The Imperium Game

by K. D. Wentworth

  The curtains rippled as though someone had opened a window. Pluto, Lord of the Underworld, peered beneath the canopy top. “LONG HAVE MY PANGS OF LOVE GONE UNNOURISHED. LONG HAS THIS DARK WORLD FAILED TO SATISFY MY MOST BASIC NEED.”

  The air crackled with the strange electricity that accompanied him wherever he went. Even though he was only a holographic image, Demea couldn’t escape the feeling that some presence was actually with her in this room. Feeling vulnerable, she slipped farther beneath the silken bed sheet. “I have a need also—to return to the Game.”

  His face shining with fierce pride, he knelt beside her bed, his black cloak tumbling around his broad shoulders. His insubstantial finger traced the length of her arm up to her shoulder, somehow sending a strange tingle through her. “WHY?”

  “Because I’m bored!” She hated him for luring her here, yet at the same time she found his clean-cut face and full, sensual lips attractive. If he had been real . . . Her cheeks suddenly burned as she realized she would have been mightily tempted to stay.

  “BORED? IN HADES?” His wickedly black eyes sparked. “BUT THE WHOLE GAME PASSES THROUGH THIS REALM. YOU HAVE ONLY TO SAY WHAT YOU DESIRE, FROM ABOVE OR BELOW, AND IT WILL BE PROVIDED.”

  “Well, I came to learn about Micio’s business.” She glared over his shoulder at Barbus, who didn’t even seem to notice. “Suppose you start by telling me what he was doing down here.”

  Pluto lifted his right hand. “SHADE OF MICIO JULIUS METULLUS, FORMER EMPEROR OF ROME, YOU ARE SUMMONED!”

  A sudden chill wafted through the room, bringing with it the smell of damp stone. Demea’s eyes went wide as the air shimmered with a gray mist, then formed itself into the translucent image of a man—a man with thinning red hair, a familiar beaky nose, and lips that curled as though they had just tasted a rotten fig.

  “So what is it this time?” it asked in the insectlike, nasal whine so characteristic of her late husband.

  “REVEAL THE NATURE OF YOUR ASSOCIATION WITH THIS REALM,” Pluto commanded so loudly that it rattled her eardrums. “AND KEEP IT SHORT.”

  Micio’s image sneered. “You’re kidding, of course.”

  “TRY ME.”

  “Okay, okay, don’t get your tunic in a twist!” The image turned to Demea. “But you don’t know this broad like I do. Don’t blame me if she doesn’t like it.”

  Demea was familiar with holographic recordings, as well as robot surrogates programmed with personality prints, but this was something new to her. From the jowly jaws to the nervous tick under his right eye, it was her late husband in every unpleasant detail. She turned to Pluto. “Is this a recording?”

  “THE DEAD BELONG TO ME.” The god’s black eyes burned down at her with a heat that had nothing to do with flames. “EVERYONE KNOWS THAT.”

  “You were so hot to know about the business, so shut up and listen.” Micio crossed his arms and glared at her. “Back when I first enrolled in the Game as a lowly Syrian wine merchant, it came to me that this place was the perfect hideout. I mean, it’s private property, so the police don’t patrol inside, and there’s lots of nicely inaccessible little nooks and crannies where no one ever looks. I did some exploring, struck up an acquaintance with a few of the priests, and realized the gods have more than a little say-so here. They’re all hooked up with the computer, and they know exactly what’s going on.

  “So I made a few sacrifices, proposed a few deals, and then Pluto and I decided we could be a lot of help to each other. I brought in Harry, here, and his boys from the outside to oversee the details while I played for points so I could advance and gain even more power.”

  “That’s why you married me,” she said slowly. “For the points.”

  “Yeah.” The shade stared at her sourly. “You’re a damn good player, especially in authenticity. You not only brought me a bundle of your own points, but your little scam of installing Amaelia as a Vestal Virgin was absolutely inspired. That put me over the top—to Emperor.”

  “So the business between you and Publius Barbus was smuggling.” Her mouth went dry as the sand in the arena.

  “Yeah.” The shade scratched its prominent nose. “Frankly, old Ball-and-Chain, I don’t think you’ve got it in you. I mean, I know you worked a little deal with Juno once in a while for a case of contraband sugar or a bag of illegal pork rinds or even a liter of cola now and then, but you don’t have the grit for a true life of crime. If the police ever ran you in. you’d crumple like a paper doll.”

  “Oh, really?” She straightened her back.

  “BEGONE!” Pluto waved his hand again and the image dissolved.

  “See, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Barbus refilled the black goblet to the brim with champagne and pushed it into her hand. “You don’t want to deal with all them messy details. Me and the boys will take care of everything, while you kick back and enjoy life. Think of the possibilities.”

  “YES, THINK.” Pluto’s huge hand caressed her cheek. She felt the bite of static crawling over her skin. “WE SHALL REWRITE THE MANUALS OF PLEASURE, YOU AND I. WE SHALL MAKE THE DARK HALLS OF THE UNDERWORLD SINO WITH THE HEIGHTS OF OUR PASSION.”

  Holding the glass of champagne with both hands, she tossed the wine down without even tasting it, then held it out for more. This looked to be a long siege.

  * * *

  Through the hour it took them to cross the city, Kerickson kept having to detour to avoid new fires and the smoldering ruins of others the fire drones had already put out. Mars was out of control; there was no doubt about that. What in the name of Jupiter could the new programmers be doing—or had HabiTek even bothered with new programmers at all? He toyed with the idea of trying to access the Interface himself. But if the board ever realized he was on the playing field, they would turn him over to the police at once. Until he found out what was going on, he had to stay in the Game.

  Amaelia’s face was rosy with exertion, and even though the day was cold, she had thrown her woolen cloak back on her shoulders.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to wait for me in a shop?” He gestured at a linen merchant’s and a butcher’s. “Or maybe a restaurant? Romulus’s is just around the corner. I could come back for you.”

  She sighed, then tucked a damp tendril of red hair back behind her ear. “Are you kidding? I don’t think there’s a safe place in this whole city.”

  “Well, we’re almost there, anyway.” He rubbed his burning eyes, which were tearing from the smoke. Taking her arm, he pushed through the anxious, milling crowd and towed her along in his wake. They rounded the corner and entered the Forum, the broad square that held the city’s major temples as well as numerous fortune-tellers’ booths, statues, massive monuments of past wars, dealers of sacrificial animals, and a million or so pigeons.

  It was also filled at the moment with at least half the terrified populace of the Game, most of them pushing and shoving in an attempt to enter the red-marble Temple of Mars at the farthest end. Fortunately, Jupiter’s temple, in the middle, didn’t seem to be doing nearly so brisk a business.

  Keeping tight hold of Amaelia’s hand, he pulled her into the frightened crowd. They had come out at the Forum’s lower end, three temples down from Jupiter. The gigantic figure of Mars was not visible at the moment, and it did seem as they fought their way past the Temple of Vesta that the smoky air was clearing. Perhaps, he thought, the supplicants down at the Temple of Mars have managed to appease the angry god alrea—

  With a roar of flames, a towering Vesta manifested before her little round temple. “THERE SHE IS!” Red-orange burning hair swirled around her face as she pointed down into the crowd. “THE ONE WHO NOT ONLY BETRAYED ME, BUT ALL OF ROME!”

  The crowd looked around, trying to see where the huge finger pointed.

  “SHE LET THE SACRED FIRES GO OUT! SHE LEFT THE CITY UNPROTECTED! JUST BECAUSE SHE’S THE EMPEROR’S DAUGHTER DOESN’
T MEAN SHE IS ABOVE THE LAW!”

  Kerickson’s whole body went cold. He should have thought of this before! Of course Vesta would hold a grudge. “Hide your face,” he whispered quickly to Amaelia

  She looped a fold of her cloak over her copper-colored hair as they worked their way through the milling mass of people.

  “DON’T LET HER GET AWAY!” Vesta shrieked. “THAT’S HER, THE CARROT-TOP IN THE WHITE GOWN WITH THE SCRUFFY-LOOKING FREEDMAN! STOP THEM!”

  A murmur ran through the mixture of aristocrats and plebes; then an armored Legionary seized Kerickson’s cloak. “Stop, in the name of the Senate and the people of Rome!”

  Kerickson threw his arm around Amaelia “Don’t be ridiculous! This is my wife.”

  Amaelia gave the man a nervous smile.

  “Wife, huh?” The soldier glanced down at Kerickson’s Game bracelet, then, without letting go of the cloak, he used his other hand to snatch Amaelia’s silver brooch. “Since when does a freedman’s wife wear silver?”

  “Well, there is a slight difference in our rank. I didn’t say her parents approved.” Kerickson tried to wrench his cloak out of the other’s grasp, but the man had the build of a space-truck.

  Amaelia turned to Kerickson, her face white. “She’ll burn me alive!”

  “AND YOU, YOU MISERABLE EXCUSE FOR A MORTAL!” Vesta’s huge voice spiraled toward a shriek. “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BRING ME SIX NEW GIRLS, AND I HAVEN’T EVEN SEEN ONE SO FAR! THE SACRED FIRES HAVE BEEN OUT FOR DAYS NOW! WHERE ARE MY VIRGINS? ANSWER ME THAT, IF YOU CAN!”

  “Yeah, buddy!” The Legionary pulled Kerickson closer and let go of Amaelia to draw a gleaming dagger. “Where are her virgins?”

  “That’s—” Kerickson unfastened the plain iron brooch that held his cloak. “—a—” He shrugged out of the garment, leaving the soldier standing there holding it in his ham-fisted hand. “—good question!” Lowering his head, he dived into the crowd as though it were a sea, hitting the pavement hard enough to rasp the skin from his palms. He reached up and pulled Amaelia down on top of him. “Crawl!” he whispered fiercely, then scrabbled furiously on his hands and knees in what he hoped was the right direction.

  A great shout went up above their heads, but the throng was packed so tightly that the forest of legs hid them from view. Every third or so step, he swore as the shifting feet trampled his fingers.

  “THEY’RE GETTING AWAY!” Vesta shrilled somewhere out of sight, but her voice was already fading.

  After another few moments of hot, dusty, stifling crawling, he motioned Amaelia to stay down as he cautiously stood to get his bearings. A white-haired woman, her arms full of caged sacrificial doves, stared at him suspiciously. “Just what do you think you’re doing, crawling around down there like a worm? Were you trying to peek up my stola?”

  The almost blinding whiteness of the Temple of Jupiter lay only one temple away. “Here!” Kerickson reached into his leather purse and pulled out a silver coin. “We’ll take a pair of doves.”

  The woman’s eyes widened at the sight of at least five times what the whole cage was worth. “Well, I suppose I could let you have a couple,” she said, “although I’m that fond of them.”

  “Great.” He pushed the coin into her hand, then opened the cage and plucked out two doves. “A pleasure doing business with you.” He helped Amaelia to her feet, clutching the fluttering white birds to his chest with one hand, and pushed on through the sea of people toward Jupiter’s temple.

  As they reached the broad white marble steps leading up to the temple proper, the crowd thinned out. Amaelia stumbled after him, her arms covered with scratches, her face pinched with exhaustion. At the top, he passed her the doves, then smoothed down his hair and straightened his tunic.

  One of Jupiter’s priests glided out of the main sanctuary in a traditional spotless white tunic that Kerickson would have bet a day’s pay included unauthentic fabric. The man stared down his biosculpted patrician nose at them. “You seek guidance, my son?”

  “Yeah, right.” Kerickson glanced at the flaming-haired manifestation of Vesta, still towering over the terrified supplicants and gesturing vehemently in their direction. “I mean, we, uh, we’ve come to sacrifice to Jupiter, father of gods and men.”

  The priest’s lips tightened. “He’s—busy at the moment.”

  “Busy?” Kerickson tried to peek over the priest’s shoulder. “Now look here. Isn’t Jupiter supposed to be all-seeing and all-knowing?”

  A deep chuckle rumbled out from the shadowy interior of the temple. The priest flinched, then folded his hands together in an air of reverence. “I’m sorry.” His voice wavered. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow, or maybe next week.” He glanced fearfully over his shoulder. A bright bead of perspiration trickled down his forehead. “Yes, I’m sure next week would be much better. So much to oversee, so little time; I’m sure you understand.”

  “Look—” Kerickson began, then was interrupted by a sudden renewal of screaming back down in the Forum. Turning around, he saw the fifty-foot figure of Mars standing astride the Market District, hurling lightning bolts at the scattering people. The stink of burning plastic and wood smoke filled the air.

  “I’m afraid we can’t wait.” He pushed up the sleeves of his tunic. “Jupiter, father of all gods and men!” he called. “Ruler and Preserver of the World, Cloud Gatherer, Thunderer—”

  “YOU FORGOT ‘GOD OF THE BRIGHT DAY AND THE MURKY CLOUD,’” a deep, gravelly voice said. “THAT’S ONE OF MY FAVORITES.”

  “Stop it!” The priest grabbed him by the arm.

  “God of the Bright Day and the Murky Cloud!” Kerickson elbowed the priest aside. “I beg for an audience.”

  “GOT YOURSELF IN A SPOT OF TROUBLE, I SEE.” A patch of blue glimmered up near the massive pillars by the temple’s entrance, and then a huge shining eagle appeared in midair. It flapped its wings and settled on the head of a statue of Jupiter.

  “Tell him it’s a mistake!” The priest’s face had gone as white as the expensive marble beneath their feet. “Tell him you’ve got the wrong temple, the wrong god, anything!”

  “Jupiter, who sees all, knows all—” Kerickson began.

  “WELL, NOT ALL. I MEAN, THERE ARE A FEW THINGS THAT REALLY WORRY ME—LIKE WHY ARE MORTAL WOMEN ALWAYS SO LITTLE AND I’M SO BIG? IS CELIBACY REALLY FATAL? WHY CAN’T THE YANKEES KEEP A MANAGER FOR MORE THAN TWO WEEKS?”

  “That’s torn it!” Grinding his teeth, the priest shoved Kerickson toward the steps. “Now that you’ve got him started, it’ll take days for the old windbag to wind down, and of course we’ll have to take down every damn divine word!”

  The eagle peered down at them with steamy yellow eyes. “IF MAN IS DOG’S BEST FRIEND, WHERE DOES THAT LEAVE FIRE HYDRANTS? SHOULD A SUCKER EVER GET AN EVEN BREAK?”

  Behind them the Forum emptied rapidly as the scorched players beat a hasty exit from Mars’s lightning bolts. “Come on!” Amaelia plucked at his sleeve. “He’s going to fry us if we don’t get out of here!”

  “Jupiter, Best and Greatest!” Kerickson raised his arms and approached the altar. “Can’t an all-powerful type of guy like you do something to keep Mars from burning down the city?”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Mars striding determinedly across the Forum. Lightning flashed from the god’s outstretched hand.

  The statue of Jupiter at the top of the steps fused into a heap of melted slag.

  “AND WHY—” The eagle glanced beneath its tail feathers at the missing statue. Beating its wings, it fluttered to a landing at Amaelia’s feet. “WELL, HEL-LO THERE, SWEET STUFF!” It strutted before her. “SO WE MEET AGAIN.”

  Kerickson glanced at her. “You know him?”

  The terrified doves burst out of Amaelia’s hands and flew away. She bit her lip. “Back at Gracchus’s Villa. You know, on the—”

  “Oh.” He cut her of
f before she could say “screens.”

  Out in the rapidly emptying Forum, the massive figure of Mars approached Jupiter’s temple, growing even larger with each thunderous step.

  Kerickson tried to think. “You didn’t tell me about that part.”

  “You didn’t ask!”

  “HOW’D YOU LIKE TO PLAY A LITTLE CHASE, BABY?” The eagle winked at her. “I’LL BE THE BULL AND YOU CAN BE THE SWAN.”

  A lightning bolt crashed at the bottom of the steps and splintered a bas-relief sculpture. The scorched-iron smell of ozone filled the air. “Uh—” Amaelia backed away. “May—Maybe later.”

  Kerickson took Amaelia’s arm and pulled her behind a massive column. “Tell him yes!”

  “Are you kidding?” Her eyes widened. “You know about him—and all those women in the old legends.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Tell him yes!”

  Her confused green eyes just stared at him. Dragging her by the wrist, he stepped back around the column and addressed the eagle. “She’d love to play,” he said loudly, “but not with all this noise and fire.”

  “NOISE?”

  Kerickson glanced meaningfully at Mars, who was now glowing so brightly that an evil red light bathed the entire square. “I’m sure a clever guy like you can see how mayhem really spoils the mood:’

  “OH.” The eagle ruffled its dark brown feathers. “WELL, WE CERTAINLY CAN’T HAVE THAT.” With one beat of its powerful wings. it leaped into the air. “BEGONE, TROUBLEMAKER!”

  Mars’s body rippled for a second, as though it were underwater, then disappeared with a pop. The eagle gave a fierce screech, then circled the Forum twice, soaring effortlessly around the monuments on its huge wings.

  It landed on the edge of the temple’s portico and preened at its feathers. “NOW, MY LITTLE HONEY POT, WHERE WERE WE?”

  Amaelia glanced worriedly at Kerickson, then backed away into the shadowy inner recesses of the temple.