Reformation (4 page)

A knock at
Dr. Holmes’ office door gave way to Hastelloy entering the room closely escorted by a brawny orderly named Terry.  Jeffrey fought past the dangers his brother mentioned, and the disturbing imagery of his dream the night before, to greet his patient with a stiff handshake.  “Good morning.”

Hastelloy’s eyes were busy giving the room a once over as he responded, “And to you. 
Two sessions in two days?  Can’t say I’m not getting my money’s worth,” he concluded as his eyes came back to meet Jeffrey’s.  “Nice tie.”

Dang it
.

Questions
Tara may have had about him spending the night in his office Jeffrey could avoid, Hastelloy’s he could not.  The patient was far too intelligent and self-aware to let it go.  As a principle, Jeffrey believed in being open and honest with his patients, but not this time.  He was just trying to fill time while waiting for Mark to arrive and clear this matter up.

“A little domestic dispute at home I’m afraid,” Jeffrey sighed and then ushered Hastelloy to his chair while dismissing Ter
ry with a nod.  He then took a seat for himself in the other chair nestled around a coffee table opposite the sofa.  “Bad for me, but good for you since it gives us another opportunity to chat.”

Hastelloy looked genuinely concerned.  “You and I have certainly been spending a lot of time together this last week.  I hope
the situation within your family has nothing to do with me.”

Dr. Holmes didn’t feel like discussing the profound di
sturbance caused by Hastelloy.  Instead he got out his pen and paper and sat ready to take notes once more.  “Yesterday you finished with your subordinate, Valnor, ascending to the throne of the Roman Empire as Caesar Augustus; no small feat.  Can you continue from there?  What happened next to you and your stranded crew?”

Hastelloy’s eyes snapped wide open in surprise at the question. “What happened? 
Prosperity.  The Roman Empire served as a guiding light for the world to follow for nearly a thousand years.  All my crew and I needed to do was stand aside and make sure nothing interfered.”

“A thousand years is a long time,” Jeffrey marveled.  “You must have done a stellar job.”

“Considering the Alpha threat on this planet was reduced to a formless relic holding Goron’s life force, the task was not terribly difficult.  Yet, either from my own incompetence or Goron’s brilliance, he still found a way to completely unravel the marvelous work we achieved.”

“Oh this should be good,” Jeffrey prompted, thankful
to be pondering events of the past rather than worrying about the danger Hastelloy supposedly posed in the present.

**********

“Why, oh why, do I listen to your council,” Alaric hollered at the wooden chest holding the sacred remains of his Gothic lineage.  “We were prospering as a people up north, why did we need to come south and provoke the Romans?”

“Correction, you
managed to get by up north, but even that meager existence was being threatened by the Huns coming West from greater Asia,” a haunting voice that seemed to emanate from every corner of the small tent replied.

Alaric recalled the first time he heard the voice
s of his ancestors speak to him.  He fell to his knees and buried his face in the dirt in reverence.  With this latest defeat, the mystique of their presence had tarnished to the point that Alaric now had the nerve to challenge their divine guidance.

“We could have withstood a disorganized barbarian hord
e invading our fortified territory,” Alaric countered.  “Instead you insisted I lead our people against an established empire that has not lost a battle, let alone a war, for nearly a thousand years.”

“The campaign is but in its infancy,” the
whimsical voice responded.

Alaric turned away from the chest and shook his head defiantly, “
The campaign is lying on its death bed.  No sooner had we crossed the Danube River did we encounter a Roman army to stop us.  A professional army unbeaten for generations arrayed against my collection of farmers and their families, and I decide to attack?  What lunacy!”

“Our people gave a good account
of themselves on the battlefield,” the spirit commended.  “You managed to hold the Romans almost to a draw and escaped with most of your forces intact.”

“We were beaten,” Alaric shouted back.  “Whether it was just barely or thoroughly matters not.  My people know I am incapable of
beating the Romans.”

“There is more t
o warfare than winning battles.  You must know and understand the ways of your enemy.  The Roman emperor, Honorius, is a raving madman.  Your attack will cause him to question the loyalty of every Gothic soldier and mercenary serving in the Roman legions.  He is insane enough to order their collective executions.”

Alaric collapsed into a rigid wooden chair and he
ld his face in his hands.  “What have I done?  I have set into motion the extermination of my people.”

“Do you really think our
proud people will sit idly by while their throats get cut?  No, they will resist and you will soon have legions of professional Gothic soldiers from the enemy defecting to your banner.”

Alaric said no more.  He simply shook his head in silence and reached for a flask of wine
vowing not to see the bottom of an empty flask until the Romans arrived to finish him off.  Weeks flew by amid a drunken binge until fate arrived at his army’s encampment.

The sudden opening of the tent flap by his captain allowed sunlight to drench the inner sanctum with a golden glow that roused Alaric from his sleep.  He fought back the urge to vomit
as a result of the prior evening’s binge drinking weighing heavy on his stomach and mind.  Alaric finally found the willpower to look up at his officer with disinterest.  “What?”

“A Roman army approaches,” the officer reported.

“From which direction,” Alaric asked.  Not that it mattered at all.  He intended to give himself up for execution in order to spare his people Rome’s wrath.

“I’m afraid they have us surrounded, but they approach in marching formations rather than in line for battle.  They have sent emissaries ahead requesting an audience with you.”

Alaric raised an eyebrow and forcibly moved the haze clouding his mind to the side.  “I’ll be along shortly.”

When the officer closed the tent flap once more Alaric heard an amused voice whisper from the corner.  “Now the dismantling of Rome can begin.”

Alaric donned the golden breastplate of his dress armor and paused on his way out of the tent to splash a handful of water on his face from a filled bowl.  He dried himself and stepped into the midday sun with a relatively clear head and sense of purpose.

When he reached the central gathering hall
, four Roman soldiers stood in the middle.  Three held their crimson tasseled helmets in their hands to show respect and deference toward Alaric.  The fourth held a long metal box that stood roughly three feet long and one foot tall and deep.  “Welcome, gentlemen.  To what do I owe this fine company?”

“The honor is ours,
General.  We come to join and aid your uprising in any way we can,” the one holding the box declared.

Alaric struggled mightily to hold his poker face.  “Why that is a
very
generous offer.  Tell me though, why have you cast aside your Roman banners to join this upstart army of mine?”

“Emperor Honorius has gone completely mad,” the soldier replied.  “He questioned our loyalties following your uprising
and ordered all soldiers of Gothic descent killed; he didn’t stop there.  His armies are rampaging across all Roman territories murdering our wives and children.  We are being exterminated and cannot stand for it.”

“How do I know your soldiers are not just a plant to infiltrate my ranks and destroy my army from within?” Alaric asked.

The man placed the metal box he carried on the ground, backed away and gestured for Alaric to inspect the contents.  The man’s distance from the box put Alaric on the defensive.  Rather than risk setting off an explosive trap himself, he gestured for one of his soldiers to open the chest.

The
man obediently stepped forward, knelt down and unfastened the lock without question or pause.  He flipped the lid open and scampered back in surprise and horror.  Not seeing an explosion gave Alaric leave to step forward and peer into the container.  Inside, amid a torrent of buzzing flies, he saw four severed heads still wearing their Roman dress helmets signifying the rank of general.

“When we got word of the orders
we killed our commanders and wiped out their armies before they could visit the same upon us,” the soldier proudly reported.  “Four Roman armies lay dead, and we present to you nearly thirty thousand soldiers ready to serve you, so long as you lead them toward Rome to save their families from the extermination order.”

Alaric’s face lit up with excitement at the proposition.  It was better than he could have possibly imagined.  He took
a moment to clasp each of the four soldier’s forearms to seal the arrangement.  “Do not even bother having your men fall out of marching formation.  We will all be on the move as soon as my men can assemble.  The conquest of Rome is at hand.”

Hastelloy studied the
chieftain’s eyes as they assessed the chess board.  The game was only seven moves in and Hastelloy already had his opponent pinned.  If he took the bait and captured the queen, Hastelloy could deliver check mate with his bishop.  If the chieftain protected his king he stood to lose his rook, bishop and knight so the game was over either way.

Realizing the chess match no longer required
any concentration on his part, Hastelloy looked around the meager Egyptian village that served as cover for the tunnel exit point leading to the Nexus chamber.  The day was hot and sunny, but the tall tree outside his modest home built of clay bricks provided adequate shade to make things comfortable.

He came out of the Nexus regeneration chamber three years earlier.  Per his own orders he remained as master of the village to watch over the Nexus until another crew
member came out to relieve him of the tedious protective duty.  Sometimes it was mere weeks, others it was decades spent living in the simple village before a replacement arrived.  It was just the luck of the draw.

Though it lacked excitement, having a crew
member perpetually stationed in the village was critical.  Hastelloy still insisted no advanced machinery, like communication radios, could leave the village except in the most dire circumstances.  If advanced tools were found by the humans, the potential for Neo Scale cultural contamination was just too great.  This, unfortunately, left the crewmen scattered around the continents hunting for the last remaining Alpha relic with the difficult task of communicating with one another; which is where the village came in.

The one constant on this planet for the Novi was the hiding
place of the Nexus.  Whenever crewmen left the village they documented their identity, whereabouts and task to accomplish in a central log.  If discoveries were made or anyone ran into trouble, they sent word back to the village where the caretaker could send couriers to the rest of the scattered crew.  From start to finish the process sometimes took weeks, but it did the job.

“I know you are up to something
, Master,” his opponent said bringing Hastelloy’s mind back to the game.  “You never throw away a piece for no reason, but I cannot for the life of me figure it out.  That leaves me with doing the obvious and possibly learning something for next time.”

He captured the queen
with his knight, and Hastelloy immediately moved his bishop into position.  “Checkmate,” he said halfheartedly.   The village chieftain was a capable player, but this was just too easy to be even remotely enjoyable.

The
Chieftain just shook his head and smiled.  “I could live a thousand years and never win a match against you.  You have played countless games against me and the others in your village and never lost, how can you be so consistent?  How do you not slip up even once against a weaker foe?”

“A steady regimen
of discipline, and unwavering attention to detail,” Hastelloy instructed as the chieftain reset the board for another game.  He omitted the fact that even if the man did live to be a thousand, that would still leave Hastelloy about ten times his senior.

The rematch was interrupted by the arrival of a young man running up from the grain silos.  “We are about finished loading the wagons.”

Hastelloy looked up from the game board to see twenty workers in the final stages of tying down tarps over the beds of a dozen wagons.  “You made great time.  I think we can hold off leaving for market until the morning.”

The teenager was about to run off and enjoy his afternoon that was suddenly free of chores or responsibility
.  At the last moment the youth turned and handed Hastelloy a piece of paper.  “I almost forgot.  A messenger just arrived with a letter from your family abroad.”

Hastelloy took the folded piece of paper sealed with the wax imprint of Gallono.  “Thank you.”

He was about to dismiss the boy and play another game of chess, but Gallono’s brief letter put a stop to that plan.

Rome has fallen to barbarians from the north
.

-
Gallono

Hastelloy sprang to his feet, “Assemble the couriers.  We leave for the port in Alexandria immediately.”