by Rob Steiner
“Yes,” Kaeso said, standing between the decon unit and his crew.
Six more decon members came through the portal carrying instruments they waved in the air. One went into Cargo Two across the hall, while the others proceeded down the corridor.
“You will all remove your clothes and step into the shower,” the leader said.
“Hold on,” Kaeso said. “We've done everything you asked, now we—”
“I'm not asking, Centuriae,” the leader said. The two men with pistols raised them at Kaeso.
“Neither am I, Medicus,” Kaeso said, staring past the gunman at the leader. “We are not your enemies. So you will treat my crew with some godsdamned dignity. Understand?”
“I don't have time for this,” the leader said. “Get them in the showers.”
A gunman tried seizing Kaeso. Instinct made Kaeso grab the gunman's wrist with one hand, disarm him with the other, and twist his arm behind his back. Kaeso put the gun to his head. The other gunman stumbled backward in shock, but kept his gun aimed at Kaeso. He half-turned to the leader as if wondering what to do.
“Jupiter's cock!” the leader yelled. “We’re trying to save your lives!”
“We both know there's no cure for the Cariosus,” Kaeso said. Behind him, Daryush gasped. “What’s in the ‘showers’?”
The man Kaeso held struggled, but Kaeso wrenched his arm up further. The man grunted, then went still.
“It's just a shower! It’ll wash off any virus on your skin.”
“The virus can't survive outside the body. It’s blood-borne.”
The leader blinked, his mouth opening and closing. “Of course it can. It's like any other virus, it can survive up to—”
“This isn't 'any other virus.' What is in the shower?”
A voice came from the connector hatch. “Centuriae Aemelius. Is there a problem?”
Kaeso kept his focus on the decon leader. He knew the tall man in the decon suit stepping through the hatch was Galeo.
“Not unless I get some simple answers,” Kaeso said. “You his boss?”
“I am,” Galeo said. “I'm Medicus Pullo. What answers will make you put down that pulse pistol?”
“To start, why do you have gunmen in here, Medicus Pullo?”
Galeo entered the Cargo One and stood next to the decon leader. Galeo still wore the same face he'd worn when he last talked to Kaeso.
“For our protection,” Galeo said. “Cariosa are quite violent. Which you’re demonstrating right now. If you or your crew were infected, we would need to stop you if you attacked us.”
“If I was infected, I’d be chewing on this man’s neck right now,” Kaeso said. “What's in the shower?”
“Hot water. Soap. An antiviral agent that’ll remove the dead skin from your entire body.”
“Sounds painful.”
Galeo shrugged. “It itches.”
“Where did the other men go? The ones with the instruments?”
“They're checking your ship for contagion. They should be done with their sweep in a half hour. This is not a big ship.”
“Dariya?”
“We’re preparing a facility, but it’ll take a few days before it’s ready. In the meantime, she’ll be quarantined here, in her sleeper crib. Any other questions?”
Kaeso shook his head. He pushed the gunman he held toward his partner. The gunman turned around, as if to attack Kaeso, but Kaeso kept the pistol pointed at him. The gunman's partner grabbed his arm.
“Tell your thugs to leave,” Kaeso said. “And bring us some privacy curtains for our showers.”
Galeo nodded. “Of course. You men, go find some curtains for your patients.”
Both gunmen turned to the decon leader.
“Now,” Galeo said quietly. Both men hurried out of Cargo One and back into the connector tube.
The lead medicus turned to Galeo. “Sir, you told me this was an emergency. If these people are Cariosa—”
“The only carrier is in that sleeper crib,” Galeo said. “The rest are clean. If they weren't, we'd know.”
“You can't be sure.”
“There's no such thing as sure. That’s why you and your men are here. You are a precaution, not the solution.”
The medicus leader’s mouth became a thin line, then he turned and began organizing the instruments in his case.
Kaeso lowered the pistol, flipped its butt to Galeo, and handed it to him.
“Can I speak to you alone, Centuriae Aemilius?” Galeo asked.
“Of course, Medicus Pullo.”
“Sir, what should we do?” Lucia asked from behind him.
Kaeso turned around to the shocked stares of his crew. He realized they'd never seen him disarm someone like he'd just done. He frowned, for it was one more piece of his history they'd ask him about. One more piece he couldn’t reveal.
“When they come back with the curtains, you can shower,” Kaeso said. “And do what the medicus tells you.” He glanced at the decon leader, and added, “Within reason.”
The medicus leader’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing.
When Kaeso and Galeo were in the corridor between the cargo bays, Galeo asked, “What was that?”
“We’re not criminals.”
“The Romans would disagree.”
“Stop playing with me, Galeo. What's happening in Umbra right now?”
“Those men are not Umbra.”
“Obviously. They’re civilians, so why are they here? I’d have thought a Cariosa would've been grounds for high-level concealment protocols. Umbra handlers only. Not these outsiders.”
Galeo’s lips thinned. “Umbra is in a crisis. Our resources are spread thin containing the damage your old friend has inflicted.”
“She may be innocent. You said we don't have all the information.”
“Perhaps, but we’re in a crisis that’s stretching Umbra’s resources farther than they’ve ever been, thus the civilians. Now will you please play nice and do what they tell you? The showers and other procedures will protect you and your crew.”
“I know.”
Galeo gave an exasperated laugh. “Then why the theater?”
Kaeso stared at his crew through the Cargo One windows. All five were huddled together and whispering as they watched the medicus team set up privacy curtains for their showers. Lucia caught Kaeso's eyes through the window, and she nodded.
“Because I'm tired of hearing I’m going to be fired upon,” Kaeso said. “And that medicus was an ass.”
“Well you’ll need to control your pride and follow orders if you want back into Umbra.”
Kaeso looked at him. “I’m back in?”
Galeo held his hands up. “I didn’t say that. They didn’t dismiss the idea, but neither were they warm to it. Right now I’m sure you’re the subject of heated debate in the Magisterium. If you do the mission and don’t create more problems than you solve, then you might have a chance.”
“Right. Oh, and my crew is not coming with me.”
“You see, that’s what I meant by creating problems,” Galeo said and sighed. “We’ve been over this, Kaeso. We don't have time to train a new crew.”
“I'm going alone. Just like I’ve always done.”
Galeo clenched his teeth, shook his head. “Kaeso, if you don’t do as you’re ordered, the Magisterium will arrest your crew and extradite them to Roma. Not to mention you’d forever burn any chance you have at getting reinstated. Do you want that?”
“They won't arrest my crew because they know I’d never go on this mission. Judging by the help these days, they need me to go to Roma. Are they going to screw that up just to punish me for bending a few rules?”
Galeo stared at Kaeso. “Why are you doing this? This just proves you can’t follow orders.”
“Once I'm back in, I will follow orders just fine.” Kaeso regarded his former mentor and friend. “Galeo, I want back in. I'm committed to this mission, but my crew did not sign up for this. They have no idea
what can happen to them in Roma. What the Praetorian Guard would do to them if they were caught working for us. They actually think crucifixion is the worst that can happen. On my honor as a centuriae, I can't put them in that kind of danger. Honor is still an Umbra prerequisite, isn't it?”
“Honor?” Galeo snorted. “Honor is a luxury for the military and civilians.”
“I won't take them. If the Magisterium can't accept that, then the mission is off.”
Galeo frowned.
“They’ll just have to trust me,” Kaeso pressed. “They know my record. You know my record. I’ve always been a loyal patriot. Still am. The reasons for my discharge were administrative cac. I can do this mission, but they have to let me do it my way. Like they did when I was an Ancile.”
“What happens if they call your bluff?”
Kaeso shrugged. “Then my crew goes back to Roma in chains. Which is what will happen anyway if they go on this mission.”
Kaeso turned to his crew in Cargo One. He saw their shadows behind the shower curtains as they rubbed the scalding water and antiviral soap over themselves.
“Do they know you want to abandon them?” Galeo asked. “That you don’t want to be the centuriae of a smuggling freighter?”
Kaeso scowled. “You ask too many questions. Will you pass on my conditions or what?”
“I will, and there will likely be howling, spitting, and gnashing of teeth before they realize you have them by the balls and accept your demands. And you wonder why you were kicked out.”
“Jealousy?”
“Go take your shower.”
Kaeso went back to Cargo One while Galeo walked through the connector tube to the way station. As soon as Kaeso returned, Blaesus emerged from behind the shower curtain, drying his body with a large white towel.
“Centuriae, the shower was exhilarating. My first hot one in weeks. I don't know why you were complaining before.”
Kaeso began removing his clothes. “Wait until the antiviral agent kicks in. You'll be itching your body red before the hour is out.”
The old Senator’s eyes widened as Kaeso entered his own shower. When the hot water fell over him, he smiled. He was going to miss playing with Blaesus.
17
“I found it,” Cordus called out.
Ocella scrambled from the ductwork in the ceiling, dropped to the floor, and hurried to where Cordus shouted. He stood before a low hole behind one of Scaurus's massive bookshelves, which was swung outward like a door. The hole was maybe four feet by four feet, barely enough room for an adult to crawl through.
“How did you find it?”
“I wanted that book,” he said, pointing to a bound copy of Cicero's De Republica. “It would not come out, so I pulled harder and the bookshelf moved.”
Ocella smiled, but she felt only sadness. She should have expected the old man would make Cicero his means of escape. She was confident he was dead, for he had not returned since the Praetorians arrived. Ocella and Cordus had spent a harrowing two days in the basement since the Praetorians had torn the house apart upstairs. She was sure they’d find the basement, kill her, and return Cordus to his prison.
But they had not. Scaurus had likely gone to his death without giving up Ocella and Cordus. She shuddered to think what he had to endure before the end.
Even though the Praetorians had left, she did not want to leave the basement in case the house was still under surveillance. So for the last two days, Ocella and Cordus had kept themselves busy by searching for this secret escape hole. With each passing hour, however, she grew more fearful that Scaurus lied, that she'd have to lead Cordus out a back window upstairs, which the Praetorians surely monitored.
Now the boy may have saved them.
“Does this mean we can leave?” Cordus asked.
“I will meet with Scaurus's contact. You will stay here.”
Ocella rushed over to the locker with coats, togas, and clothing Scaurus had given them. She selected a long black coat with a hood. She found an Umbra-built voice mimicker on the top shelf, and smiled. She shouldn’t have been surprised at Scaurus’s resourcefulness—he was the head of the Praetorian Guard for twenty years and would know how to get what he wanted. She placed the mimicker in her coat's inner pocket and then shut the locker doors.
“I can handle myself on the streets of Roma,” Cordus said indignantly.
“When have you ever been ‘on the streets of Roma’?”
“I snuck out of the palace many times.”
“With loyal slaves,” she countered. “Never with Praetorians waiting to kill you. Look, I just need to find Scaurus’s contact. I can't skulk in the shadows if I have to make sure you’re with me all the time. I won’t be gone long. Once I get the passes, I'll come back. Then you can show me these street skills you learned from your slaves when we go to the ship.”
Cordus regarded her a moment, then sighed. “Fine.”
He turned around, sat down at the tabulari, and called up a game of latrunculi. The holographic squared board auto-populated with pieces.
“That better not be over the bands,” she said.
“No, it is against the tabulari. Go, you are disturbing my concentration.”
Ocella remembered again why she’d never wanted children.
Ocella went back to the tunnel behind the bookshelf and peered into the darkness. She couldn't see more than six feet ahead, so she went back to Scaurus's desk—enduring Cordus's silent frowns at the interruption—and took the small pen torch she'd found the other day. Back at the tunnel, she got on her hands and knees and crawled with the pen torch in her teeth lighting the way ahead.
She came to the end of the tunnel thirty feet from the basement. She pointed her pen torch up and saw the tunnel became a shaft. Metal rungs stuck out from the wall, but she could not see the top within her torch’s limited range. She put the torch back in her mouth and started climbing.
She reached the top twenty feet up and found a metal hatch with a wheel. Balancing precariously on the ladder rungs, the pen torch in her mouth, she tried turning the wheel. It stuck at first, but moved after much grunting and pulling on her part. The hatch issued a series of clicks, and then she pushed up. The hatch only moved a fraction, so she pushed harder. An avalanche of dirt fell through the opening onto her head, and she struggled to keep her balance on the rungs. When the falling dirt stopped, she pushed the hatch again. More dirt trickled over her as she opened the hatch all the way. It made surprisingly little noise after years of disuse.
The sky was dark, and cool air rushed down to dry the sweat beads on her forehead. She shook the dirt from her hair and tried to wipe it from her face with her coat sleeve. Once she had blinked away most of the dirt in her eyes, she poked her head above the ground.
At first she thought she was in Scaurus's garden, towards the back of his property. To her right was a large stone wall, and an olive tree towering above her. To her left was a red-painted house. She realized it was the house next to Scaurus’s, and that she was in their garden. Lights blazed from inside, and she saw the neighbors were hosting a dinner party. Guests walked back and forth in front of the windows, and a man and woman stood on the patio sipping from wine goblets. They held each other closely, laughing quietly. They seemed more interested in each other, for they did not seem to notice Ocella’s head peeking out of the ground. She thought she was well hidden, since the olive tree and three large bushes cast a large shadow around her.
The question now was how to leave the garden. Her first thought was to mingle with the guests, but she dismissed that idea. A sweat-streaked, dirty face was not worn to Roman dinner parties. No, if she did not want to be seen, she would have to wait for the man and woman to leave the patio before she scrambled over the wall. Patience was the most useful thing Umbra had taught her.
But after almost fifteen minutes watching the two lovers exchange kisses, she was quickly losing her patience. The painful spasms in her calves and back from balancing on the ladder rungs
made her all the more willing to kill the lovers and be done with them.
Two young men in white togas and wine stains burst from the patio doors, singing “What Lies Between My Lady’s Thighs.” Ocella was never gladder to hear that vulgar song. The two lovers exchanged annoyed looks, then went back inside.
To Ocella's horror, the two young men stumbled straight toward her, swinging their wine goblets and singing as loud as their voices could muster. There was no time to pull the hatch over her, so she ducked down inside the shaft. The men went to the stone wall six feet to Ocella's right, then she heard them relieving themselves on the wall. She held her breath, praying they were too drunk to notice the deep hole six feet away. It was dark, so her chances of remaining undetected were good.
But she would not underestimate the serendipitous luck of a stumbling drunk. She slowly reached for the pistol in her coat.
“Rufus, Ahala,” a male voice shouted from the patio. “Get in here, the dancers are starting.”
The two men made a triumphant howl, then staggered back to the house, still screaming the vulgar song. Ocella made sure they went inside, then jumped up from the hatch, and crouching low, quietly closed it. She moved some dirt on it and covered it with dead leaves. Once again ensuring nobody from the party was outside, she leaped to the top of the wall a few feet above her, pulled herself over, and dropped to the alley on the other side.
She scanned the alley to her left and right. Besides stray dogs fighting over garbage, the alley was deserted. She searched the surrounding buildings, but saw no sign of Praetorian surveillance. Either they were well hidden, or they had abandoned all hope of finding clues at Scaurus’s home. Until she was sure, however, she would assume the former. She hurried to another dark alley, walked fast for several dozen yards, past more garbage-eating dogs, then down another alley. She stopped to listen for footsteps behind her. Nothing.