by R. M. Meluch
But it made Romulus smile. “Between you and me? Not exactly.
“But a galactic empire needs a god. So it shall have one. The unimaginable enormity of the thing demands it. You cannot have a fallible human being at the helm of an entity this vast without factions of every colony challenging every decision the man makes—from what tax he decides to cut to the color of his first lady’s dress—as happens in our American colony. People need certainty.
“See how the pretender Numa Pompeii, who styles himself Caesar, struggles for respect. Half measures get one nowhere but cut in half. So I am a god. And you want to be part of something greater than yourself. I want you in my inner circle.”
John John wanted to believe this too badly. Common sense told him he was being used to get at his father and his brother. “Why me? Because I’m a Farragut?”
“Because you are a being of great worth. I value you. Your devotion, once earned, is unshakable.” He sounded absolutely certain, wholly sincere.
John John stammered, bewildered. “It is. But how can you possibly know that about me?”
“I do know. Did I not tell you? I have seen your heart, and it is Roman.”
Romulus had told him so, at his father’s house. Two months ago.
John John felt something moving inside him, a yearning to belong. Here was recognition of his potential by an astonishing, powerful leader.
“I am sending you to join a Legion.” Romulus wasn’t even asking him. He was telling John John what was to be.
“A Legion?” John John blurted. “You have a Legion?”
“Multiple Legions. Of course I have. How does one maintain an empire without Legions? Don’t believe the propaganda coming out of our province of America. You will receive training in your Legion. Kneel.”
There was no room for indecision here. John Knox Farragut Junior had been raised to know that a burning bush has no patience. A leap of faith was required. Uncertainty be damned. And he really had nowhere else to go. He knelt.
Romulus’ voice sounded above his head. “From this day forward, be no longer John Knox Farragut Junior. Your name shall be Nox. Nox without the K. Nox as in Night. Your gens, your familia, shall be mine. I adopt you.
“Rise, Nox Romulus.”
18 December 2443
U.S. Space Battleship Merrimack
Earth orbit
Near Space
The com tech turned from his console, startled. “Captain. Call from Senator Catherine Mays in Washington.”
“Put her on my box.”
“You have the Senator, sir.”
Captain Farragut spoke into the com, brightly. “Cat!”
His sister’s voice came back. Not brightly. “John! What the hell!”
“What?”
“John John!”
“John—?” Captain Farragut felt like he’d stepped out an air lock. Lost. “What about him? Talk to me, Cat. Use verbs. Is John hurt?”
Captain Farragut hadn’t thought he’d hit his kid brother quite that hard. He was going to be sick if he’d done him real harm.
“The State Department informed me that John John renounced his U.S. citizenship! What the hell happened?”
Cat didn’t normally invoke hell, much. It was in order here.
“I—Well, I hit him,” Captain Farragut confessed. He left out the part where young John drew a pistol on him first.
“Nobody renounces his citizenship because his big brother hits him!” Cat said. “What’s going on!”
“Is it a done deed? I thought it took a while to process those things. Expatriation takes weeks. Months.”
“John John told the consulate on Beta Centauri when he made his renunciation that he’s not bound to fill out any more forms or jump through any more U.S. hoops. He doesn’t recognize U.S. sovereignty. He’s sworn to Rome and Rome recognized him.”
“Rome did? Rome can’t. Rome needs to follow procedures. Where’s Numa? I can hash this out with Numa.”
“John John didn’t swear to Numa Pompeii,” Catherine said. “He swore to Romulus.”
Oh, for Jesus.
25 January 2444
Centauri star system
Near Space
Caesar Numa’s Praetorian Guard sublighted in the Centauri star system. The Praetorian Legion carrier descended straight down on the Italian embassy and hovered there, poised to crush it.
Numa demanded that the Italian embassy give up the traitor Romulus to Rome immediately.
But Romulus was not in the Italian embassy. Romulus wasn’t in Centauri space at all. He had disappeared and taken his eagles and his red, black, and gold flag with him.
25 January 2444
U.S. Space Battleship Merrimack
Earth orbit
Near Space
Captain Farragut shouted at the tactical display. “Where is that weasel?! He has my brother!”
He knew as well as anyone that until Romulus came down from FTL and dropped his stealth mode, there could be no knowing where Romulus was.
Farragut’s pounding footfalls shook the deck grates as he paced the command platform. “What is Romulus’ end game? Augustus?”
Augustus stood in maddening calm, his gaze distant. He might have been watching a sunset. “I cannot pattern a madman. He is subject to misfire. Mister Carmel is your expert on things Romulus. I suggest you consult her.”
Calli’s head turned sharply.
Commander Calli Carmel had attended the Imperial Military Institute with Romulus and Claudia during the peace.
“I can’t ‘pattern’ a crazy man either. How can Romulus possibly think to do anything without troops? No one can lead Rome without an army.”
“Then he has an army,” said Augustus.
Farragut came to an abrupt stop as if he’d hit a wall. “Does he?”
“He must,” said Augustus.
Calli gasped. Her eyes rounded. “He must, ergo he does.”
“Since Romulus is from the future—oh, close your mouth, John Farragut—Romulus came from the future. He will have a whole catalog of people he knows will serve him in the future. He knows where to find those people now.”
More gorgons displaced into the Solar System and found their way to Earth in damaged masses. The U.S. Fleet Marines flew round the clock patrols, trying to keep the monsters from making landfall. The gorgons were becoming skilled at avoiding Merrimack and anything the ground batteries threw at them. Many got through.
Earth was the only Near Space world under Hive attack. None of the United States’ Near Space colonies were under gorgon siege.
Two hundred light-years from Earth, Palatine, the capital world of the Roman Empire, was not under Hive attack.
None of Rome’s many colonial worlds were under siege, and Rome had almost as many colonies as the U.S.
None of the League of Earth Nations’ Near Space colonies showed Hive sign. It could only be that the Hive hadn’t identified the other worlds as food sources yet.
Merrimack’s withdrawal from the Deep End had left no U.S. military units in the Sagittarius arm of the galaxy. Even the LEN expedition was pulling out of the Myriad and heading home.
The Deep End and the galactic hub now belonged to the Hive.
In the opposite direction—out toward the Perseid arm of the galaxy—there was no Hive presence at all. The Hive hadn’t arrived in Perseid space yet. It would take the Hive swarms centuries or even millennia to make that journey.
First, the gorgons would eat their way through Palatine, Earth, and all the planets of Near Space.
Distant Perseid space had been colonized mostly by countries from Earth’s Pacific region. The Pacifics had constructed the massive displacement facility called the Boomerang to provide instantaneous travel between Port Chalai in Near Space and Port Campbell in Perseid space. But the Pacific colonies hadn’t a
ny trained troops or warships to send home to defend Earth against the Hive. The Pacifics had no enemies.
31 January 2444
U.S. Space Battleship Merrimack
Earth orbit
Near Space
Lieutenant Glenn Hamilton, Officer of the Deck on the middle watch, woke up the captain.
“Message from the Admiralty. Port Chalai has fallen to hostile forces.”
The captain’s fast clanging footfalls sounded on the ladder rungs between decks.
“Captain on deck.” The Marine guard announced Farragut as he charged onto the command platform demanding, “What do we know?”
Lieutenant Hamilton moved out of his way. “Hostile forces simultaneously occupied Port Chalai in Near Space and Port Campbell in Perseid Space. They’ve taken control of the Boomerang.”
“Who are ‘they?’”
“Waiting confirmation, sir, but they’re Romulus’ forces.”
The port authorities hadn’t even had time to get out an SOS. By the time the alert reached Earth, the takeover was done. Images streamed of Romulus’ red, black, and gold flags posted on all the space stations in both ports.
Neither Port Chalai in Near Space nor Port Campbell in Perseid Space was a military installation. Both ports were Pacific Rim trading settlements, made up of many peaceful and prosperous space stations.
The Boomerang reduced months of FTL travel between galactic arms into a single instant. Control of the Boomerang would give Romulus a chokehold on all traffic between Near Space and the outer arm of the galaxy.
Captain Farragut stared at the images from Port Chalai on Merrimack’s tactical display.
There, at the Near Space terminus of the Boomerang, were three hulking Roman style Legion carriers, painted red, black, and gold. Romulus’ colors.
Lieutenant Hamilton: “Sir. I have Rear Admiral Mishindi on your direct com.”
Farragut picked up the direct feed. “Sir! This has got to be an illusion! You know Romans always put on a convincing show.”
“It’s real, John.” Rear Admiral Mishindi sounded tired. “Those Legion carriers came through the Boomerang from Port Campbell.” Mishindi took a long breath. Sighed. “One may guess they carry Legions.”
John Farragut wouldn’t have it. “Those ships could be carrying eighty tons of blue peaches for all we know!”
Mishindi gave a strained smile and shook his head. “Apparently Romulus has many devoted followers in Perseid Space. God knows how he had time to recruit them, but he has them.”
Time. Time never seemed to be a problem for Romulus.
A low, sardonic voice sounded from the rear of the command deck: “Almost as if there were two of him.”
“I didn’t ask you to speak, Colonel Augustus.”
“Sir.”
“Romulus has Legions,” Farragut said, trying to make himself believe it. His voice sounded hollow to his own ears. “Does Numa have Legions?”
“That is not known.” Rear Admiral Mishindi was looking gray around the edges.
“Numa rules worlds!” Farragut shouted to be heard above the roar of Fleet Marine Swifts launching off Merrimack’s wing. The sound reverberated through the whole space battleship. “He’s a dictator for cryin’ tears! It’s been—what? Three months since his Sinai Address? He must have something!”
“And he may. But Numa Pompeii doesn’t issue public reports of his recruiting and training progress,” Rear Admiral Mishindi said. “Numa Pompeii hasn’t been sighted for days. Intelligence lost him right after his appearance at Beta Centauri.”
It was easy to lose people if they had FTL capability.
“Even if Caesar Numa has the means to challenge Romulus’ forces for control of Port Chalai, it’s not good for the United States either way—to have Numa or Romulus controlling the only fast supply route between Near Space and the outer arm of the galaxy.”
Rear Admiral Mishindi saw Captain Farragut about to speak and cut him off. “Don’t even think it, John.”
“Send me in!”
“No, John. We can’t bleed off resources from the defense of Earth against the Hive to help the Pacifics against Romulus. We are just keeping ahead of the gorgons here at home.”
Another flight of Swifts was returning to Merrimack from a gorgon-slaying sortie. They clunked into their slots on the ship’s wings. The hiss of flight elevators and the slamming of hatches echoed through the space battleship’s hull.
Farragut shouted over the noise. “I’m not saying help the Pacifics. It’s the Pacifics’ own fault Romulus took their ports. I’m saying send me there! I’ll take the Boomer and stake a proper flag on both ports!”
Farragut was still major league pissed at the Pacific Consortium for not listening to his warnings about the lack of failsafes in their design of Romulus’ Xerxes spacecraft.
Mishindi looked grave. “That is not a realistic scenario.”
“It’s a real good scenario! Romulus is traveling in a Pacific-made ship! The Pacifics let Romulus get hold of their Xerxes. That fodgorsaken piece of work has made Romulus invincible.”
“I know.”
And now Romulus had Legions here in Near Space.
3 February 2444
U.S. Space Battleship Merrimack
Earth orbit
Near Space
Captain Farragut woke to the vibration of his wrist com. He squinted at the chronometer, confused. The command deck was hailing him in the middle of the mid watch, his night cycle, yet there were no sounds of emergency. Only the normal ambient bangs, hisses, and booms of a ship at war.
Captain Farragut’s voice came out gravelly. “Hamster? What’s the emergency?”
“I’m sorry. This is not an emergency, sir.” Glenn Hamilton had the prettiest voice. “Not for us. It’s a major event. I thought you’d want to know Numa Pompeii’s battlefort, the Gladiator, sublighted at Port Chalai. He destroyed the Port Chalai terminus of the Boomerang. Romulus won’t be getting any more legionaries out of Perseid Space for a very long time.”
He was wide awake now. Bolt upright. John Farragut wanted to tell that woman she had just made him a very happy man. Unwise.
Instead: “Roger that. Out.”
5 February 2444
U.S. Space Battleship Merrimack
Earth orbit
Near Space
Romulus’ three Legion carriers in Near Space had gone FTL. There was no tracking them. They could appear anywhere, anytime, shooting.
Merrimack was on high alert. She couldn’t leap to the safety of FTL space. She needed to stay sublight to dispatch and receive her fighter craft and spout flames at masses of gorgons trying to enter Earth’s atmosphere.
Captain Farragut found his ship’s xenolinguist, Doctor Patrick Hamilton, in his lab, listening intently to sounds in his headphones while observing images of silky mammoths on a display. It was nothing relevant to their current crisis.
Farragut shut Patrick Hamilton’s imager off. The mammoths disappeared.
Patrick Hamilton took off his headset. But he didn’t stand up. “Yes, Captain?”
“Could the Hive possibly have a language?” Farragut asked.
“You want to talk to it?” Patrick Hamilton asked. Added, belatedly, “Sir?”
Patrick Hamilton was an artistic-looking man, a handful of years younger than Farragut, much more slender, with soft brown hair and soft brown eyes. Women thought Patrick Hamilton attractive until he opened his mouth.
Farragut said, “I’ll talk to the Hive if I can feed it misinformation. Or if I can convince it to drop dead.”
Patrick wagged his head. “No go. The Hive doesn’t have a language. Does the Roman cyborg say it does? Then he can just plug in and spit out a full lexicon in five hours like he did in the Myriad.”
“I’m not talking to the Roman cyborg right now,” Farragut
said evenly. “And you are talking to the captain.”
John Farragut was a famously easygoing man, but there were limits.
“Yes, sir,” Patrick said, abashed. “I think—I think—the Hive is a single entity. I mean the whole Hive. All the swarms. All the spheres. Its communication is all internal—the equivalent of a neural network. Think of the reaction of a stomach to food. The body’s signal to increase gastric acid isn’t language.”
“The cyborg might agree with you,” Farragut said.
Augustus had said something similar, back in the Myriad. When the Hive had overwhelmed his consciousness, Augustus had called the Hive a gut.
“The signal doesn’t say anything,” Patrick Hamilton said. “Like a whiff of pheromones tells me to chase a hot linda. The sensory input triggers a response, but the signal is not part of a language. There’s no syntax, no meaning.”
If Farragut had hackles, they would be standing straight up now. This man had a perfectly beautiful, fun, smart, capable linda wearing his ring. Lieutenant Glenn Hamilton was command-caliber sharp. She was too good for Doctor Hamilton.
Captain Farragut was thinking about Mrs. Hamilton in ways three hundred sixty degrees—a full turn of the screw—wrong.
He forced his focus back to the real topic. “What is the Hive hearing, smelling, or sensing in response to the irresistible harmonic?”
Patrick pouted. “The what?”
This man had not been paying attention.
“There is a resonant harmonic that makes all the gorgons in the stellar area stop whatever they’re doing and go chase the resonant source. What’s the message?”
“I would ask a xenobiologist,” Patrick said.
“I have. I’m asking you now.”
“My guess? This is no better than a guess. My guess is that the resonance is the message. It’s an IFF. Identification Friend or Foe. If the gorgons go on the offensive when you resonate on that harmonic, you’re probably looking at a foe.”
“Then what is Romulus giving his people that protects them from Hive interest?”
