Salvete Quirites,
Not without pride, I offer you the - hopefully - complete and final version of the NR Mars novel. Comments and criticism is welcome, especially in the department of language.
I dedicate this story to the Muses, and hereby wish to enter the last two chapters of the story in the Megalesia contest of the Aediles. I hope that Nerva will not mind some competition :o).
Also, I want to note that some characters, such as Nerva and Australicus, are portrayed as "evil". This doesn't mean I think of them as "evil" in real life. I guess they were just, umm, easy victims :o).
Everything is under coypright by M. Octavius Solaris / J. Meuleman.
Here it is then!
DE BELLO NOVAROMANO
1.. Introductio
This is not the history of the Nova Roman War as it is. It is, as I experienced and reconstructed it from various sources. Thus, I don't claim historical authenticy in detail. I hope that you will enjoy this story, and will trust that I did not try to justify any of my own actions, or that I deliberately tried to villify my opponents. Of course, it's hard to remain unmoved by this history, but I made a sincere attempt not to moralise too severely. Be my guest to follow a somewhat different version of the "facts" as they are presented in modern history books.
Gnćus Salix Astur, 2130 CE / 2883 AUC,
Colonia Tritonia (Neptunus)
a.. Veni, vidi.
It had been a day like any other in Nova Roma. The faint red shades in the sky, the rusty soil, the sounds of voices filling the air in the streets and the marketplaces, people clad in togas walking everywhere, and an occasional ship flying over the Urbs, leaving a long trace of milky dust that seemed like a comet's tail. Yes, everything looked very normal, and it was very normal, too.
If it hadn't been that Marcus Cassius Iulianus had been murdered that day.
He had been practically the founder of the Nova Roma colony on Mars, and was a greatly honoured and respected man among his people, being a Consul and a Senator. The Senate and the People were shocked, and not in the least is friend and consular collegue Flavius Vedius Germanicus, his wife Patricia Cassia, and their gentiles. Through a Senatusconsultum a general state of crisis was declared, and the man or woman who could catch Cassius' unknown murderer and bring him to justice would be greatly rewarded. However, no fingerprints were found, and the only thing the Praetores investigating the case knew was that he had most likely been poisoned. Of course, the news spread like wildfire across the Red Planet, and soon enough every press agency knew of the horrible news.
Some extended their sympathy to the gens Cassia, and offered help in their times of emotional trouble, while others began gathering in dark tabernae, or at remote villae, speculating and gossipping about the identity of the murderer - if the murderer wasn't among them! Some contended it was a political murder, others assumed it was a personal action that had sprung forth from some kind of vendetta or vengeance, and many others thought it had been an assassin sent from Earth, their close neighbour and economic concurrent. However, the Praetores, Quintus Fabius Maximus and Caius Flavius Diocletianus, were in deep trouble. They led the investigation personally without leaving it to the countless Aediles in the Urbs, and even though that cursed day everyone was in panic, it was evident already that this riddle would remain unsolved.
b.. Tempus fugit
A few days later, at a large villa in the outskirts of Colonia Marineris, a middle-large town in the neighbourhood of the legendary Valles Marineris, a deep red canyon that surpassed the greatest natural wonders seen on Earth. The canyon was about ten kilometres deep and ran for thousands of kilometres across the surface - if the weather was clear, you could even see it from space. Of course, the Colonia Marineris was mainly a touristical spot, and it was doomed to disappear due to the terraformatio-project that had been initiated a few years ago by the Senate and the various Comitiae. The progress of the terraformatio was slow though, and even though the Martian skies were slowly being filled up with oxygen by subterranean clusters of plants and bacteria, there was little change in the weather pattern, and the daily lifestyle of the common Martian - or Roman, it was nearly a synonym. Right now there was a minor dust storm, and all gates of the city were closed. Through the thick, transparent glass of the city's protection shield the swirling dust was visible, raging above and around the glass, as though the town itself was captured in a gigantic storm, and was flying along with the orange winds.
However, Marcus Octavius Germanicus didn't pay attention to all this. He was alone in his villa, in his study, a large room with genuine white marble coating, and large windows. The corners were ornamented with replicas of ancient statues, both Greek and Roman, and on the wall hung a red standard with the golden letters SPQR stitched in. Albeit the windows were large, they didn't catch much light at this time of the day, and certainly not when there was a sandstorm outside. The only sound in the room was the slight, quiet buzzing of a computer, and the ticking sounds of Octavius' fingers sliding over the keyboard, with an occasional click from the mouse, or a muted bell sound. His face was a mask of concentration, and he was utterly oblivious to everything but his current activity. He was a Senator, and moreover he controlled the Nova Roman networks. Surely he didn't do this all by himself, but when he was at home he continued digging in the systems just for fun - a sort of fun few would understand, though.
Octavius had found something interesting. He had been cleaning the message boards earlier at the actual building where the mainframe was (Nova Roma itself, of course), and had found some persistent tidbits of binary insects that didn't go away. Of course, being the perfectionist he was, he wanted everything clean, and decided to examine the digital insects further at home. What he found was interesting though. The "bugs" he had found were actually small packages of information, some sort of digital footprint that had been left by all e-mail flowing in and out of the server system. Some contained legible characters, others were merely discarded attachments and rubbish. Quickly enough Octavius had found a solution, and created a "raptor" programme that immediately searched for files that had any reference to an e-mail. They were also in the same directory, so the work was fairly easy, although it took quite some time to delete remnants of e-mails of which some were over fifteen years old. No wonder the servers had been so cranky lately! Throughout many familiar errors and computer crashes that didn't surprise Octavius, the raptor programme had suddenly found something very peculiar. It was an e-mail that had been somehow cut into pieces by a bot, and encrypted, but the most odd thing was that it didn't have a person whom it was addressed to, not even a blind carbon copy. The Senator enlarged the window of his raptor programme and started deciphering the code, that would have been just numbers and patterns to someone else. During his deciphering, it also became appearent that the message had only been sent four days ago, even though the path from the message indicated it was created seventeen years ago. In the dusty shades of his study, a deep frown formed on his face, as he continued to translate the codes into legible characters. The parts of the message that survived said:
Factum est. Primus casus est, alii sequentur. Alea iacta est.
Eugenias
Although Latin was an official administrational language in the colonies of Nova Roma, not many people wrote in it, and most of them were able to speak only a few words or phrases. And what was even more interesting, usually e-mails without an addressee were never sent. Also, not many people had Greek names, so Octavius assumed Eugenias was a pseudonym. He leaned back in his hard, wooden armchair and thought carefully. Of course the link with the assassination of Cassius was easily made. Everything seemed to be corrrect, but the most frightening thing was that if this Eugenias was indeed the killer, or one of the men that had plotted Cassius' death, there would be more to follow. Thusly, Octavius did not hesitate and sent an e-mail to the Praetores investigating the case, along with some technical specifications. There was no time to lose, nor to waste.
Meanwhile, the sandstorm outside grew larger, and the glass bulb that protected the Colonia Marineris continued to wage its senseless battle against the elements of Martian nature - Mars, who was after all the God of War.
c.. Apparuit rari nantes in vasto gurgite.
Among Novaromani, it was a widespread custom to hold family banquets, often between several families, and at their respective casae, insulae or villae. The gentes Apollonia and Moravia were no exception to that social custom. Although, the former didn't reside in the actual Urbs itself, but in a small town that was commonly named Ruber, up north in the lowlands of Mars, they did frequent Nova Roma often, and they always visited their friends of the gens Moravia, who lived smack in the middle of the city, in a Helleno-Roman villa that seemed somewhat lost between all those high insulae, offices, not to mention the maze of streets that carved its way throughout the Urbs as though it was a living entity on its own. As usual, there was much traffic, but not as much as on peek days, due to the sandstorm that had been developing into something quite large during the past few days, even though it was an all but rare occurance for a Martian, and nothing special. Many houses had large cellars filled with rows of amphorae and even pithoi, where they stockpiled food, should a city be in the middle of a storm for a couple of weeks. Luckily, this only only happened once, in the winter of 2081, which was now exactly twenty years before.
"Bring on some more wine," Gnaeus Moravius Piscinus asked the servant, who had just left the room with some dirty dishes. The dining room was large, and was well lit by a few genuine torches. It had a window as a roof, but alas there wasn't much to see now, as it was night. Not that the guests paid attention to the roof, for that matter. Their plat de résistance had just been eaten, but they were in for more. The tables and couches were set up in a half circle, the epicentre of sound being Nicolaus Moravius Vado and Marcus Apollonius Formosanus, the respective patresfamilias of their gentes. They were engaged in what was of course the hot topic that had held the planet in its grip for about a week now, the assassination of Cassius. Vado was a Senator and politically rather active, as was Formosanus, albeit the latter wasn't a Senator.
"I've heard that my name appeared several times in some magazines that voiced all sorts of suspicions, regarding the murder," Vado said, putting down his poculum, that he had emptied. The man had an antique British accent that seemed to have been passed on unharmed despite any pidgin, Roman or other influence the Moravii had undergone all these years.
"Dirty magazines, probably," Piscinus, his eldest son, mumbled whilst emptying the last drops of his own wine. Vado didn't react, as he was turned towards Formosanus, who seemed to examine his food carefully. He was the only one who was still eating. He opened his mouth to say something, but one of his sons, Sextus Apollonius Draco, was quicker to throw in his remark. He lay two couches away but was still audible.
"They have eliminated all logical options, so they think they're left with the solution," he said.
"I think there is not really a logical option in this case," Formosanus mused aloud.
"The army, perhaps," Vado offered.
"I doubt that," Aletheia Moravia said, who was Vado's wife. Vado shrugged.
"So do I, but I can't see any other motive to kill Cassius than to prepare some sort of power usurpation. Yet there are no clear factions or conspirations going on in the Senate nor the Comitia, so the army would be the only body left that could have enough power and secrecy to commit such an action."
Formosanus frownend, and finally ate the last bits what was left on his plate, which was quickly carried away by a servant.
"Gratias," he muttered, his mouth stuffed with food, to the servant, and then went on about the subject.
"Well, no, we haven't considered any secret para-political organizations. We have more than enough environmentalists here on Mars who are opposed to the terraformation programme."
"I doubt it they can gather enough muscle to do such a drastic action," Quintus Apollonius Flaccus, said, from the corner of the circle. He was the eldest son of Formosanus, and had been enjoying the dinner while reading, much to his frater Lucius Apollonius Aquila's irritation, who lay beside him.
"Oh, it has awoken! Hear hear!" Aquila said dryly.
"Hmm, you think so?" questioned Piscinus, in response to Flaccus.
"Well yes. They hardly get along with each other, and as small groups alone they're too small to get enough connections and weapons to prepare a takeover of Mars."
"I have to remind you though, mi Quinte, that the NSDAP started out that way, too," Vado said. The servants came in with the wine Piscinus had asked for, and the dessert.
"But that was over a century ago," Flaccus said, although his voice went a little lost in the tinkling sound of the new plates, cups and eating.
"That doesn't mean anything," Piscinus replied, stuffing himself with bread.
"How is the praetorial investigation going, by the way?" Iunia Apollonia Fortuna suddenly asked. She had been unusually quiet tonight, and felt a little miffed probably because her older sister Turia had chosen to stay at home rather than to join the fun.
"Investigation? Did we have an investigation?" Vado replied ironically. The Moravii smirked.
"I read that a Senator had found some sort of clue, though," Natalia Moravia said, from the other corner of the halfcircle.
"Octavius you'll mean," Vado said, "Yes, as the matter a fact he has, but he said to us he wasn't priviliged to talk about it. Orders from the Praetores and the police."
"Mehercule, has this become a police state already?" Cornelius Moravius Laurentibus mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else. His toga was a little stained with food spots, and the focus in his eyes showed he'd had quite too much wine for his own good. Usually it was Flaccus of the Apollonii who got drunk though.
"I still feel that the possibilities of the army preparing a coup d'état should be examined, though," Piscinus spoke, his face in a frown. At first sight he looked nearly as old as his own father, but that was because his parents still looked young for their age, and he had always looked more serious and older than he physically was, which had always been a great advantage. But he was still nearly fifteen years older than the oldest of the liberi Apolloniorum though.
"Then take your concerns to the Praetores," Formosanus suggested. Again, he was slow in finishing his dish, but in the end his plates were almost fully cleansed, whereas his son Draco had the nasty habit of seemingly leaving more ravages around him than there had ever been on the plate. Therefore no one enjoyed lying next to him on the couch, a thing he got upset about from time to time.
"The Praetores? They believe too much in the army. Not to say they are corrupt, but you have to be honest, Forme, there is no evidence whatsoever regarding a conspiracy of the army."
"Besides," Vado added, "there are quite some army leaders within the Senate. They wouldn't like the idea. This should have been a regular police investigation from the start, really."
"We could send one of our friends to inflitrate, of course," Piscinus suggested, his thoughts scheming ahead again.
"But we are accused of factionalism already on the political scene," Draco remarked.
"So? Nothing prevents us from researching things on our own. The assassination of Cassius is a really disturbing thing. Everyone is focused on the tragedy of the fact, but what disturbs me most is that there is no clear motive. He had his share of enemies of course, but never were they lasting or life threatening," his paterfamilias replied.
"That still doesn't mean the army did it," Aquila said.
"Or the Martianalists," Flaccus added.
"Yes, but you have to face the facts," Piscinus interrupted, "Cassius was found dead in his office. No guard had seen anybody suspicious entering the building. As the matter a fact, he was alone in the building. Only his guards were there, and their integrity is very high. Yet, they are linked to the army. Which loyalty would extend the furthest: that to the Tribunus Militaris, or that to an ex-Consul?"
Meanwhile, the torches were diminishing in brightness, and the servants had come in to clean the remnants of the dessert. As usual, they had some extra work with cleaning the small space between Draco's couch and table.
"But are you truly serious about this? Would Audens really try to seize power on Mars? I don't think so," Formosanus said.
"There are other famous army officials, too," Vado replied.
"There is quite some discontentment among the military apparatus, though," Draco said musingly, "they're pretty tired of being seen as ancient legions with no real skills or function other than to entertain the people during the yearly parade in the Circus Maximus. They want to be taken seriously, and there are some extremists among them, too."
"Yes, I've heard similar stories," Aletheia said.
"From whom?" Vado inquired.
"Connections," his wife answered with a smile. Vado just raised one eyebrow and turned back to the Apollonii.
"But whom do you want to send into the army to take a look what's going on there? If you want to have a serious investigation to protect the state, you need to handle it seriously, Pisce," Formosanus said, returning back to the topic at hand.
"It has to be someone trustworthy," Piscinus said, "perhaps someone from within our own circle of friends."
"I'm too old," Vado coughed. Formosanus just looked innocently around the room, and the women seemed to be very uninterested, suddenly. Piscinus looked around, and his eyes quickly dismissed his younger brother Cornelius, who had nearly fallen asleep. Then he focused on the Apollonii.
"Since you say you have connections down at the army, I'd say let Draco do it," he finally said.
"A wonderful idea," Vado said cheerfully. Aquila and Flaccus grinned.
"I only know some people in the lower divisions! Besides, I'm only seventeen, you know."
"Exactly why it won't seem suspicious. The army gets a lot of young recruits," Formosanus said. Draco stared at him blankly.
"For how long do you want me to sign up? And what's in it for me?"
"I don't know, start with a training course of three months. If you manage to solve at least a part of this case, you'll be credited highly," Piscinus answered.
"I'm not going to risk my life for my own honour."
"There's much more to it, too. More political power. And you might finally be able to get enough support among politicians to overturn that law that regulates minimum ages to be able to assume an office."
A silence fell.
"Ok, I'll do it. But if I die, I'm going to send Kerberos after you from Hades!"
"Gratias," Piscinus said, grinningly, "let's toast to your good health."
Everyone still able to do so raised their poculum and brought out a toast to the gods, or to Draco's success.
Vado clapped his hands, and gave a short electronic signal through a small computer in the table. The main table in the middle sank into the ground, and the torches suddenly went out, being replaced by a very dim artificial light. Music started playing, and suddenly dancers entered the room. Conversations fell silent, and under the eye of the all knowing gods, the night went on until the early hours.
d.. Memento mori
Today was the day of the Cassius' funeral. The Aediles had stopped all traffic in the city, and a large mass of people watched or followed the cortege. His former lictores carried an open coffin, in which the body lay, freshly clad in a bright toga. In the black cars that preceeded the preceeded sat Patricia Cassia, among some others of his closest friends and relatives. Not much was said. In a way Patricia was touched by the multitude of people that had come outside to watch or follow, but on the other hand it didn't help the sadness and the missing. Like a long tape the crowd seemed to slide past the car. Some of the people seemed sad, others looked rather indifferent. But it didn't matter.
Normally the pontifex maximus would have taken care of the funeral rites, if it was the funeral of a Senator or another high ranking official, but Cassius was the pontifex maximus. The irony of Fortuna, she thought, but of course Fortuna gave no answer. Instead, the burden of silence in the car seemed to grow heavier as they approached the city gates. Like in ancient Romans times, the dead were buried outside the city. This had given some problems from time to time, as much sand drifted away, and once, during a sandstorm a few years ago, corpses were blown from their graves against the city glass. Since that macabre event the dead were buried much deeper, and they made much more solid tombstones or tumuli, too. Patricia turned her eyes upwards, away from the people, and looked at the quiet morning sky through Nova Roma's transparent shields. It looked a little purple, and a small bank of clouds drifted on by, painted in pink. Clouds were a seldom occurrence, and the only reported case of rain had ever been made around the equator, in the neighbourhood of Tharsis. Patricia wondered if her husband's spirit had made its transit yet to the other world. She had prayed for assistance from the various underworld gods, but even though it strengthened her to an extent, it solved nothing of the mystery of the murder. Luckily she was being informed well enough by the Praetores. The investigation went on slowly, and there was a great fear among the justice department that the mysterious killer, Eugenias, would strike again before they could catch him. Eugenias could very well be among the crowd that bowed its head graciously for the passing procession - he could even be a lictor carrying Cassius' body! But no, it was no use being paranoid.
The march had stopped at the first city gate, after all lictores had disappeared, including the people that had faithfully follwed the procession and the black cars. Patricia and her sons and daughters left the cars, too, as well as some pontifices and close friends. They all had to wear a thin protection suit to be able to walk outside the city. It came across clumsy, especially when they had to veil Cassius with a similar thing.
However, after a few minutes everyone who was priviliged to go outside had done so. Cassius was carried by the pontifices, and from a small distance behind the rest she looked one last time at her husband. No tears came anymore, it felt as though she had cried them all away in the past few days. Powerlessness, yes. Emptiness, perhaps. Those were the feelings that stalked her. At least, she hoped, may he live on in peace someplace else.
The first gate was closed behind them, and the air from it was being sucked away. When the small tunnel had been completely vacuumed, the second gate opened. It was an almost windless day on Mars, and the sun was rising above the relatively flat surface, that was randomly ornamented with rocks that looked like dry blood stains. The intimate and above all silent procession went on to the hole that had already been dug a few days before. The tombstone had also been prepared. In fact it was more a family crypt for the gens Cassia than it was a single grave, but it felt so wrong to finally have someone of their family placed there. Nevertheless, the half-open coffin with the veil was being roped down into the deep shaft, while the presiding priest, Marcus Cornelius Scriptor, spoke gentle words and verses in Latin, which Patricia fragmentarily heard. Her daughters were all crying, and her sons looked sternly into the enigmatic horizons, or shed tears as well. Cassius' friends helped to close the pit, their faces barely visible behind the transparent oxygen veil, but Patricia could also guess the emotions that lived below their surfaces. When the pit was finally filled with the rusty earth, a preliminary tombstone was pulled over it, and deeply attached into the ground so it wouldn't fly away with the next sandstorm. His tombstone read:
Sum Marcus Cassius Iulianus
Ego requiscam in pace
Te requiscasque, O comes
It was a rather simple epitaph, but then again many Senatores held the virtue of simplicitas high. To set an example is always better than to talk about it, and Cassius had always been a practical man, the embodiment of Roman functionality.
Scriptor's carefully prepared text had come to an end, and the funeral was more or less over. Of course many of the people present here were invited to the residence of the gens Cassia later on the day. At least it would have Patricia thinking of something more practical, such as organizing the memorial banquet for tonight, rather than mourning, and falling deeper into that senseless black hole. Sol stood high at the morning sky now, like a diamond glittering, so far away, over a planet that had been dead for millennia, and now harboured new dead once again.
e.. De gustibus et coloribus non est disputandum
Every time he signed a letter, e-mail or edict with his name, Lucius Cornelius Sulla Felix asked himself whether he was 'felix' or not; and to his satisfaction, he usually was. He had his fair reasons to be, too. The gens Cornelia was one of the most illustrous gentes of Mars, and he was paterfamilias of it; plus he occupied the most honourable seat of the empire, namely that of Censor, after having worked hard and going through the full cursus honorum. It was the deserved crown on his work. However, today he was not so happy. Yesterday one of the great men of the Roman republic had been buried in the red sands of the planet outside the city walls, and the case remained unsolved. Octavius' initial clue hadn't brought any breakthroughs. The only man on Mars named Eugenias had a perfect alibi and seemed somewhat a simple man, too. Sulla's own suspicions rested upon the Martianalists. For years they had been obstructing the terraformatio, and claimed to be environmentalists even though there wasn't any environment to protect!
The Censor shook his head, and peered out of the window of his office down on the city. Mars was still a popular planet among emigrants, and the fact that the migration numbers had kept rising since he had taken office were a sufficient proof for him he was doing his job well. But it didn't make him happy. The terraformatio had been delivered a new blow yesterday night, when a group of Martianalists destroyed a bio-factory somewhere in the south, on the other side of the Tharsis plateau. By the time the legions of Mons Olympus arrived the factory was already in ruins. Cassius had always been a proponent of the earthening programme of Mars, and was very prudent in proceeding with these plans, usually, as he realized that developing a new eco-system was not an easy task. Obviously the Martianalists didn't seem to realize this. Nor did the Praetores, who didn't believe the Martianalists were capable of committing such a horrendous crime. That's why he needed some sort of private detective, a person he could rely on, but also a person who would do the job well. And the third quality was the most important: if something went wrong, that few people would notice. He was waiting for that person to come right now, and she was late already.
Suddenly his musings ended when he heard the beep of the intercom on his wooden desk, an announcement from one of his many scribae, in this case Formosanus. They had a mutual dislike for each other, but at least they were able to deal with each other on a professional level without fighting or arguing much.
"Let her enter," spoke Sulla through the speaker, and sat down in his chair. The replica of the ancient Roman door shoved open soundlessly, and his agent entered.
"Salve, Censor Sulla," she said eloquently, and took herself a seat in front of the man.
"Ave," he said distractedly, managing some papers that always seemed to fly around his desk at an inconvenient time. Now was perhaps not the time to tidy his desk, though, so he quickly focused on the core of the matter.
"You know why I have sent for you," he said, looking her in the eye.
"Yes," she nodded.
"Bene. I'll personally provide you with a device here, so we can keep in touch. If anything goes wrong, or if you have found something interesting, call me with it. And accept no orders, either direct or over a communication line, from anyone else but me. This is a discrete operation, as you're well aware."
"Yes, sir," she said with a sly grin. Sulla realized he was being too militaristic, so he eased off a bit.
"Sorry. But this is a serious matter. It's certainly no exaggeration to say that the planet's future is at stake. We're running with one Consul right now, and soon we'll have to announce new elections. The Martianalists might have a candidate of their own - that would be a terrifying prospect. I really don't want to live under this glass bulb forever."
"Me neither," his agent said, "but do you really think that the Martianalists will have a candidate? They're separate groups, aren't they?"
"That's what the official informations say. But who knows them really well?"
She just shrugged, and Sulla went on.
"Anyway, what we do know is that there is a rather large community in a cave complex not very far from the Valles Marineris -"
"Which part?" she interrupted.
"You'll get a map," he answered, "but anyway, as I was saying, it's not very far from the Valles Marineris, and they probably live in underground systems that follow the dried rivers in the area. It shouldn't be too hard to find. Most likely, they will find you first instead."
A silence fell.
"Well then," Sulla finally said, rising to his feet again, handing her the device, "everything's in here. If you need to know something contact me. You're scheduled to leave the city tomorrow. Payment is included on the device already, so you don't need to worry about that, either."
"Gratias ago," she said, taking the small metal thing. They both shook hands firmly.
"Bona Fortuna," the Censor spoke. She just nodded, and left the office. Sulla watched her leave thoughtlessly for a few seconds, and then turned back to his window. He sincerely hoped that Aeternia Iulia Caesaria Scorpina Draconia would accomplish her mission.
Mars was not to stay red forever.
f.. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori
"First day at the Legio?" a young legionnaire asked Draco, who sat in the hallway of the Military Academy, built on the high Mons Olympus. He had been the only person in the hallway until now, even though he knew there were other applicants, too. They were currently processing his application after all the necessary procedures had been carried out.
"Yes. I guess newcomers are pretty recognisible," Draco answered somewhat distractedly.
"Quite, yes," the other replied, "what's your name?"
"Sextus Apollonius Draco."
"Marcus Scribonius Curio Britannicus, nice to meet you," the youth said, extending his hand. They shook hands. Draco recognized the same old British accent he had always noticed when Vado was speaking, even though it had a more Martian twist to it.
"What Legio are you in?" Draco asked the legionnaire.
"Legio X. There's not much to do right now, but the decemvir ordered me to do some odd jobs. It's typical for the army - when they don't have anything for you to do, they'll make up something twice as hard as your usual job. Anyway, I should be going, I suppose we'll see each other again sometime around here. Vale!"
"Vale bene," Draco replied, and Curio left through the elevator up the Academy tower. After a while his name was called from the corner of the large reception desk, that had the air of something plastic and pompous around it. He rose from the stone bench and went over to the lady that had called his name.
"Here are your instructions," she said flatly, handing him a pile of papers, "you are to meet with the new recruits of your legion on the Mars square just outside the temple at fourteen hours sharp."
"Which temple?" he asked rather stupidly.
"The temple to Mars of course."
It was hard getting used to a city like Mons Olympus. From every point in this rectangular city, everything seemed to go downhill, because it was seated on top of the dead volcano with the same name as the city. This volcano itself resided on the Tharsis plateau, also one of the largest features on Mars (and in the solar system). The Olympus was twenty-six kilometres high, and its base was five hundred kilometres wide. Mars' tectonics had used to be as violent as Earth's, but today they had stopped, and they had lain dead or dormant for millennia already. However, all that concerned Draco right now was to find his way through the small military city. It wasn't all too difficult, actually, as there wasn't much traffic at this time of the day, and everything was well indicated in an orderly array. Most houses were of a typical Roman style, with white walls and red roofs, although many of them also had large windows, which was a modern feature - unlike ancient Italia, it wasn't necessary here to keep the sun out, or to have a compluvium. Thus, most casae and villae were more based on a Gallo-Roman type of housing, or were just plainly modern with some Roman influences.
Draco arrived at the square half an hour early, and of course no one was there yet. So he seated himself on the edge of a fountain from which sprang forth warm water, and read the documentation he had received earlier, while the sun was at its zenith now. Its icy rays penetrated the glass shield of the Mons Olympus, and gave the water of the fountain a certain clarity. It also made the gold standards outside the temple shine with a brilliance, as though the God of War himself resided in it. The temple itself was of a simple but pleasant looking design, with a few columns, and a small version of a golden chariot on the rooftop, which made the building stand out between its neighbouring houses. The stairways weren't all that high, and the closed door gave the impression that there was no one inside. Meanwhile, the documentation was being processed by Draco's brain. It gave some useful information on both ancient and modern history of Roma, and some practical bits on meals, discipline and basic ethical guidelines, but most of it was propaganda, of course. But until now, nothing suspicious. He had actually felt bad all day, as soon as he had bought his ticket from Ruber to Mons Olympus for the monorail. Although he blamed Piscinus a little for talking him into this affair, on the other hand he had done it for his own political ambition. Plus, he had actually been looking for a a serious job, too, and at least the army paid a bit.
After a while, the other recruits started arriving, too, young men and women like himself, some clad in fine togas, others in casual togas, and some others in a quasi-military outfit with fancy armour that glittered in the sun. Nothing of that sort would probably impress their future decemvir, who arrived right on time. Draco rose from the edge of the fountain, and joined the larger group, that had already started talking. Most of the newbies didn't seem to know each other. Their decemvir and instructor was a man that seemed to be entering his mid-ages and had a tough yet concerned look on his face. He was dressed in his full military outfit, which meant the regular alloy armour, based on a Roman model, loose limb protections that covered a thick white tunica and a second, red tunica, plus a weapons belt and a red cloak that hung over the man's shoulders right now. For what seemed like a small eternity in the noon sun of the Mons Olympus town square, he didn't speak a word, and looked sternly at his new recruits, one by one. Draco thought he always did that, but said nothing just as well. Finally, he spoke. A neutral yet commanding voice.
"Good afternoon, new soldiers of Legio XXI. My name is Quintus Sertorius, and I will be the alpha and omega of your lives for the coming weeks." He said it without any threatening or overly dramatic gestures, but his calm was just the extra effect that made the recruits silent, some even afraid. The decemvir paused as a Roman anti-gravity truck passed through the large, chalky street that was connected to the square.
"I have chosen this place to gather because of its location, with the temple. For me, it symbolizes everything Roma should stand for, and ultimately what you all will be standing for: Mars." During his little speech Sertorius had moved a little, so all recruits were now facing the entrance of Mars' temple.
"I'm not expecting you to come and pray here every day, but paying a little respect to our boss wouldn't hurt from time to time. After all, we are on his territory."
Yes, Draco thought, we are on his land. And he is fighting us with his violent winds, eruptions of sand from rocks, and other elements. Mars does not say welcome or hello.
An initial warming-up march followed, from the large, rectangular town square back to the military headquarters. As the troop approached the building, Draco could see now that it had actually been built on a large rock, litterally the top of the top of the Mons Olympus. The tower was pretty impressive, and probably touched the transparent glass shield of the city with the golden eagle that resided on top of it. Next to the tower itself was a large complex, doubly walled and with its own gate to the outside. When they had reached the base, Sertorius ordered his fresh recruits to rest for an hour or two, get settled in and eat something. As Draco had expected, there wasn't much privacy. Nearly all common legionnaires slept in large dormitoria, and Draco had the ill luck of sleeping in a small billet named XLVIII, which was smack in the middle of the dormitorium. There was a tiny closet to hide his luggage in, a mirror with scratches on it, and in front of it lay a booklet with verses and hymns from the Religio Romana. He sat down on the couch - of which the springs squeaked, of course - and took the booklet in his hand. He pressed the cover button and the front page appeared on the display of it: war hymns, as collected by A. Gryllus Graecus, L. Equitius Cincinnatus and M. Cassius Iulianus. A grim ironic smile appeared on Draco's face, and he turned the booklet off. It was lunch time, his stomach announced. Through the complex maze of military indications, he surprised himself by finding the taverna rather quickly. It was one of the only parts of the fort that was also accessible for outsiders. Many of the recruits of Legio XXI were present there, eating a bit or just drinking and talking. Furthermore there were a few senior officers, who watched the new legionnaires with a mixture of mockery, sympathy and inimicity. The atmosphere was filled with smoke. Suddenly, he saw a familiar face at the bar itself. It was Curio, the legionnaire from Legio X whom he had met earlier on the day. He went sitting on the stool n
"Ah, Draco," he said, "how was your day?"
"The day isn't really over yet, of course, but it was ok."
"Who's your decemvir?" Curio asked with a grin.
"One Sertorius, I believe. He seems rather stern."
"Oh, that's not so bad. I've had worse, trust me. Are you drinking something?"
"Is alcohol allowed for younger legionnaires?" Draco wanted to know.
"No, but I can arrange a few things," Curio answered, his grin reappearing. He whispered a few things to the bartender, a middle-age woman with a sad expression that seemed to be somewhat dreamy. Meanwhile Draco's eyes drifted off through the windows of the taverna, and the passing traffic, mainly military AGs (anti-gravs). Now and then city gates opened with their familiar hissing sound and the sound of the alarm bells.
"Hello," he suddenly heard Curio say, as though his voice came from somewhere far away.
"Uh, sorry. I was dreaming," Draco apologized. Then he saw a cup standing in front of him, containing a darkish substance. He sipped from it, and then took a larger swallow.
"Hmm, not bad at all. Gratias."
"Yeah, it's pretty good stuff - for the army. We usually get those industrially produced amphorae, or other ersatz shit, but we don't see Earth wine often. The problem is, usually, that. oh, blast. You see that guy entering?"
Draco followed the direction in which Curio's eyes looked. A broad and fierce looking man had just entered. The word 'drill instructor' was written all over him, even though he moved rather easily.
"Who is that?"
"It's Lucius Claudius Lucentius Severus Bicurratus, my former decemvir. They recently made him centurio, although he's much more into army economy. The man has an obsession for cheese, and is famous for his belches. It has been said that he's able to belch the whole alphabet in one breath."
Draco wanted to laugh, but he heard in Curio's tone that he was deadly serious. He quickly fell silent anyway when Bicurratus came occupying the stool next to Draco and ordered something grumblingly. The bartender seemed to understand what he wanted though. He was given a large iron cup of wine, and a plate of yellow cheese that looked rather distasteful, even though Draco enjoyed a good bit of cheese from time to time.
"What're y'looking at?" Bicurratus bit towards Draco, moving only his eyes towards him.
"You're in for a long day," Curio whispered in Draco's ear.
g.. Cave canem!
Aeternia Draconia was alone on the barren plateau that occupied a large part of southern Mars. She had been alone for three days now, travelling with a large bigfoot on rough terrain. The car, which seemed like a large black monster, had been lent to her by Sulla's connections, and was officially stolen. After all, this was a covert operation. She enjoyed the gravity that was so much lighter than usual, because most cities and towns had gravity generators that simulated Earth's gravity. It was very expensive, but it was the only way to prevent forms of muscular atrophy, and to make sure that Martians wouldn't have any trouble visiting Earth. Right now, it was morning, and the sun was slowly rising above the horizon in the east, and cast long, deep shadows over the rocks and hills, which were covered in a thin layer of morning frost. Aeternia's map indicated that the presumed location of a Martianalist cave complex wasn't very far off. The caves were more than likely natural caves, and the result of ice erosion, which was a very common thing on the southern hemisphere. Scientists hadn't found an explanation yet as to why it didn't occur as much on the northern hemisphere. But that was of no concern to Aeternia.
Through the thin, black protection suit that covered her body she could feel some of the cold outside, although it was probably four times warmer in the suit than outside of it, and she could hear her boots, which made the frozen soil underneath crumble. Other than that, there was nothing to listen to. She was no spy by nature, actually. She loved the arts, and was a member of both major and minor cultural associations, although she also enjoyed being a spectator of the ongoing political battles and philosophical debates that were held in the Forum Romanum from time to time. But she also liked adventure, and this sure was one.
Suddenly her musings were interrupted by a scraping sound, as though knives were being whetted. According to her instincts it came from the left, but the monitors on her wrists didn't indicate anything. She felt her heart beat in her chest, and ancient rumors raced through her head. Rumors of old, alien civilizations that once landed on Mars and had abandoned it, although their guardians were still here. Or aliens reclaiming what they thought was rightfully theirs. Usually she laughed at such stories, but right now, in this vast solitude on a cold morning, anything could have been real. The scraping sound grew louder, and suddenly stopped. She sucked in a breath and looked around her. There was nothing. But when she started walking again, this time slower and much more cautiously, the sound returned, and this time it became clear what it was; the sound of a mono-engine. With trembling fingers she shoved an infra-red sensor over her oxygen veil, and noticed the thing that headed towards her. It was probably a man or woman with a jetpack that was following her. So much for an unnoticed entrance, she thought. But at least it proved that Sulla's map had been right. Aeternia stood still and waited for the figure to arrive. The rocketeer landed in front of her, and walked towards her in a strange yet elegant manner, which made her realize how awkward her own movements were in this lighter gravity environment. It seemed to be a man.
"Who are you, traveller?" he asked, when he stood at an arm's length distance. His voice came out rather peculiar due to the oxygen veil.
"I am Prima Celeria Vesta," she lied. It sounded smoothly, but she had the feeling that the man in front of her saw right through her.
"What brings you here?" he continued inquiring.
"I. I ran away from home. I seek adoption with the Martianalists." A plausible explanation, she thought. Of course this had been rehearsed.
"I am Caeso Fabius Quintilianus, and you are not Prima Celeria Vesta," the man said, even though he didn't speak in a threatening voice. But Aeternia was caught red-handed. She said nothing, bit her lower lip and bowed her head. A light wind began to blow over the rocky plains. She felt that Quintilianus was still looking at her. The man placed a gloved hand on her shoulder in a fatherly way.
"Follow me."
And they disappeared.
h.. Quod licet Iovi non licet bovi
The honourable Senate of the Respublica Romana was in session. The presiding Consul, Flavius Vedius Germanicus, announced the items. His initial feelings of loss had been relatively well processed; he was a rational man, an adherer to the Stoic tradition. Exceptionally, there was only one item in this monthly session. The other items had been stalled. He mounted the rostra, and the gathered Senatores grew silent. The Curia was a large building with an almost shiny glow from all the polished marble in which the it had been built. In a halfcircle, as if it was a small amphitheatre (and sometimes it seemed as though it was!), the Senatores were seated in rows, whilst the rostra stood in the middle. Due to modern architecture and lighting effects the lights seemed always to be directly shining upon the man or woman that was behind the rostra. Also, no microphones were needed, because of the ingeniously thought out spatial effects in the Curia. Behind the rostra were two transparent and soundproof doors, followed by a long corridor, ornamented with Corinthian marble columns and plants of all sorts.
"Salvete, Senatores," Vedius began. He looked over the small mass of Senatores who were all looking at him, their eyes hiding any possible emotion they might have at this moment.
"Today, we need to discuss a very important matter. Since our dear friend and esteemed Consul Cassius Iulianus has passed away, we need to find someone else. The problem: will we organize new and separate elections, or shall we elect someone from within the Senate to avoid trouble? I would like to hear some proposals."
Of course many had already prepared speeches and proposals at home, or with friends. Senator Marcus Marcius Rex was the first one to raise his hand. He was in terms of Mars something of a homo novus within the Senate, but nevertheless he was known for his fierce speeches and his vast knowledge. Vedius granted him the floor and descended from the rostra to make place for Rex.
"Salvete Senatores. In the light of the tragic events of the past few weeks, it's not easy to make a decision regarding the choice of a new Consul. However, my opinion on this is short and simple: let the people decide. Many of them still visit the his tomb daily, and have shown a great deal of sympathy and respect for him and his gens. We cannot deny them the right to choose a new Consul, even though that person will only stay on temporarily. Despite the strange situation, I see no reason why we should adopt special means to choose a new Consul, and not involve the people in it. I thank you for your attention."
Slight mumbling broke loose on several benches, nods as well as disagreements. Quintus Fabius Maximus raised his hand, and at a sign of Vedius was granted permission to mount the rostra. Rex descended and returned to his seat on the marble benches.
"Salvete iterum. It is my belief that although it's imperative that we choose a new Consul, we should do so from our own ranks. The recent elections have just been digested by the people, and initiating new campaigns will cost the republic too much money. By the time a new Consul would be decently installed, he'd have only about six months left of his term, and other political activities would be slowed down because of this whole election process, not to mention the Praetorial investigation that Diocletianus and I are still running on the case of Cassius. To ensure a smooth running of the republic, we need to elect a Consul Suffectus from within the Senate."
Again the whispering of voices echoed through the Curia. Friends talked to each other shortly, and several people seemed to be thinking deeply. A few hands were raised again, and this time it was Caius Aelius Ericius who came in front of the assembled Senate. He was an old man, but with a mind that would surprise many youths, regarding both ideals and speed. He always seemed to be a little distracted though. Clarity had never been his strongest point, but he managed to turn his vagueness into a charming effect. Before speaking, he cleared his throat and looked over the senatorial heads carefully and thoughtfully.
"Good afternoon, Senatores. As you are no doubt aware, the proposals we've just heard from both M. Marcius Rex and Q. Fabius Maximus both have their advantages and disadvantages. Therefore, I would say we take the best aspects of both. Much like my colleague Rex, I believe that it's very important to include the people of Mars in this decision. Doing everything ourselves might be easier, but it would likely feed the conspiracy theories that are living among the common man, and I don't think anyone here likes the prospect of a riot. But I also agree with Praetor Maximus, when he says that election campaigns would usurp too much money. Thus, what I propose is a compromise: we hold new elections in which everyone will be able to vote, but the candidates must all be Senatores."
A silence followed, and Ericius had problems of keeping a smile from his face. Everyone seemed to be thinking, and no one raised their hand. Then Vedius broke the silence.
"Very well. Does anyone else have any other proposal?"
Ericius descended from the rostra. No one came to take his place. Vedius stood in front of the Senatus Romanus again.
"We have heard three proposals now. They have been processed into your personal voting computers by the autoscribae, and voting will commence within a few seconds. Let me add first that, without judging any of these three proposals, what we are about to decide now is very important for the future of Mars. We cannot afford instability right now. Relationships with Earth are getting worse every day, and our terraformatio project is constantly being obstructed by small rebel groups. The choice of a new Consul will be instrumental in the process of getting out of that impasse with Earth."
Vedius pressed a small button on the rostrum, and the lights in the room dimmed, announcing the voting had started. He went back to his place on the marble benches whilst the others were voting, and decided to vote for Maximus' proposal. He didn't want barely mended emotional wounds for his lost friend and colleague being washed away by a commercial and public election campaign so soon. Plus, he wanted things to run smoothly, especially with the threat of both the Martianalists and Earth, that still considered Mars as a colony.
"All votes have been cast," the voice computer of the Curia announced, interrupting Vedius' musings. The digital voice had a pleasant yet artificial tone, which had been made so on purpose to maintain a comfortable distance between man and machine. A com that spoke in a robotic voice was less suspect in the human mind than a com with a perfectly emulated human voice.
The voting results were announced on each small screen the Senators had in front of them. Rex's proposal had received 27%, Maximus' 34% and finally Ericius' came out as the winner with 49%. Not a bad compromise, but not what Vedius had hoped for, either. As the lights went back on and the eminent Senatores got up from their seats to leave the building in small groups, a small implant in Vedius' ear started ringing, meaning he had gotten an urgent message on his wireless com. He got it from under his toga and read the message discretely. It was a message from one of the Aediles Curules in Nova Roma itself, which had also been addressed to the Praetores.
Salvete Consul et Praetores,
About half an hour ago in the Horti Concordiae one of our local prefects discovered the body of Gnaeus Moravius Piscinus, one of the Tribuni Plebis. In spite of the fact that we may be interrupting you, we felt that it required your immediate attention in the light of the recent murder on Consul Cassius. The press has not been informed yet, and only the staff of the local prefecture knows about the macabre discovery.
Vale optime,
Marcus Cornelius Scipio
Vedius gasped and read the message again. But the green LEDs of the display did not lie. While the Senate had been discussing and voting, another important government official had been murdered, practically within eyesight of the Curia, as the Horti Concordiae were only a few yards away from the building. Slowly, he regained control again over his respiration and began walking steadily in the direction of the exit.
i.. Ad Kalendas Graecas
"What?" Sextus Apollonius Draco barked in the microphone of the vid that was placed in front of him.
"I'm sorry, but I cannot help you," the voice sounded in his ears. It was the voice of his own paterfamilias, Formosanus. He seemed to radiate a sort of maniacal stress, but Draco didn't really care about that right now.
"So this means that I'll have to be part of this mockery for at least a year?!"
"I suppose so. You could always try to be so subversive they'll throw you out."
"And I could just as well forget about my political aspirations then," Draco grumbled. The reason for his anger was that Piscinus had promised him, when he had entered the army, that when it would appear obvious that no clue was to be found there, he could leave through his connections. And in effect, nothing substantial was found at the army, and Draco was getting pretty fed up with the tight schedules, the drills and the lame jokes, even after four weeks. The fact that he had learnt about his failure in the Senate to obtain an exemption for his candidacy as Aedilis Plebis had only made it worse. And now Piscinus was dead, more than likely slain by the same person or organization that was behind the death of Cassius. In doing so, Draco was now convicted to minimally a full year of service in Legio XXI Ferox. Added to that, both Curio and him had been chosen to go along a military operation to locate a base of the Martianalists in the south. Right now he was still in the Tower, but he was scheduled to leave within a few hours and join the party that was to board a huge sand vessel at the docks just outside Mons Olympus. These ships were rather miraculous things. Gargantuan in size, they were yet very light, and relied mainly on old-fashion propellers and sails, because Martian winds were strong enough to carry them across large distances through vast plains of sand. When the terrain was rockier, the ship still had antigrav-engines to fly above the surface.
"What are your plans now?" Formosanus asked. Draco sighed.
"I'll see. I'll see. Well, the next time you're going to hear from me will be when I get back from this mission."
"What sort of mission is it?" Draco nearly allowed himself a smile at the diplomatic change of topic of his pater.
"I don't really know. It has something to do with the Martianalists. They don't tell a simple grunt all the details. Anyway. Pater; vale."
"Vale, mi fili!"
The screen went black. Draco got up and inspected his gear for the last time, making sure he wouldn't forget anything. Everything seemed in order, so he got up and ran through the base in a quick military pace. He still had some time left, so he decided to make a detour through the evening market of Mons Olympus.
As usual, there was much noise, the atmosphere was warm and the goods were abundant. Jewels from the Moon! Wine from Earth! Martian AG-crystals! Small Roman statues! Religio handbooks! Much of nothing, actually. Suddenly Draco's attention was drawn to a tent in a brownish colour, that read on its entrance plate:
"fortune telling and future prediction - guaranteed true!"
He had never seen this tent here before on Friday evening, even though it stood there between many other salesmen and other tents as if it had always stood there. That, along with the undeniable curiosity he felt made him go in. A man who seemed to be in his late twenties sat at a dark brown table, probably artificial wood. In the corners of the tent stood two statues of some obscure Roman deities. To Draco's surprise he had no crystal ball, no cards and no typical black robe or other accessories that were often associated with magicians, soothsayers or other types of psychicks. Many Romans seemed to believe in this, but Draco had his doubts.
"Do enter, my friend," the man said in a strange accent. Draco came closer and went sitting on a stool at the opposite side of the table.
"So, what has brought you here?" the man asked. The small nameplate on the table read 'Marcus Maximius Gaius'.
"You should be able to tell me that." There was something very uncomfortable about his stare, and Draco began to regret that he had ever come here in the first place. Maximius shrugged.
"I see your past and future, but not your motivations. Your future is very interesting." He closed his eyes and folded his hands together as though he was praying. Draco frowned. After a small minute, Maximius opened his eyes again, and grinned.
"You have no idea what's going to happen this year. And I won't tell you, either because it's too important. However, remember this phrase: Mars nos protegat. And no, you don't have to pay me."
Bewildered, Draco rose from the stool and left the tent rather disorientedly in the direction of the airship bay.
Eventually he managed to arrive in time, even though he was the last of the party to arrive. The dock could only be reached through an air tunnel and was built on a steep slope of the Mons Olympus, and artificially reenforced. There was enough space for about five or six of these elegant ships, but right now there was only one. Being a small military mission, there weren't many people present either. He had been briefed beforehand about who was who.
The most important member that went along was the Imperator Generalis of the Martian army, namely Marcus Minucius Audens. He wasn't at the docks, so Draco figured he'd be aboard the ship: a large, shadowy grey construct that was connected to the bay with long metallic cords and cables. The second member of the party was Lucius Marius Peregrinus, someone Draco vaguely knew from familial meetings between friends, and might recognize him (not that it mattered much). Number three was one Oppius Flaccus Severus, a provincial military who came from a small battle station somewhere on Phobos or Deimos. He had engaged himself in a very busy conversation with the fourth party member, Aurelius Tiberius Ronanus, a legendary military and a capable swordsman, laserswords being his specialty. The fifth party member stood on the edge of the dock, looking down the flank of the dead volcano as though he expected something to happen. His name was Ianus Querius Armoricus Lutecio, the only civilian on this mission. Finally the remaining eight were three crewmembers of the ship and its captain (all aboard the ship), Curio, Sertorius, Bicurratus and Draco. It was a mystery to him why he had to join this small mission alongside these men, who were obviously much more capable soldiers than he was. Unless they needed someone to do the dirty jobs aboard.
He decided not to talk or ask any questions, and thought about the encounter with Maximius, while watching a small meteorite burning up in the Martian atmosphere. It reminded him that the Romans had always thought of comets as bad omens.
j.. Interitum
(source: Bibliotheca Publica Novae Romae)
A global timeline of the history of Mars and the solar system, in Earth years:
° 1971: Mariner 9 takes the first photographs of the Martian surface.
° 1976: Landing of the unmanned Viking probes on Mars, sent by the United States.
° 2016: Landing of the manned Ares probe on Mars, sent by the European
Commonwealth, the Russian Federation, the United States, Canada,
Australia, China and Japan. Preparations for a first operational manned
observation station.
° 2021: First manned Martian observation station is established, named Vulcanus.
° 2024: Vulcanus is destroyed in a sandstorm, and all of the crew die in the disaster.
° 2027: Overpopulation of Earth causes the United Nations to issue the edict of
emigration, promoting emigration to the moon and possibly other stellar
bodies, partly financed by the governments, partly by major economic
conglomerates.
° 2028: Establishment of the first small colonies on Mars. Most of the colonies perish
after a few years due to the extreme conditions, accidents, or a stop of
money inflow.
° 2036: Attempt of the European Commonwealth to take Mars as her possession,
which results in the First Martian War, also known as the Red War, even
though not a single battle was fought on Mars itself. Eventually Mars is
granted the statute of protectorate under the supervision of the United
Nations.
° 2039: Mass floods on Earth cause a second emigration wave on the Moon. First
colonies on the moons of Jupiter and Saturn. Pluto is visited by manned
probes. A third attempt at colonizing Mars follows.
° 2050: Martian colonies have been reduced to the status of economic, mechanical
territories run by major companies. An uprising of a few cities fails.
° 2057: The discovery of a method to extract valuable resources from the gas
planets makes Mars unattractive for investers, and soon it is deserted again.
° 2071: About 55% of the citizens of the virtual micronation of Nova Roma invest their
money in a Mars expedition and emigrate to the planet. Nova Roma Urbs is
founded.
° 2075: Martian Confederation is established, with the city of Nova Roma as central
point. First small conflicts with Earth begin after an incident on Ganymedess.
° 2077: Escalating conflicts result in the Second Martian War between the industrial
conglomerate Microsol and the United Nations. The latter wins, and Mars is
given the status of independent state. A few years later the Moon,
Ganymedess, Titan, Callisto and Venus follow.
° 2081: A massive sandstorm season hits Mars severely, but Nova Roma survives,
even though the damage and loss is great.
° 2084: The Martian Confederation changes into the Respublica Romana-Martialis.
° 2088: Initiation of the terraformation project on Mars.
° 2091: Total population of Mars reaches 100 million. Deimos and Phobos
permanently colonized.
° 2092: First "Martianalists" appear, groups of hermits opposed to the terraformatio.
° 2095: The Respublica Romana-Martialis leaves the United Nations after a dispute
about the status of the asteroids with the African Federation of the People.
° 2098: Establishment of the Global Hegemonia on Earth, uniting all continental
supernations into one.
° 2099: Second diplomatic conflict about the status of the asteroids between Earth,
Mars and Ganymedess results in high tensions and asteroid piracy by all
parties involved
° 2100: First lifeforms created by humans are able to survive on Mars without artificial
aid. Tensions with the Martianalists and Earth rise again.
k.. Noli me tangere!
Despite the fact that he loathed a megalopolis such as Nova Roma, Marcus Octavius had been obliged by Consul Vedius to stay there for a while, together with the rest of the Senate and the most important magistrates. Whereas some had thought that assassinating the rather neutral Cassius had been a political action from one or another faction, the murder of a politically outspoken person such as Gnaeus Moravius Piscinus had rendered most conspiracy theories implausible. The Senate had issued a small military expedition to the territories of the Martianalists, but Octavius didn't really believe these modern cavemen could be responsible for something terrible like this.
Right now, he sat in a small, anonymous taberna with Lucius Sergius Australicus Obstinatus, also a Senator, and Titus Labienus Fortunatus, both Senator and Tribunus Plebis.
"My wife Ursa almost didn't let me out of the house," Fortunatus said dryly. Australicus grinned.
"Glad you made it though," Octavius said. They were all dressed in common togas lest they would be recognized. They sat at a table inside the taberna on the corner of a busy avenue, paved in Roman style, with much heavy AG-traffic passing through. It was a sunny day, although it was never warm on Mars.
"But we have to be careful, of course. They - whoever they are - are trying to bring the government out of balance. Right now we only have one Consul and one Tribunus Plebis, two of the most vital functions for our republic," Fortunatus said.
"Yes, it's being said that Vedius can barely sleep, and is becoming really paranoid," Australicus spoke, taking a sip from his cup of wine.
"Must be hard times for him," Octavius mused, staring out of the window.
"Hard times for everybody," Australicus replied shruggingly.
"The point is that nobody can trust anyone else in this atmosphere. Everyone says it's the Martianalists, but no sane soul on Mars believes this," Fortunatus said, after a short silence.
"Sulla does," Octavius remarked. Australicus raised an eyebrow and looked at Octavius with a sly grin. Fortunatus waved his hand a little.
"Well, all but one then. But why would they be doing this? They have strange reasons to oppose the terraformatio, but they aren't really political. Besides, the Quirites would rebel against a government of Martianalists, I'm sure of that. Vado still thinks the army is behind all this. They felt very left out during some small conflicts between Mars and Earth that had to be settled with mercenaries, mostly, so he thinks they want to flex their muscle big time now."
"He may be a little blinded by the loss," Australicus said. Octavius and Fortunatus drained their cups simultaneously. The latter shrugged.
"Could be. The only other suspect could be Earth."
A silence fell again, amidst of the cosy noises in the taberna and outside on the streets. Suddenly Octavius heard a small sound from one of the cybernetic implants in his head.
"Amici, I have to go, I'm afraid. It's been nice talking to you." He rose from the table and shook hands with both the other Senator and the Tribunus Plebis.
The sound he had heard was that of the main network office, a few blocks away. They only called when they had problems, or when they would find another trace of the enigmatic 'Eugenias'. He hoped that was the case, although he feared the killer or killers wouldn't make such a mistake again. Whilst walking down the street, he noticed that he was paying more attention to other people than he used to. It must be the paranoid climate of late, he thought, and tried to shake the thought off his back. It was a sunny day. Nobody would try to kill a Senator - dressed in a neutral toga - in plain open public. Be calm Marce, be calm, he told himself, and slowed down a little, trying to enjoy his walk.
When he was one block away from the network office, he suddenly felt two hands being placed on his shoulders. A cold calm descended over him.
"Be silent, Senator Octavi," a voice with a strange accent spoke in his left ear. People passed him and his capturers as if nothing was happening. Panicked, his eyes glanced across the street for help. No aedilis in sight. Just common people, a few tourists and a cordon of AG-trucks from some ore company. He swallowed and closed his eyes.
"What do you want from me?"
"Do not fear," spoke another voice to his right, that seemed to pierce his very brain by the dense subtone that accompanied it. A hand came in front of him, carrying a small device that seemed like a wrist computer.
"This contains clues to the identity of Eugenias," the voice to his left spoke, again with that weird accent, "use it wisely, it is a token of good faith from Venator."
"But." The pressure on his shoulders disappeared. He turned around, to find no one standing there. His hands were sweaty, and he was looking around the avenue feverishly. Plain Romans. Tourists. Small children with their pets. Nothing out of the ordinary. He blinked his eyes several times, and then turned his attention to the small black device. It looked like an e-booklet, so he pressed the red button. Only one small sentence appeared on screen:
Terror vescans.
Feeding terror, or the terror that feeds. Another mystery. Octavius' brain felt numb. He hid the booklet in the inner pocket of his tunica and walked further to the office. He had thought nothing could surprise him anymore that day, but he was wrong.
When he entered the main office where the mainframes were loctaed, his associates came up to him with a bewildered and excited look on their faces.
"We have located Eugenias," one of them said. He felt too dazed by the strange encounter to feel any sort of strong emotion.
"Have you?" he replied absently, looking over the shoulders of the people in front of him to the squirming mass of togae bent over several computer screens in the cool mainframe room. Sunlight fell in through large glass windows, seperated by columns in Etruscan style.
"Yes, we have," another one said, "he has killed someone else, but contacted his employer afterwards. One of our internauts was lucky enough to come across the trace of his message. We are checking some things right now."
Octavius approached a computer, while his assistants kept following him.
"Where is he? And whom did he kill?" Octavius asked. He felt sick and numb, yet somehow invulnerable. A strange cocktail of feelings swam in his head.
"We don't know where he is now, but it could very well be he's in Nova Roma."
"But whom did he kill?" The assistant that had first greeted him replied.
"Quintus Fabius Maximus, in his own domicile. We've already informed his collega, Caius Flavius Diocletianus. It's a mystery how the killer managed to sneak into his villa which was very well guarded. Maximus was bathing when it happened, and appearently electrocuted."
"Caela mea.," Octavius whispered, silently, looking at the ceiling of the large room, where an image was painted of Mercurius, god of communication and. crooks.
l.. Caelum, non animum mutant qui trans mare current
It was a cloudy day in the neighbourhood of Noachis Terra, one of the large southern Martian plains. According to Sertorius they were getting closer to the approximate location of one of the Martianalist bases. There was much wind outside, a true blessing for Audens, who would have rather been on the deck than anywhere else, but alas the winds were so strong he probably wouldn't last long out there.
"I must confess I still don't get it," Curio said. Draco and he sat in one of the ship's 'panoramic' rooms, as they didn't have much to do today. Usually their job was to clean up the ship, check the engines and help where needed. Sertorius occasionally did some odd jobs for his superiors, too, but Bicurratus had the common habit among officers of being good at one thing. commanding. Peregrinus had about the same rank of Sertorius, but was seldomly seen around the quarters of the crewmembers. Same went for Ronanus, the swordsman, and Audens himself. Oppius Flaccus seemed to be everywhere at the same time talking the day away, whilst the enigmatic civilian, Lutecio, spent his days peering out of the window.
"There's much I don't get, mi Curio," Draco replied. He sat comfortably in a bench near the large side window, watching how the dusty clouds passed alongside the ship with an amazing speed.
"No, what I mean is why we are going on this small mission to 'talk with' the Martianalists, while they obviously haven't done all that much to deserve this kind of attention."
"They destroyed some bio-plants that were instrumental in the terraformatio," Draco said.
"I know," conceded Curio, "but there are more important things right now than the Martianalists - like finding Eugenias. In about a month time three important government officials have been killed, and what do the magistrates and the senatores? Sending a small expedition to explore the territory of an 'enemy'. I find this illogical."
Draco shrugged.
"I don't know everything. Why don't you ask Audens?" Curio grinned slightly.
"I think I'd get a dirty job instead of a true answer. Militaries in lower ranks aren't supposed to have questions."
Their conversation was interrupted when the door opened. It was the mysterious Lutecio.
"Salve," Curio and Draco simultanously said.
"Salvete," Lutecio said absently, obviously gazing at the clouds.
"Do you come here often?" he asked. One of the first times Draco heard the man say more than four words in a row.
"Not really, but there's not much revelry here aboard a military sandcruiser, is there?" Curio replied. Lutecio didn't smile but nodded, as if Curio had said a deeply serious and intresting fact.
"Yes, I suppose you're right. This is about the only spectacle the ship has to offer," the civilian said. There was a twist in his accent that made Draco think of someone else. Then he knew again: Marcus Maximius Gaius.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure," Lutecio said, his gaze not turning away from the panorama.
"Do you know one Marcus Maximius Gaius?" Draco asked. Lutecio frowned, and so did Curio.
"Gaius. Gaius. The name sounds familiar. Ah, yes, I remember. A couple of years ago, I was praetor of a small colony in Utopia Planitia named Nova Gallia. He was one of my deputies, but one day simply disappeared, never to be seen again. A strange bird. Why did you ask?"
Draco knew the question was inevitable.
"I faintly remembered a guy who had the same accent like you, and bore the name of Marcus Maximius Gaius, but it was quite a while ago."
For the first time, Draco saw Lutecio smile. Unconvincingly, but yet it was a smile.
Two days later, the ship's crew was getting ready for the descent to the Martian surface. The shadowy ship floated closely above the ground, even though 'close' was a relative concept, as it was probably more than one hundred metres away from the rocky terrain. It was early in the morning, but every crewmember was on the bridge, at the command of Audens, who stood in the middle, leaning over his small commander's balcony, staring out of the large window as if he was facing an enemy. They had been briefed about their initial mission beforehand: after the landing Sertorius, Ronanus, Curio and Draco were to explore the immediate perimeter while Oppius stayed aboard to check for signals that could indicate where the Martianalists hid themselves. The permanent crewmembers would check the ship and make repairs where necessary, whilst Bicurratus and Peregrinus had gotten orders to patrol the area, making sure no Martianalist would come aboard unnoticed. Today would be a cloudless, bright day.
"Getting ready for landing," the navigator announced, "deploy the scrapers."
A woman at the navigator's right nodded and pulled a lever. A small buzz was heard, as long metal cilinders were being shoved out of the shell. These 'scrapers' would, when touching the ground, decrease the speed of the ship. When the ship had been slowed down enough, they adjusted themselves into a vertical position, while additional 'feet' would come out to prevent the ship from falling, anchoring themselves into the ground deeply.
A slight shock went through the ship as the scrapers made contact with the surface. Suddenly a much larger shock was felt.
"What was that?" Audens inquired of his crew.
"We've been hit by a maser beam," the first mate answered, from behind his computer screen in the left corner of the bridge. A second impact hit the ship, and it lost altitude quickly. Everyone who wasn't sitting grabbed ledges or got hold of something solid to sustain themselves. Inevitably the ground came closer at an amazing speed, and the crash soon followed, casting some men away, and severly shaking others. Smoke began filling the room. Draco was still holding on to a ledge near the staircase, but hung in mid air right now as the ship's nose was planted into the Martian soil. His only hope was that the front window wouldn't break. Through the thick fog he could only see some scattered bodies lying down, but none of them seemed familiar. He had to close his eyes from the smoke, and was coughing already when he searched for his helmet, hanging idly on his belt. In the distance he heard an alarm. When he finally found the helmet, his other hand began to slide away from the legde he was holding on to. In a few stressful seconds he managed to connect his helmet with the rest of his suit, and brought the hand back to the ledge, releaving the stress on from the other. However, he couldn't hang like this forever. Luckily he could see something now through the enhanced visor of the helmet. Appearently he was the only one still hanging upside down. He counted seven bodies below, but still couldn't identify them. He looked around to see if he had a chance of coming down safely, without totally breaking the window - even though it was said to be able to stand such shocks. No.
Mars me protegat, he thought, and let go of the ledge, plunging into the foul smoke.
m.. Cum grano salis
"This cannot be," Praetor Diocletianus muttered as he stared blankly at the small Roman statue on his desk, "this simply cannot be."
In front of him stood his computer screen, with a detailed summary of the Eugenias murders so far, plus the clues that had been examinated. One week had passed since his colleague, Maximus, had been discovered dead in his villa, but it litterally kept raining corpses of magistrates and Senatores, as three days later the private jet of the Moravii exploded above the Vastitas Borealis and crashed there. Nicolaus Moravius Vado, his wife Aletheia and his daughter Natalia had died on impact. Forensic research didn't exclude the possibility of an accident, but it was clear that in this case, coincidence was very unlikely. Cornelius Moravius Laurentibus was the only survivor of the crash, and was in hospital right now, recovering from the terrible burns and oxygen wounds. Two days later Marcus Marcius Rex and his family died when their remote villa, not far from where Diocletianus lived, went up in flames. And yesterday, while Praetor Maximus and Senator Vado were being buried outside Nova Roma with a grand procession, Caius Aeilius Ericius was shot while sleeping in his garden. Maximus, Ericius and Rex. All three of them had spoken in the Senatus regarding the election of a new Consul, and all three of them had been killed afterwards. Why? The consequences for the magistrates of Mars were clear, in any case. Consul Vedius was constantly surrounded by his lictores, and barely left the house. No one knew where Fortunatus had gone to after the death of his friend and colleague Piscinus, but it appeared that he had retreated to a safe hideout. Other major players on the political scene, and magistrates, were silent, or held hysterical speeches in the Forum, increasing their own chances to get killed. The most frustrating of all this for Diocletianus was that he still had an investigation to conduct. He was getting much help from the Aediles of Nova Roma and outside of the Urbs, but that wasn't enough. Also, his very life was at stake, making this a very personal quest. He had always considered Vado and Rex friends of his
"This cannot be," he murmured again to his silent conversation partner, a small statue of Iustitia.
There had been sightseeings in Nova Roma of three suspicious figures, all men, as of late, and many people claimed they were in fact Eugenias. A hundred of these wild stories landed in the praetorial offices every day, but this one was more reliable since he had a first hand witness, namely Octavius. He had been approached by two men, who had given him a tip on the identity of Eugenias. Ever since, Octavius had been assiting Diocletianus where he could - a grateful assistance, because Diocletianus was running out of time and energy. According to other sources the two men Octavius had met named themselves Caeso Fabius Quintilianus and Marcus Maximius Gaius. A search through the civil databases of Mars had given intresting results: Quintilianus had been missing since 2092, and had allegedly been killed in the descent of the Valles Marineris. Marcus Maximius Gaius, on the other hand, used to be a small government official who disappeared suddenly in 2092, never to be seen again. This was the same year in which the Martianalists appeared. Appearently, these two men were both Martianalists, and they were trying to help the investigation further. Excluding further paranoia, Diocletianus had scrapped the Martianalists from his list of suspects. The only other serious candidate remained Earth. Of course, Earth denied everything, and had told Vedius point blank to settle their own affairs.
The most intrigueing fact, however, was the perception of the third figure. According to most sources it was a familiar face, but they were unable to get to his name, and the encounters went way too fast to see many details. It appeared that he operated alone. One observation even said that the three 'Eugeniates' had been running across the Forum Libertatis, all three of them armed, and moving at a preternatural speed, with one ahead, and the two others following. If Diocletianus' reasoning was correct, this meant that the Martianalists were also chasing Eugenias. He had tried to contact Audens recently to stop his military expedition to the Martianalist caves, but nobody had been able to find him. Appearently his mission was so secret that communications weren't allowed. Vedius denied having ordered the mission, as did both Censores.
Suddenly the Praetor abruptly stopped his thinking when he heard the sound of the vid phone, built in into his computer. The small information box below showed it was Octavius. Diocletianus pressed the small green button.
"Salve," Octavius said without much ado.
"Glad to see you're still alive," Diocletianus said, "what's new?"
Octavius looked tired. In the background, the pillars of his office where the Martian mainframe was located were visible.
"We may have found a clue about the clue the Martianalists gave us. We think it's not a wordplay, but more a symbolic thing. The 'terror that feeds' is to be interpreted quite litterally Roman, actually. Think of something in Roman history that feeds."
Diocletianus stared at the flat screen. Nothing came up in his mind.
"Who saved Romulus and Remus from starvation?"
"The she-wolf. but what does that have to do with terror? Eugenias is not a woman, nor a wolf. Unless you're trying to tell me that we have a werewolf trying to assassinate all magistrates and political figures."
"Don't be so sarcastic," Octavius replied matter-of-the-factly.
"Ok, sorry. I'm waiting for your explanation."
"Well, if a wolf becomes a symbol of terror, it might be associated with a person. Do you remember the 'Wolf of Rome'? What's the Latin word for 'wolf'?"
Diocletianus looked at Octavius for a while, and then his mouth went ajar.
"You're not telling me."
"I am. And I'm deadly serious."
n.. Si vis pacem, para bellum
Draco blinked, then lay wide eyed, staring at the black camouflage plastic of a tent. He realized he was alive. Someone must have dragged him into that tent.
"I'm one lucky bastard," he muttered to himself. He tried to rise, but immediately felt a sharp pain in his right leg and his lower back. He fell flat, and tried again, this time with more success. He could now see outside of the tent. It was night. A few people were talking to each other. He could recognize them: the typical accent of Curio, the gestures that Peregrinus made while talking, Ronanus' rabid grin and Oppius' passionate tone, as though the good man was always debating. Draco crawled outside of his tent. A few more tents were visible beyond the light cone around which the others sat. Above the tent camp was a safety shield, which allowed the people inside to wear regular clothes.
"Ah, so the terrible dragon has awoken?" Peregrinus chuckled.
"Permission to laugh, sir," Curio said.
"Brat," Peregrinus replied, his initial grin disappearing. Draco found an empty spot around the light cone.
"What has happened, sirs?" he asked numbly.
"The ship crashed, in case you hadn't noticed," Ronanus spoke.
"I knew that. But afterwards, sir?"
"Audens is dead, as is Bicurratus and most of the ship's crew," Oppius Flaccus gravely said.
"Sertorius was wounded, like you, and is resting in one of the tents. Lutecio has seemingly disappeared. We were just discussing how we were going to return to any base or city nearby."
"I see," Draco said, with a deep frown. So, the mysterius civilian, Lutecio, had disappeared. The man must have had a link with the Martianalists.
"I still think he was spying on us for those blasted Martianalists," Ronanus said, obviously reprising the discussion thread before Draco's arrival.
"Impossible. He wasn't wired," Peregrinus replied.
"How do you know that?" Oppius wanted to know. The military tribune's grin reappeared.
"Audens' orders. This was a small, secret mission. As the computer expert aboard, it was my task to search every room for anything suspicious. Too bad I found Curio's secret por-"
"Allright allright," Oppius intervened, "whether Lutecio was a spy or not has nothing to do with out problem. We're in a potentially hazardous environment, with only one one-man escape pod from the ship with enough fuel to go to a city in the neighbourhood. Even this light cone could betray us to the Martianalists."
"We're behind the ship's wreckage. That should be enough to cover the light emission with," Ronanus calmly said, "but regarding the escape pod; I'm a volunteer to go. I had a little pilot training."
Oppius, the Phobos military, scraped his throat.
"So had I, if I may remind you."
"Let's flip coins then," Ronanus offered.
"Very well," Oppius agreed, definitely disturbed. He pulled out a coin.
"Tails," he announced, and then flipped it. Heads. Ronanus grabbed his gear and rose to his feet.
"I'll tell them to come after you guys," he said, "and I'll fly as fast as possible, if those crazy apes out here don't shoot me down."
"Mars te protegat," the others collectively said. He nodded and disappeared through the double airlocks.
"Terrible news about Aundens and Bicurratus," Draco mumbled.
"We've offered our prayers to the Gods. May they be dwelling the Elysian fields now," Oppius said. A loud cough was suddenly heard from another tent, followed by a mild curse in Latin.
"I think Sertorius is awake, sir," Curio announced.
"And you can check on him," Peregrinus ordered. Curio opened his mouth to say something but then simply shrugged and opened the tent flap. Sertorius came crawling out. He appeared to have incurred a head wound.
"What happened?" the drill instructor inquired, coughingly dragging himself to the light cone.
"The ship crashed; Audens and his crew died in the crash, as did Bicurratus. Ronanus has headed for the escape pod to warn a nearby city to pick us up from this desert, as our communication devices are broken," Oppius spoke.
Further conversation became impossible, because of a sudden noise that was heard; the noise of the escape pod's engine that was warming up, and slowly lifting itself above the dry red surface of the southern desert. It flew over the tent camp and its frail shield, blasting sand and small rocks against it. Its bright yellow lights made them bathe in an almost preternatural light. Soon enough the pod flew higher above the desert. The remaining soldiers followed the craft with their eyes. Suddenly the light grew larger again.
"Why is it coming back?" Sertorius asked, more to himself than anyone else in particular. Peregrinus put on his helmet and used his built-in binoculars.
"It. it's flying in attack position!" he shouted, "Get your helmets on."
Draco and the others grabbed their helmets as quickly as possible, while the sound of the pod came anxiously closer again, and the light made its way to the tent camp. The small craft started spewing bullets, and pierced the oxygen bulb. Tents were set on fire. Choked cries in helmets. The light cone shattered.
Everyone seemed still alive, but the craft was coming back for a second round. There was no time to ask why this had happened. Suddenly, when it came back again to shoot its deadly fire at the soldiers, two bright beams, of the genre that had taken out the airship, intercepted the pod in mid-air. An explosion followed suit, and the remains came down, burning. The second explosion as the debris hit the ground reflected in the dark visors of the soldiers' helmets.
"What was that?!" Oppius' voice sounded, panicked, through the other headphones in the helmets.
"I have no idea," Sertorius replied, sounding even weaker than before. He was sitting on the ground next to a burning tent, and looked as though he could vomit any moment. Draco didn't feel too well in his stomach either, and the thought of seeing puke splattered over the visor didn't exactly make it any better.
"If he was a spy for the Martianalists, then why would they shoot him down like that?" Oppius inquired again. No one answered. Draco was looking for Curio.
"Where's Curio?"
"Over here," his voice came, very weakly, from the ground. He was lying on the ground. He had been shot in his right arm and right leg. So far he hadn't had carbondioxide in his suit yet, and it hadn't begun to depressurize yet. But Draco knew it would happen any moment. There was nothing he could do to save his friend.
"Gods! No! Is there anything I can do?"
"I suppose not. Blast, I can't even smoke a last cig, like all heroes do when they die," he tried to joke, but it came out rather forced.
"Stay calm," Peregrinus said, "it's the only solution."
"Yes. You can't do anything for me other than to leave me before you'll get yourself killed with those mad Martianalists out there. They know we're here," Curio said.
"Leaving you? I think not," Draco decided.
"You must. Mi Mari, order them to leave me."
"Leave him, miles Draco. We have to move on." Peregrinus' voice sounded broken.
"And what if I ignore your order?" Draco asked. He realized he had tears in his eyes. Curio's good arm managed to pull out his standard handgun, the so-called pilum, a powerful ray gun.
"Do it, or I'll shoot you right here. For the love of Iuppiter, go away."
"Ok then." Draco hauled for a deep breath, and suddenly realized they'd all die anyway if they were out here in the desert for more than ten hours without an extra oxygen supply.
"Fare well, amice." Curio lowered his gun.
"Fare well," he said dryly and weak.
The party, Oppius and Draco supporting the limping Sertorius, moved on into the nightly desert, where the dangers that awaited them were as numerous as the stars in the sky.
o.. Homo homini lupus
When they came to arrest him, he was sitting in a roof taberna, quietly having breakfast and coffee, reading his newspaper. This was one of the rare moments where Diocletianus could barely contain his anger.
"There he is," he said to the two Aediles that accompanied him. The other guests in the taberna looked disturbed, but also surprised.
"Salvete gentlemen," the man said, looking up at them from his coffee, "how can I help you?"
"We came to arrest you," Diocletianus bluntly said, towering over the small white table.
"Is that so?" the man asked, with a smirk, "then what am I charged with?"
"Scipio, could you read it aloud please?" Diocletianus asked his first Aedilis.
"You are charged with the murder on Marcus Cassius Iulianus, Gneaus Moravius Piscinus, Quintus Fabius Maximus, Nicolaus Moravius Vado, Natalia Moravia, Aletheia Moravia, Marcus Marcius Rex, Livia Marcia Aurelia, Gaius Marcius Coriolanus, Caius Aeilius Ericius, disturbing the public order, computer hacking, high treason and forgery. You have the right to appeal to an advocatus or a Tribunus Plebis."
"And how about a phonecall?"
"Listen pal," Diocletianus said, imitating a yankee accent and grabbing him by the toga, "this is not your United States, traitor."
"Allright allright. You guys are so humourless these days. Wait a second gentlemen, as I'm going to finish my coffee first." Before the cup could reach his lips, Diocletianus grabbed it from his hands and tossed it over the roof.
"Go get it," he added stridently. Both men looked at each other hatefully, and the silence spoke more than words could have.
The curatrix of the roof taberna came running at the officers.
"Salve," Diocletianus said, regaining some of his calm.
"What are you doing here? You're disturbing the order in my restaurant. Many Senatores and other people of good standing come here, you know."
"I am a Senator, and I'm also a Praetor. I've come to arrest this man. My name is Caius Flavius Diocletianus and I came to arrest this man. What is your name?"
"Priscilla Vedia Serena." The second Aedilis, Titus Sertorius Albinus, jotted it down on an e-scriba.
"Then your husband must know me," Diocletianus said, "but anyway, I wanted to ask you a couple of questions. Do you have some time?"
"Actually I haven't," she said, "but I have if you can be quick."
"Allright then. Does this man come here often?"
"Yes," Priscilla said, "I surely recognize him. I have no complaints about him, though. He can be rude sometimes, but he always pays correctly and I've never seen him disturb order in my taberna."
"I see. And do you know who he is?"
"Sir! I never ask for my customers' names, and neither are the personnel supposed to." She called for one of her servants: "Appi Tulli, come over here."
Meanwhile the people in the roof taberna had begun gossipping, peeking at the officers and their arrestee from time to time. The latter remained calm, looking over the pinkish sky. The servant, Appius Tullius Marcellus Cato, a timid and polite man, strolled over to the curatrix.
"Yes, how can I help you?" he asked.
"Do you know the name of this man?" Diocletianus asked the servant.
"Umm, let me think. No, I don't think he ever told me. Is it important?"
"It would be if you knew it. If you're truly speaking the truth, then it's not important at all. Well, if you don't mind, we're taking this arrestee with us. Valete atque gratias ago for your assistance."
Scipio shackled the arrestee, and obeidiently he followed the officers as they left Priscilla's taberna, down the stairways to the praetorial car that waited outside the high, white plastered building.
"I had expected you sooner," he said.
"Did you? Well, at least we got to you before the Martianalists did."
"Am I supposed to be grateful now?"
"You're not supposed to be anything at all. It's bad that you once betrayed Mars, but now you did it twice," Diocletianus spat.
"Betrayal exists only in the eyes of the betrayed."
Diocletianus smiled wryly.
"Typical. The only person who would say such a thing is Gaius Lupinius Festus."
p.. Tamdiu discendum est, quamdiu vivas
"Rotten desert. Rotten weather. Rotten Martianalists. Rotten gods. What in Futuax' name are we doing here?" Peregrinus mumbled in his helmet. All night they had blindly walked across the great southern plain, only to encounter wind, rocks and sand. It was a bright day, but that couldn't really cheer up the mood in the party of partially limping and totally exhausted soldiers.
"Ask Audens," Draco replied. He forgot to add 'sir', but right now it didn't really seem to bother anyone. When far away from home, in one of the lonliest lands imaginable, hierarchy among a group of four people faded quickly.
"Wasn't Audens dead?" Sertorius asked, a frown visibly forming behind the darkened visor of his helmet. Nobody seemed to care about his stating the obvious again.
Sol was coldly staring down on the party, casting long, surreal shadow on the reddish landscape and sharp, scattered rocks, of the volcanic type that appeared on many plains across Mars.
Draco looked over his shoulder, and saw no trace of the wreckage anymore, and neither did he see a trace of the crashed escape pod that had attacked them the night before. Ever since not much had been said. Draco was mainly thinking of the loss of Curio - others seemed to be wrapped up in similar thoughts. But their most important concern was to get out of there and report this. First Martianalists shot down the gargantuan sand sailer. Then Ronanus turned on his fellow colleagues, only to be shot down himself.
"Permission to speak, sirs," Draco requested.
"Go 'head," Peregrinus offered, seemingly without much intrest.
"I've done some thinking, and for me, there are only two possible reasons why things happened as they happened. Option one is that the Martianalists have been hunting us down, and shot down Ronanus, who had gone insane. Option two is that Ronanus worked for the guys who shot us down, but was in turn stopped from his attempt at killing us by an opposing force."
"And who would that 'opposing force' be?" Oppius Flaccus asked.
"I have no clue, sir." What could they expect? Nobody had let him in on the real mission, even though they were a scarred group of survivors now, far from accomplishing their mission - whatever that mission might have been. Draco was sure Sertorius wasn't aware of the true mission just as well. Perhaps he and the other soldiers with a lower rank were mere grunts, if things should turn ugly. Severus and Peregrinus probably knew, but the military hierarchy and unwritten law prohibited him from asking, despite the relatively informal atmosphere. Draco felt like quitting. However, where could he run to? He missed his pater, his fratres and the usual daily life of their hometown. He even started missing the heated political scene of the Urbs itself. And girls in fresh tunicae when it was summer on the equator.
Almost an hour passed without any word being spoken. The only sounds heard were the rhythmic pounding of their boots in the crusty soil, and the ever present Martian winds. It had been said that Mars' children were children of wind, and it was true: no human civilization in the solar system was so accustomed to different types of wind as the Romans were. Legend had it that Augures could predict the future by their interpretation of the winds - as there were no birds on Mars to observe. Suddenly, all of the soldiers saw a blinking object in the sky, that was slowly approaching. Draco's visor identified it as a man, equipped with a jetpack.
"Who's that?" Sertorius uttered.
"Go ask him," Peregrinus offered. Sertorius shrugged and said nothing. The man approached.
"Be careful," Oppius warned them. The stranger landed in front of them. He had a pretty regular outside suit on, but there was something about him that made Draco feel as if he had encountered the man before. He reminded him of that soothsayer, Maximius. He had the same, knowing air about him.
"Greetings," the stranger said.
"Salve," Oppius said reservedly.
"What brings you here in the southern desert?" Peregrinus wanted to know.
"I am a Martianalist; I live here." Draco grinned. That's one good reason, he thought. Besides, why el |
