How did you get it?”
“Please don't ask.”
Kaeso felt her stare on his back.