Lords of Kobol - Prelude: Of Gods and Titans
Page 75
and bit the inside of his cheek. "Well, congratulations. Your wish has come true." He looked toward the flap and barked, "Centurion!"
The soldier immediately stepped inside and saluted. "Lord."
"I need you to witness this." Maxentius straightened up and looked harshly at his brother. "Faustus Valerius, on behalf of Caesar Galerius the Fourth, you have been stripped of your title as Magister. The eagles and standards will be taken from your possession. The imperator has named myself, Maxentius Valerius, as Magister in your stead for the invasion of Strand." He relaxed a little and turned to the soldier. "Take him. Gather his things and get him to the airfield. A transport is waiting."
"Yes, lord."
"Then gather my kit and put it in his tent."
"Yes, lord." The centurion took Faustus by the elbow and began to leave the room.
Maxentius saw his older brother stumble and his heart sank. Suddenly, he leapt forward and pulled at a sweaty shirt sleeve. "Faus," he said, "please, get help."
The former magister smiled and blinked slowly. "You've already helped me." He staggered outside and while the younger brother stared at the ground, Faustus yelled back, "Thank you, Max."
Maxentius slowly moved toward the planning table at the center of the tent. He stared at the map and the various pieces, representing military units, scattered about. It reminded him of a tedious board game he used to play with Faustus. I always won, he thought.
"Generals!" he yelled. Moments later, seven men and women walked back inside and saluted. A few tribunes and legates re-entered, too. "As you may know, I have been named Magister by the Caesar and have assumed command over this effort."
"Yes, lord."
"Congratulations, magister."
"Enough." Maxentius hovered over the map and said, "That is the final Attican line?"
"It is."
"How long have they been entrenched there?"
The generals looked to a battle-hardened legate. His gravely voice struggled to be heard, "Nearly two months."
"And that's fully within the dense jungle?" The legate nodded. Maxentius then hit the table and said, "Right. The Pact of Nations' customary endless deliberations continue but we have very little time before they decide to act. General-of-the-Air?" A severe-faced woman saluted and the magister said, "See to it that our planes are outfitted with firegel. How long will that take?"
"We have some in the fleet offshore. One day, lord."
"Good. Tomorrow at dawn, we will bomb the entire Attican line with firegel. Then, we move in with our legions and flush out whatever remains."
The general-of-the-air looked at her comrades and then back at Maxentius. "It will take some time to outfit the bombers …"
"Tomorrow," he said forcefully, "at dawn."
She saluted.
The next day, he was giddy. Maxentius stood in the command tent and watched footage from their bombers as huge swaths of the jungle burned. The smell drifted as far away as their camp. It was an intoxicating aroma.
"That's the last of the sorties," a general said.
Maxentius nodded and looked at the high legate, "Begin the march." He saluted and left.
While they waited, Maxentius' surreptitiously studied the faces of the other officers in the tent. They seemed ... disappointed. Concerned. Yes, the magister knew that firegel was considered cruel and brutal, but such things must be done to secure victory in such times.
"We've got him," a tribune said as he stormed into the tent. Seven hours ago, the march of the Tiberian legions began and they easily pushed their way into the scorched jungle. Thousands of bodies were found melted together in Attican ditches and bunkers. There was no real fight to be had.
Maxentius stood and said, "General Caraxas?" The tribune nodded and the young magister slapped his hands together. "Fantastic. Bring him here."
An hour later, the tribune returned with a centurion and the Attican general, bound and bleeding. He collapsed to his knees and Maxentius then saw the burns on his skin and the singed hair on his head.
"Have you been tended to?" Maxentius asked.
Caraxas lifted his head to speak, but as he inhaled, he began to cough and his throat quivered. He only shook his head.
"Get a medic in here. And water."
As he looked down at the middle-aged man, this revered commander of Attica's forces, Maxentius felt his chest tighten. At first he thought it was the smell of spent firegel on his clothes, or maybe the faint aroma of charred skin that clung to the general. Then the magister realized what it was. This is defeat, he thought. I must never allow myself to appear like this.
A legate entered the tent and saluted. "Magister, we've rounded up the last of the surviving enemy. Strand is ours."
Maxentius inhaled deeply and smiled. He looked down at Caraxas and then bent low. "General," he said, "do you surrender?"
Slowly, the man lifted his darkened face and only glared at his captor. Maxentius waited but no real response came.
He stood again and gripped the handle of his sword. "Oh," he said, "does anyone have a tab?" A tribune stepped forward and took his communications device from a holster. "I want to send father a picture."
Maxentius removed his sword from its scabbard and held the flat edge of the blade below General Caraxas' chin. The magister turned toward the tribune and smiled at his device as he clicked a button.
Two hundred years later, Caesar Maxentius IX sat atop Palatine Hill in the open ruins of Tiber's most ancient structure, the home of the first emperor.
"My lord," an attendant said, "they are here."
Caesar nodded. He stood from his modern chair and looked toward the beautiful blue sky. From the top of this hill, much of Tiber could be seen. There was a lot of green, speckled with the colors of flowering plants. Shining, modern buildings towered along the river. The gray of the three thousand year old marble seemed to make everything else so vibrant.
"Lord Imperator, Princeps Senatus, Caesar Maxentius the Ninth," the attendant said. Two people approached from the old entrance and the attendant continued, "Attica's Prime Minister Dyseo Rodimus and Ambassador Ana Kotoros." They bowed low and Maxentius returned the courtesy.
"Please, sit," the emperor said.
The prime minister smiled and looked in awe at the remaining structure of the palace. "What a lovely setting. Why did you choose to meet here, if I may ask?"
Caesar shrugged as he waved over someone to offer his guests water. "I grew tired of my own palace. I feel as though I've spent years there. Caged." The man and woman sipped the water and then looked at the emperor, waiting. "I have called you here for a very simple yet difficult purpose."
The prime minister nodded. "I see."
Caesar watched a large bird fly under a series of ancient arches before he spoke again. "The Cylons are proving hardier foes than anyone could have guessed. Not only are they keeping my forces back, but they are continually invading and attacking Pact nations, too." The ambassador nodded this time. "I have secretly asked you here so that I may formally request an alliance with Attica and the Pact of Nations, in hopes that, together, we may defeat the Cylons."
The duo exchanged a quick glance before the prime minister looked back at Caesar and said, "I understand."
Before he could say anything else, the emperor raised his hand and continued, "In an effort to show how seriously I take the Cylon threat, … I offer the use of the island of Strand. After the Cylons' defeat, Attica may keep it." It pained Maxentius to say it, but he knew it was necessary.
XCV
MNEMOSYNE
2 Years Before the End
"We had been awake for years. We lived normally and they performed routine checkups on us. We were happy to tell them whatever they wanted, but it wasn't enough. They cut us open and did everything to us that you could think of. They sterilized us. They performed something close to vivisections, multiple times. Then they started testing our do
wnload signals." Mnemosyne's eyes grew blurry with tears and she shook her head, hoping to will it away.
"They started off pretty clinical. Quick gunshots. Euthanasia. Then they got cruel. Decapitations, blood loss. Stabbings." She cleared her throat. "They took me to the roof and threw me off once. I didn't die. I was a broken mess, but one of the doctors … Biv, came to me. He covered my mouth and said, 'Shh, shh. Go to sleep now.'"
Mnemosyne covered her face and turned toward the window. The bright sunlight streamed in through the sheer drapes. She widened her mouth and wiped her eyes as she sat up in bed. "When Cronus said he had a plan, I would have done anything to get out of there. And the Caesar, he seemed to genuinely care. He seemed to like us and he wanted our help. But he asked for it. He didn't take."
"I was happy to work and study and research for a while, but I decided I wanted more. The Caesar offered Naban to me after it was annexed but I didn't want that. He offered me Eshnu, too. A beautiful, quiet place. I live there sometimes … but he gave it to Themis. She governs it and Nandia fairly." She clicked her tongue and said, "I had no interest in being a praetor or ruling people or anything." Her shoulders rose and fell with her inhale and exhale. "I painted. I read. I lived a pretty good life away from Cronus and the others."
"I visited, every now and then," she tilted her head. "I missed some of them." Mnemosyne looked down at her arms and she fiddled with a fold in the sheet. "Some of them." She shook her head. "Being at BBM really frakked us up, you know? Coeus