by Ian Miller
"Oh, you two back again!" the man said, when he opened the door. "Look, I know what I said, but . . ."
"I understand," Gaius said. He had discussed this with Marcellus. Leaving them with time to think was bound to get an unfavourable reaction, although, as Marcellus pointed out, waving his arms around in lieu of using equipment that would work was hardly likely to get a more favourable one. "You have lost faith."
"Look, I don't know what your game is, but we're not interested. This is your last warning. Go away and leave us to grieve."
"She is not dead yet," Gaius pointed out. "Does anyone here know how to take a pulse?"
"Yes, why?"
"Then go and take it," Gaius said in an urgent tone. "It is falling, and is now seventy-two beats per minute, but two hours ago, when the doctor took it, it was ninety-four. Check the notes."
"What are you getting at?" the man said, then a thought struck him, "How do you know what the doctor measured?"
"There isn't a lot of time," Gaius frowned. "It is now down to seventy. You have about ten minutes, and after that, I'm afraid I can't help."
"Nobody can help! Now go away."
"It appears," Gaius said harshly, "that you are a skeptic! It seems I shall have to knock some sense into you! Behold the miracle of something being knocked into your thick head!" From within the folds of his toga, he pointed his Krezell wand at the man, applied the inertial field to him, and gave him an upward force of 1.2g. The man rose suddenly and struck his head on the top of the door, whereupon Gaius released the field.
"Ow! What the . . ! Ow!" For a second time his head struck the roof.
"Do I have to do this again, you faithless wretch!" Gaius scowled.
The man stared at him, in genuine fear. "What do you want?"
"I've told you!" Gaius said calmly. "I wish to heal your mistress, and earn a favour. I shall not hurt you, even though I am becoming sorely tempted."
The man stood there and crossed himself.
"What does it actually cost to try?" Marcellus added.
"All right," the man grumbled. "You want all that upstairs?"
"Beside the window," Marcellus added. "We need fresh air."
"She'll catch a chill," the man began.
"She's dying," Gaius said imperiously. "A chill is nothing, and her death will haunt you for the rest of your life."
The man grumbled, but he came to a decision, and took the end.
"This hardly weighs anything!" he said in surprise.
"That's because you've suddenly found faith," Gaius said. "I have lightened your load, so would you please get moving!" There was no need to explain that the Actium was applying an upward accelerating force of 0.95g.
The equipment was taken upstairs, and placed against the window. As they left the darkness of the stairwell and entered the room, two women, almost totally distraught, began to move towards them, then they stopped and stared at Gaius' gleaming white toga.
"Please clear the room," Gaius commanded the giant.
The man looked at him, gulped, crossed himself again, then dragged the two women away. Gaius strode towards the large bed, where a middle-aged woman lay. She was semiconscious, her head was moving slowly from side to side, her breath came in deep gurgling rasps, and a white froth bubbled from her mouth.
"Terminal pneumonia," Marcellus muttered quietly. "I'll lift her up and put her in the apparatus. You start connecting the cables, and set up the aerial."
"Isn't this against the rules?" Gaius whispered, as he complied.
"I must help you," Marcellus shrugged. "This seems as harmless a way as anything else you're likely to come up with. Right. Now, act the part."
Gaius stared at the apparatus, then said, in a stuttering voice, "Heal!"
"That's not very impressive," Marcellus muttered. "It is imperative that those below hear something, then see something. Try again."
"Woman," Gaius said, this time more loudly, and with definite purpose in his voice, "Get up. You are healed."
"Better, but it still needs work," Marcellus noted. The form in the apparatus seemed to almost shimmer, then formed a shape of brilliant light, then faded to leave the figure of a woman, lying with her eyes shut, but with no trace of the pneumonia. Marcellus quickly picked her up, and placed her on her bed. She opened her eyes, then recoiled.
"Where am I?" she asked cautiously. "Am I dead?"
"Of course not," Gaius replied . "You're on your bed. As a favour I have healed you." He walked to the door, looked down the stairs, and called out that they could come up, but quietly, and not all at the same time.
The two women came up first, took one look at the mistress sitting up on some pillows Marcellus had arranged for her, then knelt and crossed themselves. "It's a miracle!" they said, and to Gaius' surprise they began chanting in Latin.
Meanwhile, Gaius stood back and for the first time noticed the painting on the wall seen from the bed: a rather glossy picture of a man crucified, although not properly, and not on a Roman cross. Another woman came in, crossed herself, then from her knees began saying, "Thank you! Thank you!" and began kissing his toga.
"There's no need for that," Gaius said in as kindly a tone as he could, then he added, "Why do you make the sign of a cross?"
For a moment there was a stunned silence, then out came a strangely tangled explanation. Gaius was not listening. Instead, he looked more closely at the picture, and saw what seemed to be the word 'Cristus'.
"You follow the Master." Gaius said to himself, as memories flooded back. The invitation from Rebecca . . . Rebecca's words. What would she think of this particular action? Then suddenly he was sure. She would approve, for good had been done.
"I worship Jesus, Mary . . ." Gaius was not listening. Then suddenly he was brought to the present. The woman had asked him something, and he had no idea what, except it would be about religion.
"I think," he said, avoiding the question, "that that painting is wrong. I believe Jesus did not look much like that." He saw the woman staring at him, so he explained, "I once saw the brother of Jesus, named James." The woman stared at him, and he suddenly realized he had gone too far, so he quickly added, "In a vision."
This had exactly the wrong effect. The woman knelt, and began kissing his toga again, crossing herself, begging mercy, muttering about miracles, and meanwhile the woman on the bed also began a similar sequence, muttering something about being in the presence of a saint.
"Women! Stop it!" Gaius commanded, and to his surprise, they did. He asked the woman on the bed for an explanation.
"You have seen a vision of James, and you have raised me from the dead," she explained. "That is two miracles."
Gaius looked over to Marcellus, who was grinning. The thought came to him, 'Now let's see you get out of this!'
'Thanks for the help!'
'Gaius! You're being ridiculous. You told the people on Mars who you are, so why not admit it here?'
'That's a point,' Gaius mentally conceded. He looked at the woman and said, "No! There are no miracles, although I have misled you slightly." He quickly recounted how he had arrived on Mars, helped liberate that, then returned to Earth. "It's the effect of relativity," he explained. "Time almost stops when you travel almost at the speed of light. So, I am only as old as I look, but I was born over two thousand years ago, and yes, I did see James."
"And what did he say?" the woman pleaded.
"He was asking people to follow the Master," Gaius replied, then added wryly, "I declined."
"You declined?"
"Yes. You have to realize there had been about three hundred claimants to be Messiah," he added, then seeing the woman's faith, he continued, "and I guess I was too blind to see." He paused while this sank in, then added wryly to the woman on the bed, "Anyway, I would expect you to grant me a favour in return for what I have done for you."
"And that is?"
"I wish to tear up your floorboards and dig," Gaius replied calmly.
"What?"
> "I think you heard," he smiled in as kindly a fashion as he could.
"Well, yes, but . . . I don't understand!"
"It is very simple," he explained. "I wish to dig a hole under your house. You would do me a favour if you permit me. I thought a fair return would be to heal you, but I had to do it first because you couldn't talk. Now, is your life worth the little inconvenience my digging will cause?"
"I suppose . . . Of course! But why? Why this house?"
"Your house is built on property of mine, left from when I was here around the time of Christ. I wish to recover it. Will you agree?"
"Well, of course. But I didn't build . . . What about LandCorp?"
"What about them?" Gaius looked quizzical.
"I got fired because I refused to . . . Never mind. They want this house, they've seized the ownership title, and they say I owe them two years rent. Now they're going to throw me out and . . ."
"Then they'll have to evict me too," Gaius countered. "If you let me dig up your floorboards, that is."
"But they'll kill me!"
"For not paying your rent?"
"They'll do it for a lot less than that. One of the officials wanted to rape my daughter, and –"
"Calm yourself," Gaius said softly. "I didn't cure you just to let someone come and kill you. As an added favour, I shall find some way of keeping them at bay. The house will remain yours, to do with what you wish, or, if you wish, I shall buy it from you and put you in a better one."
"But they'll never give up. They'll kill you, and –"
"I think not," Gaius shrugged, then he added with the coldness of experience, "I brought you back from the dead. Believe me when I say, it is far easier to send people the other way."
* * *
"You realize this was a deliberate cave-in," Marcellus remarked. Approximately five metres of soil had been excavated, and they had broken through to the tunnel. They each held large lanterns, given to them by the family who had been asked to return to the basement. There would be bodies of relations, and Gaius wished to grieve privately.
"And from the inside," Gaius said in a strangely empty tone. His lantern showed a series of ropes that were tied to a jumble of timbers that disappeared into the tunnel.
Gaius led the way. They sidestepped past one then another skeleton, clothes and sandals still more or less intact. One skeleton still grasped the sword with which it had tried to lever aside a section of the timbers; both had obviously died while trying to claw or dig their way out. Gaius kicked over a skeleton to examine the clothing. "Caesar's men," Gaius muttered, "but not the praetorian guards. That'll be why nobody ever came back!"
Behind that cave-in was a larger opening, with two tunnels leading from the far end. In this opening the evidence of the struggles became more apparent; six more skeletons were lying, some with a spear still embedded. Gaius chose was the right hand tunnel, which led to another large opening. At the far side lay the remains of a family; a man who had been brutally hacked and who had died in the arms of his wife, each of them with the ropes that ensured their attackers had no easy victory. Beside them were two servants; the remains of a spear was embedded in the rib cage of one. Four other bodies were scattered across the floor; two had been decapitated. The clothes, the weapons, they all seemed old and dusty, but they were whole, still covered with the dark brown smears, as if it had all happened a few years previously. Behind the family were a number of large wooden chests, and some neat piles of parchment.
Gaius knelt before the man, lifted the skeletal hand, and slipped the ring from the finger. He stood and took a pace backwards, then saluted. "Farewell, father. Farewell, mother," he said, then he turned to Marcellus and, with a tear running down his face, added, "I would like to have a pyre for them tonight. Could you please arrange it?"
"Of course," Marcellus nodded. "Let's go back. Tell me what you want to happen, and I shall arrange it. I have looked into your mind, so I know more or less what everything is, so I shall catalogue it all, and clean it. Leave everything to me, but explain what has happened to the others. When the bodies have been properly put to rest, they should be allowed to come and view these items. I think you'll find that they'll never have seen anything like what appears to be one of the richer Claudian's treasure, and I think they'll appreciate the chance."
Part Four
TASHKENT, CHIRON, ARGYRE PLANITIA, SYRTIS MAJOR, LONDON, MELAS CHASMA, IAPETUS, GULSHAD
January-April, 2286
Chapter 1
Harry watched with amusement as Marisa entered the cafeteria. Everybody wanted to talk to her, for everybody wanted to know what the great Ulsian space vehicle was like. But equally there was a touch of awe, almost fear, for she had nearly died, she had survived the M'starn, and rumour had it she was the favourite of, of all things, a Roman general. Where before she had been rejected, now she did the rejecting. One of her previous tormenters leeringly approached and noted she had sexy hands.
"You like them?" she said demurely, and as the young officer advanced, she stepped back. "Then take a closer look!" she spat, as she slapped him viciously across the face. Now nobody knew how to approach her. She fought her way through the queue, which strangely yielded a direct path for her; she ordered her coffee, and looked around. She quickly spotted Harry.
"This being a celebrity isn't as much fun as I thought it'd be," she muttered as she sat down.
"Not so long ago, you thought you'd fail the course," Harry smiled. "Mustn't complain now you've gone to the other extreme."
"You seem to have gone to extremes yourself," Marisa said slyly.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Rather interesting way for you to cash in your favour," Marisa replied. She turned her head away, slightly, but she was staring intently at Harry through the corner of her eyes.
"Don't they say you have to get noticed at the top?" Harry replied, apparently missing the point of Marisa's hint.
"Yes," Marisa said bluntly. There was a silence, then she went on, "Why?"
"What d'you mean, why?"
Marisa blushed a little, then continued, "A junior officer should have something more on his mind than the Commissioner's looks."
Harry stared at her for a second, then leaned back and laughed as realization dawned. "Oh no. You've got it all wrong. You hadn't actually seen the Commissioner before?"
"Of course I had," Marisa said with a touch of irritation. "We all have."
"If you had to ask that question, you hadn't," Harry said. "You saw a mask. Underneath, her whole body was barely hanging together. Her skin should have belonged to an eight-year dead fish, she had no breasts, and she didn't have much else either. On top of that, she was dying with more tumours than she had hair. Not that she had any hair," he added.
"Oh," Marisa said, stunned. "I didn't know."
"Hardly anyone did," Harry said quietly, "and while she eventually might be grateful . . ."
"Eventually?"
"I don't think she's cured yet," Harry said, "and I rather suspect what we see very occasionally is another illusion."
"An illusion? Why?"
"Because the Commissioner's not available," Harry shrugged. "Anyway, supposing it eventually works, I assure you I didn't do it for gratitude, and I don't expect she looks at me in any way other than as a good junior officer. In other words, she probably will try to do something for me sooner or later, but it won't be any special favouritism she can't justify some other way."
"I'm pleased," Marisa said, as she sat backed and sipped the coffee. She shuddered, and put it back down. "This stuff's absolutely awful," she added.
"You're pleased?"
"Yes, because I've just found out something. Listen to this! We're going to be allowed out of the barracks. Those who pass the course can get into the officer's accommodation, and there's some couples rooms. What I was thinking was that if we got in early, we could get . . . What's wrong?"
Harry leaned forward and said very sadly, "Marisa, I'm sorry, b
ut I can't."
"Why not? " Marisa shouted, then, after a pause, "You're not . . . you're not . . . queer are you?"
"No, I'm not. You see . . . I'm engaged."
"You're what?" Marisa sat back, totally stunned.
"Engaged. A girl back in Sydney."
"You rat!" Marisa almost shouted. She stood up, and several glances turned to their table. "You've led me on, just so you could win these wretched competitions."
"That's not true," Harry said angrily, his eyes flaring. "You might just recall that when we started I was at the top of the list and you were at the bottom."
"Yes," said Marisa very coldly. "You're correct, and thank you for reminding me. Right now, that was just what I needed." She turned her back to Harry and strode furiously towards the door.
Harry leaped to his feet, and followed her. As she reached the door, he reached out and grasped her arm. "Wait!" he said. Marisa turned towards him, and chopped hard down on his wrist. "Take your hands off me!" she spat. A cheer arose from the cafeteria.
"I'm sorry," Harry said, pulling his hand back with embarrassment. "All I want to do is say something."
"Suppose I don't want to hear something?"
"Look," Harry said, as he struggled to keep control, "I really am sorry if you got the wrong impression. The only time I let us get close was when I thought we'd both be dead in a few minutes, and . . ." He paused, then when he noticed that she was not quite ready to tear him to pieces, he continued, "I didn't mean to say what I just did before. Just to put the record straight, I wanted to keep flying with you because you're the best navigator I could get. No, you're the best stop. You're also the bravest, most wonderful woman I've ever met."
"And you're going to marry this woman in Sydney."
"I promised," Harry said weakly.
"You said you loved me."
"I do," Harry said even more weakly.
"Then I hope the two of you are very very happy," Marisa spat, and turned away.
