The Twice and Future Caesar (38 page)

28 February 2444
U.S. Space Battleship
Merrimack
Solar System
Near Space

“Bogey,” Tactical reported. “Someone is out there. We have a ghost.”

“Hive?” Commander Carmel demanded.

“Not Hive. It's stealthy. Too massive for Romulus' Xerxes. Can't tell you much about the bogey except it's there. It's a gravitational whisper. He's close. He's here.”

“FTL jump! Jump now! Random vector. Execute!”

“Balk,” the pilot reported.

You felt the drag. Heard the strain in the engines. The space battleship refused to jump.

“We have an anchor.”

A drag on
Merrimack
's mass prevented any escape to FTL. Calli looked through a porthole. Didn't believe it. “It's
Gladiator
!”

Caesar Numa Pompeii's battlefort.

Commander Carmel called for siege stations as Captain Farragut barreled onto the command deck. “All hands, Personal Fields! Prepare to repel human boarders!”

Calli surrendered the com to the captain. “We're arrayed against Hive. Not against a conventional enemy.”

Farragut nodded. He knew that. “Son of a bitch.”

They watched on the ship's internal monitors as an opening formed in the inertial shell, an air lock giving way—someone opening the ship up as though he had keys. Shouts sounded from below, with the buzz of Roman stun sticks.

“Where's Augustus?”

“I am here,” Augustus said from the place where he usually lurked when he was on the command platform.

“Are you taking over my ship, Augustus?”

“Not I. Had Numa consulted with me—and he didn't—I would have advised him that opening up a second front in this war is fantastically stupid.”

“War? Numa calls it a wildfire.”

“You and I know that's
merda
.”

“Colonel Augustus. Step outside an air lock.”

“May I suit up first?”

“If you have to,” Farragut said, angry. He drew his sword and charged below to meet the boarders.

Marines lay in the corridors, immobilized, swords in hand. Farragut prayed that his men were only immobilized. He didn't see blood.

Unlike swords, stunners didn't need to touch you.

An interior air lock was open. Farragut heard Romans stomping in cadence inside his ship.

Farragut ran toward the sound.

They were big, the legionaries of Rome.
Mack
was nobody's yacht. Her passages were only as wide and high as they needed to be. Max height to
serve on a U.S. spaceship was six foot eight. None of these boys would pass muster. And Numa Pompeii was doublewide. His legionaries filled the corridor. They were marching away from Farragut.

Farragut broke into a run and yelled at the Romans' broad backs. “This way, dickheads!”

They turned as a unit. They were carrying shock sticks.

Numa Pompeii pressed between his men to face Captain Farragut. His gaze found the sword in Farragut's hand. Numa's deep voice was flat with disgust. “Swords. Really. Swords.” He looked down at the immobilized Marines, clutching their swords. “We thought we were being fed disinformation.” He spat. “Swords.”

Farragut spoke into his wrist com to the command deck. “All hands. Hold present positions.” Then to Numa, “Didn't Augustus tell you?”

“Aug—?” A deep crease appeared in Numa Pompeii's craggy face, genuine-looking confusion. “No. I don't use patterners. Is that abomination on board?”

“No. He deserted. He's probably on your boat.”

“That thing will not get on my ship.
This
Caesar doesn't use patterners.”

“I missed your declaration of war. Does this mean Caesar Romulus speaks for you?”

That rippled Numa's all-holy smugness. Numa's voice rumbled up from his vast chest. “That is not Caesar! The Empire and the United States are not at war!”

“You're on my boat!”
Farragut roared.

“It was necessary to show you mortal. You have an invincible reputation you don't deserve. I require information,” Numa said. “I shall have it. I need to know your secret to fighting the Hive.”

“You boarded me to ask me that? I'm fighting for my home. I don't expect to be back-doored by Caesar-fornicating-Numa-you-bastard-Pompeii!”

Numa demanded, impatient, “How did you survive what sixty-four imperial Legions did not?”

“Swords.”

“I heard that rubbish story. I am not here for fairy tales. Tell me how you survived the Hive.”

“Is that it?” Farragut cried. “You came here looking for a magic key. The magic key is the Hive harmonic. Romulus has it. But you didn't board
Romulus. You stormed in here to make it look like you're doing something. You boarded the wrong boat, because it's the one you could! You're a bigger fraud than Romulus is. I told you my secret weapon. It's swords. Get out.”

Numa's eyes flicked toward an attendant. The attendant must've been reading biometrics by which to judge Farragut's truthfulness. The attendant gave Caesar a small nod.

Numa's small eyes widened. “
Increditus
. You have nothing.”

“I have Americans. Go fight your own way. It's working so well for you.”

Numa spoke, witheringly. “Swords. One at a time.”

“That's how it's done.”

“I am a triumphalis. I am not an exterminator.”

“Yeah? Romans are no good against the Hive. Just make for fat gorgons. You go ahead and feed your surviving troops proudly to the Hive. Flush another sixty-four Legions and the rest of Rome down the crapper. Get off my boat. Take your patterner with you.”

“I do not now and never have had a patterner. But I will take the creature's Striker.”

“Go get it. Augustus' Striker is in the Myriad. Two thousand parsecs
that
way. Augustus is outside. Pick him up or let him drift. I don't care.”

“I leave you to your game of toy soldiers,” Numa said and strode away. Caesar's entourage closed behind him.

Farragut spoke at Numa's back, urgent, “Just so you know, a gorgon will eat its own weight in thirty seconds, then do it again. They burn dirty. If you open up half the body sack it usually dies, but the mouths don't get the message for another minute.”

Numa turned slowly, looked back scowling. Listening.

“Gorgons dodge beam fire and antimatter. And now it looks like they dodge flamethrowers too. Did you even watch that last battle? Tactics don't work twice. The Hive learns. They'll just get out of the way. If you meet a can opener, go for the joints. Anything you teach one gorgon, you've taught all of them. All the swarms that killed your sixty-four Legions? They know everything these swarms are doing here. They know the way to Earth. All of them do. Nothing you know of conventional warfare means spit against the Hive. Throw out your playbook, there's no strike zone. They're coming. They're here!”

Numa moved slowly, assessing. “Were you really a Boy Scout?”

“I
am
an Eagle Scout.”

Numa shook his head, and turned away muttering, “Who made you up?”

When the Roman battlefort
Gladiator
vanished into FTL existence, Calli advised Captain Farragut, “Sir. Numa's contingent didn't collect Augustus. Augustus is still outside. Should I have him picked up?”

“Ask me again when he's out of air,” Farragut snarled. Then. “No. Belay that. Pick the son of a she-dog up.”

Lieutenant Colonel Steele returned to the command platform, holstering his sidearm. His head was boiled-lobster red. He pronounced the ship clear of Romans other than Augustus.

Farragut nodded. “Casualties?”

“Minor.”

Farragut turned his gaze pointedly toward the red spatter on Steele's sleeve. “That's blood.”

“Roman,” said Steele.

“Caesar wasn't here to kill us,” Farragut said. “He's the enemy of our enemy.”

“Doesn't make him our friend, sir.”

“No,” Farragut agreed, still vibrating anger. “It doesn't. When we kill the Hive—and
we will kill the Hive
—be ready to eject Numa Pompeii from the game.”

Augustus reported to the command platform. Calli spoke across him. “Captain. You know that Colonel Augustus is a mole.”

Augustus looked very cross. “How can I be a mole? I'm a bald-faced Roman.”

“
Romulus
' mole,” Calli said. “You were in Romulus' captivity, aboard his Xerxes. Romulus restored your health and returned you to us.”

“Romulus didn't return me. I escaped. But yes, I do see the grounds for suspicion.”

Captain Farragut faced Augustus. “Are you loyal to Numa Pompeii?”

“I do not recognize Numa Pompeii. I'm loyal to Caesar Magnus and to Rome. But I will kiss the ring of anyone who kills Romulus. I take orders from John Farragut so long as your interests align with Rome's. After that, you'll need to neutralize me.”

“Kill you,” Farragut translated.

“Are you sure you could do that, John?” Calli asked.

“If I had to, yes.”

“I know,” Augustus said. “You did.”

“I . . . did what?”

“It's something Romulus remembers from his future life. You did. You killed me.”

Farragut was left without words for a moment. Finally, “I'm sorry.”

“Not looking for an apology.”

“Wasn't an apology,” Farragut said. “I'm just not happy that it could come to that.”

Captain Farragut opened up the bar. He stood drinking with the only man on board not subject to his command. He confessed, “Numa's right. We're bailing out an ocean with teaspoons. And I'm keeping hold of a company and crew who really want to run home and defend their own homes.”

“No one is deserting, young Captain,” Jose Maria said.

“No, God bless them. But we haven't begun to see gorgons.”

“I had a thought,” Jose Maria began. “If—when—we become coated with monsters again, we could take your
Merrimack
close to the sun. The monsters must let go or die.”

“I had that thought,” Farragut said.

“Ah. Then you also saw the problem with it.”

Farragut nodded. “If we head for the fire, we're saved but the gorgons will jump ship and take their mouths right back to Earth.”

“Still, it could give us some breathing room. Unless we allow ourselves to become overwhelmed.”

“Jose Maria, you don't need to be on the front line. Take your yacht to Terra Rica. Go home and be with your family.”

Jose Maria let his gaze drop to the deck. “No. And I confess altruism does not hold me here. You saw the video Romulus gave me. When Romulus is sure he has my attention and I am home with my family around me, my world will end.”

“Then you and your sword arm are welcome to stay here,” Farragut said.

2 March 2444
U.S. Space Battleship
Merrimack
Solar System
Near Space

“Rome has a new training recruiting video,” the com tech advised. “You're in it, Captain.”

“Rome does? Which Rome?”

“Numa Pompeii's Rome, sir.”

“Let's see it.”

The video on the main tactical display showed Caesar's hulking Praetorian Guard boarding
Merrimack
. Farragut hadn't realized he was being recorded. Last thing on his mind at the time.

Farragut watched himself giving Numa a quick and dirty, heavily edited guide to fighting the Hive.
A gorgon will eat its own weight in thirty seconds, then do it again. They burn dirty. If you open up half the body sack, it usually dies but the mouths don't get the message for another minute.

Farragut was astonished. “Numa listened to me. Son of a cur listened. This is a training video? That means Numa is taking on the Hive.
Rome is in the war
.” His excitement dropped a little on a following thought. “When this is all over, Numa is going to be dangerous.”

Found Augustus gazing at him strangely.

“What?” Farragut demanded.

“You think we're getting out of this alive.”

“I do,” Farragut said. How could he think else?

Augustus stared at him. “You're either an idiot or . . .”

“Or?”

“You see patterns I don't.”

“Major displacement event,” Tactical reported. “Hive sphere. Magnitude four. Thirty thousand miles out.”

That shocked everyone on the command platform.

“That puts it on the front porch,” Farragut said.

The gorgons could easily make planetfall.

“Yes, sir.” Tactical kept reporting, “Hive sphere. Magnitude three. Altitude twenty-one thousand miles.

“Hive sphere. Magnitude four. Altitude twenty-two thousand miles.

“Hive sphere. Magnitude four. Altitude twenty thousand miles.

“Hive sphere. Magnitude undefined. Altitude twenty thousand miles.”

The low band was pounding. The tactical display was thick with splintering Hive spheres.