Strength and Honor (12 page)

82 Eridani was an old disk star, born eleven billion years ago. It was a yellow star, G type, superficially like Sol, close to Sol in size but over twice its age and less luminous. For a star born so early, 82 Eridani had a lot of metal. It was element-poor compared to second-generation stars. Sol had twice as much iron as did 82 Eridani.

Even so, 82 Eridani managed to spawn planets solid enough to walk on. The earliest evidence of sapient life in the known galaxy had been found on 82 Eridani’s third planet. Humans had only explored an eighth of the Milky Way galaxy, so they had only a small sampling of possible worlds, but an age of ten billion years for sapient life was looking like a hard record to beat.

Life on 82 Eridani III died ten billion years ago. With the elements available at the time, the aboriginal inhabitants could not have been robust, so there were no physical remains of the beings themselves. Ten billion years was a lot of time for lightweight remains to turn to dust. The artifacts which human explorers found on the planet were few and often suspected of having been planted there, though challenges to their age held up against any test.

A near pass of something large had swept away the atmosphere of the third planet of 82 Eridani aeons ago. Its surface was mostly bedrock.

The star system’s rotation had slowed over the last billion years, and the third planet’s orbit had widened out of the habitable zone. The planet’s rotation had slowed so that its days lasted longer than an Earthly year.

Terraforming had never been attempted. With inadequate raw materials in the star system, the planet would never be self-supporting. In human hands it had only ever been a scientific outpost, unprofitable and abandoned.

Born before the Milky Way galaxy settled into its spiral shape, 82 Eridani had been around the galaxy a couple of times on a highly eccentric orbit, moving very fast.

82 Eridani had seen it all.

Romans called the third planet 82 Eridani III.

American archaeologists called it Planet Xi.

It had been dead a long, long time.

Roman drones circled in, skimming the rocky surface. The star 82 Eridani shone as a small, cold, orange-yellow disk in the skyless night. The drones transmitted images back by res pulse on a harmonic specific to their mission. Passive scans of ambient radiation were translated to digital images at the drone’s controlling station within Fortress Aeyrie, which lurked in the wide-open vastness of space.

The watchers searched for something. Anything. Finding nothing.

Nothing might be a good thing. If no one had any interest in 82 Eridani III, then Rome could smuggle a missile site down there—and paint it red, white, and blue just in case the LEN authorities spotted it and wanted to sanction someone.

The remote pilots located a level site and set down their drones.

The pilots themselves sat light-hours away in a clear, uncluttered compartment inside Fortress Aeyrie, underneath the palace proper. Their displays moved with their heads.

“Motion!” a remote pilot reported, too loud, too excited, wholly unexpected. “The instruments detect motion.”

The pilot flinched at the sound of someone else’s hand slapping against a console, like an
ah-ha\
Someone crowed, “Got them!”

Another pilot confirmed, “I have motion.”

The curator moved in closer to the spotters. “Naturally occurring motion?” Lollius Lunaris requested guardedly. He needed to be absolutely certain of his facts before reporting anything to Caesar.

“Can’t be,” said one of the remote pilots who had yet to detect anything. “Not on this rock. No seismic activity. The core has gone cold.”

“This motion is localized,” said the first spotter.

The curator put out the wanted conclusion: “The Americans have an underground installation!”

The first pilot shook his head. “I don’t see how. Our rovers put down on bedrock.”

“I know that,” said the curator. “Tell me, how else does bedrock move?”

“Domni,
I just drive and shoot.” The first pilot magnified his holographic display to fill half the compartment. Scans from the cold distant rock were enhanced to give visual images of what existed in total darkness.

As the curator viewed the barren image from Planet Xi, a smooth tentacle broke free of the planet bedrock, reached toward the camera, looped around it.

The image went dark.

Fortress Aeyrie was a Caesar’s spaceborne mobile palace. The Fortress Aeyrie of Caesar Magnus had been designed to fill the visitor with wonder. The Fortress Aeryie of Caesar Romulus was meant to scare the crap out of him.

Magnus’ fortress had been wrapped in mist. Inside the glistening mist, space opened to brilliant clouds where winged creatures cavorted in the light.

Romulus’ fortress was shrouded in dark fog. Inside was a pillar of fire. The visitor must fly into the Inferno to dock with the fortress.

The smart pilot kept his viewports dark and flew in by instrument readings only.

The audience hall of Caesar Romulus was a black sky filled with auroras and lightning flashes. The music was loud and moody, underscored with a heavy percussion line.

Romulus also had a chamber in each of his palaces called the Caligula Room, each an indulgent piece of work for only Caesar and his closest friends to enjoy. The programmers had great fun designing and generating all those women, and testing the sensory virtual masks that made the illusions interactive.

Lollius Lunaris, the curator of the remote reconnaissance force, was never invited to the Caligula Room. The curator approached Caesar’s audience hall. He steeled himself against Caesar’s sense of humor.

Lollius Lunaris was admitted through doors that could dwarf a blue whale. He looked across a chasm to where Romulus was seated on his lightning throne.

Romulus looked a natural thirty-seven, his athletic build in perfect proportion. Romulus favored clothes that showed off his physique. You seldom saw the man in a toga—not the easiest thing to drape or to wear well. Lunaris did not own one.

Romulus was here in black close-fitting trousers, a short, sleeveless scarlet tunic, and a short, jaunty scarlet cape over one shoulder, secured with a golden chain that ran under his muscular right arm.

A gold oak crown sat on his thick dark locks, the gold nearly lost in his loose curls. He had the dark indulgent features of a god of love—sultry dark eyes with heavy dark lashes; pouting lips seductively shaped.

The space between Lunaris and the throne looked like a bottomless pit.

Caesar beckoned.

Lunaris must trust Caesar that the floor, against all appearances, was in fact solid under the illusion. He took a breath for courage. Took a step over the edge. Plummeted
down. Oh gods—

And slammed into an invisible deck less than two meters down.

Lunaris lifted himself to hands and knees in seeming midair, looking down into the abyss, sure he saw his stomach down there, continuing on down and down.

“You need not bow quite so low,” said Romulus.

“Yes, Caesar.” Lunaris got up, trying to show a game smile. Refrained from rubbing his wrists, which hurt like hell.

“Have you seen this?” Caesar gestured toward an illusion that began to take shape on one wall. It appeared like a huge window opening to a scene two thousand parsecs away.

The Fort Eisenhower Shotgun churned out gray smoke into its own protective energy sphere. “Yes, Caesar,” Lunaris answered, feeling round for the edges of his pit to pull himself out. “Your Deep End counterparts accomplished this.”

Caesar was pitting Lunaris against the curator of the remotes in the Deep. “Did they confirm the damage, Caesar?” Lunaris asked. “What does this look like?” said Romulus, enjoying the scene. “Looks like an image taken from outside the American perimeter,” said Lunaris.

“Well, yes. The Americans destroyed all the drones inside the perimeter,” said Caesar, then added with a smile,
“After
they did this.”

“With respect, that is not good confirmation, Caesar.”

“Don’t be jealous, Lunaris.”

Lollius Lunaris was not a high level Intelligence officer but he knew that Imperial Intelligence had a paid informant within Fort Eisenhower—an American, a midlevel agent in the fort’s own Naval Intelligence service. That informant ought to be able to confirm or deny the damage to the Shotgun. It disturbed Lunaris that Caesar had not invoked better confirmation than pictures of smoke.

But Lunaris could see he was vexing Caesar. He proceeded cautiously. “Does Caesar know what submarines subject to bombardment by depth charges did during World War Two?”

“I have little interest in ancient history that is not Roman,” said Romulus, losing his good mood. “You asked for this audience. What do you have for me?”

“Gorgons, Caesar.”

“I have no interest in those either.”

“The Hive is on 82 Eridani HI.”

“No.”

“No,
Caesar?” Lunaris was reporting fact, not a selection of options. “No, it is not possible,” said Caesar. “Please come see what we are looking at,” Lunaris started quickly.

“You
are summoning me?”

“Caesar may check our sources and point out where we misinterpreted the data,” said Lunaris.

Romulus rose spryly and jogged down from his dais.

He crossed the abyss, appearing to stride on nothing. He halted at the edge of the trap Lunaris had fallen into. “Get out of that hole,” he ordered.

Lunaris scrambled out of the pit. Romulus took him by the arm, steered him around the trap to the mammoth doors and pushed him out ahead of him. “Show me.”

The six remote pilots rose at their stations and stood at stiff attention upon Caesar’s entrance.

“I’m not causing a prang, am I?” Caesar asked, jovially, seeing all the pilots abandoning their controls.

“No, Caesar,” Lunaris answered for them.

The reconnaissance drones were equipped with survival backups in case of loss of their resonant control signal.

Lunaris presented Caesar with live images transmitted from the rovers on 82 Eridani III. Luckily there continued to stream images of tentacles breaking out of solid rock for Caesar to witness.

Romulus watched for several moments, then said, “This is a ‘scarecrow.’ “ He used the American word. “We know for a fact that John Farragut’s Attack Group used to carry mock gorgons with them. This is one of those. Don’t believe all you see.” Romulus patted Lollius Lunaris on the back and smiled at him, “You know better.”

Then one rover’s transmitter showed tentacles disassembling another rover.

Romulus nodded at that image. “You see? Real gorgons would just ignore the rovers because the rovers are not edible. Gorgons only attack metal or polymers if something organic is inside the inedible shell.”

“With respect, Caesar,” said Lunaris, “would a newly hatched gorgon know what is edible and what is not? Wouldn’t they think if it moves itself and resonates, then it must be alive?”

“It is not Descartes,” said Romulus. “It does not
think.”

“I advise that we inform the League of Earth Nations of this and advise them to sanitize the world with a neutron hose,” said Lollius Lunaris.

“No.” Lunaris sputtered. “This puts gorgons within a year of Palatine!” Top speed of the old Hive clocked out at 200 times the speed of light. If these gorgons achieved spaceflight, they could be on Earth even sooner than they hit Palatine.

Romulus ignored him. “Recall those rovers.”

“Caesar! Gorgons have attached themselves to several of the rovers!”

“Good,” Romulus said. “Bring them in. Let us take a look at the American scarecrows. We can trace their manufacture back to the United States, and that will give us legitimate access to the planet. This is exactly what we were looking for. You have done well, Lunaris. Be happy.”

“And if they are real gorgons, Caesar?”

“Then John Farragut is not the only man in the galaxy who can use a sword,” said Caesar. And on second thought, his hands on either hip where one might wear a scabbard, “Do we have a sword in the palace?”

It took the Roman drones two hours to make rendezvous with Fortress Aeyrie. The palace defenses scanned them for explosives and unauthorized devices. Finding none, the drones were allowed inside the fortress’ energy barrier.

“Now we shall see what our gorgons are really made of,” said Romulus.

As the drones passed through Fortress Aeyrie’s protective field, scarab crickets left their heraldic poses on either side of monumental archways in the palace.

Caesar watched the large insectoids detach from their posts and fly. He had never seen them move, much less fly. “I thought those were bronze ornaments!”

“I think this is what they call Hive sign,” said Lollius Lunaris nervously.

“I think you’re right,” said Romulus, intrigued.

“We need to get you to safety, Caesar.”

“I
am
safe! I’m going to kill a gorgon. Where’s my sword?”

This was not Magnus’ palace any more. Romulus kept weapons in Fortress Aeyrie. An attendant ordered a sharp sword brought down to the rover bay in the lowest level of the fortress.

The returning recon drones slid home into their allotted tubes, which were thirty centimeters in diameter.

Two of the outside caps would not shut.

An inside cap swelled, popped off like a projectile, narrowly missing Caesar’s attendant as it bulleted across the compartment and pierced the rear partition.

And something bulged out from the uncapped rover tube, growing, like a hideously distended bowel, diseased, black and oily looking, inflating.

Then a shock of tentacles bloomed free and inflated into hose shapes. Rings and rings of teeth terminated each hose, so the thing looked like a nest of grasping moray eels.

Romulus danced in close with his sword and swung a mighty stroke that mowed off the toothed ends in a swathe. The tips fell to the floor, teeth still gnashing like razor blades. In moments they dissolved in a caustic pool.

The cut stumps of tentacles, still attached to the oily body, emerged from the tube, spurting gore. They splashed Romulus’ hand. Romulus studied his hand with interest, the palm, the back, the palm again. “That stings.”