Muses of Roma (Codex Antonius Book 1) (9 page)

At the door to an open balcony stood the Pontifex Maximus Decimus Atius Avitus. He surveyed Roma’s skyline, his hands clasped behind his back. The Pontifex wore the dark blue tunic and matching trousers all
flamens
wore when not performing rituals or speaking to the people. The only physical difference between Avitus and a
flamen
was the Ring of the Pontifex on his left hand, and the rings of his House on his right.

Lepidus and the golem sank to one knee, bowed their heads, and waited for the Pontifex to notice them.

“You may leave us, courier,” the Pontifex said, his back to them still. The courier stood, retreated out the door, and then closed and locked it.

Though Lepidus continued bowing, he sensed the Pontifex turn around and approach, his soft-soled sandals whispering on the smooth floor. When the Pontifex stood in front of him, he said, “You told the courier one hour, brother. You're three minutes late.”

“Am I excused to look at Your Grace?”

The Pontifex sighed. “Get up,” he said and then walked back to his desk.

Lepidus grinned and stood. He rarely spoke to his older brother Avitus since his election to Pontifex Maximus three years ago. Such was the nature of a sacred position—not to mention Lepidus's frequent missions across the Republic—that kept the once close brothers apart. When he did talk to Avitus, he never resisted the chance to give his brother the same teasing he'd given when they were children. Avitus may be a Vessel of the gods now, but he was still an Atii.

“What is so urgent that it makes you send a courier in a grav flyer to bring me here?” Lepidus asked. “You’ve always used golem messengers.”

Avitus eased into the high-backed chair behind his desk. The large gray cat stood up and then hopped into Avitus’s lap. Avitus stroked the cat’s back, his vacant gaze locked on a point beyond Lepidus’s left shoulder. It made him feel like Avitus was talking with the gods. Maybe he was. That gaze was one of many things that changed when Avitus was elected to the Collegia Pontificis.

Along with his sudden love for cats.

After a few moments, Avitus focused on Lepidus. “Brother, a matter has come up that requires your talents to remedy.”

Lepidus put his hands on the desk’s polished wood, eyeing Avitus. The two white cats regarded him without moving. There were no chairs before the desk. The Pontifex Maximus accepted guests who either knelt before him or stood at attention.

Lepidus was neither a supplicant nor a lackey.

“Just which one of my many talents do you require, Your Grace?”

Avitus stared at Lepidus, and then his face sagged. Lepidus saw the fear and fatigue Avitus hid so well. It shocked Lepidus, and he blinked. But within that blink, his brother’s face returned to that of a stern Pontifex Maximus.

“What I’m going to tell you is sensitive,” the Pontifex said. “You have an apprentice, yes?”

“Gnaeus Hortensius Appius.”

“You trust him?”

“I wouldn’t have made him my apprentice. Brother, your drama act is wearing on my patience.”

Avitus rose to his full height, the gray cat jumping off his lap. “I don’t care about your patience, Praetorian,” he snarled. “You will hear the mission in good time.”

Lepidus stood straight and then bowed his head. “Forgive me, Your Grace.”

“I want your oath that you will not reveal the mission details to anyone but your apprentice. You may use any resources you deem necessary, but they are not to know
all
of the details.”

“What details?”

“You will know when I tell you the mission,” Avitus said. “I want your oath upon the soul of Triaria.”

Lepidus snapped his head up, glaring at Avitus before he could stop himself. The pain and anger in his eyes must have been startling for Avitus blinked uncertainly.

“I swear,” Lepidus said in a low growl, “upon the soul of my wife Triaria that I will not reveal the mission details to anyone but my apprentice.” Then with a sneer, he added, “And I will know which details when I hear the mission.”

Avitus nodded, satisfied with the oath Lepidus just swore. He sat in his high-backed chair again, putting his ringed hands on the chair’s arm rests.

“Three days ago, Marcus Antonius Cordus went missing from the Consular residence.”

Lepidus shrugged. “The boy has been known to wander Roma in disguise. He’s a curious lad. So what?”

“We think this is more than exploring. When he ‘wandered’ in the past, he always took a trusted slave with him as a protector and guide. He was never alone. This time he took no slave.”

“So he wanted to be alone.”

“On the second day he was missing, a slave found a tabulari pad in Cordus’s rooms that no one in the Family gave him. The Family limits his access to external information, and a non-secure tabulari is forbidden. Cordus had one. The tabulari was encrypted, but our technicians opened it.”

Avitus paused, and gazed over Lepidus’s shoulder again. His right eye twitched and his lips moved as if whispering something to…someone. Lepidus waited until Avitus refocused on him. “The encrypted files held a diary written by Cordus expressing his desire to defect to Libertus.”

Lepidus scoffed. “Brother, a member of the Consular Family, touched by the gods, cannot have a ‘desire to defect to Libertus.’ The gods would never have allowed such a blasphemy to be born into the Consular Family, much less as the Heir.”

“No, the gods would not allow such a beast to wear the Purple. That is why the boy’s corruption is not natural. It was instigated by a Liberti agent.”

“How could a Liberti agent get close to the Consular Family? The minds of anyone who enter the Consular residence are scanned for nefarious thoughts. I’ve seen the screenings. They do not miss anything.”

“Perhaps not on a normal agent. A Liberti
Umbra
Ancile
is a different matter. They have ways around our security that we do not understand.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in the Liberti
numina
, brother,” Lepidus said. “That would not do for the Pontifex Maximus.”

“Umbra Ancilia are real, but they are not
numina
. They are as human as you or any other Praetorian. They simply have technology we do not understand. Yet.”

Lepidus frowned. Talk like this disturbed him, especially from the Pontifex Maximus. How could the godless Liberti have technology greater than Roma’s? For that matter, why would the Pontifex Maximus admit this to Lepidus, even if they were brothers?

“According to Cordus’s diaries,” Avitus continued, “he wanted to see Libertus, but without a Pontiff’s guidance or Praetorian security. In other words, he wanted to go alone.”

Lepidus shook his head. “More circumstantial evidence. Just because the boy wants to visit a foreign country does not make him corrupt.”

Avitus sighed. “I do not expect you to understand how the gods interact with the Consular Family, nor do I wish to explain it to you. Suffice it to say the gods do not allow such desires to exist in the Consular Family or the Collegia.”

“You just said he might have been corrupted. How could he be corrupted into defecting to Libertus if the gods do not allow such desires to exist in him? If he is missing, then it is obviously a kidnapping, as improbable as it seems.”

Lepidus still found it hard to believe any kidnapper could get into the Consular residence, even a fabled Liberti Umbra Ancile. But that thought was preferable to the idea that a boy one step below deity could be ‘corrupted.’ Such a thought chilled and sickened him.

Avitus studied Lepidus, as if considering what else to tell him. Lepidus knew his brother. Despite the years apart, and his connection to the gods, Lepidus could still tell when Avitus held something back.

“Kidnapping is possible. So is the unthinkable case that Umbra somehow severed Cordus’s link with the gods. That is where you come in, brother.”

Avitus stood up, reached into his toga, and pulled out a data chit. “I want you to go over the boy’s diary entries. Find any clues as to his current whereabouts. If he was kidnapped, you will rescue him from the Liberti barbarians. If he was corrupted, you will terminate him.”

Lepidus glared at Avitus, who did not look away.

“I know what I am asking, brother,” Avitus said quietly. “I know I have asked you to do hard things in the past. This is the hardest, which is why I came to you. If the boy is corrupted, he is no longer touched by the gods and he is no longer the Heir. He cannot be allowed to live. His defection would sow doubt among the people regarding the infallibility of the Consular Family. I don’t have to explain how disastrous that would be for the Republic.”

Avitus walked from around the desk and put his hands on Lepidus’s shoulders. “It is the will of the gods,” he said. “And the will of the Consul.”

Lepidus nodded. “I will do my duty, Your Grace. As I always have.”

He took the data chit from Avitus and placed it in a pocket within his toga. “I will either rescue the boy or I will kill him. Anything else, Your Grace?”

Avitus shook his head. “You may go.”

Lepidus bowed and then hurried from the office without another word. He feared if he opened his mouth he would vomit on the Pontifex’s clean marble floor.

Daryush wailed and pounded on the glass outside
Caduceus’s
Cargo One. Dariya put her hands on the glass from inside. She spoke into her collar com, which transmitted her voice to the crew.

“’Ush, you have to calm down,” she soothed. “I will be fine.”

She looked at Kaeso standing with folded arms behind Daryush. Kaeso returned her look, but he knew his eyes held no confirmation she told Daryush the truth. While massive anti-radiation serums eliminated any diraenium in her, the wounds from the Plague-ridden attackers were another matter. Nestor had examined Dariya’s bite wound, and it had broken through her EVA suit
and
her skin. More tests confirmed she had a small fever, which would get worse in the coming hours. Kaeso noticed a slight puffiness around her neck already. If she followed the typical pattern of the Cariosus, she would lose consciousness within six hours, stay unconscious for another twelve, and then wake up a violent, inhuman creature. She would no longer be Dariya, the brave and intelligent Persian Kaeso had hired. She would be an animal. The only cure Kaeso could give her at that point was a pulse bullet to the head.

“Listen to me, ‘Ush,” Dariya said, her voice preternaturally calm given what she knew would happen to her. “I need you to do something for me. Can you go to the engine room and re-tune the ion drive’s coils? I never had a chance to tune them when we landed, and it has to be done before we take off. Can you do that for me, ‘Ush?”

Daryush stopped wailing, but his chest still heaved and tears streamed from his eyes. He thought about what she asked with the far-off gaze he got while lost in an engineering problem. He nodded, then turned and walked past Kaeso toward the engine room.

Dariya watched him go through glistening eyes. She sat down hard on a plastic crate and put her face in her hands.

Lucia came down the ladder from the command deck and stood next to Kaeso, watching Dariya. She clenched her teeth. “Do we need to keep her in there like an animal?” she asked. “The Cariosus is not airborne.”

“If I go mad,” Dariya said in her hands, “I will attack you all, and then I will have your deaths on my soul. Even yours would bother me, Trierarch.”

“Nestor said you won’t be symptomatic for another six hours,” Lucia said. “Don’t you want to, I don’t know, hug your brother one last time?”

Dariya looked up at Lucia. “More than you know, Roman.”

“Then how can you be so callous?” Lucia asked. “Daryush is—”

“Enough!” Dariya screamed. She jumped up and slammed both palms on the Cargo One window. Then slammed them again and again. Her palms turned red, leaving bloody prints on the glass. She snarled and yelled in the same nonsensical gibberish as the other Cariosa in the vaults. The language of the Cariosus.

“Dariya!” Kaeso shouted.

She didn’t listen. He rushed to open the cargo door to restrain her, but she stopped abruptly. She gaped at them as if she'd just woken up. She looked at the glass and then her hands. Kaeso watched helplessly as she sat down and cried.

“Please, just go,” she whispered.

Kaeso motioned Lucia toward the ladder. Once they were on the command deck, Kaeso saw through the windows that night had fallen over the dead city. Even with the command deck’s overhead lights off, and the only light coming from the control panels, the view out the window was blacker than any deep space he’d ever seen.

Lucia turned to him, her face alit with the reds, blues, and whites from the display panels. “We can't let her become one of those things.”

“I know,” Kaeso said, sitting in the pilot's couch. He thumbed his collar com and said, “Nestor, report to the command deck.”

He turned to Lucia. “I have an idea, but we have to go to Libertus.”

Lucia hesitated. “Why Libertus? Do they have a cure they’re holding out on Roma?”

A sharp pain from Kaeso’s implant reminded him of his Umbra oaths. “Something like that,” he muttered.

“Even if the Liberti can help us, we still can’t leave this system. Dariya used our last way line plasma, and you know the Romans won’t sell us any. They're my people; I know how they think.”

“I know how they think, too,” Kaeso said. He activated his tabulari and searched his personal folders on
Caduceus’s
network.

Lucia stood over his shoulder. “Equipment manifests for Roman Eagles? Centuriae, that data is classified. How did you get it?”

“Please don't ask.”

Kaeso felt her stare on his back.

Nestor entered the command deck. “Yes, Centuriae?”

“Dariya has six hours until she's symptomatic, right?”

“Yes, although it is an estimate. It could be more or less.”

“How much more or less?”

Nestor shrugged. “Four minimum, eight maximum. Why?”

Kaeso told Nestor his idea.

“Centuriae, I am not aware of any tests proving that works.”

Lucia snorted. “Of course not. The Collegia Pontificis weren’t interested in curing the Cariosus, only wiping it out, victims and all.”

“Could it work?” Kaeso asked.

Nestor shrugged again. “In theory.”

“Good enough,” Kaeso said, “because unless you have a better idea, it's the only way we keep Dariya alive until we reach Libertus.”

Nestor and Lucia were both silent.

“Have Flamma, Blaesus, and Daryush report to Cargo Two,” Kaeso said. “We’ve got a lot of work to do before we see the good Lady Centuriae of the
Corus
.”

They completed phase one of Kaeso’s plan and then took off from Pomona.
Corus’s
Lady Centuriae called within moments of them leaving Menota’s atmosphere.

“I assume congratulations are in order, Centuriae Aemilius,” she said when her head displayed above Kaeso's tabulari. “The only reason you’d leave so early is that you found your mythical vaults and are ready for boarding.”

Kaeso smiled. “We found the vaults, my Lady Centuriae.”

She cocked her head. “How much?”

“Over thirty million sesterces.”

“Thirty million,” she breathed, her glazed eyes telling Kaeso she was dreaming of how she’d spend her share. “You got it all?”

“Every last sesterce.”

She nodded. “Well done indeed.”

“We’re ready to transfer your port entry fee to you.”

“Yes, about the port entry fee,” she said. “It is no longer required.”

Kaeso raised an eyebrow. “Well that is most generous of you, my lady. Thank you.”

“We are confiscating everything in your cargo hold,” she said with a grandmotherly smile. “Under the Menota Treaty, which Libertus just signed, we are authorized to stop, board, and impound contraband on ships entering or leaving Menota space. Even Liberti flagged ships. My pilot is sending you coordinates now. You will bring your ship to those coordinates so
Corus
can begin boarding. Any attempt to run and you will be fired upon. Are my orders clear?”

Kaeso sighed. “Yes, my lady. Although I should mention the sesterces are not on my ship.”

The Lady Centuriae sighed. “Oh?”

Kaeso tapped a key on his console. “I'm sending you a visual feed right now. You should have it on this channel.”

She looked at her screen, and her eyes narrowed.

“What you see, my Lady Centuriae, is a stack of Menota marques—over thirty million sesterces worth—surrounded by way line plasma canisters. The marques are still on the planet in the Pomona vaults.”

Hopefully she’s never seen the backstage of a theater,
he thought.

She smirked. “I can blow you out of the sky right now and then go retrieve the marques myself.”

“Maybe. If you can get past the tripwires we set up. You probably can, which is why I programmed this little device.” Kaeso held up his personal tabulari. “It’s transmitting a stop signal to the receiver next to those canisters. If this tabulari is destroyed, or if I turn it off, then the canisters will incinerate those marques.”

Her lip curled. “I don’t believe you.”

“Are you willing to take that chance? Are you willing to bet your comfortable retirement in that Mediterranean villa?”

She stared at Kaeso, her jaw clenching and unclenching.

“Look, you can have the marques,” Kaeso said. “I have two, simple requests that I have no doubt you will think a fair exchange.”

Her stare was colder than space. “What are your…requests?”

“Four canisters of way line plasma and one sleeper crib.”

The Lady Centuriae laughed. “So you mortgaged all of your way line plasma to hold the marques hostage while you negotiate for a single sleeper crib? If I'm not mistaken, you have seven crew, including yourself. What need do you have for a single sleeper crib?”

“That’s my business, my lady. I think it's a fair exchange. Thirty million sesterces for one sleeper crib and four way line plasma canisters. Your Eagles have more than enough of each. Fortuna has smiled on you this day, my lady.”

Kaeso waited for a stab of pain from his implant, but to his surprise, none came. He fought the urge to search the ship proximity displays on his console.

“Spare me your fake piety,” she said. “How can I be sure all thirty million sesterces are in that pile you're showing me? The view is awfully dark.”

“I suppose you're going to have to trust me. And Fortuna.”

This time Kaeso did glance at his proximity displays.
Where are they? Perhaps Menota’s rings…?

She grunted. “I will discuss this with my colleague on
Virtus
,” she said, and then her head disappeared.

Lucia said, “That's a good sign. If she wasn't considering it, she’d have destroyed us by now.”

Kaeso searched the empty space outside the command window. Menota was behind them, so all he could see were stars and the running lights of the two Roman Eagles miles above them. He studied his proximity display. Only the Eagles registered.

“Yes,” he muttered, “a good sign.”

Minutes passed without a response from
Corus
. Lucia tapped her fingers on her console. “Come on,” she said. “It's thirty million sesterces.”

“They'll take the money,” Kaeso said, still searching the stars outside the window. “They're arguing over what to do with us once they have it.”

“We'll be long gone by the time they get the money,” Lucia said. When Kaeso didn’t say anything, she asked, “Won't we?”

Kaeso remained quiet. Even if the Romans did what they said they’d do, it would take Kaeso’s crew at least an hour to get the way line plasma canisters hooked up to the way line drive, and at least fifteen minutes for the plasma to spool through the drive. Then there were the two Eagles blocking the way line jump point through which
Caduceus
could escape.…

Kaeso hated plans that relied on luck and the gods, and this plan was all luck and gods.

The com chimed, and the head of the Lady Centuriae materialized above his tabulari once again.

“We accept your proposal,” she announced. “Proceed to the coordinates my pilot sent you earlier. We will meet you there in one hour. You will transmit the exact location of the marques to us and disable the plasma canisters around them. Once my men have the marques, we will send over the sleeper crib and way line plasma.”

“I'm sorry, my lady,” Kaeso said. “We get the sleeper crib and way line plasma first, then we send you the marques’ location. You know it will take us an hour to install the canisters. More than enough time for you to blow us out of the sky if you do not find all thirty million sesterces.”

She stared at him. “Very well. Be at those coordinates in one hour.” She ended the transmission.

Lucia sighed. “Why did you have to give her that idea, sir?”

“She’s a Roman. It already crossed her mind,” Kaeso said, receiving the coordinates from
Corus
. “I'm sending the coordinates to you. Take us out.”

Lucia moved some sliders on her pilot’s console. The stars outside the command deck window shifted as the ship came about and shot toward the rendezvous point.

“How can it take them an hour to gather one sleeper crib and four canisters of way line plasma?” Lucia asked.

When Kaeso didn't say anything, she continued, “It won't take them an hour. They're using that time to search for the marques in Pomona. When they find them, they'll destroy us.”

“Possibly.”

Lucia sighed. “So we're dead no matter what we do.”

Kaeso looked at her. “I'm sorry I brought us here.”

Lucia had a sudden warmth in her eyes. It surprised Kaeso, especially after he all but admitted they were going to die.

“Centuriae, you did what you thought was best. You had no choice. I admit I had my doubts; I also knew it was either this job or we sat on our hands waiting for the ship to fall apart.”

“At least you'd all live to serve on another ship.”

“What other ship?” she asked. “It's only a matter of time before Libertus and Roma negotiate an extradition treaty. When that happens, none of us would find legal work anywhere. We'd either have to turn ourselves in or serve on pirate ships.”

Kaeso grinned. “We’re not pirates?”

She gave him a rare smile. “We may do things that are less than legal, but at least we don’t attack unarmed vessels. There's no honor in that.”

They spent the rest of the journey to the rendezvous point in silence.
Caduceus
arrived within twenty minutes, but the Eagles were not there. Kaeso expected that.

Still searching for the marques,
he thought.
They'll be here when they find them. Then we see if this is the last gamble I ever make.

Kaeso turned to his console and activated the camera in Cargo One. Dariya sat on a box talking to Daryush through the Cargo One window. Daryush no longer cried, but his head was down and he nodded periodically. Kaeso did not turn on the audio, but he watched them for a long time.

The com chimed. “Here we go,” he said as he activated the com. The head of a stern-faced Roman officer materialized.

“Centuriae Aemilius, you will power down your engines and prepare for docking with
Corus
. Once again, your crew is confined to quarters and only you will open the connector hatch. We will transfer your sleeper crib and way line plasma to you once your ship is secure. Acknowledge.”