Strength and Honor (31 page)

“Singing! Can’t you tell?”

Kerry Blue’s giggle. “No.”

Felt/heard the jarring bang underneath them. Kerry Blue’s grunt. Cold spot on his back where she had just been. Him sailing through the air without his Silver Horse. Hit the ground hard. Heard a snap. No pain. Real bad sign.

Heard words he only understood because he was wearing a language module:
“Don’t move.”

24

^T
HE PROVINCE AROUND THE ROMAN
capital city maintained a facade of normality. By A now Caesar was aware there were enemy vermin on the planet, but refused to acknowledge they were of any consequence. As for the power, water, and communications problems elsewhere, well, some inconveniences were to be expected.

He also knew that U.S. ships were somewhere outside the star system turning merchant vessels away from Palatine. He would just see how long the League of Earth Nations tolerated
that.
If the Americans could use the LEN as a lever, so could he.

There had been a few minor surprises, but Caesar Romulus knew he was winning this war. Today the Magister of Imperial Intelligence, in person, carried the head of Augustus to Caesar. It was not actually the head. That would be too grisly. Too psychotic. Rome was a modern civilization.

What Munda brought to Caesar was Augustus’ black box—the data bank that had been implanted inside the patterner’s head—on a covered silver platter.

The Magister of Imperial Intelligence was tall, severe, his face thin and hard like something carved in stone with razor blades. Munda had no ability to smile, not even an evil smile. His sense of drama was limited. He did not carry the silver platter over his head, balanced on one palm, or even have a servant do it for him.

Munda brought the platter to the palace in the company of three of his
curiosi,
agents of the secret police. They were admitted to a reception hall.

No holoimages shrouded this room. No illusions. No lightning strikes, of which Romulus was notoriously fond. Munda did not like holos around him when he was not the one controlling them.

This room was only what it appeared to be. The walls enclosed a wide and tall space in the palace annex, with tall Ionic columns, beautiful frescoes of gardens and villas and aqueducts, olive trees and grape vines. Sedate paintings, all of them. The frisky frescoes were in the bathhouse. The floor of mosaic tile featured animal portraits within geometric borders. Overhead soared a coffered, painted and gilt ceiling. Clerestories let in the daylight.

Caesar did not make the magister wait long, did not take the throne when he entered. Munda appreciated Romulus not playing intimidation games with his own Intelligence
agentes.

“Munda!” Caesar strode in smiling. Senator Ventor heeled at Caesar’s flank, clad in a toga that reflected his rank. Caesar and Munda were both simply dressed. They had nothing to prove. “You have something for me.”

“Per your desire, Caesar,” said Munda. “I give you—”

Munda lifted the polished silver lid.

“—Augustus.”

Caesar’s eyes widened despite himself. Ventor, standing a few respectful paces back, craned his head to see around Caesar.

“It’s huge,” said Romulus.

The data receptacle was two inches in diameter, not entirely round because it was not entirely rigid. Its surface was a smooth gray. It was the biggest data storage unit Caesar had ever seen.

“It is a big one,” Munda allowed. “Sixteen exabyte capacity.” Romulus stepped closer. Shied back again on a sudden thought.

“Is it clean?”

“Any cleaner and the data would be erased,” said Munda. “We need the data. But we’re certain this is infected with a lethal virus.”

Romulus shrank away farther, backed into Senator Ventor and stepped on the hem of his toga.

“Lethal to data,” Munda clarified. “A data virus. We are setting up a discrete system in which to analyze the data, entirely isolated from any other system.”

“We know this is infected?” Romulus asked in a voice that clearly said,
Why they hell did you bring this in here?

“We cannot afford to assume otherwise, Caesar. Nanites have eaten out the data banks of the Striker, and left no data tracks to be recovered.”

“Nanites.” Caesar looked round as if he could see the infinitesimally small machines crawling. Palace guards at the doors glanced down at their feet. The
curiosi
did not blink.

“Are they on the loose?” Romulus asked.

“The nanites on the Striker were self-limiting. They executed their tasks, then ceased to function. Then housekeeper nanites erased even those from existence. It was a precision process. Typical of a patterner.”

Romulus put on black kid leather gloves. He had expected to need gloves to keep the data bank pristine. Now it was his hands, not the data bank, which he felt needed the protective barrier. He took a step closer, tentative as a wild animal lured by an offering of food. He peered over the edge of the platter. Glanced up from the silvery black box to Munda’s stone face.

“Are there any nanites in there?”

“We detected no nanoactivity. Does not mean there are no nanites in there. There are nanoparticles all through the patterner’s remains. Nanites kept his body from rejecting the augmentations. Some of his bionanites are trying to keep his remains alive even now.”

Nanotechnology had been known for over four hundred years now. Machines worked faster as their size decreased. Machines with walls one atom thick worked very fast and required miniscule amounts of energy to operate.

The first nanoscale devices counted specific molecules in a chemical sample. The next natural task was to have them identify pathogens in a blood sample. Then to diagnose disease. Then more advanced nanomachines were used to seek out and destroy pathogens in the human body.

The CIA and Imperial Intelligence had come up with less benevolent tasks for them. Nanomachines could modify physical materials at a molecular level. They could be programmed to replicate themselves, or to build or destroy structures one atom at a time.

No one could say what use a malevolent patterner might put them to. “Most of the nanites in Augustus’ body stopped functioning at the patterner’s death,” said Munda. “Most.” Romulus took another step back, snugging his gloves on tighter. He nodded up at Munda. “Touch it.”

Munda shifted, uneasy. “Really?” More uneasily still under Romulus’ blinkless stare. No one was offering Munda gloves. “Caesar?”

The magister’s stone face turned chalky, as if he’d been asked to set himself on fire. Senator Ventor stared. The
curiosi
were very still. The guards held their breaths. Romulus broke into laughter. “Of course not.” He gave a boyish grin.

Munda did not laugh.

Senator Ventor stepped forward. He had brought polymer gloves with him and he put them on. His hand hovered over the silvery receptacle. “Is it fragile?”

“No. Not at all,” said Munda, but added, “I wouldn’t step on it.” Ventor inhaled. Boldly done, if to be done at all. He closed his hand around the ball and lifted it.

“Has some weight to it,” he said, feeling his hand still intact, no spikes driving into his palm, no explosions, no sudden itches.

“Yes.” Munda was glad enough to be able to let the platter drop to his side.

Sounds of disturbance carried through the monumental wood doors of the chamber. Then the doors themselves parted. Palace guards were challenging a knot of Senators who would not be turned away. They wore their togas with the crimson stripes to impress their rank on Caesar’s minions.

These men were too high-ranking to be manhandled without further word from Caesar. As the doors parted, the guards looked to Caesar, searching for permission to club these men.

Caesar lifted his hand high, beckoned to the intruders like visitors. “Enter.”

The guards let the four Senators through, but closed ranks behind them, blocking the attempted entry of the Senators’ attendants. The guards shut the doors on the attendants with some shoving and scuffling.

Munda’s
curiosi
took several steps forward from the wall where they had been standing at ease. They crossed their arms now and fixed their basilisk gazes on the Senators in silent warning.

Senators Trogus, Umbrius, Quirinius, and Opsius stalked in with long strides, chests puffed out, eyes and nostrils flaring, mouths twitching in umbrage.

Trogus, leader of this rat pack, shouted, “This is an outrage!”

“It is certainly disrespectful,” Caesar allowed in a civil voice with a whisper of a smile.

Two of the Senators had the sense to be abashed.

Quirinius had, in the days of Caesar Magnus, been considered the third man in the Empire. His rank was now closer to two thousand and fifty-first. Still he was a seemly person. Dignified. Quirinius gave a nod of apology toward Caesar.

Trogus would not be shamed off course. His voice was thin and irritating. “That is the most valuable data reservoir in the Empire! It is not a ball to amuse Caesar! You shall surrender the patterner’s data bank to the Senate immediately!”

“You want it?” said Caesar faintly. He met Ventor’s eyes, tilted his head toward Trogus. Ventor took up the cue, tossed the silvery black box to Senator Trogus.

On reflex, Trogus caught it bare-handed. Was immediately aghast at the thing in his hands. He took note of the gloves on Ventor and Romulus. A tremolo infected Trogus’ voice, “Caesar?”

Umbrius, Quirinius and Opsius drifted backward. The palace guards leaned attentively inward. The
curiosi
looked curious. They all watched Tragus in silence for several extended, loudly ticking seconds. “Well, there he is,” said Caesar. “The formidable Augustus.”

Senator Tragus tried to recover his dignity and control. His voice came out pitched too high to have any semblance of courage. “Of course any sabotage will be in the
data.”

“Yes, we all know that,” Romulus said, impatient. “What you really came here looking for is something to use against me. Augustus’ own version of my father’s testament will be in there.”

Tragus sought the high ground. “What we are really looking for are the Hive harmonics. The menace has returned to Near Space. There are gorgons on Thaleia.”

“And you suppose I am not looking for Hive harmonics? I am not so petty and irresponsible as to use my position for personal spite.”

“Your decisions have been questionable, Caesar, and I have a duty to question them. This data bank belongs to the people of Rome. It is not to be kept by one man or tossed about like a toy!”

An inner door opened. The guards held their stations. This was an intruder not to be denied. She was allowed through like a swallow through the rafters.

Claudia entered with a swish of silks and billow of patchouli and dark spice.

“Is he here?” she said, her dark exotic eyes alight.

She danced to the center of the knot of men. She faced Tragus. Her fingers lifted with a glitter of emeralds. “So here is the dreaded Augustus.”

“Claudia, don’t—”

Claudia plucked the data receptacle from Tragus’ hand.

“What? This?” She turned her wrist as if holding a faceted bauble to the light. Augustus’ data bank was plain and gray no matter which way she held it.

“It’s harmless,” said Tragus.

Claudia spoke to the black box in silken spite, “Did you see this moment coming,
patterner?”

Senator Ventor deftly snatched the data recepticle from Claudia’s fingers before she could decide to punish it.

The Intelligence Magister, Munda, growing agitated watching the valuable data passing hand-to-hand, held up the tray and urged Ventor, “Kindly replace the black box on the tray, Senator. We have a segregated system set up to analyze it and control any data surprises.”

“What? What?”

The sudden screech made everyone start, and Ventor nearly bobbled the silvery ball.

“Why are you here!”

Claudia went rigid, her hands clenched into glittering fists, her eyes staring at air with fear, fury, and hatred. Romulus opened his hands solicitously to his sister. “Claudia?” Claudia shouted at someone not there,
“Shut up! Shut up! Go away!”

Caesar’s guards and the Intelligence
agentes
hastily scanned the chamber for light benders and pinpoint sound packets. They found nothing in the chamber that could be causing false images.

A murmur came from someone, “Seems Banquo’s ghost is in the room.”

Romulus detonated. “I
heard
that!” He rounded on Senator Umbrius. Caesar commanded his guards, “Slay him!”

Caesar’s guards look alarmed, but started forward, drawing their swords, for
honestiores
required a sword. Umbrius’ eyes grew huge. The rest of the man visibly shrank. Romulus held up his hand. Said quickly, “I rescind the order. I am enraged is all.” Banquo’s ghost. As if his sister were here confronted by the ghost of someone she had conspired to murder.

Romulus spoke in deadly calm to Umbrius, “You impugned my sister’s honor and I reacted as any man would. But I am not
any
man, I am your Caesar and you will apologize to me and to my sister.”

Umbrius did, earnestly, on bended knee before Caesar. Claudia was taking backsteps. “Get that thing out of here!” She might have been talking about Umbrius, but she was looking at empty space. “It’s not real!” she screeched. At least part of her knew that. “What do you see, Claudia?” Romulus moved toward her. She whirled on him. “Don’t you dare try to make me sound stupid!”

Romulus flinched back from her rage. He made to put his arms around her. Stopped. His mouth burned. He backed away carefully. Talked soothingly, “Well, Claudia, obviously it has light benders on it. None of us can see it. You need to tell me what is there.”

Munda marked Caesar’s deft wording. Most other people would have said,
Tell me what you think you see.
Caesar’s
Tell me what is there
sounded as if he believed her entirely.