by Rob Steiner
Ocella took her coat off and shook out the remainder of the dirt, then rapidly ran her fingers through her hair. She was glad she had cut her once long black hair short to better fit into the Praetorian Guard, for the dirt would never have left her hair without a good washing. She used the coat’s interior to wipe more dirt from her face, then put it back on. She paused to get her bearings, then headed right, toward what she assumed was the Via Ostiensis.
Scaurus mentioned his contact was a Zhonguo with a merchant ship in the Mars Trading Fields. It wasn’t much to go on, but since the Zhonguo were rare in Roma—and Terra—since their diaspora 300 years ago, she thought Fortuna might be with her if she asked around. It was not that late, so the contact might still be at his ship.
She put the hood over her head and merged into the crowds packing the Via Ostiensis. This part of the Aventine was renowned for its taverns, gambling dens, and brothels. Ocella figured she would have no problem fitting into the plebeian revelers filling the streets. Young men wearing their finest togas, their arms around each other or a prostitute, shuffled down the street singing songs just as vulgar as the two in the garden. She passed a small ceremony honoring Bacchus, seven men and women standing before a priest holding a wine cup to a ten-foot idol of the god. Their chanting was as boisterous as she'd expect to find in a prayer to the wine god. To her right was a small park where a dozen old men played latrunculi on stone tables. She even passed a street fair where a small comedy troupe performed. Ocella did not stop to watch, but judging from the half-naked performers and the positions they mimicked, it was a play well suited to the street’s clientele.
Ocella found a taxi zone and stood on the sensor pad. A small electric taxi pulled in front of her and then opened its door. Ocella got in the back seat, and the door closed.
The friendly male voice came from a hidden speaker. “Destination?”
“Mars Trading Fields,” she said.
After a pause, the taxi said, “Five sesterces, please. Account number?”
One of the first tricks Umbra taught her before coming to Roma was how to hack an electric taxi. You never knew when you’d need to get somewhere fast, and you didn’t want to leave an electric trail by using a traceable account number. Electric taxis did not have an interface, relying on voice for commands and identification. If a passenger's account number did not match with the voice pattern on record, there would be no transaction and the taxi would not run. It would have been easier with an active implant—she could have used it to send an override command directly to the taxi—but that was why she brought another tool.
She took out the voice mimicker she got from Scaurus’s locker, a tool built by Umbra for this purpose. She thumbed the record button and said, “Maintenance override.”
She rewound the recording, adjusted the treble and bass settings, and then played the recording into the taxi microphone. “Maintenance override,” her adjusted voice said from the mimicker.
“Destination?” the taxi asked again.
Ocella adjusted the mimicker settings again and then played her altered voice. “Maintenance override.”
The taxi paused, then said, “Override accepted.”
“Take me to the Mars Trading Fields.”
“Of course. Estimated time to destination...seven minutes.”
The taxi zipped into traffic and headed down the Aventine toward the Tiber. Ocella kept her hood up. She wasn’t worried about people outside the taxi noticing her, but rather the dome light camera above her head inside the taxi. Sooner or later the taxi company would discover her unauthorized “maintenance override,” and they would search the camera footage to find out who had done it. Hopefully she and Cordus were long gone from Roma by then. If not, a taxi company tracking her down for a five-sesterce fare would be the least of her worries.
The taxi pulled up next to the marble-columned entry to the Mars Trading Fields exactly seven minutes after its estimate on the Aventine. The Trading Fields were a vast market of merchants from across the Republic, along with some Lost World merchants lucky enough to obtain a selling license from Roma. Almost anything could be found in the Fields, from exotic produce and meats to clothing, media, and slaves (human and golem). Most vendors sold their wares right from the back of their cargo ships. Though the hour was late, Ocella noticed the gates to the Fields were still open and customers trickled in and out.
“Mars Trading Fields,” the taxi said.
Ocella said, “Find a place to park and wait for me.”
“Of course.”
Ocella opened the door and stepped onto the street before the Trading Fields entry. The taxi zipped away from the gate and parked itself in a spot along the street less than a block away.
Ocella spared a look at the Trading Fields’ entry as she hurried through the gates. A dozen two-story marble columns built over six hundred years ago supported a classical roof structure over the entry. Bas-reliefs along the roof showed images from the Fields’ past: its beginning as a herding field for sheep, a training field for ancient Roman militia, a gathering for elections, and its current use as a market for commodities from across the Republic. The customers were sparse near closing time, but Ocella had no trouble imagining the throngs streaming through the columns during the Trading Fields’ prime hours.
Once inside, Ocella passed dropships with their wares displayed beside them or from their open cargo doors. Exotic scents filled the air: fruits, vegetables, and spices from every corner of Terra and the Republic. Strange art from distant worlds were arrayed on shelves and tables and on the ground. Vases, sculptures, paintings, holographic comedies and tragedies, synthesized music from non-Republic nations. Ocella passed caged animals from off-world—reptiles with feathery wings, dog-like creatures with furry tentacles sprouting from their sides, insects the size of Ocella's hand mimicking the voices of passersby. Even an experienced Umbra Ancile like her struggled to keep her focus on the crowd rather than the vendors calling her attention to their wares.
The Zhonguo contact—if he existed—would be at the back of the Fields. Roman merchants always populated the sections near the gates. The foreign merchants, however, were put in a section downhill from the main Fields and next to the Tiber riverfront. The stench of dead fish, excrement, and chemical pollution was the price foreigners paid to do business in the largest market in Roma.
It took Ocella longer to get to the foreign section than the taxi ride to the Fields. Along the way she had to avoid aggressive merchants trying to make their final sale of the day, side-step blood in the street from the butcher merchants cleaning their stalls, and twice hide between stalls to avoid silver-helmed lictors on foot patrol.
She reached the entrance to the foreign section, descended cracked stone steps down a steep gravel hill, and started searching the parked ships for a Zhonguo merchant. Though the foreign section was far smaller than the Roman section, there were still dozens of stalls and parked dropships lining the riverfront. It could take hours to search every one.
She found a merchant from Aqalax, a small Lost World one way line jump from Roman space. His ancestors were from Terra's Atlantium continent, for his skin was dark bronze and his long black hair was decorated with beads. He was packing up his goods when Ocella approached.
“Can you tell me where the Zhonguo district is?”
He stared at her, and Ocella was about to try the dominant language on Aqalax when he replied in accented Latin, “There are no Zhonguo here.” He waved toward the riverfront. “Maybe farther down.”
Ocella thanked him and proceeded down the dirt road.
She passed stalls and ships from all over Terra and the Roman Republic. Egyptian, Ethiopian, Indian, Palestinian, Greek, and more merchants from Atlantium. Some smaller Lost Worlds were represented as well, like Roma Nova which was close enough in culture to Roma, yet not a vassal world and thus considered “foreign.” She asked several merchants about the Zhonguo district, and she got the same response as the Aqalax merchant. She
continued on.
She reached the end of the riverfront and still had not found a Zhonguo merchant. She cursed under her breath, realizing she should have known this was a futile search among the hundreds of stalls and ships on the Fields. She sighed and then made her way back along the riverfront toward the Roman sections. Perhaps the Zhonguo contact worked for one of the Roman merchants. She tried not to despair at the thought of searching the entire Trading Fields for a Zhonguo face.
As she passed the Aqalax merchant again, he smiled at her. “My lady, a hot drink of fresh ground xocolatl? The xocolatl on my world is far sweeter than from my honored ancestors in Atlantium. One sip and you will agree, my lady.”
The merchant tried handing her a cup of dark liquid, but Ocella declined and kept walking. “Are you sure, my lady? Your family would bless you for bringing home such a sweet and filling treat. Especially your son.”
Ocella stopped. She turned back to the merchant. He held a cup to her, but he also held a small canister with an elaborate logo painted on the front emblazoned with the word “xocolatl.”
“A free sample for my lady,” the merchant said. “All I ask is that if the sample agrees with you, perhaps you'd be so kind as to come back and buy a generous portion for you and your family.”
Ocella walked back to the merchant and cautiously took the canister. “Thank you.”
“Instructions are inside the canister. Be sure to follow them explicitly or else the drink will not satisfy.”
Ocella nodded.
“Very good,” the merchant said, his smile widening. “Is the lady interested in any other produce? I’m packing up for the night, but I would be happy to unpack anything of interest to my lady.”
“I believe I have what I came for.”
“Of course. Good night to you, then.”
Ocella turned and started back up the stone stairs to the Roman section, holding the small canister in her left palm. She made her way through the Fields, avoiding lictors and passing merchants shutting down for the night.
When she emerged from the gates, she walked straight to the taxi and got in. Before ordering the taxi to leave, she opened the canister and searched the contents. It contained a dark brown powder that smelled both sweet and bitter. On the canister lid were instructions on how much xocolatl to mix with hot water or milk. She poked her finger through the dark powder but found nothing in it. She ground her teeth, hoping she hadn't mistaken a simple merchant trying to make a sale as Scaurus’s contact. She dumped the dark xocolatl on the taxi floor and searched the canister bottom. Scrawled on the bottom was a date and time.
Noon. Two days from now.
Ocella screwed the canister lid back on, put it in her pocket, and then told the taxi to go back to the Aventine. Two blocks from Scaurus's house, she ordered the taxi to stop.
“Delete recent destination logs,” Ocella ordered the taxi.
“Logs deleted.”
“Go to the intersection of Via Ferinum and Via Hollae in the Suburba, wait for three hours, and then discontinue maintenance override.”
Ocella hoped an electric taxi sitting near the high-crime corner of Ferinum and Hollae would make a tempting target for thieves. Three hours was enough time for thieves to strip the taxi of all its valuable parts. It would take days for the taxi company to dissect the taxi’s electronic brain to figure out what happened.
She got out of the taxi and made her way through the revelers, passed the vulgar play still going strong, and then ducked into the alley behind Scaurus's house. She arrived at the wall to the yard with the hatch and listened a few seconds. Hearing silence on the patio, she jumped to the top of the wall and peeked into the garden. Nobody outside. She pulled herself over and jumped down onto soft grass. She hurried over to the hatch and pushed away the dirt and leaves she'd put over it. She opened the hatch, stepped down onto the ladder rungs, and then tried as best she could to pull some fallen branches next to the hatch as she quietly closed it. The neighbors would notice the hatch the next time they decided to pick olives from their tree. Ocella hoped it was after she and Cordus were gone.
She climbed down the rungs and scurried back through the tunnel to the dim basement sanctuary. She stood up and closed the bookshelf over the tunnel.
“Cordus?” she called as the bookshelf clicked shut. She peered around the free-standing bookshelves, but did not see him at the tabulari.
“Cordus.”
He was not on the couch watching the holo either. The bathroom door was ajar, but it was dark inside. She pushed open the door and turned on the light. He wasn't there.
“Cordus, you're being a baby. Where are you? I have some good news.”
After a fruitless search, she yelled, “Cordus, this isn't funny.”
Ocella's annoyance began turning to panic. He actually left. She tried thinking like the boy. He burned to leave the basement, she knew that, and he had an elevated opinion of his street sense. Whether or not he had ancient knowledge in his brain, he was still a twelve-year-old boy who would not stand a chance against common street toughs. He could be lying in a gutter right now, his body violated, his throat slit—
Ocella stopped. She could not let herself think what might have happened. She had to concentrate on her situation as she knew it. Think like the boy. Where would he go? He had no money or a voice account, so he could not have hired a taxi or taken a bus. He had to have walked. This was the first time he’d ever been on his own. He would want to see as much as he could. Even the most mundane, plebeian pastimes would fascinate him. She had been gone less than two hours, and given his curiosity, he could not have walked farther than the Aventine.
She searched her memories for anything he might have said, any hint as to what he wanted to see on his own. Games? The nearest coliseum was by the Forum, a two-hour walk if the boy took his time. She didn’t think he would go near the Forum because even he knew how dangerous it was to stray too far. He didn't want to get caught any more than Ocella. What Aventine “sights” would interest a young noble out for the first time?
Or maybe someone had seen her leave the tunnel, then came through to take Cordus. She felt blood drain from her face as she realized the Praetorians could be watching the house right now, waiting for her to come out again, waiting to take her back to their headquarters and make her talk.
She hurried up the basement stairs to the house and saw the secret pantry door was cracked open. Cursing, she opened the door wider so she could slip through. She pulled out her pistol, and stepped quietly into the dark kitchen.
The lights were on in the rest of the house, making Ocella hesitate. The Praetorians likely did that so they could see anyone moving around. She stayed in the kitchen’s shadows and did a brief visual search of the room, but did not find Cordus. She did see a large blood stain near the couches next to the door, and she said a silent prayer for Scaurus's soul to find rest in Elysium. She also noticed the front door panel said it was locked. Cordus didn’t know the key code, so he couldn’t have left that way. She didn’t think the boy was so colossally stupid as to climb through a window, though the fact he’d not only gone upstairs but left the house made her doubt that assumption.
She went back through the secret pantry door, taking care to close the door this time, and down the stairs. She stood at the foot of the stairs, trying to calm her shaking hands, trying to ignore the nausea rising from her gut and the cold sweat tricking down her warm back. She pounded her fists on a bookshelf. She had completed dangerous missions for Umbra and had never felt this panicked. She had to stop, to breathe.
Then she noticed a sheet of paper on the floor next to the tabulari. She bent down and picked it up, turned it over, and read Cordus's elegant penmanship.
“I have gone for a look around. No fear, I shall be careful and return presently.”
Cordus must have put the paper on the tabulari, but it had fallen to the floor.
Ocella crumpled up the paper and threw it at the tabulari. She grabbed a fresh c
oat from the locker, then hurried over to the wall bookshelf and opened the tunnel. As she crawled through, she decided if street toughs hadn't killed the boy, she would.
18
The party guests were inside, so Ocella jumped from the hatch and scurried up the wall before anyone could come out and delay her from strangling Cordus.
She hurried down the alley and onto the Via Ostiensis. If anything, the crowds were larger this time. It was less than an hour before midnight, the prime of the Aventine’s revelry. Ocella kept her hood up, and scanned the crowds for Cordus and obvious tails.
She passed the taverns and brothels, knowing Cordus would be curious, but not comfortable there by himself. She walked by the old men playing board games, searching the gray and bald heads for a head of black hair. She didn’t see anyone under sixty.
She stopped at the street play, which had switched from a vulgar sex show to a vulgar puppet show. The crowd roared with laughter as a puppet with a Zhonguo’s creased eyes tried making love to a squirming dark-skinned Kaldethian.
Ocella searched the audience and found the boy sitting in the center. She took a deep breath, relaxed her clenched fists, and sat down just behind him. Cordus laughed right along with the crowd. No one paid attention to him despite the fact he wore no hood and had on the same high-quality tunic and coat he'd worn when they'd escaped the Consular Palace. Once again she thanked the gods that pictures of the Consular Family were forbidden in Roman media—the Praetorians’ own security protocols were the only thing keeping Cordus from being recognized on the streets.
Ocella leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “Cordus, what do you think you're doing?”
The boy jumped and turned around. When he saw her, his face went from terrified to annoyed. He turned back to the stage.
“I am enjoying this play. Watch with me.”
“We're leaving,” Ocella said. “Now.”
“I am staying until the play is finished.”
Ocella ground her teeth. Umbra had taught her many ways to incapacitate a human being, but never how to quietly drag an insolent child out of a public place. She didn’t know if Cordus would fight if she grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. Considering his recent behavior, she wouldn't put it past him. So her only choice was to endure the puppet show until His Majesty was ready to go.
