The Twice and Future Caesar (40 page)

Captain Farragut wore an expression of alarm when Lieutenant Colonel Steele appeared on the command platform. “TR. Hospital. Now. You look like crap.”

Steele shook his head. “Unable to comply. Triage says I'm a priority five.” Kerry Blue was a two. “What's our situation, sir?”

“The Hive is moving.”

“They're running away?”

“Not exactly.”

The captain frowned at the sounds of his ship, at the images on the tactical display. “It's like the Hive is chasing something else. Tactical. Tell me what's out there.”

The kid at tactical, Jeffrey, couldn't identify the thing, but he pointed out a distinct pattern in the paths of all the monsters. They all converged on a single moving point, heading away from Earth.

“We've seen this before,” Jeffrey said.

Steele recognized it. Farragut said it. “Someone out there has the irresistible harmonic and is luring the monsters away.”

Systems said, “Thank God.”

“Nothing to do with God, son. And thanks are not in order. It's another monster.”

As the Hive presence thinned around
Merrimack
, the ship's atmospherics came back to life. Gravitation steadied, as much as it ever steadied on the space battleship.

A newsfeed from somewhere showed amazing images—images of Romulus walking among gorgons. He casually brushed fanged tentacles out of his way with the back of his hand, completely at ease among his fellow monsters.

Romulus wore his customary black shirt, black trousers, and black boots. His short red cape was edged in gold. A golden oak wreath sat on his dark curls. He posed for the recorders.

To anyone watching he said, “Now that I have your attention.” And left it at that.

Systems couldn't stay quiet. “What's he doing? What's that mean, sir?”

Commander Carmel answered that one. “Romulus is waiting for a bigger audience.”

At last Romulus announced, “I require the unconditional surrender of the human race. Know, people of all worlds, that Claudia is queen of the universe. Any disrespect toward her is your request to be removed from the universe. I am your Imperator, your Romulus. I invite the nations of Earth to bow willingly to me. Except for the United States. The U.S. must earn our mercy. The American military must walk in Subjugation through a gauntlet of racked spears before they may be admitted back into the fold.

“This is an easy choice. You will join my Roman Empire and submit to my rule, or my Hive will consume you.”

The com tech spoke, urgent. “Captain! Tight beam from Rear Admiral Mishindi and Captain Forshaw!”

Tight beam was old technology. It was redundant. Tight beam didn't attract Hive attention. And it was adequate for connecting the rear admiral at Base Carolina with his two space battleships in Earth orbit.

Matthew Forshaw was captain of
Merrimack
's sister ship,
Monitor
. A hard, lean man, Matty Forshaw looked as though he'd been carved from an oak timber. Matty Forshaw and John Farragut exchanged quick nods.

Admiral Mishindi looked grave. He'd aged decades in the past year.

Farragut started first. “Sir! Romulus is a monster. How can anyone follow him? There can't be anyone left in the civilized galaxy who doesn't want him dead.”

Mishindi sounded tired. “Making Romulus dead requires targeting
him. His Xerxes ship makes that impossible. And the brutal fact remains that if Romulus withdraws his hold on the Hive, Earth cannot survive.”

Farragut and Forshaw started like runners jumping the gun. Objections rose. And immediately stopped inside their throats. Farragut grunted.

Mishindi's voice remained steady. “President Reed is facing Romulus on a galactic broadcast at 0800 Greenwich Time. We expect Romulus will make a formal demand for the unconditional surrender of the United States. President Reed will refuse.” Mishindi's eyes dropped briefly. He rephrased, “President Reed intends to refuse.”

“Sir!” Matty Forshaw there. “If the President surrenders, we don't have a country!”

Mishindi waved a forefinger side to side. “Not so. Whether Romulus recognizes it or not, the President does not have the power to surrender. The Constitution of the United States does not allow for its own dissolution or suspension. President Reed cannot surrender the United States.”

Farragut was looking beyond Mishindi. Behind the rear admiral, images from other locations were visible on many monitors. One caught John Farragut's attention. On it, somewhere, Romulus' soldiers were assembling with spears in preparation for a Subjugation.

Farragut pointed. “Sir, I'm not doing that.”

Mishindi had to turn around to see what Farragut was talking about. He turned back to face the captains. “Then it's a good thing those aren't your orders. John, Matty, take your ships and go somewhere FTL. Disable your res chambers.
Rio Grande
is already in the wind. I'm tight-beaming you Captain McDaniel's touch points separately.

“Do not let yourselves, your ships, your crews, or your Marines be captured. We have the beginnings of an underground. I'm sending a bouncing bubble with the galactic coordinates for ammo dumps, spare parts, tools, and rations. We have been organizing a resistance in case the worst falls. I don't know what our mole situation is, so be aware that any of these drop sites may be compromised. That's it, gentlemen. If this be treason, make the most of it. Do not surrender even if your Commander in Chief does.”

“You said he can't surrender,” Captain Forshaw said.

“Reed can surrender himself—not the nation. But it would be a propaganda opportunity for Romulus. You need to get gone.”

“Sir!” Farragut cried. “If we run and hide, that leaves Earth defenseless!”

“Actually, Earth is safer without you right now, John. Romulus wants
something left intact to rule. He wants a mighty empire, not fields of devastation and famished people. The best way for you to defend Mother Earth is to abandon her for now. Don't say anything. You know I'm right, and we have little time.

“This won't be forever. Eventually someone will discover or steal the Hive harmonic. Romulus has it. We will get it. We will see the end of this. Just hang on. Romulus can't locate you as long as you don't resonate and you stay at FTL. You're safe at FTL.”

“We're not here to be safe,” Captain Forshaw said. It seemed the kind of pronouncement one should make at a time like this.

“You had better be safe, sir,” Mishindi said. “You're no good to anyone dead or captive. Now disappear.”

Before
Merrimack
jumped to FTL, Captain Farragut asked Colonel Augustus, “
Quo vadis
?”

Augustus showed no emotion. “Is that the only Latin you know, John Farragut?”

“Just about,” Farragut admitted. “Where are you going?”

“As I have no means of transport, I'm with you.”

“I can't give you a spacecraft. I can set you ashore somewhere.”

“The last order I had from a legitimate Caesar was from Magnus. Magnus gave me to John Farragut. I was never here by choice. Sad to say, you are my best shot at keeping Rome alive. I vowed to protect Rome. I'm stuck serving you.”

“Where I come from, vows made under duress are not binding,” Farragut said.

“That is the difference between us. When a Roman gives his word, his word is given. The duress invalidates nothing.”

11 March 2444
0800 hours
U.S. Space Battleship
Merrimack
Asteroid Belt, Solar System
Near Space

President Sampson Reed refused to seek refuge in the emergency continuity of operations center underneath the White House. So it happened
that Romulid Legionaries were able to lay hands on him. They sat President Reed down in the Oval Office and activated all the cameras and news links. Romulus ordered the President to surrender the United States to Romulus.

Farragut needed to drop
Merrimack
out of FTL to view the newscast in real time without relativistic gaps. The space battleship lurked inside the Solar System, on the surface of an asteroid, reflecting a light return that mimicked the asteroid's surface.

Lieutenant Hamilton couldn't watch. She shifted her eyes away from the tactical display and stared off into nothing.

When Romulus' demand came, President Sampson Reed refused to surrender.

Hamster heard the shot. She flinched. It had the sound of an old-fashioned handgun.

Marcander Vincent reported coldly: “The President is down. The Speaker is up next. Congressman Sol Roythemd. Democrat. Connecticut.”

Glenn peered at the display and caught a glimpse of Roman legionaries dragging Reed's body out from behind the blood-spattered Resolute Desk before she looked away again. She heard the legionaries seating the Speaker of the House. Heard the voice of Romulus demanding surrender.

Glenn Hamilton jerked at the pistol crack.

Marcander Vincent: “The Speaker is down.”

Glenn Hamilton looked to Captain Farragut.

Farragut's eyes were downcast, his gaze fixed on the deck.

“Oh, no.” Lieutenant Hamilton put her hand on the captain's shoulder, just for a moment.

She never thought they would go this far down the line of succession this quickly.

Tactical sounded as though he were checking program notes. “Up next is the President of the Senate Pro Tem. Who is that?”

“Catherine Mays,” Glenn snapped at Marcander Vincent. More softly, she asked the captain, “Do you know where she is?”

“Under the White House,” Captain Farragut said, trying to look stoic. “She's in the bunker.”

Glenn asked, scarcely audible, “Does Romulus know she's your sister?”

“I have no doubt that he does.”

* * *

Romulus signaled Senator Catherine Mays on a public broadcast channel and invited her up to the Oval Office.

“The President's place is in the White House,” he scolded. “Not hiding underneath it.”

“I am not the President,” said Senator Catherine Mays.

“Yes, yes, Senator. I do understand that you need to resign from your current position as President of the Senate Pro Tempore before you become President of the United States,” Romulus said.

Captain Farragut roared on his command deck, “Get me a firing solution on Romulus!”

“Searching, sir,” Targeting said, reluctant. The Xerxes' stealth was perfect, and it was probably moving, probably close to Earth.
Merrimack
was fourteen light-minutes away.

Romulus had access to an imager inside the secure bunker. It was focused now on Senator Catherine Mays.

Romulus' voice sounded, “Very well, then, Senator. Resign from your position.”

“I do so resign.”

Farragut shouted uselessly at the tactical display, “Cat! What are you thinking!” No one could hear him except his command crew. “Where's my shot!”

“Negative target.”

“Augustus!” Farragut was near pleading.

“If it were in my power, I would have taken the shot long before now.”

They were searching for a hole in the vacuum.

Romulus spoke sweetly for all the civilized galaxy to hear. “Very good, Madam President.”

From here, a swearing-in wasn't necessary. Catherine Mays was already President.

Romulus' imager cut in another scene from a second location, where Roman legionaries waited, arrayed in full ceremonial armor with spears.

Romulus commanded the legionaries from afar, “Rack 'em.”

A centurion repeated the command for the assembled troops. In a single motion, the Roman legionaries hoisted their spears to form an arch over a long gauntlet. The legionaries were all young. The centurion relaying Romulus' orders to the men was terribly young.

Glenn Hamilton gasped in sudden recognition. “That's—”

She stopped talking.

The centurion was John Knox Farragut Junior. John John. Brother to Captain Farragut. Brother to the President of the United States.

“That has to be an imposter,” Glenn said.

Captain Farragut shook his head.

No. It doesn't
.

John Junior wore a belligerent expression that was trying to show pride, but it read more like wounded anger, as someone getting even after a grave insult.

Under John Junior's direction, Roman guards herded captive men-in-uniform into a column in preparation to walk in shame under the spears.

Calli Carmel looked up from a data station. “Captain! None of those troops are U.S. military personnel. I ran their idents. They're not even American citizens, and they're no one's military. They're colonials dressed in U.S. uniforms. Romulus has pressed a few thousand stand-ins for this show.”

Farragut nodded. The truth wasn't necessary here. The appearance of truth was all Romulus required.

John Junior was real.

As more and more people from all the settled regions of the galaxy tuned in to watch the U.S. be subjugated, Romulus lined up a beam shot into the underground Presidential Emergency Operations Center. The bunker was well fortified.

Executing the President down there required Romulus to plot a firing path through all the layers of the bunker's inertial shell that was every bit as adamant as a space battleship's fortifications. He could make those calculations. They were intricate but not beyond his power to resolve.

His beam drill waited, ready to hit President Mays in the forehead when she tried to defy him.

She would defy him. Romulus already knew that. She was a Farragut. Groveling would be good, but he couldn't expect it.

President Mays was young, a famously stodgy dresser. Her only jewelry comprised a wedding band and a plain locket on a thin chain around her neck. Romulus knew the locket contained pictures of her two boys and her husband.

She was ridiculously ordinary.

Catherine Mays made a prosaic figure seated at the broad desk, a
faithful replica of the Resolute Desk that stood in the Oval Office above ground, but without the fresh blood on it.