lightly and spoke among themselves, Ouranos thought. The first of the Titans. He glanced back toward his work area. Their memories can last beyond one body, thanks to Mnemosyne. He lifted his hand toward his face and braced his right elbow on his folded left arm. He brushed his lips with his forefinger and thought, I still don't like the name Homo sapiens telios. Psychically Linked Organism … Psionically Linked Organism … Either one is better.
XX
CAESAR
154 Years Before the End
The main throne room was bright. Sun poured through tall decorative windows. The white marble reflected that light onto wide columns and ancient, colorful tapestries. At the northern end of the room, a platform raised upon a series of steps used to hold the emperor's large marble chair. Now only Maxentius' cube sat there, deep in thought.
"Thanks to your openness in trade, imperator," Prefect Gallian said, "my holdings in those firms have swelled beyond my greatest expectations."
The Caesar didn't respond.
Prefect Etne couldn't bear the silence and spoke, "The recovery from the recent downturn seems near an end."
"Indeed."
"Tiberia, of course, is one of the few to have emerged so soon," Etne said. "Your economic policies, lord, have kept our ship aright."
Pause. "Indeed," the leader answered.
Caesar had remained in his box for days on end. Needing no sleep, he dove headlong into the mass of the Matrix, pursuing as many avenues of knowledge and intelligence as he could.
Gallian stretched his leg and relied on his thick staff to keep his girth upright. "What of Huban?"
Prefect Lucanus waved his hand dismissively. "They are as they were. Not bowed by the dip yet buoyed by the rise."
"They are growing powerful," Gallian said. He kept his focus on the Caesar's cube and its indicator lights. They were constantly blinking but there was no indication that he would respond.
Only occasionally did the imperator stop and rest his mind. It was only needed to prevent the box from overheating. Donovan said he was working on that, too.
"Huban's return is remarkable," Etne said. "They cast their lot in science and continue to reap benefits."
Lucanus grunted, "Their spaceships put on a fine show but what good does it do the world?"
Etne was about to answer when Gallian interrupted, "Have any of you spoken with Ryall recently?"
The other prefects lifted their heads and glanced toward the great box. Cleon answered first, "I know he was tending to Titus. She will depart this life soon."
"And her cube? Is it finished?"
Cleon shrugged. "I do not know." He looked at Caesar, hoping he would have more information.
Instead, his attention was cast toward Brixia in northern Tiberia. He watched the movements of Triumphator Toma Marcus very carefully. He made public appearances and entertained prominent guests. He wore the golden necklace as a symbol of that auspicious title. He did meet people in secret.
Those he met in secret were businessmen who didn't want their plans known. They were religious leaders who vainly sought support for some social issue or another. They were military leaders seeking funding and personnel for some new pet project.
Not once had the subject of Marcus becoming Caesar been broached. For two years, Maxentius observed and studied the man and found nothing to concern him.
I have wasted my time, Caesar thought. I knew Marcus was a good man.
He kept his contingency plans in place. He still monitored the triumphator's secret meetings. He kept tabs on his travel arrangements.
It would take only a thought … a defect planted in the rotor controls of a gyrocopter. A flaw in the programming of an aeroplane's engine operations. I can still eliminate him, if I need to.
"The Senate is meeting this week," Lucanus said. "What items are on their agenda?"
Gallian shrugged, "Doguran reimbursement, for one."
"Pah," Cleon said. "We concern ourselves overmuch with our image among the world."
Lucanus smiled and continued, "New military contracts for the biennium."
The prefects smiled and nodded. "Good, good," Gallian said. "Good news for us all."
"I am intrigued by a measure that would divert funds to a covert Matrix operation," Etne said.
"You would be interested in that," Cleon said. "You've made your mote with computers and surveillance." Etne smiled and nodded.
The Caesar turned his mind away from Toma Marcus and toward Doria. There was a great, black hole in his vision of that nation. BBM remained impenetrable to him. Perhaps that new covert monitoring program would provide answers.
There lies my best hope, he thought.
XXI
AHLJAELA
149 Years Before the End
He moved the finished plastic forms slowly. His mind was on other things.
Mar dropped the pieces in the bin and walked back toward the press. He looked around the factory floor and spotted the others who promised to work with him. There were three on the conveyor line. Two by the initial press. Two more by the second. One with him at the final press. Four in the sorting area … they were all around.
Ahljaela looked up toward the small windows near the roof in the cavernous space. The sun was beginning to enter the second pane on the corner. It was almost time.
He pressed the green button on his panel and more forms came off the press. He scooped them aside and waited for more. He glanced over at Kerne. Mar didn't know him well but he agreed to help.
The thought festered in his mind for so long. The fire two years ago, though, brought others to his attention. The roof on building two at Siler River Plastics collapsed and killed nearly one hundred people. The government investigated and Siler paid their fines. They rebuilt the factory and put people back to work as though nothing happened.
The others agreed with him. Something needed to change.
He made only twenty-four denars. Barely enough to match expenses at home now. They had to sell more and more of their things. More of their crops. They made do with less food and lesser quality of it.
Mar looked up at the window. The sun wasn't in position just yet.
Am I doing the right thing? That thought occurred to him all day every day for the last two weeks. He never discussed this with Laphé. His wife might not understand. She was still distracted with her duties running the house and raising the children. Things were easier for her, now that her father had passed. He was an invalid and abusive. Less stress for her with him gone.
But what if Mar was fired?
There were other factories. Two more opened near Gargamus after Siler River Plastics did. Of course, Ahljaela knew nothing about how they were run and if the workers fared any better.
He took several more pieces to the sorting bins. As he walked back, he looked at the window. The sun was perfectly framed. It was time.
Mar stood by his panel and looked across to Kerne. They locked eyes and then Ahljaela turned and caught the gaze of his comrades. A couple nodded. Others seemed nervous. He understood that.
He left his station and walked toward the center of the factory floor. There was an open space between one of the conveyor belts and the ring of presses. He looked at his feet and didn't lift his head until he was in the middle. More than a dozen fellow workers joined him there.
Mar's skin flushed hot and he felt a bit lightheaded. His cheeks tingled and he grinned just for a moment before he reached up to his top button and undid it. The others did the same. Two dozen people were now huddled in the center of the floor and they pulled down their tops to reveal a plain white shirt underneath with a single word scrawled across the chest.
Ahljaela nodded and the group turned to face their co-workers.
Their shirts read, "Coalition."
Mar looked out to see everyone's reaction but instead he saw the eyes of the plant's security chief. He was tall and not very muscu
lar. He wore bulky clothes and carried a baton. Today he was holding a handgun and Ahljaela barely noticed it. He was staring into the chief's dark eyes under bushy brows.
Several people on the other side of the circle didn't see the growing security presence and they began to chant, "Coalition now! Coalition now!"
Mar's heart beat hard in his chest. His light-headedness returned and he opened his mouth to speak.
The chief pulled the trigger.
The bullet entered Ahljaela's forehead and cracked the rear of his skull. Mist and pink matter sprayed briefly from his black hair before his body collapsed to the concrete floor. It wept a large pool of redness, quickly at first, but then slowly until it encircled his head.
The report of the weapon echoed in the room, overpowering the loudest machines. Even those who didn't see what was going on looked now.
The members of the circle broke formation and moved away. Members of the chief's squad slapped them across their faces and heads with batons. They collapsed to the floor and were kicked for several moments until the chief snapped his fingers.
A foreman stepped up and tossed down a batch of papers. "You're all fired." He looked around the factory and caught the wide eyes of the other employees. "If anyone else mentions the 'c-word,'" he yelled, "they won't escape punishment as easily as this lot did." Security then picked up the protestors and their papers before dragging them toward the exits.
On his way off the factory floor, the foreman stopped by Kerne who held his head low. Though he wore a "coalition" shirt under his canvas suit, it remained covered up. The foreman handed him a
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