Ultima (21 page)

With six hours left before the arrival of Ceres, the
Malleus Jesu
tore into the atmosphere of Mars. It was, Titus Valerius cried triumphantly, like a Roman
gladio
ripping through a barbarian's guts.

Gnaeus Junius, along with a
contubernium
of eight men under the command of Titus, was already tucked inside the heavily armored hide of a
testudo.
He clung to his couch harness, dug himself deeper into the padding, and told himself he was as safe as he could reasonably be, at such a moment, in his armored pressure suit, buried in his couch, inside an armored vehicle that in turn was swaddled in the hold of the
Malleus
, a kernel-powered fist of a ship. Thus Gnaeus was wrapped up in layers of cushioning and armor and hull plate, like a precious gift ready for transport to the favored son of an emperor.

But right now this gift was being delivered by falling headlong into the thin Martian air. The ship fell backside first, with its kernel bank burning bright to slow it down from its interplanetary speeds. Gnaeus just prayed that the thick hull, which right now was peeling away in layers to carry away excess heat, would last long enough to keep the ship intact through these painfully long heartbeats of the entry.

Ahead of him Gnaeus saw the men of the
contubernium
in their couches, all of them with their backs to him, soaking up the deceleration. A
contubernium
was formally a “tent group,” a unit within the legion—a band who trained, lived and fought together. They seemed relaxed. One of them was even
asleep
, as far as Gnaeus could see, a man called Marcus Vinius. They'd been through far worse than this in training, Titus had assured him.

Well, not Gnaeus. He was from a senatorial family; his time in the army, his jaunts into space, were only intended as stepping stones to better things, a few years of toughening up before he returned to a career in high politics, hopefully in the capital itself. His unwelcome assignment to the Romulus-Remus interstellar mission, while it kept him from coming up against warlike barbarians in Valhalla, had also kept him away from Rome for twenty-five years, in which time a new generation of pushy upstarts had come along to compete for such positions—a whole cadre just as bright and ambitious as Gnaeus, and not decades out of touch with the current intrigues and infighting at the top of the Empire, as he was.

And now,
this.
Invading a planet occupied by some kind of mad machine, and just as the sky was about to fall. Such adventures had certainly not been in Gnaeus's career plan.

The deceleration built to a brutal peak. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and wondered if it might not be better if the ship just disintegrated in the air and put an end to it all. But he didn't really mean that, not even in the worst moments. He had his duty to perform, after all.

And then, like a switch being closed, the deceleration dropped to nearly zero. Gnaeus was thrust forward against his harness, and his stomach rebelled at last, his breakfast of dried fish and bread splashing up out of his mouth.

Titus laughed and clapped him on the back. “Never mind,
optio.
Happens to us all. And none of us saw the
optio
spew up his guts like a little girl, did we, lads?”

“Not me, Titus Valerius.”

“Hang on, I'll wake up Marcus Vinius to make sure he didn't see you either—”

“All right, all right,” Gnaeus said, scrambling to regain his dignity. “Just make sure you're ready for the drop, Titus—
oof.
”

Now the ship lurched suddenly to the right, and there was a burst of acceleration.

“That's what you get when you're piloting in an atmosphere,” Titus said. “Coping with turbulence, the thickening air—a lot of dust around on Mars. And trying not to let the barbarians on the surface get a shot in at you. Don't worry,
optio.
You have to hand it to the
trierarchus
and her crew. These Brikanti know how to handle a ship.”

Gnaeus grunted. “Unfortunately there's another bunch of Brikanti on the ground who are trying to kill us.”

“Well, I wouldn't worry about that either, sir. If they get us, we'll never know about it.”

“Legionary, I wish you'd stop telling me not to worry. It's scaring me to death—”

“Oh, relax, sir. Why, I remember once on campaign—”

“All hands,” came a voice from crackly speakers. “This is Quintus Fabius. We're in the air over the Earthshine base, and ready to make the drops. Timings as we planned. Be ready—we're only going to take one run at this, before the
Malleus
takes me back into the safety of orbit where I belong. Call in. Yacht?”

“Eilidh here, Centurion. Ready to go, with Collius and the rest.”

“Good luck, and stand by. Jumpers?”

“Kerys here. All set, Centurion; suits and wings checked over.”

“Glad to hear it.
Testudo?
”

He was answered with a roar from the men of the
contubernium
, a clatter of weapons on breastplates; the din was enormous in the enclosed space of the vehicle. Titus yelled, “Let us at them, Centurion!”

“Try not to get overexcited, Titus Valerius—it's bad for a man of your age. Very well, everybody. Make sure you all keep in contact throughout the operation. That ball of ice in the sky is less than six hours away. But if you live, you won't be left behind, and that's a promise. Understood?”

The men of the
contubernium
yelled their assent.

“Then let's do this. Yacht—
go
!”

A door slammed open in the belly of the ship, and the whole fabric of the
Malleus
shuddered. Gnaeus imagined the Martian air snatching at the breach in the ship's hull as the small landing craft fell away.

“Jumpers!”

A lurch of deceleration as the ship slowed enough to allow the jumpers to hurl their fragile bodies out into the slipstream.

“And
testudo
!”

Gnaeus clutched his harness, bracing himself once again. Another door opened in the belly of the craft, this time directly below him. In the golden-brown Martian light, seen through the
testudo
's slit windows, Gnaeus could see the fleeing landscape, not far below.

The men in their rows of couches roared. Titus yelled and gunned the engine of the vehicle.

And with a clatter of released latches, the
testudo
was dropped from the belly of the spacecraft. For an instant Gnaeus was in free fall, and he imagined he was back in the timeless vacuum of space. Even the legionaries were silent as they fell, just for a moment.

Then the vehicle slammed into the dirt. Weight returned with a rush—and immediately, as the big mesh tires bit into the Martian dirt, the
testudo
surged forward. Once again Gnaeus was thrust back into his couch.

And, over the shoulder of Titus at his controls, through a slit window and a massive protective grill beyond, Gnaeus glimpsed the receding fire of the
Malleus
, and a tree, impossibly tall, that scraped the orange Martian sky.

•   •   •

Kerys tumbled out of the open hatch in the flank of the
Malleus
.

Slam!

Thin it might be even at this low altitude, but hitting the air of this small planet in nothing but a pressure suit felt like running into a wall. And it was full of gritty dust that hissed against her goggles.

Her speed in the air slowed quickly. She was still curled up in a ball, the posture she'd adopted as she'd jumped, better to survive the close passage of the
Malleus
. But she could hear the roar of the ship's drive recede, see its glare diminish from the corner of her eye. Now she spread out her arms and legs, letting the air snatch at her and stabilize her. Her speed reduced further and her fall became more orderly, with the buttery sky above her, a scarred rusty landscape below, a pale, diminished sun not far above the horizon. There below her she saw Earthshine's facilities, the three compounds linked by dusty tracks, just as in Quintus's images: the bunker, the kernel-drive ship that was her own destination, and that impossibly tall tree in its narrow air tent. On target, then.

And there was a brilliant point of light directly overhead, like a single star that seemed brighter than the sun. Höd, coming for its lethal rendezvous. She looked away, blinking away the dazzle from her eyes.

At the appropriate time she tore at a patch of leather on her chest. Cables ripped free, and she felt bales of fabric unfold at her back. Again she braced herself, folding her arms over her chest. When her wings snatched at the air she was slowed dramatically, a hard tug that wrenched at her lower gut and made her gasp. But it was over in a moment, and when she looked up her wings were spread wide across the sky. Scraped leather stiffened with ribs of wood, the wings had been modeled on the wings of hovering seabirds, such as albatrosses, but this particular set was, of course, adapted for the thin Martian air, and much larger than she would have needed over Terra.

And they were safely open. She felt a surge of satisfaction. Safe for now—at least until she and her sole companion, Freydis, a midranking
remex
, went flying up into Höd itself, if they ever got that far . . .

Just as she thought of Freydis, a sprawling shape banked across her vision and the small speakers in her enclosed helmet crackled. “Whee!”

“Stop showing off, Freydis.”

“Sorry,
nauarchus
. But isn't this grand? Flying over Mars!”

Kerys didn't want to discourage her, but she couldn't suppress a sigh. “If you're thirty years old, as you are, and strong enough that you didn't get your guts pulled out of your backside when your wings opened, and if you're an inexperienced idiot—yes, Freydis. ‘Grand' is the word I would have used.”

“Sorry,
nauarchus
.” Freydis quickly calmed down.

Kerys peered down at the ground, tweaking her wings to make sure she was heading for the stubby cylinder that was the
Celyn
, with its support facilities around it—and she spotted small dark specks that must be crew and guards, waiting for her as she fell from the sky. She called Freydis again. “You know the plan. We're both wearing identity beacons that mark us out as messengers from the Navy headquarters at Dumnona. Here we are with revised orders for the crew of that ship below. Yes? They'll reject any such orders, but with any luck the bluff will confuse them long enough at least for us to land before they start shooting. Don't do or say anything to give us away; just follow my lead.”

“I understand,
nauarchus
.”

Kerys looked across at her. “So, you're ready for this? I picked you because you are the best qualified of the crew, in my view. Your aptitude for piloting and independent thinking is exceptional. I also know you trained at Kalinski's Academy of Saint Jonbar. So you know all about these people, their strange origin, the peculiar nature of this entity Earthshine.”

“Probably as much as anybody at my pay grade,
nauarchus
.”

That made Kerys laugh. But then she looked down at the heavily armed and suspicious troops on the ground waiting to greet them, and up at the looming presence of the asteroid preparing to smash this world to slag, and she considered the unlikely sequence of events that would be necessary if this bright, eager
remex
was to survive the day—and all because of her, Kerys, and her insane plan.

“
Nauarchus!
The troops below. They seem distracted. Look, they're turning away from us. They're running, toward—what? A new muster point to the south of here.”

Kerys tweaked her wings, and swiveled in the air so she could see better. And she made out a vehicle roaring across the ground, coated with heavy black armor, churning up a cloud of Martian dust behind it, with the flag of the Legio XC Victrix fluttering in the thin air: roaring straight toward the compound to the south, where that spindly tree grew tall.

“That's the
testudo
. They made it.” She couldn't help raise a fist, careless of being seen from the ground. “Go, you ugly Roman bastards! Go, go!”

•   •   •

The
testudo
bounced as it raced over the ground, and Gnaeus had to cling to the edge of his couch. They were following one of the dirt tracks the Brikanti had laid down, but it was no Roman road—or at least it wasn't meant to be taken at this speed.

Still, Gnaeus peered ahead at the mighty trunk of the tree, marveling at the green of its leaves, vivid in the Martian light despite the obscuring air tent within which the whole tree was enclosed. The tent itself was a cylinder, faintly visible because of a coating of adhered dust. The vehicle was already so close that Gnaeus Junius couldn't see the tree's upper branches, its crown.

“That thing is ridiculous,” Titus Valerius said, as he worked the levers that controlled the charging
testudo
.

“It's a quarter of a mile tall, Titus Valerius. It's a marvel of biology—of human engineering.”

Titus grunted. “A marvel to which these Brikanti and their
druidh
would nail us if we ever gave them the chance. And as for its length, you and I can pace it out when we've brought it down.”

“It seems a crime.”

“Most actions of the Roman army seem like crimes if you're on the receiving end of them, I daresay, sir.” He called over his shoulder, “All right, lads, wake up and be ready to move. We'll topple that unnatural thing, and then it's out of this tin can and at the Brikanti.”

“Let us at them, Titus Valerius.”

“Don't sound too eager, Scorpus, will you? Now then, shut up and let me concentrate on that cursed tree.”

The
testudo
carried a rack of missiles, and there was a simple sight stencilled on the forward window. All Titus had to do, Gnaeus knew, was to line up the sight mark directly on the trunk of the tree, which was a conveniently vertical and highly visible target. They reached a comparatively smooth stretch of track, the jolting of the vehicle subsided, comparatively—and Titus at last closed the firing switch.