The Imperium Game (12 page)

Kerickson threw his arm around Amaelia “Don’t be ridiculous! This is my wife.”

Amaelia gave the man a nervous smile.

“Wife, huh?” The soldier glanced down at Kerickson’s Game bracelet, then, without letting go of the cloak, he used his other hand to snatch Amaelia’s silver brooch. “Since when does a freedman’s wife wear silver?”

“Well, there is a slight difference in our rank. I didn’t say her parents approved.” Kerickson tried to wrench his cloak out of the other’s grasp, but the man had the build of a space-truck.

Amaelia turned to Kerickson, her face white. “She’ll burn me alive!”

“AND YOU, YOU MISERABLE EXCUSE FOR A MORTAL!” Vesta’s huge voice spiraled toward a shriek. “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BRING ME SIX NEW GIRLS, AND I HAVEN’T EVEN SEEN ONE SO FAR! THE SACRED FIRES HAVE BEEN OUT FOR DAYS NOW! WHERE ARE MY VIRGINS? ANSWER ME THAT, IF YOU CAN!”

“Yeah, buddy!” The Legionary pulled Kerickson closer and let go of Amaelia to draw a gleaming dagger. “Where are her virgins?”

“That’s—” Kerickson unfastened the plain iron brooch that held his cloak. “—a—” He shrugged out of the garment, leaving the soldier standing there holding it in his ham-fisted hand. “—good question!” Lowering his head, he dived into the crowd as though it were a sea, hitting the pavement hard enough
to rasp the skin from his palms. He reached up and pulled Amaelia down on top of him. “Crawl!” he whispered fiercely, then scrabbled furiously on his hands and knees in what he hoped was the right direction.

A great shout went up above their heads, but the throng was packed so tightly that the forest of legs hid them from view. Every third or so step, he swore as the shifting feet trampled his fingers.

“THEY’RE GETTING AWAY!” Vesta shrilled somewhere out of sight, but her voice was already fading.

After another few moments of hot, dusty, stifling crawling, he motioned Amaelia to stay down as he cautiously stood to get his bearings. A white-haired woman, her arms full of caged sacrificial doves, stared at him suspiciously. “Just what do you think you’re doing, crawling around down there like a worm? Were you trying to peek up my stola?”

The almost blinding whiteness of the Temple of Jupiter lay only one temple away. “Here!” Kerickson reached into his leather purse and pulled out a silver coin. “We’ll take a pair of doves.”

The woman’s eyes widened at the sight of at least five times what the whole cage was worth. “Well, I suppose I could let you have a couple,” she said, “although I’m that fond of them.”

“Great.” He pushed the coin into her hand, then opened the cage and plucked out two doves. “A pleasure doing business with you.” He helped Amaelia to her feet, clutching the fluttering white birds to his chest with one hand, and pushed on through the sea of people toward Jupiter’s temple.

As they reached the broad white marble steps leading up to the temple proper, the crowd thinned out. Amaelia stumbled after him, her arms covered with scratches, her face pinched with exhaustion. At the top, he passed her the doves, then smoothed down his hair and straightened his tunic.

One of Jupiter’s priests glided out of the main sanctuary in a traditional spotless white tunic that Kerickson would have bet a day’s pay included unauthentic fabric. The man stared down his biosculpted patrician nose at them. “You seek guidance, my son?”

“Yeah, right.” Kerickson glanced at the flaming-haired manifestation of Vesta, still towering over the terrified supplicants and gesturing vehemently in their direction. “I mean, we, uh, we’ve come to sacrifice to Jupiter, father of gods and men.”

The priest’s lips tightened. “He’s—busy at the moment.”

“Busy?” Kerickson tried to peek over the priest’s shoulder. “Now look here. Isn’t Jupiter supposed to be all-seeing and all-knowing?”

A deep chuckle rumbled out from the shadowy interior of the temple. The priest flinched, then folded his hands together in an air of reverence. “I’m sorry.” His voice wavered. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow, or maybe next week.” He glanced fearfully over his shoulder. A bright bead of perspiration trickled down his forehead. “Yes, I’m sure next week would be much better. So much to oversee, so little time; I’m sure you understand.”

“Look—” Kerickson began, then was interrupted by a sudden renewal of screaming back down in the Forum. Turning around, he saw the fifty-foot figure of Mars standing astride the Market District, hurling lightning bolts at the scattering people. The stink of burning plastic and wood smoke filled the air.

“I’m afraid we can’t wait.” He pushed up the sleeves of his tunic. “Jupiter, father of all gods and men!” he called. “Ruler and Preserver of the World, Cloud Gatherer, Thunderer—”

“YOU FORGOT ‘GOD OF THE BRIGHT DAY AND THE MURKY CLOUD,’” a deep, gravelly voice said. “THAT’S ONE OF MY FAVORITES.”

“Stop it!” The priest grabbed him by the arm.

“God of the Bright Day and the Murky Cloud!” Kerickson elbowed the priest aside. “I beg for an audience.”

“GOT YOURSELF IN A SPOT OF TROUBLE, I SEE.” A patch of blue glimmered up near the massive pillars by the temple’s entrance, and then a huge shining eagle appeared in midair. It flapped its wings and settled on the head of a statue of Jupiter.

“Tell him it’s a mistake!” The priest’s face had gone as white as the expensive marble beneath their feet. “Tell him
you’ve got the wrong temple, the wrong god, anything!”

“Jupiter, who sees all, knows all—” Kerickson began.

“WELL, NOT ALL. I MEAN, THERE ARE A FEW THINGS THAT REALLY WORRY ME—LIKE WHY ARE MORTAL WOMEN ALWAYS SO LITTLE AND I’M SO BIG? IS CELIBACY REALLY FATAL? WHY CAN’T THE YANKEES KEEP A MANAGER FOR MORE THAN TWO WEEKS?”

“That’s
torn it!” Grinding his teeth, the priest shoved Kerickson toward the steps. “Now that you’ve got him started, it’ll take days for the old windbag to wind down, and of course we’ll have to take down every damn divine word!”

The eagle peered down at them with steamy yellow eyes. “IF MAN IS DOG’S BEST FRIEND, WHERE DOES THAT LEAVE FIRE HYDRANTS? SHOULD A SUCKER EVER GET AN EVEN BREAK?”

Behind them the Forum emptied rapidly as the scorched players beat a hasty exit from Mars’s lightning bolts. “Come on!” Amaelia plucked at his sleeve. “He’s going to fry us if we don’t get out of here!”

“Jupiter, Best and Greatest!” Kerickson raised his arms and approached the altar. “Can’t an all-powerful type of guy like you do something to keep Mars from burning down the city?”

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Mars striding determinedly across the Forum. Lightning flashed from the god’s outstretched hand.

The statue of Jupiter at the top of the steps fused into a heap of melted slag.

“AND WHY
—”
The eagle glanced beneath its tail feathers at the missing statue. Beating its wings, it fluttered to a landing at Amaelia’s feet. “WELL, HEL-LO THERE, SWEET STUFF!” It strutted before her. “SO WE MEET AGAIN.”

Kerickson glanced at her. “You know him?”

The terrified doves burst out of Amaelia’s hands and flew away. She bit her lip. “Back at Gracchus’s Villa. You know, on the—”

“Oh.” He cut her off before she could say “screens.”

Out in the rapidly emptying Forum, the massive figure of Mars approached Jupiter’s temple, growing even larger with each thunderous step.

Kerickson tried to think. “You didn’t tell me about that part.”

“You didn’t ask!”

“HOW’D YOU LIKE TO PLAY A LITTLE CHASE, BABY?” The eagle winked at her. “I’LL BE THE BULL AND YOU CAN BE THE SWAN.”

A lightning bolt crashed at the bottom of the steps and splintered a bas-relief sculpture. The scorched-iron smell of ozone filled the air. “Uh—” Amaelia backed away. “May—Maybe later.”

Kerickson took Amaelia’s arm and pulled her behind a massive column. “Tell him yes!”

“Are you kidding?” Her eyes widened. “You know about him—and all those women in the old legends.”

He gritted his teeth. “Tell him yes!”

Her confused green eyes just stared at him. Dragging her by the wrist, he stepped back around the column and addressed the eagle. “She’d love to play,” he said loudly, “but not with all this noise and fire.”

“NOISE?”

Kerickson glanced meaningfully at Mars, who was now glowing so brightly that an evil red light bathed the entire square. “I’m sure a clever guy like you can see how mayhem really spoils the mood:’

“OH.” The eagle ruffled its dark brown feathers. “WELL, WE CERTAINLY CAN’T HAVE THAT.” With one beat of its powerful wings. it leaped into the air. “BEGONE, TROUBLEMAKER!”

Mars’s body rippled for a second, as though it were underwater, then disappeared with a pop. The eagle gave a fierce screech, then circled the Forum twice, soaring effortlessly around the monuments on its huge wings.

It landed on the edge of the temple’s portico and preened at its feathers. “NOW, MY LITTLE HONEY POT, WHERE WERE WE?”

Amaelia glanced worriedly at Kerickson, then backed away into the shadowy inner recesses of the temple.

“IT TAKES TWO TO TANGO. OR SO THEY SAY.” The eagle’s outline swelled into the shining shape of a seven-foot bearded man clutching a huge scepter in one hand and a jagged thunderbolt in the other. He bared his large white teeth in a broad smile.

“Amaelia!” Kerickson motioned at her from behind Jupiter’s back. “We have to go now!”

“YOU CAN’T LEAVE WITHOUT A SACRIFICE.” The god’s eyes glowed with a fierce blueness that made Kerickson look away. “AND I HAVE JUST THE THING IN MIND.”

Kerickson wiped his sweaty palms against his tunic. “Amaelia!”

“So, think of something!” She darted behind the altar and glared at him. “This was your idea!”

“AND SUCH A GAME IT WILL BE, MY LITTLE MELON BALL.” Jupiter’s bushy gray eyebrows arched.

“Oh, for—” Kerickson angled toward the girl.

Just as he reached for her hand, Jupiter aimed the thunderbolt at him. “ONLY TWO CAN PLAY THIS GAME, SONNY BOY.”

Kerickson’s body writhed in a spasm of hot pain, and the marble floor smacked him in the rear. Struggling for breath, he stumbled back to his feet, but his legs wilted and he fell again. His vision faded in and out. “Amaelia!”

The god—and the girl—had disappeared.

* * *

Demea glanced at the tiny chronocrystal she usually kept hidden, for authenticity’s sake, beneath her gown. Down here in the Underworld it was impossible to tell what time it was without a clock. The light, if it could be dignified by so lofty a name, never varied from the last dregs of twilight.

She paced around her spacious bedchamber, wondering if she should make another attempt to escape. So far she’d tried twice to find her way back to the surface, but both times Pluto’s automated minions had dragged her back to the gleaming black palace.

“Wine, my love?” The long-faced shade of Micio drifted after her, an erotic painting of a woman and a huge white bull on the opposite wall visible through its nebulous body.

She stopped, her hands knotted into fists. It had been bad enough to put up with her whiny husband when he had been alive, but having his shade follow her around down here was absolutely intolerable. “For the last time, go away and leave me alone!”

“Well, you don’t have to get huffy about it!” The shade looked down its long Roman nose at her, then shrugged a misty fold of toga over its shoulder. “This certainly isn’t my idea of a good time.”

Her quarters lay open to the luridly lush palace gardens on one long colonnaded side. She walked through Micio’s body into shadowy greenery. Fleshy white flowers that smelled strongly of overripe melon trailed over her hands and arms. A transparent nightingale fluttered over her head and into her room. It circled for a moment, then perched on the black marble shoulder of a faun in the middle of a small fountain. She stared at the bird, fighting the urge to throw her sandal at it. Somehow, she had to find a way out of this depressing place, even if she had to kill someone to do it!

“Let me out of here!” She threw her head back. “Do you hear me? You’re driving me
crazy!”

Startled, the ghostly nightingale took to the air again, leaving her alone with Micio’s shade and the gurgling water. She clasped her trembling hands together and came back in to sit on the edge of the fountain.

With a clatter of hooves, a huge black bull trotted in from the gardens and swung its homed head in a wide arc. “NONE ABOVE SHALL EVER SHARE YOUR BEAUTY AGAIN!” Its black eyes bored into her, bottomless pools of night that made her knees weak. “YOU ARE AS FAR BEYOND THOSE PUNY MORTALS AS WE GODS ARE BEYOND WORMS. NOTHING SHALL EVER SEPARATE US AGAIN!” The bull lowered its fierce head and pawed the floor. “NOT EVEN DEATH ITSELF!”

“I suppose that’s meant to be a comfort.” She studied the long black face, finding this manifestation even less inviting than his previous, towering five-story image. Running her hand over her elaborately braided hair, she tucked in a stray wisp. “Why don’t we try to be reasonable about this? You are a computer program.” Rising, she walked into the garden, parting the heavy white flowers with one hand. “I, on the other hand, am human. There’s nothing either of us can do about that, and pretending won’t make one bit of difference.”

The flowers closed in behind her, brushing her skin with cool leaves, clouding her mind with the heady perfume of night jasmine.

“THERE IS A WAY.”

“There is not!” A path stretched out before her, winding back upon itself into shadowy bowers under palm trees, then splitting around yet another dreary black marble fountain.

A figure dressed in glimmering black armor stepped out of the palm trees, a tall, broad-shouldered man with curling midnight hair, life-size this time, as he had never come to her before.

He extended his hand. “ACCEPT ME AND WE SHALL TASTE THE PLEASURE OF A THOUSAND THOUSAND ENDLESS NIGHTS.” His black eyes smoldered.

Her skin prickled as he approached. She stared at his hand, unable to stop thinking how lovely it would be if all this were real, if a darkly handsome god really did desire her for his consort, if he could touch her and hold her as no holo image ever could, if this Game fantasy could somehow be made real.

“STARS TO MY NIGHT . . .” His voice was low and husky as he reached for her face. “THERE IS A WAY. ONCE YOU ENTER MY REALITY, YOU WILL SEE THAT YOUR LIFE BEFORE WAS ONLY A DREAM.”

She felt the bite of electricity at his holographic touch. “You have to let me go back.” Her throat tightened. “I can’t take much more of this.”

“JOIN ME, THEN.” His black-velvet voice throbbed with the music of a thousand organs.

“I can’t!” Unaccustomed tears rose into her eyes and she dabbed at them furiously. “This is so stupid! I’m only a player! I can’t be a goddess. There’s no such role!”

“ONCE I, TOO, WAS MORTAL.” His dark-eyed, high-cheekboned face hovered above her, so perfect she wanted to cry. “ONCE I LIVED ABOVE, UNDERSTANDING NO MORE THAN OTHER MEN. BUT NOW I ABIDE HERE, ALL-POWERFUL, IMMORTAL. SAY THE WORD AND IT SHALL BE SO WITH YOU, TOO.”

“You’re a program, nothing more!” Her voice shook.

“I AM PROGRAM . . . AND MACHINE . . . AND MORTAL.”

The implications flooded through her mind “You’re talking about cybernetic interface. That’s illegal!”

“ILLEGAL, BUT NOT IMPOSSIBLE WHEN FUNDS ARE UNLIMITED.” A faint smile played over the god’s dark face. “MONEY EQUALS POWER, AND POWER IS EVERYTHING. I SAW YOU UNDERSTOOD THAT, TOO, AS YOU PLAYED ABOVE, LEAPING FROM RANK TO RANK, MAN TO MAN, ALLOWING NOTHING TO STAND IN YOUR WAY. THAT HAS DRAWN ME TO YOU, AND YOU TO ME. WE ARE TWO OF A KIND.”

A dim understanding flickered within her: she could play, not as Empress, but as a goddess, could wield unlimited power in the Game—it made her head spin.

“But—how?” She bit her lip, feeling on the edge of a vast yawning precipice.

“EVERYTHING IS IN READINESS, MY LOVE, AND WHEN IT IS DONE, THE ENTIRE GAME WILL LIE AT YOUR FEET.” Again he held out his nonexistent hand to her.

She breathed hard, longing to feel his flesh warm against hers.

“JOIN ME AND WE SHALL PLAY SUCH GAMES AS OTHERS HAVE ONLY DREAMT.”

Her hand went to her throat. The dense gardens seemed to close in upon her. Did she dare believe him? “If I do this, can we be truly together?”

“YOU CANNOT BEGIN TO GUESS THE INFINITE VARIETY OF PLEASURES AVAILABLE IN THIS STATE OF BEING.”
His fierce black eyes burned down at her. “I SHALL TEACH YOU WHAT IT IS TO LOVE AS A GOD.”

And they would all know her name, she thought. Everyone would know that she, Demea, was a goddess, and there would be no more grubbing around for authenticity points or fawning upon fools for favors to retain her rank. They would all come to her begging, and, ten stories high, she would look down and laugh in their mortal faces.

“Yes,” she heard herself say in the stillness of the twilit gardens, “I will.”

* * *

“Now you’ve done it!” The priest stomped angrily over to the altar and hiked himself up on the edge.

His head still ringing from the effect of Jupiter’s thunderbolt, Kerickson staggered to his feet. “Me?”

The priest buried his face in his hands. “I should have known today would end like this!” He picked up the libation jug and took a stiff pull on the sacrificial wine. “The signs were all there—the sacred chickens were completely off their feed this morning. The little horrors refused to touch a single grain of corn.”

He upended the jug until bright red wine dribbled from the corners of his mouth. “And the Saturnalia begins tomorrow, too!” He wiped his face with a handful of his white tunic, leaving behind a livid red stain. “I’ll be lucky not to be busted back to a . . . a . . .” He stretched out on his back, narrowly missing the smoldering sacrificial fire. “A blue-painted Briton!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kerickson’s head ached and his mouth tasted like the inside of an old shoe. Blinking hard, he wobbled over to the altar and stared down at the distraught priest. “What— Where did she go?”

“Who?” The priest scratched his nose. “Oh, the girl. He took her, of course. What did you expect?”

Kerickson eyed the libation jug, then decided against it.
“He’s
a computer program. She can’t be
with
him.”

“Are you nuts?” Leaping off the altar, the priest glanced around with white-rimmed eyes. “First,” he whispered, “you come in here, asking Jupiter to appear, by god, when everyone in Rome knows what he’s like! Then you wave a nubile young female right under his nose, and now you’re saying that—that
C-word,
right here before the Saturnalia!” He mopped the film of perspiration on his brow with his sleeve. “Maybe you don’t care about advancing in rank, but I don’t intend to spend another quarter stuck in this dump poking around in animal entrails, even if they are only simulated. I want to be a general and rewrite military history!”

“Where—did they go?” Kerickson’s tongue felt
as though it belonged to someone else.

“Oh, you know what the old goat is like.” The priest tugged at the hem of his tunic, now speckled with red down the front. “He’ll reenact a few of his favorite myths, then he’ll get bored and let her go.”

“Where—”

“You certainly have a one-track mind, don’t you?” The priest shook his head. “Well, you should have considered the consequences before you came up here with a
girl.”

“I suppose you’d have preferred to let Mars burn down the city?” Kerickson kneaded his forehead, digging at an ache behind his eyes.

“I—” The priest’s head whirled around as he was interrupted by a faint, stomach-churning scream from inside the temple.

Kerickson pushed off the altar on legs that seemed to be made of water.

“I wouldn’t go in there, if I were you,” the priest called after him. “He can be downright beastly if you get in his way.”

“Yeah, right.” Gritting his teeth, Kerickson supported himself against a carved column as black spots danced in front of his eyes. He shook his head, then lurched on toward the massive closed door.