Muses of Terra (Codex Antonius Book 2) (32 page)

“Tell me.”

Cordus held up a hand. “First, what kind of interface do your implant communicators use?”

“It’s neural. One person on this end wears a wired head net that captures brain waves and then transmits them to someone with an implant. But we can’t speak to each other like a normal com since there’s a com lag—they send a message to me, I hear it, then I send a message back. Lag time can be up to a minute.”

“So only one person on this end can communicate with one other person with an implant at a time?”

“Yes, but we’re working on expanding the users who can participate.”

“Good,” Cordus muttered to himself.
Perhaps the gods are with us after all.

Aquilina looked at him expectantly. “And your idea is…?”

Cordus explained what he wanted to do. She took it much better than he had expected—she simply stared at him with a blank face. “You’re joking.”

“I know it’s a little desperate—”

“‘Desperate’? Try insane. Nobody will agree to that.”

“And if that vessel finds Terra, what then? You know what it did to Libertus.”

Aquilina let down her Praetorian mask for just a second, and Cordus saw the terror in her eyes.

“It
has
found Terra, hasn’t it?” he said quietly.

She nodded. “We think so. Since it left Libertus, it’s taken the most direct way line route to Terra. It comes through the way line, kills the nearest planet, and then jumps through the next way line that leads here. Every ship that tries to attack it is destroyed. If it stays on its current course and speed, it will be here in four days.”

Aquilina sat down on the cot, her shoulders slumped. “News has spread throughout human space about this thing. The Roman factions are gathering their ships for Terra’s defense, at least the ones they’re willing to give. Even the Zhonguo are sending ships, though it’s a token few. They’re keeping the bulk of their fleet for defense of their own worlds. Can’t say we wouldn’t do the same—”

“Aquilina,” Cordus said, sitting down next to her. “We have no other choice.”

She shook her head. “What you’re suggesting is like killing the patient to stop the disease.”

“Yes, there are risks. But if that vessel gets here, there won’t be a Terra to salvage. You know
all
of humanity’s warships wouldn’t stop this thing. This is the only way.”
 

He put his hand on top of hers, and she suddenly turned her hand over and squeezed his. She had the eyes of a drowning woman.

“Promise me this will work,” she said in a shaky whisper. “Promise me you will
make
this work.”

Cordus squeezed back. His heart raced at being so close to her, the scent of her hair, the warmth of her hands and body. He wanted desperately to tell her anything she wanted to hear, anything that would ease her fears and give her hope.
 

But he knew his plan was desperate, suicidal, and probably wouldn’t work. Where was the hope in that?

He licked his lips. “I promise I will do all I can to protect my people.”

Her eyes softened. She put a hesitant hand on his cheek, and Cordus flinched at the jolt that went through his body. He had the sudden urge to kiss her with all the passion that had built up in him since he met her, despite being in a prison cell and talking about the possible death of the Roman Republic. None of it mattered at that the moment.
 

“Very well,” she whispered. Then she stood, suddenly all business. “First, we have to get you out of here.”

Cordus wanted to weep at losing such a moment to his hesitation, but he gathered his wits and said, “Isn’t this cell monitored?”

She shook her head once. “They didn’t want a record of you being held, especially if you ended up being consul. The only way you’ll be truly safe is if you publicly declare yourself now.”

A shudder went through Cordus. He clenched his teeth and nodded slowly. “So how do I get out of this cell to do that?”

Aquilina grinned. “I have an idea. By the time I’m done, they’ll be begging you to leave.”

37

The cell door opened, awaking Cordus from a rare moment of sleep. He sat up in his cot. Aquilina strode in, gave him a quick wink, and then stepped aside to let in Vibia Servillia Gemmella, Dictator of the Roman Republic. Up close, Cordus noticed she had the same piercing brown eyes as Aquilina.
 

“This is what’s going to happen,” she said in a tone that would not allow negotiation. “When we leave this cell, we will go to the steps of the Consular Palace. There, among the news criers, senators, and assembled citizens, you will confirm that you are indeed Marcus Antonius Cordus.”

News criers, senators, and citizens? Just how many people are out there? Juno have mercy….
Cordus suddenly felt sick, and it took all his will to keep from vomiting on the Dictator’s shoes.
 

Gemmella continued, “You will also announce that in the interests of a smooth transition in these times of crisis, you will work with my administration on the legal path toward your ascension to the consulship. In the meantime, I will continue my duties as dictator until such a transition can occur peacefully. I’ve prepared your complete statement.”

She raised a hand, and one of her assistants behind her gave her a slate. Without looking at the assistant, she handed the slate to Cordus. “I suggest you memorize this, as it will appear more authentic than you simply reading it. I trust one with your…abilities should have no trouble remembering six sentences.”

Cordus scrolled through the statement, which said essentially what the Dictator just paraphrased. He looked up at her, and she regarded him with the same cold calculation with which Aquilina had watched him at times.
I thought she believed in me; why does she not seem to trust me?

Cordus stood. He was almost six inches taller than Gemmella, yet he still felt like she was looking down at him. “My crew—”

“Is no longer your concern—”

“They are my
only
concern. Right now I’m just a freighter centuriae held under mistaken identity. Does my crew have amnesty? I want your personal guarantee.”
 

Gemmella’s eyes narrowed.
 

“Because if they don’t,” he continued, “I’m staying in this cell.”

After a few moments of silent staring, she said, “Tell me, Marcus Antonius Cordus, does your loyalty also apply to the Roman people you wish to rule?”

“I don’t
wish
to rule anybody. I assume your daughter has already told you I take this path reluctantly. But history and religion say the consul serves the people rather than rules them. I would take my historic and religious duties seriously.
If
I were consul.”

Gemmella did not smile, but her icy gaze softened. “You have my personal guarantee that your crew will receive amnesty.”

“When can I see them?”

“After you declare yourself. Once you do that, you will have Praetorian protection.”

“Is my life in that much danger right now?”

Gemmella barked a laugh. It was similar to Aquilina’s, but did not have the playful quality. The Dictator’s laugh was tempered by hard years and cynicism.

“We didn’t put you in this cell for its amenities,” Gemmella said. “There are factions who’d rather the Antonii stay dead. You’re in much greater danger while you’re undeclared than if you declare yourself. In the former situation, if those factions knew who you were, you’d be a
dead
freighter centuriae held under mistaken identity.”

“Has Aquilina told you my plan to stop the alien vessel?”

Gemmella’s eyes twitched and her jaw flexed. “Yes.”

“And you will allow me to do it?”

Gemmella spoke slowly. “If the situation becomes so desperate that we have no other choice…then yes, I will allow it. But we have weapons the vessel hasn’t seen yet. Your plan will not be needed.”

Cordus acted as though he accepted this, but thought,
I’m sorry, Dictator, but it is
your
weapons that will not be needed.

“Will you follow me?” Gemmella said.

Cordus nodded once. Gemmella turned and left the cell, followed by an assistant and two black-uniformed Praetorians. Cordus’s legs suddenly felt as if they were cemented to the floor.
 

Aquilina gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be there with you the whole time,” she whispered.
 

“What did you do to get me out of here?”

“Somehow, news leaked to the Republic bands that Marcus Antonius Cordus still lived and was in the Consular Palace. Even holos of your landing in the palace gardens were leaked. Over the last twenty-four hours, facial recognition experts from across the Sol system have confirmed it could be you. So everyone is demanding to know if it really
is
you.”

“Your mother could not have been happy.”

Aquilina smiled. “She’s the one who ‘leaked’ it.”

Cordus blinked, then shook his head and left the cell.

As he stepped out, he glanced at the four Praetorians surrounding the Dictator, then looked again. Gracchus looked much older in his ceremonial Praetorian armor; Piso’s black, curly hair peeked from beneath his golden helm; Duran watched him with amused brown eyes. Ulpius wore the same dour look he always had, though he didn’t look as grizzled now that he had shaved the gray stubble off his face and neck.

“Thought you were all Legion,” Cordus said dryly.

“What gave you that impression?” Ulpius growled.

Duran grinned. “Lady Aquilina assumes she’s our commander, but we’ve always been
her
Praetorian detail—”

“I’m warning you, Duran,” Aquilina said in a deadly voice from behind Cordus, “call me ‘lady’ once more and you’ll be guarding penguins at the South Pole Detention Center.”

Duran snapped to attention. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, but his eyes still held amusement, as did those of Ulpius, Gracchus, and Piso.
 

Cordus smiled despite the circumstances.

Gracchus and Piso fell into formation around the Dictator and her three assistants, who spoke with her quietly. Ulpius and Duran marched behind Cordus and Aquilina. Cordus did his best to match Gemmella’s purposeful stride. If he was about to become consul, he would need to act like her.

The walk through the holding cells beneath the Consular Palace was a blur. His mind could not focus on anything other than what he was about to do. He had feared and avoided this moment his entire life. Even when he was a boy, he had never wanted to be consul. Now he was about to claim leadership over 150 billion people spread across the universe. His hands trembled, and he constantly wiped his sweaty palms on his pant legs. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and forehead. His legs would not match the confident strides of the Dictator in front of him.

What if I just abdicated instead of declaring myself? What if I just named Gemmella the new consul and said it was the start of a new Roman dynasty?
 

“Because you gave them your word, young Antonius.” Marcus Antonius strode next to Cordus, matching his pace. “And we know you’d rather die than break your word. An impractical code, but yours nonetheless.”

I don’t know if I can do this,
Cordus thought desperately.
 

“Oh, you’ll love it,” Marcus replied, anticipation making him virtually bounce down the corridor. “There’s nothing greater than the love of a mob. Makes you feel like a god.”
 

Cordus grimaced, and Marcus added, “Or what we presume a god would feel. Of course, we’re not gods, so we have no idea for sure.”

Cordus realized they were in the columned hallway of the Consular Palace’s entry, walking toward the open doors ahead. He could see gray sky outside, and the snapping red pennants lining the top of the Circus Maximus. He smelled rain on the humid breeze coming through the doors.
 

He passed the marble statues of old consuls, all Heroes of the Republic. Near the end of the hall, at the entrance, he saw a statue of his twelve-year-old self. Cordus had heard about it and knew it proclaimed him a martyr and Hero of the Republic for “standing tall before barbarism”. His father, the last consul, had commissioned it after believing he succeeded in secretly murdering Cordus on Menota. As with all the statues in the hall, it accentuated his features, giving a twelve-year-old boy the muscles and bearing of a thirty-year-old. He certainly didn’t remember feeling that tough and confident—he mostly remembered being terrified all the time.

“I suppose you’ll have to take that down,” Aquilina said at his side, her gaze on the statue. “That’s for a dead child.”

Cordus didn’t say anything. He was too sick to speak.

“I was in the Forum when they unveiled it six years ago. I was only a child myself, but it inspired me.” She looked at him. “It told me that even children could ‘stand tall before barbarism’.”

“It’s fantasy,” Cordus whispered harshly. “I was never brave. That statue is nothing more than a cloak to cover my father’s crimes.”
 

Aquilina nodded. “True. But it
did
inspire me, and countless others, to serve the Republic. Is that a bad thing?”

Cordus didn’t answer because he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know anything anymore. He had sworn to the gods that he would never put himself in this position. Yet here he was, of his own choosing. In less than twenty paces, he would be standing on the palace steps—

White light blinded him, and then he felt the impact. He heard nothing as he flew backward, slammed into the two Praetorians behind him, and then landed on the polished marble floor. Sharp chunks of debris pelted him along with sickeningly warm pieces of what felt like raw meat.
 

He lay on his back, paralyzed by the blast and the lack of air in his lungs. He took in several gasping breaths and then coughed up plaster dust and mucus. He opened his eyes and slowly propped himself on one elbow. After starbursts faded from his eyes, he saw the people he’d been walking with a second before. They all lay on the floor among the debris, some moving, but most still. His hearing crept back accompanied by a terrible ringing, and then the sounds of screams and pulse rifle fire coming from outside the palace.