Muses of Roma (Codex Antonius Book 1) (17 page)

The Temple of Empanda had the stench of a hundred years worth of beggars. Ocella resisted the urge to cover her mouth with a cloth as she and Cordus stood in the entrance. Their growling stomachs, however, kept them from fleeing to the fresh air outside. She made sure Cordus’s hood was over his head and then, with clenched teeth, motioned him inside.

They had not eaten in over twenty-four hours, not since the night they left Scaurus's house. They had found another Temple of Empanda near the Aventine, but there were too many lictors about for Ocella's comfort, so they had walked on. They returned several hours later, but Ocella had noticed a single lictor standing across the street from the Temple, his arms folded, leaning against a wall under a discount holo merchant's awning. Despite their hunger, Ocella and Cordus did not enter the Temple. They found this Temple of Empanda in the Suburba, in the shadow of the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus on the Capitoline Hill. Ocella had observed it for an hour from an alley before she was satisfied there were no lictors or Praetorians watching.

Judging from the signs near the Temple door, the cafeteria was fifty feet ahead and around the corner to the right. In the entryway to the left, a stout marble statue of the goddess Empanda stood with her arms open, welcoming all into her sanctuary.

They found the food queue twenty feet past the entrance and joined the shuffling crowd. Most were single, homeless men who looked as if they'd just awoken from a bed filled with their own vomit. Some were hollow-eyed women toting small, emaciated children.

Ocella glanced at Cordus, who held his head high as he waited in line. She wanted to tell him not to act so...regal. He was supposed to be a beggar. His shoulders should have been slumped, his head down, his eyes defeated. Instead he looked as if he stood in a receiving line next to his father, awaiting foreign ambassadors paying him homage. There was nothing she could do now, considering all the people around them. They were so caught up in their own troubles that she doubted they'd notice a child with a noble posture. But if she noticed, a Praetorian would.

Ocella and Cordus did not speak to each other—at Ocella's orders—while waiting. When they got to the cafeteria, the smell of cooked fish and porridge made Ocella's mouth water. Cordus's eyes glittered at the brown-robed Empanda priests handing out plates with slabs of cooked white fish, a bowl of porridge, and a chunk of dark bread. Once they reached the front of the line, a tired priest with a long beard and long brown hair handed them each a plate with food.

“Go with the goddess,” he intoned as he handed them a plate. He gave the same blessing over and over again to the people behind Ocella and Cordus.

They made their way through the crowd toward empty benches in the main worship hall. Baskets of bread and corn sat upon the altar, with another statue of the goddess looking on. Candelabras with lit candles lined both sides of the altar, and a bronze bowl smoked with sweet incense. Two brown-robed priestesses knelt before the altar swaying left and right, the backs of their shaved heads to the worship hall. Ocella could barely make out their monotone incantations asking for Empanda's blessing on the temple, the offering, and the people within its sanctuary.

As soon as they sat down, Cordus began shoving food into his mouth, not bothering to use the spoon in the porridge bowl. Ocella dug into her food with equal fervor. While the meal was not what she'd grown used to as a Praetorian in the Consular residence, right now it was the most divine meal she'd ever eaten. Cordus apparently thought the same; he was done eating before Ocella finished half her plate.

Cordus put his empty bowl aside and sat quietly next to her, watching the priestesses pray. After they finished and had refilled the incense bowl, they both walked away, their mouths moving with silent prayers as they returned to the vestibule behind the altar.

Cordus watched them shut the door to the vestibule, and then he turned to her. “What training do you need to be an Umbra Ancile?”

He said it in a quiet voice, but Ocella still glanced around to ensure nobody was listening. Besides the priestesses, no one was within thirty feet. She chewed her food and then said, “A lot.”

Cordus raised an eyebrow. “Well, yes,” he said, “but what
skills
do you need.”

Ocella stirred her porridge with her spoon. “It's not so much skills as personalities that are important. You can learn any skill you want so long as you want to learn it. But try teaching an impatient man patience, or a pessimistic woman optimism. Someone who gives up on a task after a little resistance won’t even attempt the impossible tasks Umbra requires of its Ancilia. Umbra looks for people who
want
to do the impossible.”

“That sounds vague,” Cordus said.

Ocella smiled. “I know,” she said and then took another bite from the bread she dipped into the porridge. “Like I said, anyone can be trained to do a task. But people either have persistence and courage, or they don't. Both are given by the gods, and no amount of training will instill them.”

“I imagine it was hard betraying them.”

Ocella felt her smile melt and a cold shadow fall over her spirit. The boy noticed her change in demeanor, and quickly said, “I have a talent.”

Ocella tried to shake off her sorrow, forcing the smile back on her lips. “Obviously, or we wouldn’t be here.”

“Something more mundane than
that
talent.”

“Alright, what can you do?”

“I can hold my breath for three minutes.”

Ocella almost choked on her porridge when she started laughing. It was such a normal boast from a child in a situation that was anything but normal. She sat in a Temple of Empanda, listening to the Consular Heir of the Roman Republic brag that he could hold his breath for three minutes. All the stress and worry and fear that had built up over the past few weeks burst from her in uncontrollable laughter.

Through the tears in her eyes, she could see Cordus looked insulted. She calmed herself, and said, “I'm not mocking you. It's just that it was the last thing I expected to hear from you right now.”

Cordus nodded. “Do you want to see me try?”

“No, that’s fine.”

“You do not believe me. How about a wager?”

Ocella hadn't seen Cordus this animated since before they fled Scaurus's house. It was amazing how fast a full belly can lift one’s spirits.

She narrowed her eyes in mock doubt. “If you can hold your breath for three minutes, I'll give you my bread.”

Cordus greedily eyed the bread sitting on Ocella's plate.

“If you can't,” Ocella said, “you have to do what I say
without complaining
until all this is over. Deal?”

“I never complain.”

Ocella stared at Cordus until he said, “Very well.”

Ocella found a wall clock near the back of the worship hall above the door to the hallway and cafeteria.

“Okay, I'll time you. Ready?”

He nodded.

“Go!”

He took a deep breath, his cheeks puffing out, and held it. He folded his hands in his lap and stared at her with an arched eyebrow, as if bored with the whole contest already.

Ocella poked him in the ribs with her finger. His eyes bulged and he squirmed away from her, but he kept the breath in. She grinned and poked him again. He released his breath in an explosive burst.

“That is not fair,” he cried, a smile brightening his face. “You cannot tickle me.”

“I don't recall a 'no tickling' rule.”

“No tickling, then! No touching me at all. In fact, do not even look at me.”

“How will I know you're holding your breath?”

“Fine, you can look at me, but do not make me laugh, or the wager is off.”

“I promise. Go!”

He sucked in another breath and held it. He watched her warily this time, and she tried her best not to smile or make him laugh. She glanced from Cordus to the clock on the back wall.

“One minute,” she said.

Cordus continued holding his breath, his face flushed from the exertion.

“Two minutes,” she said, nodding. “Impressive.”

He nodded back, a proud smile tugging at his puckered lips. His cheeks now turned pink, and Ocella was tempted to call off the bet for fear Cordus would pass out, but he did not seem to waver nor were his eyes glassy.

“Thirty more sec—”

“Sire?”

A young man with unkempt hair and a shaggy beard stood before them. He swayed on his feet and the stench of sour wine hung heavy around him. He wore the tattered red tunic of a Legionnaire, the golden eagle emblazoned on the breast now brown with grime and wine stains. His right arm ended in a ragged pink stump just above where his elbow should have been.

Cordus expelled his breath.

“Sire, it is you!” the man said, then prostrated himself in front of Cordus. “I saw you last year in Atlantium Auster after we put down the rebellion there. You toured our legion with your blessed father. I knew it was you, sire. I exist to serve.”

Ocella jumped up and yanked the man to his feet before anyone around them could hear him.

“I don't know who you think the boy is,” Ocella whispered into his ear, “but we do not want to be bothered. Go on your way and leave us be.”

“I am not who you think I am,” Cordus said quietly. “But as a
citizen
, I thank you for your service to the Republic.”

The man brought himself up as tall as he could, still swaying, then slapped his hand to his chest and extended it in a military salute. “Thank you, sire. I understand you don't want to be bothered,” he said with a slur and then a wink. “Good of you to tour the beggars rows; see the poorest of your people. You're a kind one, sire. My friends won’t believe—”

Ocella grabbed the man's arm and pulled him toward the vestibule hallway behind the altar.

“Hey!” the man protested, barely able to walk.

“I've got more wine,” Ocella said, “for one of Roma's finest soldiers.”

“You do?” He stopped struggling and let her drag him toward the hall. Once they were in shadows and around a corner, Ocella looked up and down the corridor. Seeing nobody, she slammed the soldier against the wall.

“Hey, why so rough?” he said. “Where's the wine?”

“I'm sorry, friend. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

She put a hand over his mouth and plunged her knife into his heart. His eyes widened with fear and pain, and he grunted through her hand. He struggled a few seconds, and then his eyes glazed as he slumped to the floor. Ocella pulled her knife free, wiped the blood off on his clothes, and then put it back in her cloak. Her shirt was soaked with the man’s blood, so she wrapped her cloak around herself. She hurried out of the hallway, grabbed Cordus's arm, and pulled the wide-eyed boy toward the temple doors.

“Put on your hood,” she told him, as she did the same.

He complied, his face ashen. “What did you do to him?”

She didn’t respond.

She hurried Cordus out of the Temple, past the beggar line, which had grown larger since they'd been inside. She searched the street for anything out of the ordinary. The usual beggars shuffled toward the Temple, taxis zoomed past while some were parked along the street waiting for fares. There were few merchants in this neighborhood, mostly discount emporiums, money lenders, and shady taverns. She took this all in as she pulled Cordus down the street, expecting an outcry at any moment from the Temple behind them. She did not exhale until they had rounded the corner and were out of sight of the Temple.

“Did you kill that man?” Cordus asked. When she didn't respond, he asked, “Why did you kill him?”

“Nobody can know who you are,” Ocella said, scanning the streets. “Even drunk fools.”

Cordus’s voice quivered. “He was not a fool. He was a Roman soldier. He did not deserve to die in some stinking temple.”

Ocella pulled the boy into an alley, grabbed his arms and made him face her. “Listen to me. What else needs to happen before you realize this isn’t some play or adventure holo? You have no idea the danger we’re in. You think you do, but you don't. How can you? You've spent your life in a palace being coddled and told how great is your destiny. In the real world people die and are killed for stupid, godsdamned reasons.”

He stared at her, his eyes glistening. For the first time since this all began, Cordus finally looked like a scared little boy, and not the arrogant Consular Heir.

Good. He needs to be scared.

“You didn't have to kill him,” he whispered, and shrugged away from her. “I remembered him. I remember that day with my father when we reviewed the legions. His name was Gaius Vibius. The remains of his arm were bandaged, but he stood at attention as any whole soldier. He looked down at me as I passed and winked. I remember thinking, what courage. This man had lost most of his arm, yet his spirits were high enough to show me he thought nothing of his injury. I thought he was a true Roman.”

The tears flowed down Cordus's cheeks, but he didn’t sob. “I do not know how he came to such a lowly state, but he did not deserve to die like that.”

“Nobody deserves to die like that,” Ocella said. “That man—however honorable he might have been—would have bragged about seeing you to his cohorts, who could have told the nearest lictor or Praetorian. He had to be silenced. It's as simple as that.”

Cordus stared at the ground, tears flowing.

“You have a good heart, Cordus,” she said. “That's why you should let me worry about these things.”

He shook his head, and then stalked from the alley. Ocella had no choice but to follow him. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“To the Mars Trading Fields,” he said. “We meet your contact tonight. I do not want to be late.”

Hidden in his comment was the message that he wanted to be rid of her company as soon as possible. She was not surprised. She did not like her own company either.

Kaeso finished reading the same paragraph in the Umbra intelligence report a third time when Lucia entered the command deck. He flicked off his tabulari display and turned to his first officer.

“The Navigator is ready to disembark,” she reported. “He wants to speak with you before he leaves.”

Her tone was icy. She was never good at hiding her emotions. Over the last two days she had gone from overt hostility to quiet seething. He considered it progress.

The clock on his console said it was just after midnight way station time. He rubbed his eyes, stood up and stretched. “Why didn't you call me down with your com?”

“It's broke and I’m too tired to fix it,” she said, turning toward the ladder. “I'm going to my bunk, unless the Centuriae needs anything else.”

“No,” Kaeso said as Lucia disappeared down the ladder. “That'll do for tonight.”

He wasn't sure if she heard him, and he doubted she’d return if he called her back. The whole crew did their jobs admirably, though without their usual spirit considering they wouldn’t see their hard work in action. Blaesus suggested they install cameras so they could see how the ship performed on the mission.

“I want to ensure my tedious hours of reprogramming way line functions is put to good use,” he said before he retired to his bunk earlier. “And if the Centuriae breaks this ship, we’ll have a record for when we sue him for ruining our livelihoods.”

Nestor and Flamma were more easygoing, completing without question the tasks Galeo ordered. Kaeso assumed they were not as upset with staying on Libertus as the other crew.

But Kaeso knew they were worried about him and Dariya.

Nestor had gone over the delta sleep procedures so many times that Kaeso wondered if the Greek medicus thought he was an idiot. Nestor had documented every step for each procedure—down to the color of the buttons he had to push—and had fastened a paper note to Kaeso's console on the command deck telling him where to find the procedures in the tabulari.

Flamma placed three large boxes of his latest hardware innovations in Kaeso's already cramped bunk. Kaeso had no idea what most of the gadgets did, but Flamma insisted they could someday save his life. Kaeso assured Flamma that he would make good use of the gadgets if he ever fought arena golems. The young Egyptian scowled at Kaeso's attempted humor and then proceeded to go over how each device worked.

Even Daryush had given Kaeso a ragged little doll, the wear and stains making it difficult to determine if it was a boy or a girl. In Daryush's broken Latin and hand gestures, he explained it was a good luck charm his parents gave him when he was a child, just before he and Dariya were sold to the Roman patrician they served most of their lives. Kaeso was honored by the gift since it was obviously valuable to Daryush, but he couldn’t promise he’d wear it around his neck at all times like the large Persian wanted.

Kaeso descended the ladder to the cargo deck. Galeo waited near the connector hatch, and nodded to Kaeso.

“All finished,” he said. “We’ll test the drive tomorrow. I have no doubt you’ll be impressed.”

“No doubt.”

“Your crew were more than competent. You could use their help on Terra.”

Kaeso rubbed his eyes. “I’m not going to—”

“Yes, yes, you don't want to put them in any more danger than you already have. But I get the impression they’re used to danger. Kaeso, they would follow you to Hades if you asked them. A centuriae should never discount that kind of loyalty. Or abandon it.”

“If this mission goes well—and I get what I want—I won't be a centuriae anymore.”

Galeo regarded him, and acted as if he wanted to say something.

“What?” Kaeso asked.

“I heard from the Magisterium a few hours ago. They won’t let you back into Umbra.”

Kaeso looked at him. “Just like that?”

“You knew your reinstatement would be a hard sell. If it’s any consolation, the decision was split.”

“Who voted against me?”

Galeo gave him a sideways smile. “Let’s just say you have allies who want you back in the family, but there’s nothing they can do about it now.”

“Why tell me this? You’re a Vessel. Are you admitting there’s disagreement among the Muses about me?”

Galeo’s cloak-projected gray eyes stared at Kaeso as if willing him to take one more mental leap to the truth.

Before Kaeso could ask another question, a distant rumble came from the connector tube, growing stronger and louder by the moment. Kaeso looked at the console screen. The outer camera trembled that showed the way station corridor. People ran in every direction, knocking over vendor stands and trampling each other. In the distance, down the vast corridor, an orange light grew larger.

Fire. The way station atmosphere was burning.

Kaeso leaped toward the console and slammed the button that closed
Caduceus’s
connector hatch. The door began to slide closed, but too slowly.

“Gods…” Galeo breathed, staring at the outer camera display.

Kaeso ignored him. The rumbling grew to a roar, and the air in
Caduceus
rushed out through the closing hatch, feeding the fire racing toward them at the speed of sound. Just as the hatch closed and sealed itself, the fire exploded into the connector tube and slammed into
Caduceus's
hatch. The whole ship buckled, knocking Kaeso into the metal walls. Kaeso rolled into the middle of the corridor, trying to stay away from the bulkhead. Galeo did the same.

Kaeso tapped his collar com. “Lucia, what's happening?” He remembered her com didn’t work, so he called, “Nestor!”

No response. “Any crew respond!”

Silence.

Galeo’s eyes stared at the floor, then he looked at Kaeso. Kaeso had not known many Vessels during his time with Umbra, but the ones he knew were always calm, always in control, for the Muses knew what was happening in any location another Vessel was present.

So the abject horror on Galeo’s face made Kaeso more frightened than he'd ever been in his life.

“What’s happening?” Kaeso asked Galeo. The ship jumped again, tossing Kaeso and Galeo almost a foot off the floor.

When they steadied themselves, Galeo said, “I don't know.”

“If this is more of your Vessel secrets—”

“You don't understand,” Galeo cried. “
I don't know
what is happening.
They're not talking to me.
”

Kaeso grabbed Galeo’s arm. He pulled the stunned Vessel toward the command deck ladder. Galeo climbed without protest.

When they reached the quarters deck, they almost ran into Lucia who dove for the ladder rungs as another shockwave slammed into the ship. She wore a sleep tunic and no pants.

“Are we under attack?” she asked.

Before Kaeso could respond, Blaesus, Flamma, Daryush, and Nestor filled the corridor with the same questions.

“Get to your delta couches,” Kaeso yelled above the din as he climbed the ladder to the command deck.

They all got in line at the ladder to rush to their couches, Nestor and Lucia followed Kaeso and Galeo to the command deck, while Blaesus, Flamma, and Daryush descended to the engine room and cargo bays.

On the command deck, Kaeso strapped himself into his couch. Lucia jumped into the pilot's couch, while Nestor secured himself at the delta sleep controls. Galeo slumped into a passenger couch behind Nestor.

“Talk to me, Lucia,” Kaeso said.

“There are multiple fires on the way station...blessed Juno...a quarter of the outer ring is gone.”

“Is the gap near us?”

“No. Maybe a mile to our port.”

“Disengage the connector.”

Lucia moved a few sliders on her console and then cursed. “It's locked from the way station side.”

“
Cac
,” Kaeso swore. He thumbed the internal ship's intercom. “Blaesus, Flamma.” Kaeso's voice echoed through the ship over the internal speakers behind him. “Our coms aren't working, so listen up. The connector to the way station won't disengage. One of you has to blow the emergency locks at the hatch console. There's an intercom at the console, so yell back to acknowledge.”

Kaeso waited a few agonizing seconds as explosive waves shook
Caduceus
so hard that he wondered if the ship would break free from the way station before they could undock.

“Blaesus here, Centuriae,” the old senator's voice resounded through the ship. “We're at the hatch console and about to blow the connectors.”

Orange light outside the command window caught Kaeso’s eye. He looked up to see a large tear in the way station's wheel fuselage rending its way toward
Caduceus
. Fire, debris, and bodies erupted from the tear.

“Now, Blaesus!”

“It's done, we're free,” Blaesus shouted.

There was momentary weightlessness as
Caduceus
disengaged from the gravity generators of the way station, and then weight returned when the ship's grav came on. As soon as the ship was free, the violent shockwaves stopped, and the ship floated away from the doomed way station.

“Get us out of here, Lucia.”

“Working on it.”

The ship's thrusters turned
Caduceus’s
nose up ninety degrees. The ion drives kicked in and the ship shot upward just as the tear consumed the connector tube where the
Caduceus
had been docked. The view out the command deck was space and stars, but a haze of metal shards slammed against the hull, sending loud pings shooting up and down the ship.

“We're clear of the way station, sir.” She studied her console. “Some wreckage punctured the hull.”

“Did repair foam plug the holes?” Kaeso asked.

“Yes, but I can't tell if any systems were dam—”

Proximity alarms blasted from the consoles. A large freighter appeared in front of them from the starboard side, its cargo containers reflecting a hellish orange light from the flaming way station behind them.

“
Cac
!” Lucia yelled. She slammed the controls on her console in a violent pitch to the port side, a move the ship's aging inertia cancelers failed to negate completely. The momentum flung Kaeso's body against his couch's restraints so hard that he feared he'd broken some ribs.

The freighter disappeared from view to be replaced by another fleeing ship, this one a passenger liner. Lucia slammed the controls again, weaving below the liner, and then around several cargo ships the size of
Caduceus
.

“Too many,” Lucia grunted after another violent maneuver. Every other ship connected to the way station was trying to escape without way station control to guide them. There could be hundreds of ships out there, all fleeing at the same time in multiple directions.

A brilliant flash filled the command deck windows as a private yacht slammed into the middle of the passenger liner. The huge liner seemed to absorb the impact, but then tears spiderwebbed along its hull, and the liner broke in two. Flotsam and bodies spilled from the two sections.

“Stay away from the way line,” Kaeso said. “Everyone else is going there.”

“Not everyone,” Lucia yelled. “Too many ships have the same idea we do.”

Another white light erupted on their port side. After the command deck's windows dimmed to compensate, Kaeso searched for the light source. The region near the way line was clogged with ships trying to enter from all directions rather than the single, orderly line procedure mandated. But the ships that were once right in front of the way line were gone.

Another light erupted from the way line, and Kaeso had to look away. After blinking away the spots before his eyes, he saw that another layer of fleeing ships had turned to vapor. The ships making for the way line veered away, many of them colliding with each other.

“Lucia, get a reading on those blasts.”

Lucia moved some sliders on her console. “Antimatter plasma.”

Bile rose in Kaeso’s throat. Someone was clearing the way line entrance with antimatter drones. Libertus was about to be invaded.

“Two Roman Eagles just jumped out of the way line!” Lucia yelled. “Make that four...eight...gods, it's a whole battle group.”

Kaeso’s console showed twenty Eagles and two Imperium carriers materialize from the way line. From the Roman Imperium ships, dozens of Pinnace fighters shot out to take on the limping survivors fleeing the two antimatter explosions. The beacons from the running civilian ships began winking out.

“They're slaughtering civilians,” Nestor exclaimed.

“They're eliminating anyone who can give away their numbers,” Kaeso replied grimly. “Which will be us if we don't get out of this system now.”

“The way line’s blocked,” Lucia said, “and we can’t outrun a shuttle, much less an Eagle. They'll get us sooner or later.” She slammed her hand on the console. “Where are the godsdamned Liberti? You'd think they'd have defense patrols around their own way line. It’s their damned home world!”

Even more disturbing, where's Umbra?
He turned his couch around to Galeo. The once proud and confident Vessel was slumped in his couch, despair and shock on his face.

“We need your engines, Navigator,” Kaeso said. “Navigator!”

The man closed his eyes, shook his head. “They're gone,” he said with a half-sob. “I can't feel them anymore.”

“What's he talking about?” Lucia asked.

Kaeso unbuckled himself, jumped up, and unbuckled Galeo. He half-dragged the Umbra Vessel out of the command deck and made him climb the ladder down to the crew quarters. Once on the crew deck, he turned the man around and slammed him against the bulkhead. Galeo continued to stare past Kaeso, his eyes wide and darting.

“We need those engines or we all die,” Kaeso said. “How do we run them?”

Galeo closed his eyes and began to cry. Kaeso slapped him once across the face. Galeo opened his eyes, and Kaeso was relieved to see anger there.

“How do we run the engines?” Kaeso asked again.

Galeo blinked away his tears and set his jaw. “You can't run them from the command deck. I haven't set up the automated systems yet. We have to engage them from the engine room.”

“Then do it,” Kaeso ordered. “Daryush is in a delta couch down there. He'll help you if you need it. Can you do this?”