“Protection my eye,” the senator said on his way out of the chamber under the close escort of Caesar’s soldier. Every eye in the house watched the pair leave. An extremely satisfied grin filled the faces of half the hall, while the other half saw their features run pale. They all understood the situation.
“As I was saying,” the magistrate went on. “I now call this measure to a vote.” The measure passed without difficulty.
Tomal took the floor again. “My second measure concerns the position of Consul. As you all know, one of the two elected consuls was tragically killed up north at the city of Samarium while following Pompey’s illegal orders to attack Caesar and his small group of men who sought to escort me, the people’s Tribune, back to Rome.
“This situation leaves the lone Consul a de facto dictator. My second measure to support the people’s interest is to install Gaius Julius Caesar into the vacant Consul position.”
Once again the measure passed without opposition, allowing Tomal to move on to his third proposal. “In the interest of finishing the rebellion Pompey and his fellow traitors present to the Republic, I propose fifty million sesterces be removed from the treasury. These funds will be put under the care of Consul Caesar who will use the funds to lead our armies and destroy the threat posed by Pompey and his allies once and for all.”
As before, the measure received no debate and passed by an almost unanimous majority and allowed Tomal to continue. “The final vote I humbly propose for this body to contemplate is the appointment of the people’s Tribune to the position of Prefect. Thereby allowing the Tribune to run the city of Rome while Consul Caesar is away and enforcing the prior measure.”
Groans and grumbles rippled across the Populares side of the hall, but in the end the measure passed and Tomal was granted complete control over the city. Then the magistrate tapped his staff to the marble once again. “With these measures passed, I hereby draw this senate session to a close.”
The soldiers immediately moved to form ranks around the newly appointed Consul and escorted Caesar out the front door of the senate chamber to an explosion of cheers from the citizens of Rome who stayed to greet their champion.
**********
“Wow, the speed with which Caesar took total control of the Roman Republic is simply breathtaking.” Dr. Holmes commented.
Hastelloy slowly rubbed his temples while delivering his reply. “Yes, with his military victory achieved in the field, Caesar returned to Rome and within a matter of minutes procured a legal hit list to take out anyone who opposed him and could add their wealth to his own. Moments later he ascended to the highest political office in the Republic, without the effort and expense of a public election. And to top it all off, Caesar managed to drain the entire contents of the Republic’s treasury. In short, through Caesar the Alpha had complete dominion of the civilized world.”
Jeffrey shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t buy it. You’ve already told me the Alpha have been reduced to a life force with no body. You cannot tell me they can command so much influence without a physical presence to back it up. Yes Julius Caesar has complete control over the Republic, but that does not translate to the Alpha.”
“Oh it most certainly does,” Hastelloy fired back with uncharacteristic frustration. “Soldiers charged entrenched machine gun positions in World War I for the honor of their country; a formless idea. In the Medieval era noblemen left their families and opulent estates for the Crusades. They fought to reclaim the holy land for their church; a formless idea. Islamic extremists strap bombs to their chest and blow themselves up in shopping malls for the promise of gifts in the afterlife; a formless idea.”
“Alright, alright,” Dr. Holmes interrupted. “You’ve made your point. The Alpha had complete control of the Roman Republic through the blind devotion of Caesar to them.
“It looks to me like controlling Caesar is a toss up between you and the Alpha,” Jeffrey went on. “They pose as his Gods while Tomal and Valnor are his most trusted advisors. Heck, Tomal was just appointed Prefect, so he is in charge of the city of Rome itself.
“Ah, but is that truly a good or bad thing?” Hastelloy asked. “The lingering questions are could Tomal be trusted and how much of his new found power would go to his head.”
Chapter 26: Right Where We Want Them
Professor Russell watched the flat display screen just outside his captivity cage. Onscreen he saw the strike team making their way up the ramp and into the chamber that sat only a few feet away from his spot of captivity. So close, yet so far away.
Both he and Alex sprung to their feet to shout warnings at the top of their lungs in the hopes the sound would somehow escape the vault holding them. Both knew all too well what was about to happen, having experienced the sensation of being paralyzed by the antenna’s blue ray only a week before.
Alas, their warnings did not escape the soundproof walls of the chamber and they watched helplessly as one of the soldiers entered the chamber only to be captured in the clutches of that mysterious security device.
“That is enough,” Dr. Andre protested as he walked over to the cage to bring the display into his line of sight. “No sound escapes these walls, so please spare our eardrums and just watch in silence.”
Dr. Andre’s younger companion paced over to watch the action as well. “Ah, they've encountered our security system. Let’s see how my favorite NSA agent deals with that little obstacle.”
The professor saw a soldiers belly crawl up to the top of the ramp and bring a high powered sniper rifle to bear on the antenna. He would have shouted for them not to bother, but to do so was useless. In a moment of déjà vu, reminiscent of when Frank fired his rifle at the antenna, an energy shield of some sort deflected the bullet away from the target. Two more rounds fired by the sniper gave the same results and the frustrated soldier then slithered back down the ramp.
“Why does everyone try to destroy the emitter rather than disable it,” Dr. Andre asked to no one in particular. He then turned and looked at Frank. “I am seriously asking. Shooting it was your first instinct as well, why? Is it just in your nature to be so violent, or was that drilled into you as part of your NSA training?”
A frustrated huff was the only answer forthcoming before they all watched a fist sized cylinder get tossed up the ramp. It came to rest a few feet away from the vault door and unleashed a blinding burst of light which the view screen automatically dampened to keep it within a tolerable visual spectrum.
“Oh now that was just cruel,” Dr. Andre said in great disgust. “Throwing a flash bang grenade into a room you know one of your own men is trapped inside - despicable.”
“And ineffective,” the other man commented while pointing to the still functional blue beam.
Another fist sized object came up the ramp. This one was spherical shaped, and rolled into the far corner against the external door access terminal. The ball emitted a strobing blue pulse that started off almost imperceptibly faint, but soon grew in intensity to the point it looked like a bolt of lightning striking the room every couple of seconds.
The paralysis beam soon started cutting out as the electromagnetic interference from the grenade took hold of the room. Soon the camera feeding the image to the view screen also began flickering in rhythm with the pulses.
“That EMP grenade will do the trick,” the younger man commented. “We don’t want to lose our eyes in the room so let’s shut down the beam before that device does it for us.”
On screen the action appeared to move in slow motion as an image flashed through the white static every half second. It reminded Professor Russell of watching a Claymation cartoon with his children, but this was as real as it got. Their success outside the room held his potential freedom in the balance.
He watched the soldier once held in the clutches of the paralysis beam collapse to the ground in an unconscious heap. The instant that happened, two men stormed up the ramp. One took the butt of his assault rifle and bashed the antenna unt
il nothing functional remained.
“Yes!” Frank, Alex and Professor Russell collectively shouted.
The second man ran over and deactivated the flashing sphere, resulting in the image on screen instantly changing back to a fluid, real time picture. Slowly, and with great trepidation, five more soldiers and the NSA agent crept up the ramp and entered the outer chamber.
As soon as they gained confidence that the defenses were down, the soldiers went about setting up their lighting equipment while their engineer took a closer look at the door locking mechanism and took his time evaluating the likelihood of forcibly opening the door.
“Almost there,” Professor Russell sighed, but didn’t really believe the words considering his captors were the ones to shut down the beam. Things were still progressing according to their plan he feared.
Chapter 27: Leader of None
Hastelloy sat comfortably in his chair adorned with plush pillows. He casually looked around the gladiator arena and took in how different the view was now than when he and Valnor met with the Vestal priestess.
Back then the arena was flooded with water so high the boats sailed nearly at crowd level. Now the dirt floor rested twelve feet below and two gladiators armed with sword and shield slugged it out for the crowd’s amusement. Back then Hastelloy sat on a marble slab along the side reserved for senators, now he sat comfortably in a chair at the end of the arena in the Consul’s reserved box. To his right sat Tomal, who occupied the place of honor to preside over the games while Caesar was in Africa chasing down the remnants of Pompey and his supporters.
Valnor sat on the other side of Tomal. The clanking of swords below drew no interest from the young man. Instead, his eyes were transfixed on the luxury box at the other end of the arena reserved for the Vestal Virgins.
In that box sat six women in glowing white gowns. The priestesses were quite lovely, but Valnor’s attention was not held by the women in the box. His thoughts were obviously focused on the memory of the woman who was not present. Next to the six vestals sat an empty seventh chair, left vacant still from the woman Valnor influenced to break her vow of chastity, which ultimately resulted in her execution.
The young man looked like somebody just punched him in the solar plexus. He was short of breath, dripping with sweat, and his eyes held an unparalleled anguish behind them. Valnor no doubt felt guilty about betraying his friend; however, the real cause for his despair was his wife back on Novus. Even though the woman thought him dead and probably remarried a few thousand years ago, Valnor still felt he betrayed his union vows.
The young man looked on the verge of vomiting, which simply would not do in this situation. He sat in the place of honor at a gladiator match. If he soiled his sandals now it would appear the carnage below was too much for him to stomach. It would be a sign of weakness to everyone in the arena and invite trouble down the road.
Hastelloy was not the only person in the luxury box to notice Valnor’s discomfort. In the Latin language of the humans Tomal laughed. “Young Octavian, is the bloodshed below too much to handle? Didn’t you see much worse than this on the battlefield in Macedonia?”
Valnor gave an awkward nod but said nothing, which only encouraged Tomal to press his taunts all the harder. “Maybe if you’d actually swung a sword in that engagement rather than hiding behind the lines and kissing your uncle’s backside, this spectacle wouldn’t bother you so.”
Valnor turned his head to face his tormentor. Unfortunately, the young man’s eyes were red and starting to fill with tears when they met Tomal’s.
“Hah,” Tomal roared. “Pull yourself together boy. If you seek to follow in Caesar’s footsteps you’ll need to be made of sterner stuff. You see, having your tongue in Caesar’s ass may get you a seat at the big boy table but it won’t do much else. You need to be a man. You need to bring Caesar glory in battle, as I have. That is how you get appointed ruler of the city in his stead. That is how you become his successor to rule the Republic. I see now I have nothing to fear by you supplanting me as Caesar’s heir apparent.”
Despite the words, Hastelloy could almost see Tomal plotting to murder his rival for Caesar’s favor. To head off any unfortunate accidents in Valnor’s future Hastelloy decided to let Tomal in on the little secret. In their Novan language Hastelloy jumped into the conversation. “Cut him some slack Tomal. That’s no way to talk to a fellow officer of the fleet.”
“Indeed,” Valnor added.
Tomal’s smug grin morphed into a nasty snarl. At that exact moment, the crowd roared with excitement as one of the gladiators lopped off the other’s sword hand. The victor stood over the other, held his sword at the helpless man’s throat, and looked for Tomal to render his judgment.
Hastelloy switched back to using the Latin language. “You’re on.”
Tomal recovered from his shock quickly. In a lurch, he sprung to his feet and held out a fist. He extended his thumb to the side and twisted it down toward the ground. There were a few cheers, but mostly shouts of displeasure filled the arena. The crowd did not agree.
Hastelloy fought back a grin realizing Tomal was allowing his anger to dictate his decisions again. The fallen gladiator fought extremely well and deserved to live. Everyone in the crowd knew it yet Tomal defied the will of the people to satiate his own angry desire. Seeing that part of Tomal’s nature so close to the surface gave Hastelloy added confidence in his plans.
The victorious gladiator hesitated for a set of heartbeats. Clearly he felt the fallen man was worthy of mercy, but he was a slave and had no choice in the matter. He did make it a quick and painless death for the fallen man as he lopped his head off with a swift and clean blow.
Boos and jeers from the protesting crowd only intensified as the order was carried out. Fortunately for Tomal there was one final match so the day still had potential to end on a high note. As the victor strutted off to the side and exited the arena, the master of ceremonies filled the air with his booming voice.
“Now, the Prefect of Rome is proud to present the primus event. It shall be a serial match to the death.” Instantly the crowd turned to cheers at the news, the injustice of the man killed moments before long forgotten.
“Two men will enter the arena,” the MC continued. “When one falls, another shall enter and the battle will rage on. In all, thirty men will step into the fray. Only one will walk out alive to claim victory.”
The crowd was positively frothing at the prospect of the premier bout and could hardly wait for the carnage to begin. A normal match between two gladiators lasted anywhere from five to ten minutes, so there was potential for the next five hours to be filled with thrusting swords, blocking shields, and above all else - death. Each match was to the death and that had the blood lust of the crowd on the verge of ecstasy.
Doors on opposite ends of the arena opened and two armed combatants entered without apprehension. Both supremely confident they would survive the day. The man entering from the north side carried two swords and wore a small helmet with a long nose guard as the only obstruction to his view. The man from the south wore a very large plumed helmet with a mesh screen over his face. He carried a rectangular shield in one hand. The other held a sword while the arm was protected by metal scales running all the way up to his shoulder.
As the two men approached each other Tomal sat back down in his chair and commented on the combatant’s plight. “Poor beggars, these two stand zero chance of living to see nightfall. No one can fight for five hours straight against increasingly more capable foes. The gladiator who survives this match will be one of the last two men entering the arena, mark my words.”
“You never know,” Valnor sighed. “People can surprise you sometimes.” He made it a point to look Hastelloy in the eyes before enunciating his thoughts further. “If a man you respect and admire can let you down by issuing crushingly amoral orders, why can’t a person you expect nothing from rise to the occasion and provide a pleasant surprise?”
“On occasions
they can,” Tomal replied. He took note of Valnor’s anger towards the Captain as he casually poured himself another glass of wine. Then he leveled his own menacing glare toward Hastelloy. “Getting close to Caesar was my assignment. Now that I’m his right hand man, why do I now run head long into a backup plan that threatens to derail my progress?”
Hastelloy felt the venomous stares of both men press in on him. To buy himself extra seconds to decide how best to proceed, he reached behind his back to pull out one of the overstuffed pillows and tossed it to the floor. The rigid back of the seat was less comfortable, but served to hone his focus on the matter at hand.
“Tomal, I don’t even go to the bathroom without a backup plan so this shouldn’t surprise you. However, I have some news that will.”
Hastelloy spent the next half hour describing how they came to know about the Alpha relics and Valnor’s personal sacrifice to gain the knowledge. He concluded the story by emphasizing the influence the Alpha now carried over the vestal virgins in the form of their Goddess Vesta, Julius Caesar through his faith in Jupiter, and the entire Republic through Caesar’s iron grip on the society at large.
Periodically, the crowd drowned out the intense conversation as yet another gladiator died at the hands of his opponent. The three men paid no attention to the arena floor as the real battle took place in the luxury box.
“I don’t buy it,” Tomal insisted. “If the Alpha had the ability to preserve their life force we’d know about it - period.”
“We both saw it first hand,” Valnor protested.
Tomal rolled his eyes before continuing his argument. “No, you each saw separate events. All we have is Hastelloy’s word about what he witnessed. You actually saw nothing, you overheard voices. Maybe someone else entered the tent with Caesar, maybe his god actually talked to him. With all these temples and gods all over the place, there has to be something to it all, right? Another explanation that comes to mind is just maybe you were high on some drug and imagined the whole thing.”
Centurion's Rise Page 16