by R. M. Meluch
Cinna reached behind his head and unplugged his cables. He bent over. Looked like he might be sick. Cinna spoke thickly toward the floor, “This is conceivable. Brother, we want to do this.”
Nox was suddenly trembling, caught between impossible hope and certain terror.
Romulus said, “You have been hideously used by the man pretending to be Imperator of Rome. I shan’t hold your honor hostage to your cooperation. You are honorable Romans. I will publically restore your status. Contingent on nothing. I know you hesitate to foreswear an allegiance already sworn, but the fact is you were my men first. You became Numa’s men under a fraud. You are still my men. I already have your oaths. I shall set things right.
“That instant in time you so desperately want back? You shall have it.”
Nox stared at him in awe and wonder. Romulus owned him now.
“Greater than this,” Romulus went on. “When I succeed, Rome will not surrender to the U.S. The Subjugation will never happen.”
The Subjugation was only the most humiliating, devastating event in Roman history. When the shredded remains of Roman might walked under racked spears, placing themselves under U.S. command.
Did he really have the power to change that?
Romulus was asking, “What do you say?”
Nox found his voice. “I exist to defend Rome. Everywhere. Always.”
21 April 2448
WHILE THE REST OF THE civilized galaxy offered support to the survivors of Terra Rica, Romulus held court on Beta Centauri, presiding over the games that celebrated his return.
Romulus opened the next day’s games by exonerating the pirates of the Ninth Circle.
He voided the order of condemnation and made their excommunication a nullity. It never happened.
Romulus claimed that all their reported atrocities had been committed by direct order of Numa Pompeii and so rested on Numa’s head. Romulus solemnly returned the brothers’ names onto the deme rolls one by one. He included Nox Antonius.
Calli had tried to tell John Farragut that his younger brother was working for Numa Pompeii. Farragut hadn’t wanted to believe it.
He believed it now.
He had just got back from the Centauri system to his office on Earth when the news hit.
“Get me fucking Numa Pompeii on the resonator!”
He startled the whole floor of Base Carolina. You never heard that kind of language out of Rear Admiral John Farragut. Most of the base personnel had never seen him angry. Farragut emerged from his office like an old-style missile hauling itself up a silo. He stormed up the corridor in a wrath-of-Achilles kind of mad to his aide’s office.
The whites of Farragut’s blue eyes flared, impatient.
The aide said, “Finding him, sir. Numa is not in the imperial palace on Palatine.”
“Then where’s Gladiator?”
“Checking, sir. Okay, the Roman battlefort Gladiator is—” Paused to make sure. “In Centauri space. Not answering hails.”
21 Aprilis 2448
Roman Battlefort Gladiator
Centauri Star System
Near Space
Caesar Numa Pompeii reclined in the dining chamber of his Roman battlefort Gladiator when his exec hailed him over the intercom, “Domni.”
Numa responded immediately. “Tell me that little ground rodent is dead.”
Gladiator was orbiting Beta Centauri, guns ready, waiting for Romulus to show himself one more time. It would be his last appearance ever.
“Negative, domni,” said Portia Arrianus. “Rear Admiral Farragut demands an audience.”
“How does one imagine that Caesar takes calls from an American two-star admiral?”
“He’s here, domni.”
“Here? Merrimack is in the Centauri system?”
“No, domni. Rear Admiral Farragut arrived on a shuttle. He’s docked.”
“He’s on Gladiator? Who let that happen?”
“Domni, it’s John Farragut.”
As she said it, the roar rose from belowdecks. “Numa!”
John Farragut was here.
Numa blinked. “Does he have a sword?”
“I’ve been advised that he stabbed it into the dock, domni.”
Heavy, stomping footfalls could be heard, rising from the lower levels.
“What degree of force do you authorize to repel him?” Portia Arrianus requested.
“None. I can take care of myself.”
Another bellow. Nearer. “Numa!” Sounded like Farragut was headed to the command deck.
“Here,” Numa called wearily from his ship’s dining chamber.
Farragut entered the chamber like ball lightning. “Numa, you bastard.”
Numa waited, a patient, immobile pile of boulders. “My title is Caesar, you vulgar American hill jack. This ship is Roman territory.”
“Rome doesn’t have permission to be in this star system,” Farragut said. “Centaurus is a LEN protectorate.”
“And you’re not wearing LEN green,” Numa countered. “Don’t pretend to be acting for the League of Earth Nations. You have no business here. And I am only here to collect my garbage.”
“Where is my brother?”
Numa opened his broad empty hands. “I’ve lost him. I think he may have turncoated. Again. That is what he is good at.”
John Farragut charged in with a fist. Felt the crack, a couple bones giving way. His. Fire lanced up his arm. He felt it in the roots of his teeth.
Farragut was not a small man, but Numa Pompeii was a landmark.
“Broke your hand?” Numa asked mildly.
“Eh—yeah. I think so,” Farragut said. His arm felt molten.
Numa pointed to his own jaw. “Titanium.”
“Ah.” Farragut nodded. Thought he mighta shattered an arm bone. He’d hit Numa hard.
Numa said, “I believe Romulus has seduced your brother and my patterner as well.”
“Oh. Good one,” Farragut said with a grimace of a smile, eyes watering.
“Do you want the attention of a medicus?”
“No,” Farragut said. Should’ve known better. He had a titanium jaw himself. Then, “This really does hurt like a son of a beech tree.”
He’d maybe exploded his elbow.
Jewels and gold flashed as Numa snapped his thick fingers. Farragut hadn’t noticed the attendant standing by. Numa filled any space he occupied.
At the snap, the attendant produced a medical automaton from a cabinet concealed under the bar.
As the pain washed away from Farragut’s arm, his thoughts returned to order. It just now caught up with him exactly what Numa had said. “Your patterner changed sides?”
“It appears so.” Numa gave a quick glance to the liquor rack. An invitation.
Farragut gave a minute nod.
Numa poured a short Kentucky bourbon for Farragut. Napoleon Brandy for himself.
“They tried to tell me you had one. I didn’t believe it. How could you even think of having another patterner created? Numa, did you ever know Augustus?”
“I did. And I did install a failsafe in Cinna.” He took a long breath and sighed.
Farragut guessed. “It failed.”
Numa nodded. “It did. Romulus has a better patterner.”
“Romulus is a better patterner,” Farragut amended.
“No,” Numa said. “I heard that tale. I don’t believe that sham.”
“No. Listen. It’s true. Romulus really is a patterner. He’s settling scores. He’s acting like a madman.”
Numa gave a harrumph, a bonfire settling. “That is not an act.”
28 Aprilis 2448
Xerxes
Centauri Star System
Near Space
A Xerxes type ship was programmed to repel or destroy unauthoriz
ed boarders. One needed to be introduced in order to gain entrance. Romulus introduced Cinna to his own Xerxes.
Cinna, Nox, and the other brothers of the Ninth Circle still lived on board their own stolen Xerxes, Bagheera. They had been exonerated of all their crimes, but they weren’t really welcome anywhere.
They would not be pariahs for much longer.
Cinna helped Romulus prepare his Xerxes for his journey that would change everything.
“Once you enter the time gate at 82 Eridani, you will not exist here, Caesar. No one can detect you inside the wormhole, and you won’t be able to navigate. You will feel no motion. The sensors will detect nothing of your surroundings. Merrimack’s records of Fleet Marines who went through the wormhole indicate it can be extremely unnerving. The episode should last at most a week by your ship’s chronometer. But it may be quicker, so stay ready.
“You will come out at the end without warning. The date will be the seventh of June 2443 by the terrestrial calendar. You will instantly meet the Arran messenger ship at the Rim Gate at the edge of the Myriad.”
Romulus scowled. “Meet?”
“Collide with,” Cinna revised. “It’s important that you enter the wormhole with your inertial field already formed into a wide concave surface. The Xerxes’ energy shell is designed to slip past objects. We need you to hammer the Arran and move its wreckage away from the wormhole. No piece of the shattered Arran messenger can be allowed to get past you. Nothing must enter the Rim Gate.”
“I accept your recommendation,” Romulus said.
Cinna then presented Romulus with a heavy slab of lead, the size of a book. “Take this with you. It’s your key.”
Romulus recognized the artifact from his own research. It was the Xi tablet.
The Xi tablet had been engraved in the Myriad and sent back to 82 Eridani through the same wormhole Romulus was about to travel.
“The Xi tablet knows the way home,” Cinna said. “The instant you arrive, history will diverge from what is logged in your data bank. Don’t look for the black hole. It will never form.
“Merrimack will be nine terrestrial hours away from your position, but she will observe your arrival via the space buoy stationed outside the Rim Gate. You will be in full stealth, but Merrimack will observe the Arran messenger crashing into something undetectable—your ship’s inertial field.”
“Should I destroy the observer buoy?” Romulus asked. He knew the answer. Just wanted to hear it confirmed.
“I advise against it. The image of the Arran’s destruction will already be sent. Save your ammunition and give the Yanks no more clues to your presence. The more secret your actions, the less deviation there will be to events as you expect them to unfold. And your ship is lightly armed.”
Xerxes ships were built for flight, not fight.
“The more munitions you carry, the lower your threshold velocity. I’m not sure what the right balance should be.”
Romulus waved the problem away. “My Xerxes’ firepower matters not. I will soon be moving fleets and Legions.”
Cinna nodded. “Look for two Roman Legion carriers converging on the Myriad as you arrive. Their resonant harmonics, signal codes, names of their command personnel, and everything else about them is in your data bank.”
“I shall take command of the Legions,” Romulus said.
“The patterner Augustus will be flying on point, piloting a Striker. You have the historical record of Augustus’ trajectory in your ship’s data bank. That trajectory might change as events develop. Secure Augustus’ Striker before he can read the new pattern. You have his resonant harmonic.”
“If I ping him, I will know exactly where he is,” Romulus said.
“Yes. And Augustus will know that someone pinged him, but he won’t know who or where you are.”
Romulus said, “I will be the only being in the known universe who can get a location on the source of a resonant transmission.”
Cinna demurred. “The Hive. Don’t forget the Hive. And possibly Constantine Siculus. He’s still alive in your target time frame.”
Constantine Siculus was a historical monster, who had tried to make himself Caesar. He was dead now.
“Constantine should die sooner,” Cinna said. “He knows the Hive harmonics. I think Constantine should be a priority target. At least as important as securing Augustus.”
“I recognize the need to remove Constantine,” Romulus said. “The problem is that Constantine will be way out in the Deep End of the galaxy when I arrive. He will be nowhere near the Myriad. His lair is months away in the wrong direction from anywhere I want to go. I’m thinking of using a drone to take him out. Assassins are just not to be trusted.”
“I’m with you there, Caesar. I’ve fabricated an appropriate assassin missile for you to deploy against that megalomaniac. Erase Constantine from the game board early. You must be the only one in possession of the Hive harmonics.”
Romulus twisted an ironic smile. “We got the harmonics from Constantine. Do you think I’m a megalomaniac?”
Cinna didn’t hesitate. “Caesar. You have galactic ambition. You have the ability to restore the Empire. You are the man for the hour. I need to get you back to fix the hour. Greatness is required. Save us.”
“I shall. My first act will be to save the sixty-four Legions from Constantine’s sabotage.”
Constantine Siculus, founder of PanGalactic Industries, had designed and manufactured Rome’s devastating killer bots. Most Roman ships of war had carried killer bots as part of their arsenal.
Years ago, when Rome refused to hail Constantine Siculus as Caesar, Constantine detonated all the killer bots, everywhere, instantly, with a resonant trigger.
Sixty-four Legion carriers, with their Legions on board, perished in a single pulse. It was a catastrophe without equal in Roman history.
“My first order, when I arrive in the Myriad in 2443, will be to all Legions to pull the res chambers out of every piece of Constantine’s PanGalactic crap on board their carriers.
“My Legions will not die. Under me, Rome will be strong. The Subjugation will never occur. America will be the Roman province as it was founded. The past five years will take a better course by far.”
Cinna picked up his things, ready to return to Bagheera and send Romulus to his destiny. “May I ask Caesar a question?”
Romulus nodded to allow it.
“Why did you destroy Terra Rica now, when your journey back to the break point will undo everything that’s happened since then?”
“For the same reason I restored your citizenship, Cinna Antonius. I acknowledge the astronomical number of variables in this endeavor. There is a slight but real chance of failure. I did those things now so that, in case I fail, you will at least have your honor and I will at least have my revenge on Jose Maria de Cordillera. But I want better than that for us. Much better.”
Cinna’s eyes widened in awe. He dropped on one knee and bowed his head. “You won’t fail, Caesar,” Cinna vowed. “I won’t let you.”
“I know. Let us begin.”
Cinna rose and came to rigid attention. “For strength and honor.” He turned smartly and marched through the air lock, back to his pirate Xerxes, Bagheera.
Romulus secured his own Xerxes’ hatch behind him.
“For Claudia,” he said.
28 April 2448
U.S. Space Battleship Merrimack
Centauri Star System
Near Space
Jose Maria de Cordillera now lived as a refugee on board Merrimack. There were nations that would welcome him, but a space battleship was the only place he could consider inflicting himself on. “I must not make a target of any place that cannot defend itself against Romulus. I am sorry to imperil you, fair Captain.”
Captain Carmel wouldn’t have the apology. “Lure him here. We want him.” She look
ed like an elegant predator. She sounded hungry. “Something you need to know, Don Cordillera. You and Augustus’ nanites didn’t drive Romulus mad. Romulus has been a heartless, soulless, conscienceless creature for as long as I’ve known him. And that’s a while. Rom never had a real grasp of right and wrong. Right was divinely given to him, and wrong never applied to anything he did. Nanites didn’t do that to him. He came out of the box that way.”
Jose Maria gave a slow nod, but he didn’t look convinced.
“The monster said some cryptic things to me,” Jose Maria said, a tremor in his quiet voice. “It sounds as if he is attempting time travel. He went out of his way to use the word ‘Myriad.’ I believe he intends to go back in time and rescue his sister.”
“That’s a good project for him,” Calli said.
“I would be scoffing too, if he were not a patterner.”
“Even a patterner can’t just hit a reset button and change the past.”
“That appears to be precisely his intent.”
“Good for him,” Calli said. “He can’t do it.”
Calli then received a hail from the command deck. Dingo Ryan advised, “U.S. shuttle on approach. Rear Admiral John Farragut is requesting a dock.”
“He’s coming?”
“He’s here.”
“Stand by to repel boarders!”
Dingo thought it was a joke. Just to be sure asked, “Really, sir?”
When Calli marched into the docking bay, everyone was already at attention. There were too many people in here. Techs, boffins, flight sergeants, gunners, midwatch personnel, the ship’s chef. Everyone had found pressing reasons to be at the dock as the rear admiral’s shuttle arrived.
The Marine at the hatch announced Calli’s entrance. “Captain on deck.”
Everyone inhaled.
Captain Carmel surveyed the assembly with a black expression.
Then Rear Admiral John Farragut blew in, found Calli, hauled her into a bear hug, and announced, “I’m hijacking your boat, Cal.”
Calli said, “I see that. Why?”
Farragut gave Jose Maria de Cordillera a thumping hug, then swept both him and Captain Carmel inboard from the dock.
