Muses of Roma (Codex Antonius Book 1) (43 page)

But even a small lictor cruiser showed him that running a ship was not the same as exploring. Command meant responsibility for the ship and the crew, minutiae that prevented Kaeso from doing what he really wanted. When Petra’s ship exploded while his lictor cruiser escorted it, he realized that responsibility was too overwhelming.

So when Umbra recruited him because his genetic makeup matched the requirements for the Umbra implant, he jumped at their offer like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline. He abandoned his command with the Liberti System Patrol. He abandoned his aging parents. He abandoned his only child. All because responsibility was a prison in which he could not bear to spend one more moment.

In Umbra he found what he always wanted: The freedom to explore without a team for which he was responsible. Umbra Ancilia worked alone. He performed his missions without worrying his mistakes would kill someone he cared about. If he made a mistake, only he would suffer the consequences. That was freedom.

That freedom ended when he was blacklisted from Umbra. He tried to gain back a measure of it by buying
Caduceus
. He was thrilled he’d finally have his own ship to explore the universe as he'd always wanted, but he ignored the dread in his heart over the prospect of another command. That he would be responsible for the lives of its crew.

When Umbra came calling again with their mission to Terra, he jumped at it. Like a drowning man. Because of his attempts to escape responsibility, he'd lost two crewmembers and was about to kill the rest.

Petra stared at him, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “You see it now, don't you?”

Kaeso sat in his bunk, his shoulders slumped and his head in his hands. Selfish. That's what he'd been. His whole life he'd only wanted things for himself, and had viewed the most important people in his life as obstacles to getting what he wanted. For himself.

“Why didn't you tell me this before?” he asked.

“You didn't want to know. Before you can change, you have to want to change.”

“What do I do?” he asked.

Petra smiled. “You need to leave the prison.”

Kaeso and Petra stood in front of the Cargo Two door ramp.

“You're kidding,” he said.

“You need to leave the prison you created for yourself. It is the only way you will wake up.”

“Can't I just snap my fingers? Say “I want to wake up”?”

Petra shook her head. “The way out is difficult. The Muses had to construct a strong shelter for your mind against the way line’s effects. You made it stronger. They have already removed the barriers they created. Now you have to remove yours.”

“But spacing myself...”

Petra put a hand on his arm. “As I said, the way out is difficult. You must prove to yourself that you want to leave. It requires great effort to climb the walls you've created.”

“Why should I trust you? My ship carries a weapon that can defeat you. Maybe you just want to kill me.”

“What would that solve?” Petra asked. “You already initiated the way line jump. Your friends are safe. The Muses have nothing to gain from your death.”

“And nothing to lose.”

Petra paused. “What I say comes from the Muses. They want you to know they are much like humans. Each strain has its own culture, ambitions, needs. Like humans, they also make mistakes. They don't expect you to believe this, but the Liberti strain does have the greatest regard for mankind. They may do things you don't understand, but they do them because they do not want to repeat the mistakes they've made in the past with other hosts. You cannot deny that without them, Libertus would have fallen to the Romans or the Zhonguo or some other tyrant long ago. They have done this by learning from past mistakes and avoiding direct confrontation with rival strains.”

“I suppose killing Galeo is in that bucket of “things I don’t understand.” Or sending Ocella to assassinate Cordus.”

“I just told you they make mistakes. Galeo died because he
refused
to give you the answers you wanted, whereas the Muses
wanted
to answer your questions.”

“What? Why would he do that?”

Petra sighed. “Sometimes even Liberti Vessels begin to worship the Muses as gods. And they begin to think they know how to protect the Muses better than the Muses do. Galeo thought that giving you answers would enable you to destroy the Muses.”

Kaeso shook his head. “I thought Galeo was my friend.”

Petra put a hand on Kaeso’s arm. “He was. But his…faith always came first.”

“As for Cordus,” Petra continued, “they assumed he could never be extracted from Roma, so the only way to keep the Terran strain from discovering his skills was to kill him. They never dreamed the boy
wanted
to leave. Now that he has, however, you are free to take him to the Saturnists.”

“Just like that,” Kaeso said. “We’re free to go. Free to reveal the Menota archives. Umbra won’t hunt us down?”

“They won’t.”

“And Ocella?” he asked. “The Muses will let her go, too?”

Petra exhaled. “Ocella is a problem. Not only did she destroy Umbra on Terra, but she also gave the Romans technology enabling them to block Umbra and Muse communications. That is why it has taken Umbra so long to strike back at the Roman siege fleet. The damage she did to Umbra will take years to overcome, if it can be. There are many Ancilia who would kill her on sight.” Petra paused. “But no such order will come from the Muses. Just be sure she stays away from Libertus.”

“It’s too easy. Why are they just letting us go?”

Petra turned and regarded the stars beyond the porthole on the Cargo Two door ramp. “There are other strains in the universe. Strains a thousandfold more vile and manipulative than the Terran strain. They lay beyond the way line termini you saw on Menota. Many started out as idealistic and protective of their hosts. They changed over time…” Petra turned back to Kaeso. “The Liberti strain wants you to keep Cordus because they do not trust themselves to do the right thing with him. They believe only humans will know what to do. Humans who do not trust
any
strains. In time, they hope this…concession will engender trust between the Liberti strain and humanity. And, in time, perhaps a path to coexistence.”

Kaeso wasn't sure how to respond. How could he trust the Muses if they couldn’t even trust themselves?

“Gaia and Nestor’s Saturnists will need your help when you wake up,” she said. “Libertus is still under siege. Umbra ships are gathering and will attempt to break the siege, but that will mean a long, brutal war.”

Kaeso frowned. “All I can promise is that I will fight for Libertus.”

Petra smiled. “That's all they ask.”

He looked back at the Cargo Two door ramp. “Why do I keep wondering if this is some trick to get me to open those doors and kill everyone on this ship?”

“How does your calf feel?” Petra asked patiently.

For the first time in weeks, there was no pain. Kaeso pulled up his pant leg and removed the bandage. There was no wound, or even a scar.

The wound had been there this morning.

“
Cac
,” he breathed.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and embraced him tightly. He smelled the perfume in her hair, and he held her tighter. This wasn't his Petra, but for this moment she was.

“It is time, Kaeso Aemilius Rulus,” she said, pulling away.

Kaeso nodded slowly. “Will I remember you?”

“The important parts.”

Her eyes went from the hold’s door ramp and back to Kaeso. He took a deep breath and strode over to the ramp controls next to the door. He brought up the release controls and disabled the safety locks. His finger hovered over the opening button. He looked back at Petra.

“Thank you for bringing her back to me,” he said.

She smiled, the dimples in her cheeks showing.
Gods, grant the memory of that smile is one of the “important parts.”

Kaeso pressed the open button.

A siren wailed and red lights flashed. The door ramp slowly opened and a loud rush of wind pulled Kaeso toward the expanding opening. He grabbed part of the grating on the ramp in a reflexive move to avoid getting sucked out into space. He caught a glimpse of Petra. She stood in the maelstrom, her prosecutorial robes unmoving. She watched him with an encouraging expression, as if giving him the will to let go. He didn't know if he could. His instincts screamed not to kill himself. He knew what would happen once he entered the vacuum of space. He'd seen “spaced” bodies when he was with the Liberti System Patrol and in Umbra. It was a terrible way to die.

This isn't real. Let go. I'm not going to die. Let go!

He let go. The gale wind was a soft hammer that pounded him through the cargo opening and into space. The cold was agonizing. He clawed at his throat, desperate to bring air into his lungs. His eyes bulged; his tongue flapped. The last thing he saw before his eyes froze was Petra watching him.

He fell through space, blind and praying to all the gods to end this agony and kill him now. But he only fell and fell and fell...

Kaeso gasped. He strained against the straps holding him down. He could not think, could not conceive of where he was.

Hands held him down and voices cried out to him. He looked up and realized it was Lucia and Nestor trying to calm him.

“Nestor, is he…?”

“I'm not mad,” Kaeso croaked, taking in deep breaths and settling back into his couch.

Nestor leaned over, held Kaeso's head, and studied his eyes. “I'd say he's still with us.” He laughed. “Congratulations, Centuriae. You’re the first person to make a way line jump awake and come out sane.”

Kaeso checked his implant, but felt nothing from it—no low-level buzz from the interference around Libertus, no concealment protocols. It was as if he never had the implant.

“Centuriae,” Nestor said, staring at him. “What was it like?”

Memories came back to Kaeso in flashes, mostly emotions. He remembered being worried, then afraid, then lonely.

Petra.

He took in a deep breath as the memories of her came back. He remembered her soft, warm skin beneath his fingertips. He remembered the scent of her body, her hair, her perfume. Her dimpled smile. It all came to him in images and feelings. The memories made him ache for her like he hadn't done since she died.

“Centuriae,” Lucia said, putting a hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”

Kaeso blinked several times, realized tears were running down his face. He wiped them away with his sleeve.

“I’m fine,” he said. Then he looked to Nestor. “I’ll tell you about it another time.” He glanced out the command window. The ship orbited a gas giant with swirling red, pink, and orange clouds. “Where are we?”

“If Gaia's coordinates are correct,” Lucia said, “this is the Saturnist colony. The moon with their base is on the other side of the planet.”

Kaeso nodded. “Ocella?”

Nestor shook his head. “We just woke up. My console says everyone’s awake, but I haven't had a chance to—”

Kaeso unlatched his straps and jumped from the command couch. He hurried down the ladder to the crew quarters, and then to Ocella's bunk. Her eyes were open and she stared at the ceiling. When Kaeso entered, she looked at him, tears brimming.

“They're gone,” she said.

Kaeso watched her a moment, then asked, “What was the name of the stray dog you and Petra adopted when you were children?”

Ocella regarded him blankly, and then understanding entered her eyes. She smiled and said, “His name was Kaeso. And he wasn’t a dog. He was a cat. An orange tom cat who had chased away two dogs trying to steal his mouse on our olive plantation outside Avita.”

Kaeso smiled, then unbuckled Ocella’s restraints.

“Welcome back,” he said.

Lepidus stared at himself in the full-length mirror. His barber had done a fine job evening out his hair and scraping away two weeks of facial stubble. The barber had also scrubbed and trimmed his finger and toe nails, making them gleam. Lepidus checked the folds on his white toga, made sure they wrapped securely around his shoulders and left arm in the traditional fashion of Roman men for over a thousand years. Even his sandals were made of aged leather, soft as silk but durable as Praetorian combat uniforms.

It felt good to look like a nobleman again.

Lepidus strode through the atrium in the center of his quiet house. He had allowed his slaves to join the Ascension revelry. Silus had already left, so Lepidus could not say goodbye. The boy would be sitting with his friends in the Coliseum Magnus box seats Lepidus had promised to use with him. But Lepidus would be in the Consular suite, far across the arena from his son.

Lepidus paused at the entryway. He stared at the wax bust of his dead wife several moments, and then he walked out the front door.

He entered the courtyard where the Consular flyer awaited him. The golem pilot stepped forward and opened the passenger side door for Lepidus. He climbed in without a word to the pilot and secured himself in the plush seat. Chilled wine awaited him in an ice bin next to his seat, but he ignored it. The pilot started the flyer and it rose. They floated above his Ostia neighborhood, the blue waters of the Mediterranean gleaming under the sun, then the flyer shot off to the east.

Roma bustled at all times, but today it was particularly crowded. Today was the millennial anniversary of the Antonii Ascension, the day Marcus Antonius liberated Roma and became Consul of the Republic. People from all over Terra—indeed, all human space—streamed into Roma to take part in the celebrations and games. On the ground, the roads were clogged with cars, and the railways jammed with backed-up trains. The skies buzzed with hundreds of flyers, shuttles, and various other air traffic. As Lepidus’s flyer approached the Seven Hills, crowds materialized in the streets as each neighborhood seemed to hold its own parties and games.

The death of the Consular Heir and an ongoing war with Libertus had not dampened the celebratory spirits of the Roman people. The Consul and the Collegia Pontificis had issued a Missive saying the gods had raised Cordus to godhood upon his martyr's death by Liberti agents. The Consular Family proudly unveiled a bronze statue of Cordus in the center of the Capitoline just outside the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus. The dead Consular Heir stood at the right hand of a similar statue of Marcus Antonius. It was an amazing work considering Cordus had ascended to Elysium only two weeks before.

Lepidus wondered what really happened to Cordus.

The flyer glided over the Tiber River to the secure lot near the Coliseum Magnus just outside the Forum Borum. Other flyers were landing or had landed, each containing guests of the Consular Family that would sit with them during the Ascension games. Senators, pontiffs, and wealthy equestrians and their families filed up the marble stairs to the Consular terrace. Lepidus joined the line, exchanging arm clasps and pleasantries with those he knew, none knowing exactly what role he played in the hunt for Cordus. He was a simple Praetorian whom the ignorant politicians and noblemen assumed was important to the Consul, but none knew why. So to be safe, they treated him as if he had been given a triumph.

Lepidus approached a security station where the line of Consular guests strolled through a sensor arch. Even the Consul’s most trusted friends needed to be swept for weapons. Lepidus walked through when it was his turn, exchanging nods with the Praetorians manning the station. The younger Praetorians saluted him with a fist over their chests. Lepidus returned the salutes. Over the last few days, he had reviewed the security the Praetorians set up on the terrace—showing them where to sweep for weapons or listening devices, pointing out possible sniper positions in the Coliseum Magnus, setting up checkpoints throughout the Coliseum. The commanders appreciated his advice. While Lepidus never received public recognition, he knew his service to the Republic was at least respected among the Praetorian Guard.

Lepidus emerged from the security station and onto the terrace overlooking the Coliseum Magnus. The open terrace had raised rows of plush chairs for the Consul, pontiffs, and various patricians to view the games below. The Coliseum Magnus itself was spectacular. It held up to 200,000 spectators in a bowl-shaped arena that was the largest in the entire Republic. Lepidus sat down in his assigned seat and stared at the throngs below. Caretakers finished spraying water on the arena’s dirt field to give it better footing for the gladiators. The drums and trumpets of martial music filled the arena from hidden speakers. The sky was clear and blue, and the air was warm, but not hot. A comfortable breeze rolled across the terrace.

Just before noon, the seven members of the Collegia Pontificis—Vibius Laelius had died during the battle of Menota—and their families took their seats on the raised podium behind the high-backed chairs reserved for the Consular Family.

At the noon hour, a crier approached the back of the terrace and bellowed to the assembled guests, “Pontiffs, Senators, Citizens, rise for Pontifex Maximus Decimus Atius Avitus!” His amplified voice echoed throughout the Coliseum Magnus.

The guests on the terrace stopped talking, stood, and turned around, as did the throngs below. Lepidus watched the entryway as the Pontifex Maximus of the Roman Republic entered the terrace, along with his wife and three sons. The Pontifex wore the blue robes with gold trim of his office, and his wife was beautifully dressed in a traditional white gown with her long black hair pinned up and braided. The Pontifex’s sons ranged in age from seventeen to five years old, all well-dressed in embroidered togas and groomed as befitting young men of their station. The Pontifex strode onto the terrace, his chin held high. When he noticed Lepidus, he gave him a slight nod, his eyes softening. Lepidus returned the nod. The Pontifex and his family sat with the other Collegia Pontiffs behind the Consular Family’s seats.

The crier bellowed again, “Pontiffs, Senators, Citizens, raise your voices for Marcus Antonius Publius, Consul of the Roman Republic, the Light of Humanity, and the Guardian of Divine Wisdom.”

The terrace guests and the crowds below erupted in cheers as the Consul, his wife, and their four remaining children appeared at the entryway. Six Praetorian Guardsmen, all wearing blood-red cloaks under gold breastplates embossed with a scorpion insignia, escorted the Consular Family. The entire Family had the same preternatural air, and Lepidus had the urge to scream his loyalty and love with the noble guests and the throngs of citizens in the Coliseum Magnus below. The Family glided down the center of the terrace and took their seats in the high-backed chairs on the raised podium in the center. The nobles and the crowds continued cheering until the Consul raised his hands. The terrace guests and the citizens below all bowed their heads to receive the Consul’s blessing.

“Citizens and honored guests, I bless you in the name of all the Pantheon Gods, and I bless these games…”

Lepidus bowed his head like everyone else. But while the others took in the blessing with adoration, Lepidus reached under his seat and retrieved the two items he’d stored there during his security sweep yesterday. He hid the items in the folds of his white toga.

Once the Consul finished blessing the attendants, he declared the games open. A deafening cheer arose from the crowd as the first round of gladiator golems marched onto the arena. They used the same formations as Marcus Antonius’s legions when he liberated Roma from the pretender Octavian. On the other side of the arena, Octavian’s forces arranged themselves before a makeshift wall that symbolized Roma’s walls a thousand years ago.

Antonius’s “legions” wielded the muskets they used to roll through Italia and then Roma. They lined up in their formations, the first line dropping to one knee and firing. The front line of Octavian’s legions went down in sprays of blood as the musket balls took out heads, entered chests, and shattered arm and leg bones. Musket balls pinged off the bulletproof shields protecting spectators behind Octavian’s forces.

The wounded golems in Octavian’s legions screamed, while the unhurt golems decided to charge the line of Antonius’s musket legions rather than wait for a musket ball to find them. And like a thousand years ago, the legions of Antonius mowed them down.

As the games proceeded below, Lepidus joined the line of nobles who filed past the Consul’s seat. As tradition allowed, the Consul granted his guests a few brief moments to give them his personal blessings and gods-granted wisdom. At least a hundred guests filled the terrace, the most powerful senators, pontiffs, and wealthy equestrians in the Republic. They had many blessings for which to ask.

By the time it was Lepidus’s turn, the battle for Roma had ended, and the arena caretakers were cleaning up the golem bodies and readying the field for the old-fashioned chariot races. Lepidus stepped up to the podium and stood before the Consul.

He dropped to one knee. “My lord Consul.”

“Rise, Quintus Atius Lepidus,” the Consul said. “You are a friend of Roma and a loyal servant of the gods.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Lepidus said, standing. “My only desire is to serve the gods and the Republic.”

“And what blessing or wisdom do you seek from your Consul?” the Consul asked, finishing the ritualistic words.

Lepidus faced both the Consul and the Pontifex Maximus directly behind him. Both men gazed at the chariot races in the arena below, as did their families.

“I have but one question, my lord. May I see the Missive that ordered decimation after the Battle of Caan?”

The Consul's eyes darted to Lepidus. “All Missives of the Gods can be seen in the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus.”

“I do not wish to view a copy of the text, my lord. I wish to view the actual Missive written by the fingers of the gods.”

Lepidus saw wariness in the Consul’s eyes. He felt an instant desire to worship the Consul, to bow low and beg for the Consul's pardon. Only two weeks ago he would have welcomed those feelings as confirmation of the gods instilling the desire to serve the Consul, their Holy Vessel. But he fought the feelings, for they clouded his mind and made him shrink back from doing what he came here to do.

“How would viewing a Missive of the Gods enhance your ability to serve?” the Consul asked.

Lepidus glanced at his brother, who now frowned and looked from the Consul to Lepidus.
The
Pontifex Maximus
. I keep forgetting he is not my brother.

“It would give me peace to view the divine order that told me to kill a tenth of my soldiers...including my wife.”

The Consul’s eyes narrowed. “No one sees a Missive of the Gods besides myself and the Collegia Pontificis. That is the law. Your request is denied.” Then the Consul leaned forward. “It seems to me that peace is not what you need, Quintus Atius. It seems to me you need faith.”

Lepidus smiled. “Consul, you have no idea what I need.”

“Brother,” the Pontifex Maximus growled, “you are treading close to blasphemy.”

Lepidus turned to him. “I am not your brother,
Pontifex
.”

Lepidus was aware the petitioners and sycophants behind him had grown quiet. He also noticed the Praetorians near the Consul stiffen and watch him with confusion. Lepidus had trained many of the Consul's own bodyguards, so they were likely conflicted between their duty to the Consul and their loyalty to him. Lepidus had counted on that.

He drew the pistol that he'd secured beneath his seat and fired point-blank shots into three of the Guards. They fell before they could reach their weapons. The fourth Guard drew his pistol, but Lepidus dropped him with a shot to the heart. The Guard—a promising young man named Fidelias—stared at Lepidus in shock and anger before the life drained from his eyes.

Just as Lepidus hoped, the guests on the terrace panicked. As one, they rose up and fled toward the exits, many screaming and trampling others. Several Guards from outside the terrace tried making their way through the hysterical crowds, but the stampede blocked them.

Lepidus aimed at the Consul, who stared at him with amusement. The Pontifex Maximus looked disappointed. The families of both men, and the seven Pontiffs behind them, all Vessels, regarded Lepidus with detached interest.

“What do you hope to accomplish with this childish display, Quintus Atius?” the Consul asked.

“I told you, Consul. I want to know it was the gods that ordered me to kill my wife after the Battle of Caan.”

“Who else would give such an order?”

Lepidus shrugged. “The virus in your brain perhaps?”

The Consul arched an eyebrow, while the Pontifex Maximus clenched his teeth.

“Where did you get such a—?” Then the Consul nodded. “My son. He was a very disturbed boy and had strange notions of aliens living in his brain, whispering to him stories that the Collegia and I were also infected. That
is
what he told you, correct?”

Lepidus eyed the exits, which were still packed with panicked patricians. The Praetorians were almost through and would soon have a clear shot.

“Fine,” the Consul said. “Before you die, you may know the gods are not real. They never were. But you and all of Roma have worshiped beings far greater than mythical gods. Beings that are just as immortal and just as capable of the wondrous miracles that legends attribute to the divine. These beings have infinite wisdom, and it was from their wisdom that came the order to punish your legions after the Battle of Caan. Did it not work? Did we not inspire our host to take Kaldeth and bring it back to the Roman fold?”

“Brother,” the Pontifex said. “Make your peace with this knowledge and put down your weapon. You are a Hero of Roma. Evocatus of the Praetorian Guard, one of four that has existed in the Guard’s entire history. Do not die a blasphemous traitor. Think of what such an end will do to your son. He will be stripped of his titles and assets. He will be exiled at best. At worst, he will be interrogated...”