Strength and Honor (20 page)

Caesar strolled across the floor, leaned on the railing that separated them. Caesar asked faintly, casually, looking up through the broken skylight. “Pompeii, what was that?”

Numa Pompeii clicked off his com. “They’re telling me it is Augustus.”

“Not dead, is he,” Romulus observed.

Numa, unapologetic, said, “My information on that
did
come from the Americans.” Romulus turned from the rail. “Senator Gaius, make Augustus come in.”

“I do not control him,” said Gaius. “I never have. I never supported patterner technology. Augustus already knows the truth of it, and he has made the judgment. He only needs to execute the sentence.”

Caesar’s eyes widened. He pointed, the full length of his arm extended toward Gaius, imperious. “Now
that
is a threat.”

Caesar’s guards did not hesitate to lay hands on Gaius this time and take him to a secure cell under the nearby Coliseum.

There were no prisons for punishing criminals in Rome. Imprisonment was not a sentence in the Empire. Cells were only for holding the accused for investigation and trial. And for holding slaves likely to flee.

Of the canister lying on the Senate floor in a scatter of glass bits, Caesar commanded: “Have a bomb squad destroy that!”

“No!” Senator Quirinius shouted, moving between the guards and the canister. “In the name of the Senate and the People of Rome, no! That was delivered to the Senate! The Senate must be allowed to view the message inside!”

Many other Senators shouted, murmured, grunted agreement. Even some of Caesar’s followers added their voices, curious to see what the patterner sent them.

The guards hesitated, torn between Caesar and the Senate. Caesar clearly feared what was inside the canister, which made even more Senators want to see it.

Romulus abruptly reversed himself. He waved off the guard. Told Senator Quirinius, “Go ahead. Take it. See what the traitor fed you through your roof before he ran away.”

Quirinius moved around Romulus to get at the canister.

Romulus spoke as Quirinius stooped to pick it up. “Clean it first. I would not want you to come down with something lethal and incurable.”

Imperial Intelligence opened the message canister before a room full of witnesses, and withdrew from it a document that turned out to be a copy of Magnus’ testament, date-sealed with a chemical tag. The seal’s molecules came from a specific numbered batch created for just this purpose. The molecular decay gave the document an indisputable time stamp.

“It is the testament of Caesar Magnus,” said the Intelligence magister. “The authentication copy.”

“Authentication copy?” said Caesar. “There is such a thing?”

“Yes, Caesar.”

“How would Augustus just happen to have it?” Caesar asked with heavy scorn.

The magister dropped his voice. “As the witness who sealed the original document, he is supposed to have it, Caesar.”

The document proved identical to the testament Romulus had unsealed before the Senate. Except this one had one more provision.

This one named Gaius Bruccius Eleutherius America-nus as heir to Caesar’s position. Caesar’s choice of his own successor was not binding. But Caesar’s choice was always due heavy consideration. Caesar Magnus’ nomination of Gaius had received none.

Gaius, brought before the assembled Senators in old-fashioned chains, was allowed to speak. “Romulus deleted the line,” said Gaius. “That is the reason Romulus waited until he believed Augustus was dead before he unsealed Magnus’ testament. Then I, as the only other witness, became target of an assassination attempt ordered by Romulus—Caesar Pretender.”

Gaius was returned to his cell while the Senate ordered data experts to make a close analysis of the testament Romulus had first presented to them.

Upon analysis, the experts concluded: Yes, there was evidence of an elision.

Romulus was then called to speak.

“Gentlemen,” said Romulus. “I am irritated. I am insulted. Know that this pains me deeply. I don’t deserve this. It is demeaning for me to have to explain this. Very well. Let us play this charade to the end. Let us assume, to argue on behalf of the devil, that someone may have deleted a line from my father’s testament. May not that someone have been
Augustus,
who is more than capable of perjury and data manipulation? The same Augustus who orchestrated my father’s murder? May not that someone have been
my father?
Could my father not have had second thoughts on naming an heir? And Gaius? My father named
Gaius?

“We have a story—from Gaius and the Americans— that someone made an attempt on the life of Gaius Bruccius Eleutherius Americanus. We have no proof that this attack ever occurred.

“Oh, yes, I know we have Gaius’ new skin as evidence of
something.
Is it not interesting that this purported attempt on Gaius’ life left Gaius in much better condition than he was in when he ran away? Better than when he ran away from Rome directly after
my father was murdered!

“Yet you look at me with suspicion. Was
I
ever a gang leader?
If my
father’s testament was altered, why are you assuming it was done by me?
I
wasn’t named Caesar’s heir. If I changed the testament,
why did I not put my own name down as heir!”

“Because it would be too obvious,” said Senator Trogus. “Because this way you can use the absence of your name as a sign of your innocence.”

“That is pathetic,” said Romulus. “That is so—never mind. The Senate confirmed me as Caesar based on my competence. But since you think you need to, go ahead. Retake your confirmation vote. I will abide by the decision of the Senate and the People of Rome. Do it. On
belief
that a rogue cyborg and a runaway
American
Senator— beneficiary of this fraud—have uncovered
my
father’s true—nonbinding—testament. Take your vote.”

There had been no Roman strikes on American soil for days, while rumors of political turmoil on Palatine made the rounds. With both
Merrimack
and
Wolfhound
orbiting Earth, Captain Farragut seized on the relative quiet to invite Captain Carmel to his Mess for dinner.

“Permission to come aboard,” Captain Carmel requested in
Merrimack’s
shuttle dock. “Come on in, Cal,” Farragut welcomed her in with a huge wave of his arm. At Farragut’s side, his normally sedate XO, Commander Gypsy Dent, saw Calli and cried, “Your
hair!”

Gypsy and Calli embraced, Gypsy crying, “Your
hair!”

Calli laughed, “What about my
face?”

“The face is fine,” said Gypsy. “It’s a face. But, oh, honey, we need to do something about this.” Gypsy fluffed up a brown tuft on Calli’s head.

“Cal, don’t take help from Gypsy,” said Farragut.

Gypsy held up a warning forefinger. Didn’t say it, but the words were in her flashing eyes,
Speak not of the hair.
Gypsy’s own elaborate and carnivorous-looking hair was still banished to her cabin.

The three officers proceeded to the Captain’s Mess. They were on appetizers when Lieutenant Hamilton appeared in the hatchway. She motioned down their looks of alarm and told them all to stay seated. “Nothing wrong with the boat, Captain,” she anticipated Farragut’s first question. “I just wanted to tell you this in person as soon as we heard it. Augustus is back.”

Farragut knocked over his champagne glass. Gypsy pushed away from the table to avoid the spill over the edge.

A small maintenance bot unobtrusively saw to the cleanup as Farragut demanded, “Where!” His heart leaped in eighteen different directions.

“On Palatine. Over Roma Nova.”

“Romulus is dead then,” Farragut concluded.

“No. Augustus dropped Magnus’ complete testament on the Senate floor.”

“And the Senate turned on Romulus like a pack of wolves,” Farragut wrote the end of that scene.

Lieutenant Glenn Hamilton hesitated on distasteful reality. “The Roman Senate reconfirmed Romulus as Caesar.”

Farragut could not stay in his seat. “They have proof that he’s a liar, probably a patricide, and—!”

“They don’t care,” said Hamster.

“Romans don’t back down, John,” Calli said. “It’s a proven fact that even Americans tend not to back down once they’ve taken a public stand, even in the face of compelling argument or new facts. Changing your mind makes you look indecisive. It’s a sign of weakness.”

“I thought—” Farragut strode to one end of the table. “I knew—I mean I
knew
—” To the other end of the table. “Once the truth came out, the Senate would toss their original vote. What the Senate did was—” Farragut sat back down, stunned. “I don’t believe it.”

“Welcome to the real world, sir,” said Gypsy, with a hand on his broad shoulder. She sounded rather sad. She liked John Farragut’s version of the world. “I hear you were an Eagle Scout.”

“I
am
an Eagle Scout,” said Farragut. You never stopped being an Eagle.

“Strength and Honor are worshiped in adjoining temples,” said Calli. “Rome’s been hitting the Strength pretty hard, a little light on the Honor.”

“It gets worse,” said Hamster. “On behalf of these United States, President Marissa Johnson recognized Romulus as head of state of the Empire of Rome.”

“What?”
Farragut and Gypsy spoke as one.

Only Calli was not surprised. “I have to guess Johnson doesn’t want to look like she’s undermining a foreign country’s legitimate government.”

“The CIA has been in that business for centuries,” said Farragut. “What’s different now?”

“Opposition to Romulus only reinforces popular support for him. Johnson’s recognizing Romulus defangs him. He can’t keep calling us lying, scheming tyrants if we’re saying hail Caesar.”

“Hope I didn’t ruin dinner,” said Hamster, taking a backward step, preparing to return to the command deck.

“No. Good call, Hamster,” said Farragut. “That was definitely a need-to-know.” He detained her with one more question, “Where is Augustus?”

“On the loose,” said Hamster. “With a price on his head.”

Chef Zack had peered into the Mess. He sent in the salad of Centaurian greens, broiled ostrich, and tussah fruit with a stronger bottle of wine.

Farragut speared one of the lavender-colored fruits. “So Romulus got Marissa to salute. The man can get anyone to do anything. I’m still wondering how Romulus got Magnus’ own friend to kill Magnus.”

“Money is the usual tool,” said Gypsy.

Assassinating a Caesar was clearly a suicide mission, so any money would be paid to a survivor. Though Imperial Intelligence would follow that money trail to the beneficiary, who would not remain a survivor for long.

And the assassin—his name was Urbicus—was an old friend of Magnus. He belonged to
gens
Julius same as Magnus and Romulus.

“This was not a work for hire,” said Calli.

Farragut tried another angle. “If someone were leaning on Urbicus, why wouldn’t Urbicus have just reported the threat to Imperial Intelligence? Does that mean it was Imperial Intelligence who was doing the leaning?”

“No. It means it had to do with sex,” said Gypsy.

“Of course it had to do with sex,” said Calli.

Farragut could not argue. What else could make a man so thoroughly misplace his brain? There was someone out there whom Urbicus had no business loving.

After both Caesar and the assassin were dead, Imperial Investigators recovering the assassin’s purged data files had found too too many pictures of a girl. A sloe-eyed bambi with long coltish legs. She was flat-chested and slender as a reed. But she was clothed in all the pictures.

It was obsession at a distance. Julius Urbicus had never actually crossed the last line with her. The girl did not even know him. Urbicus had a collection of images of her in the gymnasium, in the pool, at picnics, laying flowers in a temple, dancing in a school play, riding in a transport, sleeping in the sun.

“Think of Hadrian and Antinous,” said Calli.

Gypsy blinked away that image. “I’d rather not.”

“I have a sister her age,” said Farragut.

Calli said, “Would you rather be known as Caesar’s assassin or a pedophile?”

“Caesar’s assassin,” Farragut and Gypsy spoke as one. Then Farragut alone, “But Urbicus never touched that girl. He was just creepy, not criminal. How could Romulus get him to kill his friend Caesar Magnus and die over a secret like that?”

“Someone promised to cut up Pretty Girl if he didn’t kill Caesar,” Gypsy guessed. “That’s why Urbicus couldn’t take it to Imperial Intelligence. The double I’s would have killed her themselves to remove the lever.”

“Well, whoever was making the actual threats, it wasn’t Romulus,” said Calli. “Not directly. Romulus had no contact with Urbicus in the months before the assassination. Romulus’ enemies checked that.”

“Hell, I wouldn’t want contact with him either,” said Farragut.

“The
capita
always distances himself from the crime,” said Gypsy. “He gets someone else to tell someone else to walk and talk for him.”

“So Romulus would have had someone he trusted threaten Urbicus,” said Farragut, then echoed himself, “Someone Romulus trusted. That narrows it way down. Cal?”

A very odd look had fallen across Calli’s new face.

She said, “That narrows it down to one.”

“Rom?”

That was her innocent, wheedling voice. She wanted something. Romulus responded, “Hm?” She came into the study barefoot, her dress a jewel-

colored assembly of strategically tied scarves. Maybe there had been seven at one time, but now there were five.

“Who programmed that raunchy redhead in the Caligula room?” She flounced down to sit at his feet in a billow of silk where he sat at his reading desk.

“I don’t know,” said Romulus, eyes on his documents. “I have not seen her recently.”

“I deleted her.”

“That explains why I haven’t seen her.”

“She was rude to me.”

Romulus made a small noise like a partial laugh. “She’s just a bunch of code.”