“Always the history lesson with you.”
“There’s just so much of it here. I’m overwhelmed. How can you be so disinterested?”
“I’m not ‘disinterested.’ I’m just a bit queasy and I could really use some sleep.”
“Oh, sorry. Well, perk up. A few more months with me and you’ll be an expert in no time.”
“Fantastic.”
“Heads up, people,” Vincent announced. “Looks like we’ve arrived.”
Making our way to the building, the enormous outer wall blocking the moonlight, we were ordered to stop by one of our guards. He, along with three others, made their way inside, while the rest of us were directed towards a few stone benches just outside the Curia.
Dragging Helena all this way was tough work. I had been ready to pass out the moment we entered the Forum, and by the time we made it to the benches, Helena was practically moving under her own power, receiving little help from me. I heard her moan in pain when she took a particularly heavy step on her bandaged leg, but we managed to make it to the bench before either one of us collapsed completely.
I swung her onto the bench, and sat beside her, resting my head on her shoulder. “Next time. You’re carrying me.”
She pushed my head away. “Yeah right, Lieutenant.”
Santino plopped down next to me on the ground, while Bordeaux and Wang sat next to him. Vincent took up station by the entrance, waiting to go inside. Bordeaux and Santino stretched out to lie on their backs, probably just as exhausted as I was, while Wang had his head between his knees, still unsettled by the loss of his long time commander. Helena was leaning against a pillar, and seemed out cold. Rejuvenated by my few seconds of respite and with no one to talk to, I rose to my feet and joined Vincent with the remaining guards.
He noticed my approach. “So what do you think, Hunter?”
“Well, sir. It’s the opinion of this sailor that we could have picked a more interesting time to find ourselves in. I, for one, would have loved to meet Augustus.”
He smiled. “I would have preferred Marcus Aurelius or Constantine, but I see where you’re coming from. Still… while there is certainly something exciting about all this, we can’t stay here.”
“I couldn’t agree more, sir. I’m not sure if I can live without my TV.”
“Well, Lieutenant, in that case, we definitely need to get out of here.”
“Right, and remember, whenever we meet Caligula, or whoever we’re here to talk to, we can’t mention anything about who we are and where we came from.”
“What if he asks?”
“I guess we can tell him we’re observers from far away, but no specifics. If we tell them I’m from America, a place beyond the Pillars of Hercules, or whatever… who knows? They might just go there and colonize the place, a millennium before Columbus, or even before the Vikings poked around. Just keep the details vague, and tell him we have no idea how we got here. They seemed to know that blue ball thing would do something, or else they wouldn’t have been ritualizing it, so we’ll just play the hapless bystander card and hope they bite.”
“All right. We also need to see about digging our way into that cavern to secure our gear, and make sure we can get McDougal out. We need to give him a proper burial.”
“That might be harder than it sounds. We’ll have to find a way to impress these guys just to get our weapons back, let alone ask for them to dig out a cave.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem.”
I flinched at his last comment, but nodded all the same. I turned back towards the cityscape, ending the conversation. It certainly won’t be a problem to impress these people. All we need to do was show them a lighter, let alone give them a demonstration of our weapons, but that would be a bad idea.
I heard the clicking of Roman style boots against marble, and turned to see one of the Praetorians emerging from the Curia. Caligae were constructed with hobnails imbedded in their soles, offering cleat like characteristics. Like soccer players who used them for traction during matches, the Romans’ application was the same for the battlefield. The centurion spoke quickly to Vincent, who held up his hands while replying. The Roman looked at me, his eyes cold as ice. He looked back at Vincent, and nodded rapidly, saying, “celere.”
Basically, “make it quick.”
Vincent tilted his head in thanks, and made his way towards his wary soldiers.
“Wake up people, break’s over.”
Years of training kicked in, and while only Wang stood, everyone else was back on task and paying close attention.
“It seems these Romans have been gracious enough to grant us an audience with the Caesar, but will only allow me and one other to see him. Hunter, you’re with me. I may need your ridiculous ability to comprehend this… sci-fi stuff.”
I smiled. “My mom always told me I watched too much TV.”
“Your mom’s a smart woman,” Santino said.
“The rest of you will be taken to a holding area,” Vincent informed. “They know of your injuries, so they’ve agreed to keep you together. Bordeaux get your ankle taken care of, and I’m sure Strauss can use another look at that leg. Santino, make sure nothing happens to them.”
Santino nodded, completely serious.
"All right, Hunter. Let’s get this over with.”
VI
Caligula
Rome, Italy
October, 36-41 AD
I fell into step behind Vincent as we followed the Roman Praetorians through the Curia, which in and of itself, was remarkable. Augustus had found Rome a city of stone, and left it a city of marble, or so he famously boasted, and judging from what I’d seen so far, he wasn’t kidding. Absent were the decaying and rundown buildings historians indicated were here merely a few decades earlier. Instead the area was opulent, radiant, and, well… shiny, is a good way to describe it. The floor and walls glistened in the moonlight, and everything seemed in pristine condition, a clear indication of Rome’s majesty.
A few turns later, we arrived in the Senate chamber. While it wasn’t all that big, the sheer scope of decisions debated in this room was enough to make it seem much bigger. It was circular in design, with elevated rows of long benches, illuminated by small fire pots hanging sporadically around the room. They cast off a spooky atmosphere throughout the room, with many areas cast in shadow while the remaining area flickered intermittently. So many elected officials, emperors, despots, and tyrants had ruled from this room, but there was currently only one on my mind.
The one who sat center stage in the only independent seat in the house.
The man was nothing like I imagined he would be. He was tall, blond, well-muscled, but rather unattractive. His eyes were small, his nose had a bump on it, and the tips of his ears flared out noticeably, but the way he looked at us indicated an inquisitive intelligence. He measured us up in a quick glance, no hint of intimidation or fear in his eyes. Instead, he seemed completely unimpressed by what he saw, as though men who looked like us passed by him every day.
What was missing was the air of arrogance and godliness, traits reportedly common of the man. Not to mention insanity.
We must have gotten lucky.
The man stood and circled us like a panther, continuing his inspection. At one point, he opened one of my pouches equipped with Velcro, which he merely accepted with a curious face and his mouth pursed approvingly. Everyone else appeared as though they had just seen magic. Two Praetorians jumped away from me in shock.
He stopped after two revelations, and spoke his first words to Vincent. I tried to follow along as best I could, but mostly had to wait for Vincent’s translations.
“Who are you?” Caligula asked.
“My name is Vincent, and this is Jacob Hunter.”
“That is all very well and good, but where are you from and what is the meaning behind your appearance in my city?”
Vincent glanced at me before answering. “Where we are from, I cannot say.”
“A
nd why is that?”
“It may prove harmful to the future of your great empire.”
Well. So far, so good. I guess this conversation could have been weirder.
“I am not sure how that could be so,” Caligula continued, “but judging by your appearance, I would assume you are not from this area, nor any other part of my domain. So where? Deep in Africa or perhaps Asia? We’ve seen many strange things from these lands, but I must admit, none more so than you.”
“I can confirm that we are not from any of these places, but little else. I will assure you, however, that we mean no harm to either you or your people. We are not here by choice. We find ourselves just as surprised as you are concerning our presence here.”
“So you will not tell me where you are from, or who you are,” he continued, tapping his chin with a finger, “nor will you tell me how it is you found your way into the city and beneath one of our most sacred temples, because... you don’t know?” He asked, his expression indicating he clearly didn’t believe us. “Of course.”
“All of what you said is true, Caesar.” Vincent paused, seeing Caligula’s skeptical expression. “I feel the need to reassure you that we have no intention of acting against the will of Rome.”
That was smart. 21st century technology or not, we wouldn’t survive long with Rome as an enemy.
Caligula lifted his chin slightly, now giving us more of a suspicious, rather than skeptical, look. “How is it that you speak my language?”
Vincent paused for a second and glanced at me again. I didn’t dare move. That was a good question.
“I’ve spoken Latin for most of my life,” Vincent responded with a shrug.
Good answer.
“From where, I have no idea,” Caligula continued. “Your accent is most bizarre.”
Vincent shrugged again.
Caligula’s suspicious glance lingered as he held out his arm towards one of his Praetorians, indicating for one of our rifles. The man brought Vincent’s M4 for Caligula’s inspection.
“What manner of weapon is this?” He asked. “I would not have thought it one had my guards not informed me these were what you surrendered to them. It is not of balanced weight, or design, nor is it sharp in any place. It also seems too fragile for a bludgeoning weapon, so what does it do?”
“It is a projectile weapon, similar to a bow and arrow, only slightly more sophisticated. Currently, it is not loaded, so you will be unable to fire it.”
“And what is this device?” He asked, indicating the flashlight attached to the barrel, which had conveniently slid free from its mount. Caligula was fiddling with it while Vincent answered.
“It is an illum…”
Caligula accidentally pressed the activation button, projecting a brilliant beam of light that collected on the ceiling. The guardsmen gasped in horror, while Caligula dropped the flashlight and skipped away, perhaps fearing it was possessed.
“It’s as though the rays of Apollo are contained within.” One of the guards commented, moving away from the rolling light, probably thinking he might spontaneously combust should it touch him.
I bent down and retrieved the small tool.
“We call it a flashlight.” Vincent informed, using the American term, retrieving his light. Manipulating it, he lit up areas of the room otherwise in the dark. The Romans seemed thoroughly impressed after composing most of their dignity.
“As you can see, it creates light in a nonflammable way, focusing it tightly for increased efficiency.”
“How does such a device operate?” Caligula asked, retaking his U shaped seat, appearing only slightly startled.
“To be honest, the specifics of its function are slightly beyond me, but just like your catapults, it has been constructed from earthly materials, by human hands. No divine inspiration was required.”
“Such a device,” Caligula mumbled, shaking his head at the floor. “Its abilities are far beyond that of a simple torch. If your weapons are just as advanced when compared to our own, I am becoming more and more reluctant to trust you.”
“Caesar, we are willing to perform any test needed to prove our honesty. If it would please you, we are prepared to offer a demonstration of our abilities at your convenience.”
Caligula spent a few minutes considering, occasionally glancing at his guards, and then back at us. A few minutes later, he stood up and moved closer to us.
“I have been given word that some of your people have sustained injury. Again, how, I know not. It is for that reason that I have let them stay together and why I will now allow you to rejoin them. However, I will require your demonstration tomorrow evening. It is very late, rest as much as you need. Food will be provided when you wish, but be ready.”
“Your kindness is greatly appreciated, Caesar. However, I have but one request.”
“Speak.”
Vincent took a step closer. “In our rush to escape the collapsing cave beneath your temple, we left one of our people behind. He was already dead upon our arrival.”
I guess now wasn’t the best time to mention the large amount of gear buried along with him. That wouldn’t really help our case much.
“Where we come from we have a practice of not leaving fellow soldiers behind, as well as burial rituals for the dead. If it is at all possible, we ask that we be allowed to retrieve him, and give him the proper respects.”
Of all the conquerors and empires throughout the ages, Rome, surprisingly, was probably one of the most tolerant. That is, until us poor Christians came on the scene. Prior to the advent of Christianity, they could care less about who you worshiped or what gods you prayed to, as long as you paid tribute to the emperor. Additionally, Romans took their own burial preparations very seriously. They had important rituals, imported mostly from the Greeks, which would help prepare the dead for their journey to the afterlife.
Caligula looked thoughtful for a second, understanding our desire to lay our dead to rest.
“Tomorrow evening you will perform your demonstration, as planned,” he answered. “Afterwards, should I feel it prudent, I will order the retrieval of your lost friend. However, if all goes well for you, I will require a more thorough test of your loyalty at a later date.”
“Thank you, Caesar.” Vincent bowed, and I followed suit.
“Now go. The hour is late. I hope all goes well tomorrow. For your sake.”
***
We left the senate chamber in silence, our guards close at hand. I thought the discussion had gone well enough, although I wasn’t sure a demonstration of our weapons was the most intelligent course of action. The fact that these Romans now know of flashlights alone might be enough to change the course of history. They say that a butterfly fluttering in Ohio can produce a hurricane in China, but the question is, when does he know to flutter? We simply had no idea what action we performed, no matter how small, could result in a change in global history.
I was a little worried that just by arriving here we had already changed something. I still didn’t understand why, in all my research, I had never once heard of us being here.
And here’s where things get confusing.
In our present, in 2021, our history books include no account of beings fitting our description. If we gave our demonstration tomorrow, which seemed very likely at this point, we were going to leave a mark on someone smart enough to write it down. While writers such as Plutarch, who wrote extensively on important individuals and events, hadn’t even been born yet, his work centered on earlier figures, and ones who made a real difference. If Caligula could harness our abilities, he would have certainly been one of them, which he wasn’t. Even if Plutarch didn’t write about it, surely one of the many historians still to come would have. The kind of spectacle we could put on seems right up Suetonius’ alley, but again, he includes no mention of us. Pliny the Elder, Tacitus, Seneca, the list goes on, and yet there was still no mention of us.
It may seem odd to think in such terms, but there is a basic theor
etical approach dealing with how and why we could already have been here. However, the only answer I had left to go on at this point was that we simply weren’t here, and that the blue sphere opened some kind of inter-dimensional, time bending, “flux capacitor” type portal that transported us here. If that was the case, then it only confirmed my theory that whatever we do here could impact the future. If there had been some indication that we were here in our histories, all we would have to do is act natural, knowing that things turned out in 2021 the way they did, despite our presence.
By the time we reached the entrance, I’d just about had enough of the subject. I’d always found the concept interesting. Whenever a special on the subject was on TV, I made a point to catch it. The formulas and science behind it went well over my head, but the concepts and fundamentals always lined up pretty easily. I always did enjoy those cheesy sci-fi movies as well.
My sister had always been the real brains in the family. Younger by only eighteen months, she had become more successful than me the day she entered college. An aerospace engineer, she had been one of the driving brains behind the new ion propulsion engines NASA used to ferry equipment to the moon. The new US-EU Joint Operation Moon Base, which she had helped establish as the first woman to step foot on the moon, and one of the first to go back since the last Apollo mission, could now receive supplies from Earth in forty eight hours, as opposed to the seven days it took Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Michael Collins in 1969.
Like I said, she was the successful one. I remembered when she started getting her feet wet in the business, and tried to explain the concept of the new engines to me. By the time she used words like magnetoplasmadynamics, everything had gone way over my head, and she had to settle with describing it as, “Star Wars stuff.” That at least made some sense. The time travel stuff came up occasionally but usually she’d just roll her eyes and tell me to get my head out of the clouds.
The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) Page 15
