Muses of Terra (Codex Antonius Book 2)

by Rob Steiner

  She was suddenly in the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, standing before Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva. They sat upon their thrones staring down at her. She knew they were not real gods—if such beings even existed—but they were the closest thing to gods in the universe. She prostrated herself before her Observers.

  “What is your command?” she asked, her forehead touching the warm polished floor.

  “Your thoughts are troubled,” Jupiter rumbled.

  “We feel your emotions, child,” Juno soothed.

  “You question our wisdom,” Minerva said. The owl perched on Minerva’s throne hooted softly.

  “I am yours to command,” Ocella said. She didn’t know what they were asking or how to respond to their statements. She was their instrument. Why were they not giving her a task?

  “Do you love us?” Juno asked.

  Ocella lifted her head. “Love?” she asked, confused. “I am yours to command.” Why were they asking about love?

  “You are our child,” Jupiter said with a deep, comforting voice. “We love you. Do you love us, your creators and your gods?”

  Her natural body had once known love. She had memories of loving Cordus and Kaeso. She could access them anytime she wanted, but they were like reading a biographical history of someone she never knew. Sometimes a gnawing feeling came with the memories, as if something was about to burst from her skull if she didn’t acknowledge it. That feeling was back.

  She shook her head, trying to be rid of it. The feeling made her doubt the Observers. She would rather die than doubt them.

  “I—I am yours to command,” Ocella said.

  The gods glanced at each other. They looked troubled, and it gave Ocella a feeling she only knew through her old body’s memories. Fear. What could be so bad as to scare the Observers? Whatever it was had to be truly evil indeed.

  “She still does not love,” Juno said.

  “The transition is not complete,” Minerva said. “She is flawed, as are the others. We must create new versions.”

  “The invasion is at hand,” Jupiter rumbled. “There is no time to create more. The anomaly must be captured and studied before it realizes its potential. This one”—nodding to Ocella—“serves us well enough, though is incapable of loving us. That will change in future versions.”

  Minerva and Juno both nodded their heads.

  And then Ocella was back in the vessel control room, facing the wall-sized monitor. She blinked; the transition back to her golem body made her sway on her feet.

  “Are you well?” Varo said from behind her. He put a hand on her shoulder to steady her.

  “The Observers brought me before them, and I just returned.”

  Varo looked at her with awe. “What are their commands?”

  Ocella stared at him. “They issued no commands. They asked me questions.”

  “What questions?”

  The Observers had not forbidden her from discussing the visit with any other golem, so Ocella figured it was fine for her to tell Varo about it.

  “They asked if I loved them.”

  “Love? I don’t understand. Why would they bring you before them and not issue commands?”

  “They didn’t rescind their previous commands. We will continue to perform the tasks we were assigned.”

  Varo nodded. “We enter the way line to Terra in fifteen minutes. There is an armed way station nearby, but it will not impede our progress.”

  Ocella knew the way station, one of the better-armed stations in the Roman Republic since it led to Terra. It would do everything it could to impede the vessel, but could no more stop them than a gnat could stop a speeding aero.

  What made her pause, though, was that Varo also seemed to prefer making his reports with his voice. Why did they not use the communication methods the Observers gave them? Why did she prefer to use her voice, too?

  Were they really ‘flawed’ like the Observers suggested?

  “Thank you for the report,” Ocella said. “You may return to the piloting controls. When we emerge from the Terran way line, we will maneuver the vessel to the weakest point of their defenses. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  Varo strode across the room to his position at the tabulari panels that controlled the vessel’s actions. The controls were nothing like those on human ships, which relied on a tabulari interface operated by hand motions. Ocella and Varo operated the vessel controls with their minds. It was much faster and more efficient than antiquated hand motions.

  Ocella’s mind saw the data regarding the vessel’s progress toward the way line, its defenses, its preparations for its first invasion in six million years. All proceeded as planned by the Observers.

  She should have felt satisfaction, but that gnawing feeling that she had when thinking of Cordus had not left her.

  42

  Cordus knew how to get into the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus undetected. Secret corridors between the Consular Palace and the temple had been built centuries ago—the Muse-infected Antonii and Collegia Pontificis had sometimes wanted to gather in secret without even the Praetorian Guard knowing.

  He was more worried about getting to the implant com room. Aquilina said it was on the top floor of the Temple, near a com dish that broadcast the signal—based on mysterious Muse physics—to the universe. It was supposedly guarded by an entire cohort of Praetorians, all veterans loyal to the Republic.

  Cordus led Aquilina, Ulpius, and Gracchus through ancient stone corridors beneath the palace that smelled of mold and the Tiber River. Most of the time they had to feel their way through pitch-blackness. Cordus remembered these corridors as if he had been a child yesterday, exploring them for exploration’s sake. He had no trouble maneuvering around old torch sconces, pipes, and the occasional statue of a god or consul—obstacles that the Praetorians behind him cursed when they ran into them. Cordus often warned them when they approached something, but frequently to no avail. While Gracchus and Aquilina endured each collision with a stoic grunt, Ulpius cursed like an ancient drover pulling an obstinate ox.

  “Cac!” Ulpius swore when his head struck a low-hanging pipe. “I’m more beaten up in this caccing corridor than I was on caccing Reantium!”

  “Must you complain every time?” Gracchus grumbled in a rare show of irritation.

  “I’m a centurion, boy, it’s my job.”

  “How much further?” Aquilina asked calmly from behind Cordus.

  Cordus ran both hands along the chipped plaster walls to his right. He knew they were adorned with frescoes over 500 years old, but the smooth paint he remembered as a child had given way to a film of dust. They hadn’t been maintained as they were when the Antonii and Collegia still ran the Republic.

  His hands found the alcove that he’d been searching for: It held a small bronze figurine of a naked Venus. He knew the doors were close.

  “Another ten paces,” Cordus announced, then took his hands off the walls and strode forward. “There shouldn’t be any more obstacles. At least there were none six years ago…”

  Ulpius grumbled under his breath, and Gracchus sighed. Aquilina said nothing.

  Cordus found the smooth door at the end and then felt along the left side for the control pad. He placed his hand on the pad, and it glowed as it scanned him. The glow seemed as bright as a spotlight in the blackness they had endured for the last half hour.

  “Won’t that alert someone?” Aquilina asked.

  “No, it’s not linked to the Palace’s tabulari bands. It’s a standalone lock that scans for the Muses in me. If it finds them, it will unlock.”

  The door lock clicked open.

  “We’re entering the temple,” Cordus said as he unslung his pulse rifle. “It’s another secret corridor, but it’s not limited to Muse-infected people, so there could be guards.”

  He dropped to one knee, his rifle aimed at the door, while Gracchus and Ulpius stood behind him with their rifles up. Aquilina put her hand on the door latch, counted down from
three, and then pulled the door inward. Cordus tensed his finger on the trigger, scanning the corridor beyond for targets.

  The empty corridor was decorated the same as the one they were leaving, but this one was well lit by light pads on the ceiling. It stretched off into the distance.

  Cordus exhaled. Ulpius and Gracchus lowered their rifles. Aquilina looked around the door, then turned to Cordus. “Lead,” she commanded, impatience dripping from her voice.

  Cordus slung his rifle and then entered the corridor. “What makes you think you can even get to Arrius?” he asked Aquilina as they walked side-by-side.

  “Anybody can be killed,” she murmured, her hard eyes focused ahead. “All it takes is planning. Look what happened to your father. Look what happened to my mother.”

  “My father’s killer traded his life and so likely did your mother’s.”

  Aquilina didn’t say anything.

  “Well. You are a Praetorian to your core: willing to give your life for your leader. Are you willing trade the lives of Ulpius and Gracchus, too?”

  The two Praetorians maintained a respectful distance from Cordus and Aquilina, as they had the entire journey. But Cordus had no doubt the two could still hear the conversation despite his low tones.

  “They know their duty. We all swore oaths before the gods.”

  “Say you do kill Arrius. What then? More civil war as the other warlords fight to replace your mother and Arrius?”

  Aquilina continued to stare ahead. “Arrius will die by our hands. Anything less would be an affront to the gods. What happens afterwards is up to Jupiter.”

  Cordus sighed and stopped walking. The two Praetorians stopped behind them, keeping their distance. Cordus took her hand in a firm grip; he was relieved she allowed him to do so. “Aquilina, if by some godsdamned miracle my plan works, I will need you to help me be consul.”

  She smirked. “You don’t need me. You have all the wisdom you need in that head of yours.”

  “Things have changed over the last six years. That ‘wisdom’ is a bit outdated. It’s like your idea to contact the news criers; I never would have known those people or come up with that idea. I need you if I’m going to be consul.”

  “So now you want to be consul?”

  “There’s nothing I want less. But I’d rather be consul than hand it to the likes of Arrius.”

  She looked away and pulled her hand from his.

  “The more help I get from you, the better chance we have of making that happen. When I’m Consul, I’ll make sure Arrius pays for his crimes.”

  Aquilina’s jaw moved from side to side. “Once you’re at the com room, there’s not much we can do anyway.”

  “You can watch my back while I’m in there. No doubt the Praetorians there are loyal to Tarquitius. And no doubt some of Arrius’s agents are prowling about. And who knows what the alien vessel will do once it realizes what I’m doing.”

  “Cordus, we’re wasting time.”

  He turned and proceeded down the corridor. He hoped he could convince her to stay with him before they got to the com room. He understood her desire for justice; Cordus’s own desire to get back at the alien vessel for stealing Kaeso and Ocella, and destroying Libertus, was his primary motivation right now. He wasn’t sure he’d react any differently if he saw Ocella murdered before his eyes. But he needed Aquilina if his plan was to work.

  Of course, there were his…other reasons. He still felt the electric jolts whenever they touched. He didn’t know if she felt the same way. He thought she did, maybe, but his experience with women was limited to the memories of the Muses, and they were of dubious value. One thing he understood from them was that every woman was different, and that every generation was different. What were Roman women like today? What were Roman Praetorian women like?

  A chuckle came from Marcus Antonius to Cordus’s right.

  I thought you were asleep, Cordus thought to him. Haven’t heard from you in hours.

  “Sleep is for mortals,” Marcus sniffed. “Thinking of women, eh?”

  What? You can’t read my mind.

  “No, but nothing quickens a man’s heart like a beautiful woman, and yours seems to double-time whenever the lovely Aquilina is nearby.”

  I’m worried about her.

  “Yes, it would be a pity if she dies. She’d make a fine wife.”

  Cordus stumbled, and Aquilina grabbed his arm to steady him. “You all right?” she asked.

  “Yes. Just, er, lost in thought.”

  “Then come back and focus on your feet.”

  He nodded. Then to Marcus, he thought, Who said anything about marriage?

  “Why not? She comes from a strong family, she’s obviously intelligent, and she would be a perfect link to the old regime in your succession. Not to mention we bet she’s an absolute tiger in—”

  I’m not marrying her. Now shut up.

  Marcus bowed his head once. “As you wish. We’ll just, um, go back to sleep.” And then he disappeared.

  Cordus gave Aquilina a sideways glance. The light in the corridor was dim, but he could still see her sharp cheekbones and olive skin beneath black hair tied back in a long braid. Gone was the easygoing, flirty Aquilina she’d been on Caduceus and Reantium. Now her jaw was set and her lips pressed into a thin line.

  But she was still as beautiful now as she was when Cordus first saw her in that jail on Reantium. He didn’t want to lose her for reasons much more personal than the fate of the Republic.

  When they reached the end of the corridor, Cordus found the locked door he knew would be there. He turned to the Praetorians. “There are two more doors on the other side. One leads to a small Temple Custudae post, and the other opens into a stairwell that accesses each floor of the Temple.”

  “How many caccing doors in this place?” Ulpius grumbled.

  “Makes for better defense if the Temple is under attack,” Cordus explained. “We’ll stop at the Custudae post first.”

  All three Praetorians gave him a puzzled look, but then nodded when he explained what they would do there.

  “Then we’ll take the stairwell up to the top level.” He looked at Aquilina. “Once up there, you’ll need to lead us to the implant com.”

  She nodded. “Let’s move.”

  They opened the door the same way they’d opened the last one. Seeing nobody beyond, they entered the small hallway, which was similar to the spartan corridor they just left. Just like Cordus remembered, the private stairwell was immediately to his right and the door to the Temple Custudae post was straight ahead. The door had a large window on it. The darkened office beyond looked empty.

  Rather than use their previous door-opening tactics, Aquilina strode up and opened the door as if she belonged there. She left it open for the rest of them to enter. They all affected relaxed strides, but kept their pulse rifles unslung in case things went badly.

  Fortuna was with them, however; there was nobody in the post. It was past midnight, so the only guards likely to be there were the night watch, and they would be out in the temple. Especially with the Dictator’s assassination.

  Cordus led them to a Custudae closet and they found what they needed—ceremonial Custudae uniforms. Each uniform had a gold breastplate, red-plumed gold helm, and black robes that fit beneath the armor. The helm was of particular interest to them because it would block most of their features.

  They all found uniforms that fit, put them on, and quickly left the post for the private stairwell. Cordus led them up six flights of stairs until they reached the level of the implant com.

  They stopped before the door and Cordus turned to Aquilina. “Your turn.”

  “This is where it gets challenging,” she said quietly. “Praetorians should be guarding the place, not Custudae, so they will try to stop us. These uniforms should get us close enough to take them down.”

  Ulpius and Gracchus frowned at each other. “Damned nasty business, taking down fellow Praetorians,” Ulpius said. “Them boys a
re just following orders.”

  Aquilina glared at Ulpius. “Like Prefect Tarquitius?”

  “Never said we won’t do it. Just saying I don’t like it.”

  “Neither do I,” Aquilina said finally.

  She gave Cordus a hard look, as if waiting for him to say something. He knew what she wanted him to do. Bile rose in his throat. He knew it would save the lives of honorable men and women who were simply doing what they thought was best for the Republic.

  All I have to do is enslave them, Cordus thought bitterly.

  “If it comes to a potential fight…I will do what I can to stop it.”

  Aquilina nodded, then opened the door.

  They entered a corridor that was not as opulent as the temple’s public halls. Those halls were adorned with tapestries, murals, statues, and alcoves filled with more tapestries, murals, and statues. The flamens and Pontiffs did love their art. This hall, though not as dank and sparse as the corridors below, could have fit right in at any merchant’s office in Roma’s financial districts—gray carpeting, off-white walls, and wood doors with door-length windows at their sides. Each door had a control pad next to it, and all were marked with the name of an administrator or high-ranking flamen.

  Cordus paused. Nobody was in the corridor.

  This feels wrong….

  “The Temple is on lockdown,” Aquilina whispered, noticing Cordus’s hesitation. “Tarquitius probably recalled all Praetorians to search for us. We either do this or we leave.”

  And go where? Cordus thought. This was his only chance to save Kaeso and Ocella. If he couldn’t do that, he might as well be captured or dead.

  Cordus nodded, and they entered the corridor.

  They marched down the corridor as if they had important business. Aquilina arrived at the implant com door, which bore the mundane nameplate “Numinatus”. Cordus smiled. Office of the Numina was an appropriate name to house a device that used Muse physics to communicate across the universe. It’s what the Praetorians used to call Umbra Ancilia before they figured out the Ancilia were simply humans.