by R. M. Meluch
Copyright © 2008 by R. M. Meluch.
All Rights Reserved.
Covert art by Stephan Martiniere.
DAW Book Collectors No. 1455.
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Prologue
CAESAR MAGNUS DESERVED to die.
Caesar Magnus was dead. The assassin was dead.
So did anyone really give a rat’s aft if someone else may have been involved in the killing of Caesar?
Even if that someone might have been Caesar’s own son?
Even if that son had assumed the role of the new Caesar?
Either the thought of a patricide leading an interstellar empire did not horribly unsettle the Senate and People of Rome or else denial simply served them better, because the Senate did not challenge the legitimacy of the new Caesar, and the People loved him.
Suspicion was after all only suspicion. Other than possibly murdering his own father, the new Caesar was a damn fine Caesar.
In his very new reign, young Caesar Romulus had already beaten down the monstrous Hive threat to a shred of its former terror. Only a whimpering presence of Hive remained deep in the Deep End of the galaxy. Hundreds of light-years and many American settlements stood between the remains of the Hive and the nearest Roman target. It would be a long, long time before the Hive threatened a Roman outpost again.
Caesar Romulus summoned home all Roman forces that were serving under U.S. command. Let the Americans deal with what remained of the Hive. It was no longer a Roman concern.
Caesar Romulus renounced Rome’s surrender to the United States.
Caesar Romulus expelled the Americans from the Roman planet Thaleia, and reinstalled Thaleia’s orbiting sentinels. He staged a spectacular bombing of the Triumphal Arch which his father, Caesar Magnus, had constructed on Thaleia in honor of the American John Farragut, Captain of the U.S. space battleship Merrimack.
On the Roman capital world of Palatine, Caesar Romulus redesigned the Monument to the Conciliation. The original monument featured an enormous golden eagle soaring wingtip to wingtip with a bald eagle, like two great powers flying in perfect accord.
In Romulus’ reworked monument, the bald eagle cowered on its back under the claws of the diving golden eagle. “Here,” said Romulus, “let all humanity know that the Conciliation was a fraud. Here is what Rome really thinks of Pax Americana.”
On an interstellar broadcast, for all the known region of the galaxy to witness, Caesar Romulus broke the spears of Subjugation under his own heel.
For that alone, many Romans called for Romulus’ deification.
Too savvy a politician to accept divine honors, Romulus expressed gratitude at the depth of his People’s regard, but said, “You cannot vote someone to godhood.” And that only increased his popularity.
Romulus could do no wrong.
Magnus had already done it all.
Back in the desperate days when the Hive decimated Rome’s mighty legions, desperation led Caesar Magnus to surrender to the United States. The surviving remnants of the Roman armed forces were placed under U.S. command.
With Rome’s second worst enemy engaged against Rome’s most pressing threat, Rome found a chance to rebuild its shattered forces in secret.
While the U.S. carried the greater weight of the common defense against the Hive, Romulus organized the rebuilding of Rome’s armed forces on the empire’s most distant worlds that lay in the opposite direction from the Hive incursion. He’d started that even before the assassination of Caesar Magnus.
Upon declaration of victory against the Hive, Romulus, now Caesar, unveiled his empire’s new battleships.
He paraded his new legions up the Via Triumphalis on Palatine. The legions were very new. Many of the legionaries’ voices had not changed yet. They were full of youthful fire, rabid to reclaim Rome’s crushed pride, eager and ruthless as only children could be.
Lost on the proud new warriors was that Rome could not have achieved all this had Magnus not surrendered Rome to the U.S. No one would thank him for it.
Romulus had also organized the manufacture of a new generation of killer bots. Automated factories on far worlds in the Perseid arm of the galaxy had been churning out killer bots by the hundred thousand per earthly month.
The Americans never suspected it was happening. Automated weapons were worse than useless against the Hive. Machine minds could be turned against their makers. There was no reason to think Rome could be rebuilding its fleets of killer bots.
Romulus had been looking to the future.
Because of his foresight, Romulus’ empire could face the Americans from a position of power, not subservience, when the common enemy collapsed.
There were vicious, jealous whispers that Romulus had killed his father.
Well, he hadn’t. There was a recording of the event. Everyone saw the deed. That was not Romulus’ hand you saw holding the pen that plunged into Caesar’s eye. Whispers said Romulus drove the assassin to it. But no true Roman needed any pushing to kill Magnus.
There was scarcely a citizen in Rome’s interstellar empire willing to look too closely for bones in the closet of a Caesar who accomplished everything Romulus had done for them.
But there was one. A Roman who could not allow Magnus Caesar’s death to go unavenged for any reason.
He was programmed not to.
Magnus’ patterner had a deeply encoded imperative to defend Rome to his last breath and beyond that. To the patterner, Caesar was Rome. And Magnus was his Caesar.
Patterners were dangerous creations, short-lived and difficult. Difficult to create, difficult to maintain, tricky to control. It was dangerous to put that much power into a thing with a mostly human brain.
Only nine of them had ever been successfully assembled. Caesar Romulus did not know it, but the last patterner was still alive. The patterner Augustus had belonged to Caesar Magnus. Augustus was out there. And he did not suspect Romulus of involvement in his father’s murder. He knew.
PART ONE
Off the Deep End
If anything’s gonna happen, it’ll happen on the Hamster watch.
—proverb on board Merrimack
1
LIEUTENANT GLENN (HAMSTER) Hamilton was Officer of the Watch when the Emergency Action Message came in.
She passed the EAM to the cryptotech for confirmation, and immediately paged John Farragut on his personal com. “Captain’s presence requested on the command deck.”
Captain Farragut’s voice came back, “What’s this about?”
An instant’s blank panic showed on Hamster’s face. The captain was often in Roman company. Hamster could not afford to explain. She answered quickly, “Gypsy’s hair.” And immediately clicked off.
She stood over the com, feeling the eyes of the command deck upon her. With her eyes set dead a
head, she spoke to anyone in range of her quiet voice, “If what I just said gets back to Commander Dent, every man jack and jane on this deck will walk the plank.” And she took the com back up, “Commander Dent, your presence is requested on the command deck.”
The lieutenant had not requested speed from either the captain or the exec. She did not want to sound alarmed. And the captain was going to arrive like a missile anyway.
John Farragut blew through the hatch to the command deck like a gust of fair wind, wearing the sky blue uniform of ship’s captain.
One of the Marine guards at the hatch announced, “Captain on deck.”
Farragut’s presence announced itself. He was a big man, fair-haired, blue-eyed, an irresistible force. Energy radiated from him. Nearly forty years old now, he kept the bright enthusiasm of a boy.
Captain John Farragut had lately been Commodore Farragut, but that had been a field promotion and temporary. His Attack Group One had disbanded after fulfilling its purpose. The two League of Earth Nations ships of the Attack Group had stayed behind at Planet Zero. The U.S. ships Rio Grande and Wolfhound were headed back to Fort Eisenhower. And the two Roman ships Gladiator and Horatius that had been under Farragut’s command separated out on orders from Caesar Romulus.
The space battleship Merrimack remained alone in very deep space, in orbit around the dead world Telecore.
Telecore had begun life as a Roman colony. Before anyone had ever heard of the Hive, the Romans built a secret outpost on the planet to outflank American expansion in the Sagittarian arm of the galaxy.
Telecore had ended life consumed by the Hive, The Hive was a great soulless evil that existed only to eat. What the Romans planted on Telecore, the Hive came to reap.
The Romans were gone. The Hive was still there.
Captain Farragut liked to know his enemy. He had been in Merrimack’s lab with the xenoscientists, observing how newly emerged gorgons behaved, when he received Hamster’s summons, Farragut spoke before anyone could tell him; “The balloon went up?”
Specialists at their close-packed stations on the command deck traded looks. Somehow, from what Hamster said, John Farragut had figured out that the United States was at war.
“Looks like it, sir.” Lieutenant Glenn Hamilton nodded toward the forward communications shack, where the cryptotech had cloistered himself with the EAM. “Waiting on confirmation.”
Commander Egypt “Gypsy” Dent entered the deck.
She had left her ferocious hair in her cabin. Her head was smooth. Her brown eyes were narrowed into a squint, half-asleep. Strong-boned, tall and frowning, Gypsy scanned the monitors for some sign of the emergency that had roused her here. Hamster advised her softly, “It’s war, sir.”
The eyes opened at once. Gypsy was awake now. “Who declared?” said Farragut. “I’m fixin’ to be almighty unhappy if it was us.”
He could not believe the Joint Chiefs would strand him out here in the deepest end of the Deep End, sitting on the biggest warship in the U.S. Naval Fleet, while the U.S. declared war without so much as a stand-by-for-heavy-rolls to warn him.
But Hamster answered, “They did, sir.” They. Rome.
The Imperial Government of Rome establishes the following facts:
Although Rome on her part has strictly adhered to the rules of international law in her relations with the United States during every period of the recent Emergency in the common defense against the Hive, the Government of the United States has used the Emergency to abridge the right of Rome to its own government, and continues to usurp the lawful authority of Rome over her own armed forces under pretext of a common defense against a threat that has been diminished to inconsequence in order to perpetuate oppression and to enforce a treaty coerced under most extreme circumstances. The United States violates Roman borders at will, and denies Rome the autonomy and security to which every nation is entitled, in actions more consistent with an organized crime racket rather than a civilized nation.
Pledges extracted upon threat of being fed to monsters cannot be bound by law.
The Government of the United States has thereby virtually created a state of war.
The Imperial Government of Rome, consequently, discontinues diplomatic relations with the United States of America and declares that Rome considers herself as being in a state of war with the United States of America.
Vlll.xiii.MMCDXLVI
CAESAR ROMULUS.
“And you are all rotten people and don’t deserve to live no more,” Tactical added in a low mutter into his console.
“Thank you, Mister Vincent,” said Farragut, a warning in his voice. Loose comments were what got Marcander Vincent bucked down to the Hamster Watch in the first place.
Farragut asked Lieutenant Hamilton, “Where do we stand?”
“We have the text of the President’s request to Congress to declare back at ‘em,” said Hamster, and fed the text to his station.
To the Congress of the United States:
On the morning of August 13,the Imperial Government of Palatine, pursuant to its course of galactic conquest, declared war against the United States.
The long known and the long expected has thus taken place. The forces endeavoring to enslave the entire galaxy now are moving into free space.
Delay invites greater danger. Rapid and united effort by all free peoples who are determined to remain free will insure a victory of the forces of justice and of righteousness over the forces of inhumanity and of totalitarianism.
I, therefore, request the Congress to recognize a state of war between the United States and the Imperial Government of Palatine.
MARISSA JANE JOHNSON.
“Congressional recognition is ‘imminent,’” Hamster added. Farragut looked to the com tech, “Nothing from Congress yet?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“ ‘Kay.” Farragut drew alongside Commander Dent, his hand between her shoulder blades. He spoke low, “If approval comes in before I get back, keep it quiet. There’s something I have to do first.”
“Understood, sir.” Their heads were close together. Gypsy’s brown eyes flicked, her focus shifting across his face, assessing.
There was a time, during the last hostilities, when Farragut had standing orders: Should Merrimack ever fall into enemy hands, Captain Farragut must kill his cryptotech. During that time, Merrimack had in fact been captured by Romans. Yet the cryptotech, Qord Johnson, was still alive to this day and authenticating the EAM in Merrimack’s communication shack right now.
Someone else had orders regarding the cryptotech in case of capture now. You never could trust John Farragut to kill his own people. Farragut still had his orders regarding the Roman patterner, whom Merrimack carried on board.
In case of war, the captain’s first task—to be carried out immediately and without question—was to take Augustus down. The Roman patterner was the single biggest threat to U.S. security. Farragut’s order was clear. Neutralize the threat. Do not try to capture Augustus or to salvage information from him. As Admiral Mishindi said, “Just drop him.”
Qord Johnson emerged from the communications shack.
He looked to the captain and the XO. “Sir. Sir.” He passed the EAM to Farragut. “Emergency Action Message confirmed. Rome declared war. President Johnson presented her declaration to Congress.”
Then it was real. War. Gypsy studied the captain’s eyes. She asked quietly, “Do you want me to do it, sir?” Farragut shook his head. “If Augustus hears anyone but me coming to visit him, he’ll know something’s up.”
That was true. Normally the crew and Marines on board Merrimack went out of their way to avoid crossing Augustus’ path.
Most men on board would like to have these orders.
Captain Farragut could not ever delegate something like this. The day he delegated because he could not carry out an order for himself was the day he delegated command of his ship.
He motioned to one of the Marines who flanked the hatch. “Do you hav
e a single stage piece on you?” The sergeant fished a small backup weapon from his boot pocket. Surrendered it, grip first.
Farragut checked the load. Head busters. Low velocity projectiles, only meant to pierce a human body, not tear through and through. The point detonated only upon abrupt contact with human DNA.
The sergeant reminded Farragut uneasily, “That piece is coded to me, sir.” He felt stupid saying that to the captain. Would feel stupider if he hung the captain out there pulling the trigger of a gun that wouldn’t fire for him.
Weapons on board a space battleship were coded to their proper users. A weapon would not fire for anyone other than its coded owner.
But everyone on board Merrimack, company and crew alike, belonged to Captain John Farragut.
Farragut assured the Marine benevolently, “Son, there’s nothing on this boat I can’t shoot.”
Even so, he depressed the trigger halfway. A green light confirmed recognition. He let up the trigger, clicked the safety off, cocked the piece, and slipped it into his jacket pocket like a street thug.
“Do you want a Marine guard?” his XO asked.
Farragut shook his head no. “Gypsy, he can hear a gnat spit.” .
“He’ll hear you,” said Gypsy.
“Good bet,” Farragut agreed. “He’ll hear me coming. But that’s okay. He likes to pretend I don’t exist.”
Augustus never stood up when the captain entered his compartment. Most times Augustus did not even bother to look at him at all.
“I’ll be right back.” Farragut moved out fast. He did not try to soften his footsteps. He needed to sound normal.
This task had to be done. He saw the wisdom and necessity of it. And he knew how to kill—and not just at a distance. Farragut had beheaded the Roman Captain Sejanus on the command deck of his own ship with a sword. He knew how to do this.
