Wolf’s Empire: Gladiator (19 page)

“I like you,” Mania called after me. “You know, I trap more than just animals. I trap dreams and I'm pretty good at it too. I bet yours are filled with fire and pain, aren't they? I can see it in your eyes.”

“You shouldn't play with fire unless you want to get burned,” I replied as the door slid shut. Her astute guess about my nightmares unsettled me, and I hoped I hadn't given any sign that she'd hit the mark.

The second Crassus and I were alone, I demanded he remove the bracelet.

“You gave me no choice. Quid pro quo, Accala—I do for you and you do for me. We'd agreed that you would be obliging, and you decided to have your own bright ideas. You were going to attack Lurco and then Licinus, don't try to say you weren't. If I hadn't put that on your wrist, you'd be dead and your little brother not far behind. Is that what you want?”

“You know it isn't,” I said, gritting my teeth.

“Once the tournament is under way, when the time is right, we will work together to strike at our mutual enemy. Until then, you must play along. So let me hear you say it. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes. For now. I will obey.”

X

O
UR TRIREME WAS A
speck against
Incitatus,
the vessel that would carry us to Olympus Decimus and the Emperor's Great Games. Ominous and foreboding, clad in black-and-red armor plate, it hung in dark space and resembled a giant bird in flight, outstretched wings and a narrow prow, the Sertorian standard of the crimson hawk emblazoned on its primary communication tower.

The pride of the Sertorian fleet, Proconsul Aquilinus' flagship was a deceres-class ten-deck war carrier, capable of transporting a squadron of attack triremes, quinqueremes, and single-pilot talon attack fighters. It had been stripped of most of its cannons and missile turrets to satisfy the tournament rules restricting heavy armaments within a light-year perimeter of the arena world.

Crassus explained to me that
Incitatus
was named for the favorite horse of Caligula, the mad emperor of ancient days whom the Sertorians glorified as their genetic ancestor.

Caligula had given his horse a fine house, slaves, a stable of marble, a trough of ivory, and a decorative harness dripping with rare jewels. In similar style, Proconsul Aquilinus had his flagship embossed in shining gold, platinum, and ruby—liquefied and cast in decorative channels along the ship's hull. My remembrance of the story was that Caligula was mad enough to make his horse a high priest and would have made him a consul if the Senate and Praetorian Guard, tired of his outrages, hadn't teamed up to assassinate him. I assumed they probably killed the horse as well, or maybe they set it free to roam in the countryside, far from the strange demands of human beings. Aquilinus, the Sertorians' proconsul, hadn't made any public display of madness to rival Caligula, but who knew what he would be capable of if he rose to take the emperor's throne? History had borne out again and again that dark desires and near-infinite power were never a good combination.

The shuttle entered the docking bay, and we exited to a vast hangar buzzing with Sertorians in red-and-black uniforms. The noise was tremendous—hundreds of soldiers and technicians moved purposefully, preparing for departure. It was like being dropped into a bird's gizzard. All of them worked together, like a hawk's body breaking down its food.

“You see?” Crassus said proudly. “This is the seventeenth legion Sertorian. Strength through discipline. Our greatness is built on more than just good genes.”

A train of black steel cages with narrowly fitted bars was being transported across the docking bay floor. Sauromatae claws stuck out through the gaps of one cage as the creatures tried to escape. The serpentine tail of a Galatian chimera flicked briefly out between another set of bars, and something was shrieking. It was a cavalcade of imprisoned barbarians who were none too happy about the future that awaited them aboard a Sertorian ship. I didn't blame them. I felt a headache coming on as I watched the beast cages, a dull buzz at the back of my skull like tinnitus but with a pulse.

As Crassus led me through the vessel, the legionaries around us began sniggering and chattering. Their jeers grew increasingly louder; some were running ahead to tell others so they could join in the fun—the wolf that stumbled into the hawk's nest. I was the new inmate in the Sertorian madhouse. I tried to maintain an air of dignity, but every dozen steps or so, I'd realize I was holding my breath and be forced to take a big, gasping inhalation like a fish suddenly finding itself marooned on dry land.

The interior of the ship was sleek, antiseptic. Efficient, streamlined, like a well-run abattoir. Everywhere alien slaves polished, swept, scrubbed, and cleaned. We traveled to the officers' quarters on the mid-decks. Polished steel and black marble floors and walls were embedded with bands of illuminated ruby. It had no life, no art, none of the organic lived-in quality of Viridian ships, which had simple, utilitarian designs and were rough and scuffed with honest wear. The Sertorian deck was clean enough to eat off of.

“The accommodation aboard a military ship is primitive, but it will have to suffice until we reach our destination,” Crassus said.

Gaius Crassus' rooms were the most lavish ship's quarters I'd ever seen. A wall-length portal, handmade rugs of deep crimson, plush divans, floor lamps made from the hides of exotic animals, the walls lined with hunting weapons and gladiatorial trophies—wreaths, banners, the helmets of worthy enemies. The room reeked of his musky cologne.

“Please refresh yourself here. I'll join you later after I've reported back to the proconsul.”

“Proconsul Aquilinus is aboard the ship?” I asked.

“He's on Sertorius Primus for now but will arrive on Olympus Decimus in time for the games,” Crassus said with a curt bow to excuse himself.

“Wait, these are your quarters. I will require my own rooms.”

“You've made your bed and you might as well lie in it, and why not with me? I am the closest thing you have to an ally aboard this ship. Remember, as you reminded me earlier, you are humiliores now, a person without a house, a slave whose humanity is the only advantage you possess over a common alien.”

“Go to hell. I'll take any other cabin.”

“Are you certain? Humble quarters may not be suitable for a lady. Here with me you will have fine food, warmth, comfort at night to help you survive the difficult days ahead. Our bodies are merely vehicles for our will; there's nothing unnatural about taking pleasure in them.” He reached out to touch my cheek, but I jerked away.

“As you've pointed out, I'm your slave, so here's where we find out how civilized a Sertorian can be. You can legally torture me or rape me. I'm less than a prostitute, you wouldn't even have to pay a sesterce to use me. I have suffered many indignities today in the interest of saving my brother's life. Will you add the offense of rape too?”

“Lady, I—”

“I told you, I'm not a lady anymore.”

“Very well, it shall be as you wish,” he said, somewhat taken aback. “We are not all animals, as you might think. Civility is important to me, and I can only hope that your attitude toward me softens over the course of our voyage. I desire you, I think you know that, but I will not take you unless you will it, unless you offer yourself to me.”

“Not even if Hades were to freeze over.”

“Perhaps, we'll see. Remember, I am your ally and guide. To treat me as the enemy is to miss the mark and endanger your mission.”

Crassus snapped his fingers, and an Iceni stepped forward, head lowered and palms open, awaiting his orders. I hadn't even noticed it on entering.

“Alba here will be your body slave and help you prepare. I can't send you to the female legionaries' quarters. The fights would never end.” Crassus covered his mouth with his hand, thumb pressing upon cheekbone as he pondered my situation. “I've got it. Alba, show Accala to the collegia's quarters.”

“Any collegium in particular, dominus?” the Iceni squeaked. “There are not many vacant bunks.”

“‘Not many' means that there are some. Send her wherever there's a spare bed. Must I think of everything for you?” He looked back at me as he left, as if to say,
Slaves! How much stupidity must a master endure?

Alba led me to an elevator which took us down into the depths of the overcrowded lower decks. Here were to be found the cramped quarters of the collegia's auxiliaries.

I'd encountered collegia representatives many times at home and at the Senate. They came to negotiate terms with my father, to cut a better deal for their members. Nothing could be built, shipped, mined, healed, traded, or repaired without the collegia's manpower and in an eight-thousand-year-old galaxy-spanning empire, that made them the most powerful force after the noble houses. Even prostitution had its own collegial guild. The houses disliked the collegia intensely, regarding them in a slightly better light than organized criminal gangs (and vice versa—the collegia bore no love for the houses), but mutual need kept them on functional, if not friendly, terms.

The small alien led me to the women's wing, where I saw the symbols of collegia nurses, slave handlers, prostitutes. Just as in every aspect of Roman life, the men held the prestigious positions and the women were left with the dirty work.

The Iceni opened the door, revealing a room that was so small it could easily have been mistaken for a kitchen lardarium. It had a single portal, a thick, narrow bench top emerging from the wall, a tall storage locker, and a double bunk. If Crassus' quarters were classed as a cabin, I didn't know what to call these accommodations—a tin can?

“What's
she
doing here?” a voice asked.

A redheaded woman lay motionless on the bottom bunk. She certainly couldn't be a Sertorian—they'd eliminated redheads from their gene pool. A tool chest on the floor was marked with the symbol of the Vulcaneum immunes—trained auxiliaries, hired to build and repair machines, often in stressful environments. A female field engineer? That was admirable. She wore the orange-and-gold uniform of her collegium. They trained them tough; some members of the Vulcaneum saw more action than a legion soldier.

“Dominus, Crassus Sertorius says she is to sleep here,” the Iceni slave said.

The woman looked me up and down. “You're that Mock Hawk everyone's talking about, aren't you?” Before I could answer, she said to Alba, “She's bad luck. Take her somewhere else.”

“There are no other rooms for her,” Alba said. “She is a contestant in the tournament.”

“I know damn well who she is. She's the only Viridian on a ship full of Sertorians. She's trouble on two legs. Send her back to Crassus.”

“I am no longer a Viridian,” I said.

“The master offered her his best rooms. She won't stay in them,” the Iceni said.

The redhead snorted like she'd heard something funny. “Hmph. I don't blame you. Most of the women down here swoon as he walks by, but Crassus isn't my type either.”

“Why not?” I asked. “He's handsome enough.”

“He makes my skin crawl. Don't ask me why, he just does. Come to think of it, I have the same reaction around most Sertorians.”

“This is a funny place to end up, then.”

“It's a means to an end. The Sertorians have the most money and that means I can get my hands dirty working on the best engines.”

I took an instant liking to her and her uninhibited expressiveness in discussing Sertorians. The skills possessed by the collegia granted them a certain immunity from the houses and the confines of polite society. It was not permitted to assault or torture collegia members without good legal cause, and even then, if their guild membership fees were paid up, they could expect their particular collegium to come to their aid if they were unduly harassed or injured.

Departure imminent.
An announcement came through a speaker panel above the door.

“If you're going to stay, then lie down,” the immune said.

“Pardon me?”

“Lie down. On the bunk.”

“I shall stand,” I declared. She might be an amusing character, but if we were going to be bunked together I had to teach her from the outset that I had no intention of jumping to every time a plebeian laborer wanted to show me who was boss.

As I walked over to the small portal, a faint vibration carried up through the deck. The ship's engines were firing up. Out the portal I could see Mother Earth. Within a few hours we would reach Jupiter, and from there enter into the first Janus Cardo—a gateway of folded space that would allow our ships to travel vast distances in relatively short time. It would be a four-week voyage to Olympus Decimus passing through four Janus Cardo—an equivalent journey of countless generations without them, even with the empire's most powerful engines driving us through the darkness. The empire couldn't run without the Janus Cardo. If they collapsed in on themselves like a house of cards, the distances between the provinces would suddenly become impossible to navigate. Looking down at the blue and green sphere I'd called home my entire life, I wondered if it wouldn't be a bad thing—if the network did fail and every house just stayed in their own province, thousands of light-years apart—peace through the tyranny of distance.

All of a sudden, the ship's thrusters kicked in and I fell to my hands and knees, weighed down as if a mountain had been dropped on me.

“It's the acceleration required to escape Earth's gravity,” the redhead said. “It's a killer, isn't it? They don't turn on the inertial dampeners until after the launch; it slows the initial thrust.”

My muscles gave out and I fell flat to the floor, trapped by the invisible pressure until a pinging chime sounded, the dampeners kicked in, and I could sit up and move. My muscles ached from the sudden strain.