To Crown a Caesar (The Praetorian Series: Book II)

by Crichton, Edward

  He paused for a moment to survey us, but none of us moved. I couldn’t speak for my companions, but my mind was alternating between shock and vindication. I always knew we’d screw up so bad that something this big would happen, but I’d assumed it would manifest itself years from not, perhaps even well after we were well and buried. But the magnitude and suddenness of what Vespasian had described was shocking.

  “Oh,” Vespasian said with a smile, “I believe I forgot to mention that Britain has rebelled against the legion I left there last year as well.”

  My mouth opened in preparation for words to emerge, but nothing came out. Vespasian noticed my hesitation.

  “So...” Vespasian said slowly as he lurched to his feet. “I have a proposition for you, Jacob Hunter. I give you everything you ask for and more, and in return... you reconquer Britain for me.”

  Now I was truly stunned.

  “Me?”

  “Not you alone, of course,” Vespasian comforted as he leaned against his desk his arms crossed in front of him. “I have already sent a courier to Galba to make haste to Britain and wait for your arrival. He is the most experienced military commander I have, and will serve you well. German forces are weak. Tired. They still have much fight in them, but will be little more than an annoyance and Sarmatia will take some time to mobilize . We have bigger problems elsewhere.”

  “So what do you want me to do?” I asked nervously.

  “As I said, Britain has launched hostilities against Roman forces. We left only a single legion when Agrippina ordered us to the German front, even though I argued we would need at least another year to quell the country side and leave no less than three legions to maintain control.”

  “So how many are you sending with Galba?”

  I tried to do the math in my head of how many legions were currently with Galba, Vespasian, here, located in Britain, and in the rest of the empire, but there were so many units in play at the moment I couldn’t keep track of them all.

  “Zero.”

  “None, huh?” I quipped. “What do you want me to do, win Britain over with my looks and charms alone?” I paused. “Well, that might actually work.”

  Helena elbowed me in my rib cage, luckily on my unwounded side, and Vespasian smiled.

  “That will not be necessary. I will send the XV Primigenia with you as well. I believe you are familiar them?”

  “Yes, we’ve worked with them before.”

  “Good, then you should be familiar with the officers at least. Furthermore, you will have its compliment of auxilia, the legion and its auxilia already present in Britain, and of course you will have Galba as well.”

  “Oh good,” Santino mumbled under his breath.

  “But you’re not even giving me what you consider a peace keeping force,” I countered.

  “I have full faith in your abilities, Jacob Hunter. You can do things that ten legions cannot. You will need that kind of precision if you wish to succeed.”

  I held Vespasian’s eye for a second before I turned to my companions. Artie and Archer wore blank expressions, unable to understand the words exchanged between us let alone the context of the conversation. Helena looked worried and distractedly rubbed her belly, and Santino, like always, wore a completely unhelpful expression, choosing to keep his opinion to himself until he could complain about whatever decision I made later.

  “What about Agrippina?” I asked, folding my arms in a mirror position of Vespasian’s.

  “There is not much we can do about her now. She has brought her entire Praetorian force here to contain the Parthian threat until I can lead my legions against it. I believe she’ll return to Germany then, but she has not made any intentions available to me in weeks.

  “As I said, brush fires have ignited all over the empire, and we are spread very thin. Luckily,” he said, clapping Herod on the shoulder, “Herod has agreed to appeal for his forces to stand down and upon his successful completion of that task, I shall be leaving within the month.”

  “I would not have agreed to such terms had I known you would be working with him,” Herod growled.

  “Herod, for the love of the gods, will you shut up,” Vespasian snapped, turning to glare at his friend. “If you knew the full extent of his reasoning, you would not be so quick to condemn. This man did what he thought was right to do. At the time, I may have done the same. None of this, not even your arm, was personal. Trust me.”

  “Wasn’t personal?!” Herod yelled. “Thousands of Jews are dead. Our peace with Rome in shambles. And people on both sides are still clambering for blood. How can you say this was not personal?”

  I didn’t want to frown, or show any kind of emotion, but I couldn’t help but do so. Despite Vespasian’s rationale, Herod was right. The killing of all those Jews and the deaths of all the Romans who came to fight them were nobody’s fault but my own.

  I sighed inwardly before saying anything. I tried to think of the fact that I may have actually saved thousands of Jewish lives. Not killed them. For all I knew, the rebellion today may circumvent the rebellion that would have occurred in 44 A.D., where even more Jews died in a much longer war.

  That justification would do for now.

  “Herod,” I spoke softly, “please believe me when I say that there is more at stake here than you can possibly imagine. We used you, yes, but it was very necessary. Take solace in the fact that should Vespasian wrest control from Agrippina, things will change for you and your people. Forever and for the better.”

  Herod stared at me with icy eyes. I knew he would never trust me again, and that if I ever saw him again I’d better watch my back. I just hoped he wouldn’t get in the way now because there was too much at stake.

  He kept his gaze on mine, only a second longer before turning to Vespasian.

  “I am done here,” he said before storming out of the tent.

  On his way out, he made sure to bump against me with his good shoulder, hitting me of course against my own bad side, muttering under his breath as he made his retreat.

  “Nice to see you too, buddy,” Santino called out to his retreating backside. When Herod failed to respond, Santino turned back to me and clicked his tongue. “Don’t people say goodbye anymore?”

  I smirked and turned back to Vespasian.

  “He will be all right,” he said. “He has a fiery temper but a sound mind. We shall soon have peace in the region and I will be allowed to move on to more important matters.”

  I couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief.

  “Good.”

  “Now, on to said more important matters,” Vespasian said while moving to stand directly in front of me. “How do you feel about becoming a general of the legions, Legate Jacob Hunter?”

  I blinked in shock. “Me?”

  If you’re interested in Edward Crichton’s Sci-Fi epic Starfarer: Rendezvous with Destiny, due out in the spring of 2013, keep reading for a sneak peek at the first few chapters.

  INCOMING TRANSMISSION . . .

  TO: John Paul Sterling, Admiral, Allied Space Navy (ASN)

  FROM: Alexander Mosley, First High Admiral, Allied Space Navy (ASN)

  ORIGINAL REPORT: Richard Alderman, Colonel, Office of Strategic Space Intelligence (OSSI) – Original Report Attached

  SECURITY LEVEL: CLASSIFIED

  XXXXX - XXXXXXXXXX - XXXXX

  SUBJECT: Anomalous ISLAND Activity – Action Required

  SENT: 11.13.2595 (11:20:11)

  AUTHENTICATION CODE: Echo Echo Bravo Zero Zero Seven Echo

  Admiral John Paul Sterling,

  This could be big, J.P., so I’ll dispense with the usual pleasantries. Word has been sent to OSSI that our Chinese friends have encountered an anomaly along ISLAND Transit Route AlphaCOL–BetaCOL. The spooks haven’t been able to get anything specific out of the Chinese yet, but it has The Star Destiny Corporation, at least, very concerned.

  They’re going to lose contact with the ISLAND Liner Sierra Madre on the aforementioned
course very soon, and while OSSI isn’t saying much, we could be talking about another rumored contact with alien technology aboard an ISLAND. That or they may have simply experienced their first mishap with WeT Tech.

  Consider this your unofficial readiness report. Prepare the Third Fleet for immediate redeployment back to Earth and launch the Alcestis as soon as possible. I don’t think I need to remind you to keep your wits about you, John Paul. There’s more at play here than even I’m aware of, and I can’t offer you much more advice than that. This won’t be some silly sim we mucked about with back at the Academy. Something big is about to happen and something about it stinks.

  Regards,

  First High Admiral Alexander Mosley, ASN

  Admiralty Board, Chair

  Washington Aerospace Naval Headquarters, Luna

  P.S. Should we get through whatever this thing is, I’ll get you a case of that ancient Jamison swill you love so much.

  <<<<< SEE ATTACHED FILE FOR ORIGINAL REPORT >>>>>

  SECTION 1

  The ISLAND

  High Earth Orbit /

  ISLAND Liner Sierra Madre – Red Zone /

  Power Conduction Shaft – Delta /

  11.06.2595

  07:35:08 Zulu

  That which defines mankind is nothing more than what he leaves behind. In no other way will he be remembered when his presence in this universe becomes little more than dust to aid in the formation of new celestial bodies, and the onset of space travel centuries ago only added to this legacy. Later, the ability to travel to other planets cemented it. If every human in existence simply vanished from reality, the ISLAND Liner Sierra Madre would remain, drifting through the depths of space for time immemorial.

  And whoever finds it will think it little more than a hulking piece of junk.

  Senior Chief of Electronics Dhaval Jaheed knew that was unfair assessment of a large portion of the ISLAND, but in the presence of so many undocumented, unbundled, ungrounded, and unfamiliar wires, connectors, cables, circuits, and other forms of electronic mayhem before him gave him pause to curse the wretched ship. It was a safety inspector’s worst nightmare, and the Red Zone was already an extremely dangerous, almost mystical, place, quarantined from entrance by all ISLAND passengers and staff.

  Senior Chiefs never sent technicians into the area, mostly because they never needed to, but the occasion had arisen today, much to the dread of every technician under Dhaval’s supervision. His rank of ISLAND Senior Chief of Electronics gave him seniority over every electrician or technician aboard the Sierra Madre, and made him the only person he was willing to send into such a hazardous portion of the ship. The rest of them were all back in the Green Zone, the outer layer of the ship that surrounded the Red Zone like an egg encasing its yolk.

  Despite knowing it was in his best interest to focus on his work, it was difficult for Dhaval not to wonder exactly what kind of genius would let something as important as an ISLAND Liner fall into such disarray. ISLANDs were the sole means of transportation to Earth’s colonies, and the only way to keep humanity’s presence amongst the stars connected. The mess he was in now was a disgrace to mechanics, technicians, electricians, and engineers alike, but he supposed that’s what happened after hundreds of years of neglect.

  “Find the breaker yet, Chief?” Asked an unwelcome voice that infiltrated every recess of his mind. It came so suddenly that Dhaval stumbled from his perch overlooking the exact breaker box he had in fact been searching for. He shot his hand out to seize the nearest stabilizing handle, only to have it break away from the shaft in his grip. His life was spared by a safety cable that secured his belt to a ladder rung – which amazingly held firm. Dhaval dangled there for a few moments, his forehead glistening with sweat as he stared down the conduction shaft, noticing the green safety lights fixed to the wall descend only about ten meters before becoming overwhelmed in darkness. The shaft descended for hundreds of kilometers, all the way to the Core, but few knew what was down there.

  Dhaval touched a red button on his exo-suit, and a small object shot out from a mechanism on his back. The magnetic wafer attached itself to the metal wall and reeled him back into a standing position upon his perch. Once upright, he deactivated the magnetic anchor and took a deep breath as it recoiled.

  “Chief?” Came the disjointed voice in his head again, somewhat more worried.

  Dhaval gritted his teeth in frustration and keyed his com. “This is Senior Chief Jaheed. I’ve found the conduit. Initiating repairs now.”

  “Copy that, Chief. Be careful down there. Some of that equipment could be a hundred years old.”

  Dhaval paused for the briefest of seconds in frustration before returning to his work.

  As far as he knew, he was the first person to visit this realm of the ISLAND since the last round of ship wide upgrades and renovations that had expanded the Sierra Madre’s overall size and mass to its current level. There may have been the riff raff and Unwanteds who had inherited the bowls of the ship over the past few centuries, but even they were smart enough to stay out of the conduction shafts and rarely breached the Red Zone.

  The only reason he was even down here was because the ISLAND’s Senior Systems Officer had identified a small power drain that originated in the very spot Dhaval now occupied, one that threatened the ship’s next WeT Jump. Such a problem hadn’t arisen in the thirty-five years since Dhaval had been conscripted to work aboard the Sierra Madre, but it wasn’t Dhaval’s position to question how such a problem had arisen. His job was simply to fix the broken conduit and bring the conduction shaft back to peak efficiency. All he cared about was that the one hundred year old power box he was currently manhandling seemed repairable. He pulled a data cable from his chest rig and jacked it into a port that seemed like it would accommodate the plug. Numbers and figures poured across the Lens in front of his left eye, most of which was meaningless gibberish even for someone as experienced as Dhaval, but he comprehended enough to tell him it was at least fixable.

  Just as Dhaval thought he had enough information to begin, he heard a loud metallic bang above him that reverberated through the shaft. It was repeated a number of times before ending just as suddenly as it began. It sounded like someone carelessly knocking over machinery as they moved through the area.

  “Hello?” Dhaval called into the darkness, knowing he was supposed to be alone. He hadn’t been sure what he’d heard, but it sounded distinctly like moving people. “Hello?” He repeated. “Is anyone there?”

  Only silence answered him.

  Dhaval shrugged and eyed the darkness above him one last time before returning to his work.

  You’re getting paranoid in your old age, Dhaval.

  He shifted in his seat and got comfortable on his perch, locking his exo-suit into a comfortable sitting position for a long repair job. The Sierra Madre wasn’t due to depart on its two year voyage for another nine hours, and Dhaval had no idea how long this was going to take. The last thing he wanted to do was report a failure to Ship Master Na and risk delaying the ISLAND’s departure time. This was the young woman’s first voyage as ship master of an ISLAND Liner, and rumor had it that she was as ruthless as she was new to the position. Upsetting her would not bode well for even a veteran like Dhaval Jaheed, for no matter how good he was, he was still an Indian aboard an ISLAND – little more than a slave on a farm.

  Earth /

  Havana, Cuba /

  ISLAND Departure Spaceport /

  11.06.2595

  08:00:00 Zulu

  In a time of great prosperity, the most obvious course of action is towards progress.

  Growth.

  Modernization.

  To build towards the future and create a utopia of high tech splendor.

  It’s what happened in the days following the end of Earth’s population crisis and later economic boom that came with the advent of interstellar trade and colonization. Cities across the globe became shining, glimmering metropolises of glass and light, more beau
tiful than ever, but not Havana, Cuba. Its spaceport was the sole means of transportation to the High Earth Orbit ISLAND Docking Facility in the western hemisphere, and a prosperous city because of it, but it appeared little more than a dirty small town on the cusp of social annihilation.

  At least that’s how it seemed like to Carl Lawson as he sat in a local cantina, waiting for the departure time for his shuttle to arrive. The seedy bar was something out of a Western vid, an entertainment genre made famous once again after centuries in obscurity. It was a setting that belonged in a museum, like the one Lawson had in fact seen at the Cleveland Museum of Ancient American History when he was eight years old. The only difference being the lack of holographic personifications of living, breathing humans performing any number of mundane, yet clichéd tasks like bartending, piano and card playing, wenching, and the like. This bar was authentic, with real live people enjoying the relaxed, stress free setting which Havana still exuded. On any other day, Lawson probably could have died content as he sat amongst fellow travelers in seek of a cold cerveza, but life was never completely stress free, especially not with his folks visiting to see him off.

  “This isn’t what you want to do,” his father, John Lawson, said from across the table. “ISLANDs only come back to Earth every three years.”

  “About two actually,” Carl Lawson replied, not understanding his parents sudden desire to dissuade him from leaving. He ignored his father and turned towards the bartender. “Señor, otra cerveza, por favor.” The bartender nodded and tossed him a can of beer and Lawson couldn’t help but smile.