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 else would someone fly across the Planum Australe?
"My name is Caeso Fabius Quintilianus," he introduced himself placidly, "I've come on behalf of our leader, to bring you to his caves."
"How do we know you aren't lying?" Peregrinus inquired. Quintilianus shrugged.
"You don't. You just have to trust me. If I may say so, I think you've got no other chance left than to die here if you won't come with me."
Draco awaited what his superiors would do. Sertorius seemed absent, while, even through the exosuit, both Peregrinus' and Oppius' body language spoke of tensions and dilemmas. They briefly looked at each other, and then nodded.
"Agreed," Oppius said, "bring us to your leader." Draco knew Curio would have said 'bring me to your dealer', as was an old common joke among youths. It saddened him to know that his friend had died in this very desert, and he tried to focus on something else.
"Take my hand," Quintilianus then said, his gloved hands outstretched. Sertorius walked past Oppius, Peregrinus and Draco and took the man's hand, while the others were hesitating. Draco and Peregrinus then simultaneously took Quintilianus' other hand, with Oppius following as a good last.
Suddenly, the vision in front of his eyes become something totally different, as if no time had been crossed between standing in the desert and being in the other place.
"You can take of your helmets," he heard Quintilianus say. And so they did. Appearently they were inside of a cave. Its rounded forms seemed to point towards a glacial origin. They were lit by torches built in the walls, and the cave had a small exit to a tunnel. Through the tunnel a figure came closer; a tall, impressive man dressed in a rugged cloak. He had a grey-black beard, and a heavy, natural frown on his face. Upon seeing the hermit-like figure, Quintilianus bowed his head slightly. A short, unnatural silence fell. Draco had the feeling both men were exchanging telepathical messages, and he didn't like the idea.
"You must be the negotiation party," the hermit said.
So that's what it was all about: negotiation! For the matter of sheer negotiation, an expensive sand sailer had been sacrificed, along with the largest part of the people in it.
"What's left of it, yes," Oppius said flatly.
"I see. My name is Piperbarbus Ullerius Venator. I am the leader of the Martianalist communities. I heard you had some difficulties on the way."
"That would be an understatement, sir. We have lost about ten men, among them our supreme commander, Marcus Minucius Audens."
Venator's frown became deeper.
"Yes," he said absently.
"Were you or your people responsible for this?" Oppius inquired nervously.
"No," Venator spoke placidly, "we weren't. Our opponents did it."
"Martianalists?" Sertorius asked.
"Arg," Venator replied. Draco's eyes crossed Peregrinus'. Arg? This was getting weirder and weirder, and he began to wonder if this was a dream. Teleports, telepaths, a deserted and liveless plane occupied by underground denizens in caves of a glacial origin! This was beginning to sound like a science fiction story.
"Follow me," the leader said. A bit docile the soldiers followed the man through the faintly luminiscent tunnel. It gradually became larger and more impressive, and they crossed other people, some in the same grey-brown cloaks like Venator's, others in a simple tunica, and here and there a man or woman in toga of simple design. On the way, Draco had spotted no buildings. Some stairways that hinted at entrances to other caves, but no buildings or rooms other than the one they had come from.
Finally, they reached some sort of square. The ceiling of the cave reached about thirty metres high above their heads, and the entrance to the next cave had something church-like about it.
"This is our principal meeting place," Venator said, pointing at the entrance, which shone with a yellow light. They continued their way to the entrance. Once they were inside, all cave-like appearances seemed to be gone. Through a stairway they reached an artificial wooden table with modern coms built into it, and with about ten chairs around them. The table stood on a nice and flat platform. Everything in the room had a yellowish glow, which deepened when the small gates behind them closed. At an invisible neuro-command of Venator, Draco guessed.
"Please take your seats, domini," Venator said. The leader himself sat down at the head of the table. Oppius sat at his right hand, Peregrinus at the left. Next to Oppius sat Sertorius, who was in front of Draco, who in turn felt a little awkward, as if he wasn't supposed to be here. But no one was sending him away, or seemed to take offence at his presence, so he stayed at the table. Everyone was waiting for Venator to speak. He finally did, after a small pause.
"Now, let me tell you a bit more about the Martianalists."
q.. Suos cuique mos
"Allright," Diocletianus said, taking a stool in the interrogatorium, "now let's hear what you've been doing here." It was morning, and overnight the Praetor's feelings had calmed down. Festus looked as though he hadn't slept, and had his arms folded across his chest, leaning over the table with them. In defensive mode, so it seemed.
"You're supposed to know that," Festus growled. Diocletianus frowned.
"That doesn't really help. We have you taped on several occasions, and there's no doubt, through identification of your DNA, that you killed at least one person, namely Consul Cassius. I hope you do realize that you're facing a lifetime in prison, if not more."
"More than a lifetime?" Diocletianus rolled with his eyes.
"I'm talking about the death sentence."
"Oh."
An uneasy silence entered the room. Diocletianus studied the lines in his toga and drank some of his coffee while he awaited Festus to speak. After half a minute, he began to talk.
"Allright. I killed Cassius and Piscinus, and masterminded the other assassinations."
The Praetor was a bit shocked to hear confessions so quickly, but he retained his outer calm.
"How did you do it?" Festus loosened up a bit.
"I impersonated one of Cassius' sons, Nerva, to enter the building without the guards taking notice. Since I knew from past experience that Cassius is always available for his family, the automatic detectors in the building are ordered to let everyone of the gens Cassia pass through without it's being reported to the central computer. I sneaked in behind a guard's back, and the rest was fairly easy. He wasn't at his desk, as I had expected, and so I left a 'present' on it. I smeared a thin layer of poison on the wood of his desk, that would penetrate his skin upon contact. After three hours the micro-organisms in the poison would self-destruct, wiping out any trace of it."
Diocletianus made sure his autoscriba noted it all.
"And how about Piscinus and the others?"
"Piscinus was an accidental catch, actually. I was wandering through the park around the Curia when I saw him sitting on a bench by himself, appearently sleeping." He shrugged.
"Since I'm always carrying around my tools, it was quite easy to approach and kill him. As for the rest, I left that to the skillful hands of my underworld contacts here."
Diocletianus raised an eyebrow. He suppressed a rise of anger and cleared his throat.
"What are their names?"
"I don't know. It's a custom we don't know each others' names. They existed long before I returned here, though. They call themselves the Back Alley."
The Back Alley were a legendary mafia organization who was probably as old as Nova Roma itself. No member was known by name, however, and the cartel was too powerful to fight against in public.
"I see. Who sent you?"
"Earth."
Diocletianus was unable to supress a sudden shock. So Earth was behind it after all. And he had thought that Vedius was just being paranoid. Appearently, he had been proven wrong. Festus laughed a little. The Praetor closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the fact that the man in front of him was a cold-blooded killer who appearently found this to be very amusing.
"You don't have to be so surprised. When I was exiled from Mars, I was contacted by elements within Earth's government soon enough. They asked me if I, in return for a considerably large reward, would be able to destabilize the government of the Res Publica so that it would be defenceless in a war."
"Do you have any proof of this?"
"No. They were clever enough not to give me any documents. Only oral instructions, or transmissions on a public channel that billions of people use. Tracking messages in it would be pointless."
"Yet Octavius was able to track down one of your messages."
"He was? That'd be a surprise. I never sent one here."
Diocletianus realized Festus could be lying, but it sounded too honest to be a lie. On the other hand, nothing pointed towards truth, either, save for his explanation on the arrangement of the murders on Cassius and Piscinus. He went on to his last question for the time being.
"Do you know who Eugenias is, then?"
Festus seemed to think, and then frowned.
"Never heard of him."
Diocletianus stared into his coffee. Despite his successful interrogation, he felt beaten and powerless. Things were far worse than expected. He felt as though even the man in front of him was a captive, he had won once more. Anger rose to his head again, but he kept calm. He should not have interrogated Festus, and had it handled by an Aedilis. But his curiosity had gotten the better of him. The Praetor shook his head and stared at the man in the simple white toga.
"That'll be it for now."
r.. Omnes una manet nox
"So, what would you like to know?" Piperbarbus Ullerius Venator, the bearded, impressive man asked, at the head of the surrealistic table in this room, which shone with a gentle yellow shine. The soldiers looked at one another. Draco felt very dirty, sitting here in this clean room, with a bunch of rogue soldiers. While they had been only two days away from the comfort of a home or a ship - the term 'comfort' being relative, since the army wasn't exactly the most comfortable place one could imagine. On the other hand, it could have been worse. He avoided thinking about the fate that had struck Curio, and involuntarily shook his head.
Peregrinus finally spoke. Venator and the others looked at him with interest and curiosity.
"Who is responsible for the politicial murders on Mars?"
He might just as well have dropped a bomb. Nevertheless, a necessary question.
Venator placed his hands together and looked upwards for a second, as if checking what he was going to say, and then spoke, slowly and carefully choosing his words.
"An easy answer would be: Earth."
The soldiers held their breath. Draco, who had at first felt himself small in the company of renowned officers as a simple soldier, now also saw that these men knew in fact as little as he did, save for the nature of their mission. He wondered how Audens would have reacted to this news. He probably would have leaned back with a frown and listened, his presence still filling the room, despite the fact that he would be saying nothing.
After this initial shock, Venator continued.
"It is more complex than that. The Earth's government has long had plans to invade Mars. Earth itself suffers from overpopulation, and is still unable to wipe out its environmental past. Attempts at colonizing Venus and the Moon are going very slowly, and are really draining their funds. They see the occupation of Mars as the Spaniards saw the reconquista in the renaissance. However, they had three problems to overcome. The first one was the Roman terraformation project. Knowing that we had superior agricultural techniques, and were about to apply them to our home planet, they wanted to wait until it developed. Once Mars would be a more hospitable world, they would invade."
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but is this the reason why you attacked the terraformation bases?" Oppius wanted to know.
"Of course," Venator replied, "but that alone wasn't enough to prevent Earth from going on. In any case, they had two other problems that I haven't explained yet. The second problem they faced was the relative strength and cohesion of Mars as a cultural and social entity. Whereas Earth evolved from a tricky confederation, the Roman Republic was an example of concord and unity. The third problem were the Arg, an alien race."
The leader of the Martianalists paused for a while. Many frowned. Draco could see the dramatic spectacle unfolding; Nova Roma, surrounded by terraformed gardens, being invaded by a multitude of ships, with the shade of alien cruisers looming over the marble city.
"Aliens?" Peregrinus muttered incredulously.
"Yes," Venator said, deadly serious, "aliens. The Arg are an ancient race, now in decline. One of their older colonies was Mars, which became appearent when such traces were first thoroughly searched for by our ancestors, a small community that devoted itself to the worship of Mars in solitude. They were once technically and culturally superior to us, but those days are gone. Some other force that we don't know about has pushed them back into what once were the outer regions of their empire. They cannot afford a direct attack on Earth, and have therefore struck a deal with it to help them in conquering Mars. Some of the Arg agents are active here, and roam the deserts. Many of their actions were blamed on Martianalists."
"So what you're trying to say is that an alien race shot us from the sky?" Oppius asked, his voice sounding sceptical. Venator nodded.
"That's right."
"I can't believe this," Oppius retorted, "this is a very improbable scenario. How come Earth knows the Arg exist, and we don't? And did they kill Cassius?"
The enigmatic leader rubbed his hand through his beard and peered at the soldiers in front of him. Draco felt an uncomfortable yet strong force going out from those eyes.
"Viri, I know it is hard for you to accept this, but it is the truth as I know it."
Sertorius looked totally baffled. Oppius seemed downright upset, while Marius leaned back in his chair with a frown, his arms folded across his chest. There was one question that hadn't been answered clearly, and Draco felt compelled to ask.
"Permission to speak, sir."
Oppius gave him a puzzled look.
"Very well."
"Who did really kill Cassius and so many others?" Draco asked.
"These murders were mainly plotted and executed by a former Roman citizen, Gaius Lupinius Festus. As some of the senior officers in the army will know, he was an extraordinary soldier with a great influence. However, a short decade back, it appeared that he had been selling weapons to gladiator schools --weapons that could actually kill. For that, plus a few other accusations shot at him by his opponents, he was exiled from Mars. Earth then enlisted him to do their bidding, in exchange for a lot of money. The trick was to destablize the Roman government, the pounding heart of the republic, to make it so that the military would not have enough time to react to an invasion from Earth and the Arg."
"I'm not surprised by hearing the name Festus," Peregrinus said, anger sounding through in his voice, mixed with disappointment. Oppius, who came from Phobos, didn't know him. Sertorius might, but didn't say anything. Draco had heard the name a couple of times, and it appeared the man had written a few satires too, some of which were not bad at all.
"Two of my best men, Maximius and Quintilianus, tried to hunt him down, but he eluded them each time. Besides, he probably doesn't know what he is being used for exactly," Venator added, as if he was trying to console Peregrinus, but Draco was oblivious to this, as he heard the name Maximius. Had he known that the young soldier would once enter his home?
"However," Venator then said, "Earth's invasion is iminent, and the Arg are growing more brutal every day. The same night awaits all of us. That's why you were invited here."
"Excuse me, but I'm not so convinced yet that these Arg exist. Do you have any proof of their existence?" Oppius asked.
For the first time since they arrived here, which seemed like days but was in fact nothing more than a few hours, Venator laughed. He looked rather funny when he was laughing, in a way you wouldn't expect for a reclusive leader of a community of hermits.
"You are sitting in it. This room was probably a part of a former Arg villa. Experts say it was something like the dining room, or the bedroom."
The soldiers let their eyes wander across the pastel tinted room. Now that he mentioned it, the room indeed had something alien to it, Draco thought, although it could be a trick of the moment, since many Martianalists were appearently psychics of some sort. But on the other hand, they could have killed them a million times, so why would he not believe them?
Venator suddenly rose from his chair, and a young woman, about the age of Draco, who looked strangely sensual, entered the room, appearently from nowhere.
"Domini, this is Tarquinia. She will show you to your quarters. At nine we are going to hold a commemorative ceremony to your friends who died. If you would like to attend to it, you are welcome to do so. Every room has a plan of the cave system, so you shouldn't get lost. You might meet our other guest as well. Tomorrow, after breakfast, I will see you again."
He bowed gracefully, and simply fizzled into thin air. Before the soldiers could even express their amazement, their stream of confused thoughts was interrupted by Tarquinia.
"Follow me please."
Later on the night, Draco and the rest attended to the ceremony, now dressed in the simple garb all Martianalists wore. There was a cone-shaped artificial cave, with, in the middle, a gigantic, shimmering white statue of Mars, with a digital model of the planet slowly describing orbits around it. Phobos and Deimos formed his eyes. Around the statue, at its feet, were a few arae, but only one was manned with a pontifex. The other people sat around the statue, the largest concentration facing the pontifex. Torches lit the cave.
Some corpses of the soldiers were found, others weren't. They lay there peacefully, with their faces represented on stakes by wooden masks, while women, going around the enormous statue, which Draco reckoned was about forty feet tall, cried and chanted the names of the deceased. Each time Draco heard Curio's name, his heart skipped a beat, and the memory of leaving him dying in the southern, crusty deserts of Mars recurred in flashes. The tables on which the corpses lay were the only mechanical thingsin the cave, and would soon ride themselves into the cavities along the walls of the cave, where most cremated Martianalist soldiers were buried. The features of the dead soldiers' faces were barely visible from this distance; the only one recognisible from this distance was the bearded, proud head of Audens.
The chants grew louder, and the pontifex at the altar offered incense to the gods of the underworld, and made prayers to Ceres, and the Manes and Lares of the dead soldiers. In a way, the exaggerated mourning cries of the women canalized Draco's pain, too, and when a minor priest lit the bodies, it felt as though a block was dropped from his shoulders. Bicurratus, Audens, Lutecio and Curio were gone. He didn't believe in the classical religious definition of the underworld, as a physical realm with Styx and all, but rather thought it to be a return to the earth, or in this case, planet, that took back what was rightfully hers.
A silence fell, only interrupted by the sounds of the burning fire, and the play of shadows against the brown-red walls of this conic cave. The sitting figures, which seemed like small goblins under the robust protection of the Mars statue, quietly prayed, or looked down. Draco, on the other hand, looked up to the ceiling of the cave, and wished that he could see the stars.
s.. Tempora quid faciunt
Iasonus Serenus Carolus Peregrinus familiae salutem plurimam dicit.
Although it is a common and cliché question to ask you, I would like to know how all of you are doing in the safe valleys of Xanthe Terra, under the shadow of the majestic Tharsis Plateau, and most important of all, under the distant sun, which is still shining there, despite the start of the hurricane season. The winds have already started their everlasting campaign to transport themselves through the Planum Borealis, and the Augures have seem multiple ill omens in them - something I, a mere student of religion and philosophy, am seeing too, all to clearly, albeit for different reasons.
I'm writing this message to you from a monotrain, heading towards Olympus Mons, and coming from Nova Roma. I urge you to join me there in Olympus Mons, for reasons I will be explaining shortly hereafter. It's hard to take my eyes off such a beautiful, naturally untouched scenery that is sliding by my window. Some visitors to Mars will see nothing but rusty deserts, a few oddly shaped rocks and a different sky, harbouring a somewhat strange human colony. But I see something different: I see a divine beauty unfolding itself for those who wish to see it. To live alone is a gift from the gods, and to see so many things so much greater than you is almost godlike. Thinking like this, it's not hard to see why the Martianalists view Mars as an emanation of the god of war and peace. The ancient games of the dead volcanoes, basaltic plateaus and rocky valleys with the winds, or the dried river banks and glittering poles, yearning for the sun to touch them, and make them live. These are things that go beyond man itself.
Yet, it grieves me much to say that this simple magnificence is being ignored lately. In a previous letter to you, I told about the rather discomforting number of political murders. First, one of the two good Consules, Cassius, was poisoned. His death was still fresh in the memories of the Roman people when Piscinus, the passionate Tribunus, was viciously attacked and murdered in a park not very far from the building where the Senate was holding a meeting. Some say it's irony, others say it's hubris. Whatever the case may be, more violent and shocking deaths followed soon. One of the two Praetores, the exuberant Maximus, was electrocuted while bathing. Three of the gens Moravia an influential plebeian gens, still mourning for the loss of their gensmate Piscinus, died in a plane explosion above the northern plains, when there was no one around to help them or spot the killer. In a similar manner, gens Marcia was incinerated when their villa went up in flames, and while Vado and Maximus were being buried, in an atmosphere of paranoia, stupor and deep depression, another senator, the elder wise man, Ericius, was shot while taking a rest in his garden. Eventually, through anonymous tips, a suspect was arrested, and the murders stopped. This is about what everyone knows on Mars.
A few days however, information from the Praetor's headquarters leaked into the Urbs. The arrested suspect, one Festus, claimed that he had carried out those murders at the behest of Consul Vedius, right now, along with the Censores, the most powerful man on Mars. Despite the obvious absurdity of this information, the clumsy reaction of the government lead to the rise of a few demagogues, who incited the people to rioting and vandalism. Things got even uglier when Vedius, in a crisis situation, let loose a few squads of his security guard in the city. Some died, and the Capitonline became inaccessible to the public. While the riots had started as individual initatives under the influence of some demagogues, the whole city populace grew even more disgruntled, especially when a new measure was taken, which prevented them from leaving the city. Amici et cari, I am telling you, it was hallicunatory - smashed windows, garbage everywhere, roaming gangs of rioters that could rob you, or patrols of praetorian officers, which were no better.
Eventually, Consul Vedius decided to play his last card, and resigned from his position. A rather hasty election, in an atmosphere of betrayal, poison and treachery, appointed Octavius, a hard-working Senator, and Australicus, a upstanding man with good common sense, as the new Consules. The city gates were opened again. Tensions, however, remained. Previous satirics turned bitterly on the Roman government, and panic raged totally out of control when Earth declared war on Mars yesterday. I don't understand. How can our own brothers, and ancestors, declare war upon their neighbour? At that moment, I knew that staying in the Urbs would be like camping on the flank of an active volcano, so I decided to move out. While it racked me with guilt, and I am certain that you will not like this decision, I have quit my job at the spaceport, but I sincerely hope that you'll understand I'm doing this not only to save myself, but to save all of you.
Things are looking grim. Very grim.
However, on my way out, I noticed a remarkable speech. Next to the Forum Romanum, on the Forum Martiale, one of the two Censores, and also a priest of Mars, Cincinnatus, spoke to a crowd of generally quiet people, and on television. It was a speech that touched the very core of the people's being. For a while, everyone remembered what it meant to be a Roman, and we seemed to realize that despite the political crisis, and the declaration of war by Earth, we needed to act with responsibility and dignity. A lot of bold souls, some of whom had previously been destroying the city, joined the army at his call. Others sought refuge in temples, or made themselves invaluable in voluntary cleaning work, since the riots had left most important streets, fora and avenues filled with debris. And then, there were people like me, who made their way out of the city. I'm almost certain that Nova Roma will be attacked first, and is a lost battle already. I have a few friends who work at the military section of the spaceport, and they are saying the same. While I believe in the strength of the people in defending their own city - and their homes - they will not be a match for well-trained, and well-armed Earth soldiers. That is why I am travelling to Olympus Mons, the military capital of our dusty planet. Hiding under the wings of the Aquila, or under the soft belly of the Lupa, may be considered cowardly, but it is the most reasonable chance of survival. When a lion is attacking a wolf, the wolf's young stay behind their mother, not in front of her.
In closing, I wish you all the very best, and I hope to be seeing you as soon as possible in Olympus Mons. With a vision of an unforgettably beautiful, while at the same time gloomy, sunset, I will not detain your attention further.
Si vales, valeo.
Pater
t.. Silent enim leges inter arma
The day after the ritual ceremony for the deceased soldiers, there was a second meeting between Venator and the survivors.
Draco wondered why he had been invited to it. After all, he was a miles without a rank, and Oppius was the man in charge of this operation. However, it felt good to be part of it, merely for the sake of being present in that strangely magical room. He felt refreshed, generally quiet, and serious.
"How did you get here?" Sertorius asked, when they were all seated.
"That's a good question. After the famous sandstorms of 2081, groups of people began to flock away from the cities, giving rise to many religiously inclined subcultures. Some
of them disappeared as quickly as they came, but one of them steadily grew.
After a few years of roaming from city to city, we found this system of caves, with the guidance of Mars. You see, our belief system is centered around the entity of the
planet. Earth is the natural territory of agricultural deities, and not in the least Gaia itself, who is a personification of that very planet. Likewise, we believe that the Red Planet is the true home of Mars, and that we need to find a way of connection with the planet's energy,
through prayer and meditation."
Draco's eyes wandered around the table. Sertorius looked as though he was hearing a sacred revelation, while Peregrinus and Oppius remained sceptical. Venator went on
nevertheless.
"Through our empathical exercises, we, as a collective, gradually became more aware of each other's innermost nature, and realized that if we ever wanted Mars to be a succesful world, inhabited by humans, we should continue our ways. The Romans have a natural affinity with Mars, and that is why they have stayed here for so long. Their success should be attributed to Mars' own will, and not the Romans' own ingenuity. But I am digressing. By 2090 most of us had acquired and developed our senses in a way that made it possible for us to teleport across large distances, speak with each other through our souls, and invoke numina
to aid us. While I perfectly accept that you hold other opinions, it was through these means that we found the Arg, and eventually learnt about Earth's sinister plot."
He paused for a short while. Nobody asked a question. The bearded leader continued.
"We had hoped that the government would find out this terrible plot soon enough, but it didn't help. Even our public letters to newspapers were marginalized, or never published. Things got even worse when we were compelled to attack the terraformation plants, and the Arg
began a guerilla war with us, adding to our bad name. In a last attempt at revealing the truth, we contacted the staff of the military, for secretive peace talks. Along with them was our contact person, Lutecio. So in short, that is why you are here."
"And, if I may ask, what exactly would have been the offer made to commander Audens?" Oppius wanted to know. His face hid any emotion.
"That was the simplest part: that the Martianalists and the Roman army join forces to stop the Arg and Earth. We alone cannot fight them, but we have the experience, whereas the armed forces have the technology. With Audens gone, however, chances are slim that we will ever work together."
"That's right," Peregrinus affirmed, "since news of Audens' disappearance in mysterious circumstances will have reached the high command and the Senate, the Consules will
naturally be alarmed, and temporarily take up the leadership of the army. The sole Consul left right now is Vedius, and I'm not sure how he's going to react to all this."
"Besides," Oppius added, "we have been cut off from any news for more than a week. There may be important things happening out there."
A silence fell, during which Venator seemed to think. Draco's mind wandered off to his familia; how his pater was doing, and his fratres and sorores. It was so long ago since he had seen them, and it felt like a decade ago since he'd been at that family dinner between the Moravii and the Apollonii, where he had been tricked into joining the army. And all that for the sake of his own ambition. He stopped his musings when he sensed that Venator was looking at him,
as if he was calling the young man to order.
"Indeed, things have happened. Important politicians and popular families have been wiped out, and Nova Roma itself is in state of emergency. Earth has declared war upon Mars."
"What?" the military men almost simultaneously barked.
"I'm not lying. I got this information yesterday night from Quintilianus. On a lighter note, Festus was arrested."
"Hear hear," Peregrinus sarcastically said.
"What are you planning to do?" Sertorius asked Venator.
For one of the first times, the bearded cult leader laughed. Oppius frowned at this sudden burst of laughter, but Draco was beginning to get accustomed to this semi-alien place with its quiet hermits. Sitting here, in this womb-like environment deep under the skin of Mars, it
seemed like nothing could harm them. But of course, the grim reality was different.
"Good question. I suppose that it's time to go to war. All of you are free to go, or welcome to stay with us. To be honest, I'm not so sure your superiors will believe these stories."
Draco was rather willing to stay here, but everything depended on the orders he would get from Oppius, of course. Peregrinus and Sertorius seemed to await an answer from the
astro-pilot as well.
"I shall go back to Nova Roma to inform the Senate and the People of what happened, despite the orders of secrecy that I had gotten upon accepting this mission. But I think
that an emergency situation like this justifies that. Mi Venator, I must confess that I am still very sceptical of everything you have said, but even after racking my mind, it is the only logical conclusion I can come to that's able to explain Ronanus' betrayal, the telepathy, teleports and weird history of the Martianalists. But I give you the advantage of doubt. I order the rest of my men to stay here, and assist you against either Arg or Earth troops when needed. The only thing I would like to ask in return is that no Roman troops are being shot."
"Agreed," Venator placidly said.
"Good. We have a deal."
"There are jetpacks in the southern hangar you can use to fly to Colonia Marineris. From there, you can take the monotrain to Nova Roma. Do you need anything else?"
"I don't think so."
The door soundlessy opened, and Tarquinia appeared.
"Let me escort you," she spoke.
Oppius rose from his chair, saluted and left. Draco silently admired his steadfastness. While he was at times a formalistic man, wrapped up in codes of honour, that same honour drove him to take his mission seriously, and to value the life of other people.
"What will the rest of you do?" Venator informed.
Sertorius shrugged.
"I have to confess that I'm confused, but as a soldier, I have sworn an oath on Mars to protect him and his planet from all harm. I suppose that means we are fighting the same battle. I could perhaps teach your men a thing or two. They appear to have other strengths than technical abilities alone, but a war is never won on one front."
"I quite agree. That was the main motive behind a possible alliance with the Roman army. If you want, you can start training our volunteers tomorrow in the large cave next to the one where the statue of Mars is," Venator responded.
"I'd like to offer my help as a computer expert, for what it's worth. This Arg technology seems to be very interesting."
"Allright. There is little we don't know already, but the vision of an expert is always welcome."
It seemed like all eyes turned towards Draco, who felt useless. His battle experience was nigh zero, he had a rather low rank and knew so little of computers that it didn't much matter anyway. In short, there was nothing he could do.
"I'm afraid I'll have to await orders from decemvir Sertorius. Other than that, there is little I can do, no matter how much I would like to. It's been an honour to meet you."
"Thank you," Venator answered, slightly bowing his head.
Sertorius looked at his soldier - one of the only ones left of his unit, save for the remaining ones at Mons Olympus - with a frown, as though he had just noticed him sitting there.
"You can skip the basic training I'm going to give to the rest of the people here, but I do expect you to fight alongside us when we're going to battle. Consider the time in between as your free time. You're dismissed, Apolloni."
"Yes sir."
Draco rose from the table. The door appeared again, probably at Venator's command, and the Roman soldier left for his quarters. A different atmosphere was living in the almost familiar tunnels and caves. The people, who this morning still seemed quiet and pious after the ceremony of yesterday night, now were walking faster, or talking among themselves, a rare occasion here in Venator's caves. Oppius may be sceptical, Draco thought, but these people look in no way like eco-terrorist. Many men were, on the contrary, rather corpulent or benevolently smiling, while the women and children had a cheerful but introvert air about them that radiated no other thing than peace. When he was about to enter the long, narrow corridor that contained his little guest cave, he decided to go up instead, and walked the stairs up to the upper caves. It had been a while since he'd seen Sol, or the stars, something he usually did at Ruber, where his true home was.
Mounting the stairway, the attraction of artificial gravity seemed to wear off a little, and he
could almost float up the stairs. When he had finally reached the uppermost cave, he saw, to his pleasant surprise, that it had a transparent roof. It appeared to be late in the afternoon, judging from the fact that the rays of the sun came just above the edge of the reddish
wall. No one else was there. Being there by himself, he removed the Martianalist garb he wore and inspected his outfit, which was clean but dustily polished by the red, vicious sands of the Planum Australe. The communications apparature was still broken, but his long handgun, the pilum, was still operational. His joints were hurting, and the spots where his military outfit came in contact with his skin felt sore and itchy. But he wasn't tired. In fact,
he felt a form of peace, mixed with a sense of excitement, even though Mars appeared to be on the verge of an interplanetary war. Out here, laws and politics were of such little importance. Sadly enough, weapons were more important here than in the darkest slums of Nova Roma.
Suddenly, his musings were interrupted by a sound of someone else coming up the stairs from the shadows. At first, Draco assumed it was Tarquinia, but she looked different. She had raven black hair, and a piercing gaze. He was sure he'd seen her face before, but not in the
Martianalist caves. When the young woman spotted him, she appeared to recognize him, too.
"Draco?" she asked, hesitantly, when she had fully come up the stairs. Now he knew!
"Aeternia!"
u.. Praeterea censeo Terram esse delendam
"Why are you hesitating? Why all this trepidation and anxiety? It's war, for Iuppiter's sake!" Palladius' voice sounded from amidst the crowd of Senatores that was gathered at the Curia. Some prominent members of the august body were missing, either dead or disappeared, and
what was left of the influential council of elders was now in a heated debate. At the rostra stood Octavius, who had been elected as Consul suffectus with Cassius dead and Vedius having stepped down almost involuntarily.
"I wish some of you would not interrupt me all the time," Octavius shot back at Palladius. He was delivering a speech on the possible dangers of actually going to war with Earth, while the situation in Nova Roma was still uncertain, and half of Mars was engulfed in the yearly dust
storms.
The Senatores calmed down a little, and the former master of the Roman web was allowed to continue his speech.
"Therefore, I think we should first try to handle things diplomatically and tactically. We could ask for the support of the Jovian Federation, and perhaps we might get help from Titan. Sources from Earth indicate that not everyone is satisfied with attacking Mars. Especially among intellectuals, there is a lot of protest and criticism on the government's display of naked greed and hypocrisy. If we wait, we might just avoid having innocent people killed and massacred."
The discussion among Senatores erupted again. Octavius descended from the rostra and took his seat back next to his new colleague, Australicus. The next speaker; the
Censor, Cincinnatus, had come in front of the council. Octavius admired the way he had been able to handle the rebelling and rioting citizens in the city, but feared for what he was going to say now. He represented a rather large faction in the Senate that had felt agitated for a long
time by Earth's espionage and the Martianalists' obstruction. Nonetheless, Octavius would listen to what the priest of Mars had to say.
"You didn't do a bad job," Australicus whispered to his colleague, "but an unconvincing one, though."
"Dear friends and colleagues. I think it is appearent that our Res Publica is in a state of chaos and war. Our government has been disrupted, our biotechnological plans have been thwarted, and we are open to an attack at any moment, with the head of our army being decapitated: all this points to Earth. Their citizens may be innocent, but their government is most certainly not. I think Consul Octavius' suggestion of trying to gain support from the
Jovian Federation or Titan is a good one, but we should, at the same time, not waste our time, and hasten to ready our defences. We have fifty legions, and twenty freshly formed
auxiliary legions. We can dispatch three legions to deal with the Martianalists for good, while the rest guard strategic points such as Phobos, Deimos, Nova Roma and Mons Olympus.
As we speak, ships from Earth may be underway. Gentlemen, there is no time to lose. We must make haste."
Nods and grumbles of agreement from some Senatores, and mild protest here and there. Octavius sat back in his seat, and let out a sigh of defeat. Sometimes he hated this place. From the corner of his eye he noticed Australicus getting up and making his way towards the rostra, probably to deliver a final speech.
"Patres conscripti, I beg your attention one last time. We've been here nearly all afternoon, quarreling and debating. In old Rome, it was customary for the Consules to lead the army, and I think it is time that we take up this tradition once more, now that Audens has been slain by the Martianalists. Thus, my first consular edict will be dealing with the practical organisation of our armed forces." Australicus paused for a while.
The Senatores were silent. When edicta were published this way, there was a customary pause for other magistrates, in this case either Octavius or the - absent - Tribuni, to veto them. The text of the edict scrolled on by on the displays built into the Senatores' benches. No intercessio was made. After some time, the senior Consul continued.
"I subsequently propose to issue the following Senatus Consultum: a declaration of war against Earth."
Octavius felt struck by lightning. Of course he should have seen it coming, but he hadn't known until this moment that even his colleague was eager to go to war so soon. He
understood the feelings that were living among both people and senate, but he disagreed with the way they wanted to vent it. If they tried to slow down the process by diplomatic manouvres, they would at least stand a decent chance. But right now, the Roman forces were outnumbered, both in space forces as well as in ground troops. Their only advantage was their familiarity with the terrain, and the strategic advantage of having few important cities to
defend.
The lights dimmed, and the voting computer asked Octavius to give his vote. He voted negat, knowing that it was a lost vote. With a grim, joyless smile, he noticed that for once, there was a relative silence in the senatorial arena. He sought to catch the stare of his colleague at the
rostra, but it seemed as though he was avoiding to look into the junior Consul's eyes directly. Guilt, perhaps.
The lights returned, and the results were announced. 23% had voted no, 3% had abstained, and all the rest had voted yes. It was official: there was a mutual war between Mars and Earth. In silence, Octavius uttered a prayer to the gods, and not in the least Mars himself. Australicus began to talk again.
"I would also like to promulgate a second edict, that deals with the Martianalists. Three legions will be sent to the Planum Australe to seek and destroy their caves."
The text rolled before the Senatores' eyes on their screens. In the quiet mumbling of voices, another voice suddenly spoke, loud and clear.
"I veto this edict."
All eyes turned towards a man in the top left wing of the half round. It was Fortunatus, the missing Tribune. How had gotten here was a mystery, but Octavius had to surpress a grin when he saw him. At least someone had the courage to stand up against this pointless, second conflict. Of course the Martianalists needed to be dealt with, but in their own time.
"If I may ask so, where have you been, Tribune?" Australicus inquired.
"That is none of your business," he placidly replied.
"It is during a time of war," Australicus said. Some agreement rose from the small crowd.
"Praetor Diocletianus, arrest that man," he added.
"What?" Octavius reacted. A few others reacted likewise. Fortunatus remained immobile. Australicus smiled triumphantly.
"I have proof that our Tribune has been involved in a conspiracy to overthrow the Roman government. It has never been a secret that he was in a de facto party with Piscinus, Rex, Vado and some of the Apollonii, who tried to incite the people to a rebellion. Diocletianus, you can tell them the rest."
The senior Consul descended and went back to his seat. Diocletianus ascended. He looked uneasily, his eyes averting the stare of some of the angrier Senatores.
"During the interrogations of Festus, he claims that he had been given specific orders on who to kill, namely the proponents of peace, and revolutionary groups. His secondary mission was to get rid of the two most important opposing factions, namely the Amici Dignitatis and the Martianalists. This was confirmed by other agents we captured over the past few weeks. Earth had information that the Amici Dignitatis were preparing a takeover after the death of Cassius, and had sent their own spies into the army to make contact with the Martianalists. One of them would be one S. Apollonius Draco, one of the sons of Formosanus, who is listed as missing in action, presumably dead, along with Audens. They were both on the same mission. Therefore, Fortunatus and Formosanus, the only two remaining leaders of the Amici
Dignitatis, will be placed under official arrest."
Octavius knew that Diocletianus didn't like his own conclusions. There was something wrong about them, but for now there was nothing that could be done. Fortunatus did not react when some of the guards that were waiting outside came at an electronic order from Diocletianus to take him away.
"What is wrong with this world?" Octavius asked himself.
v.. Bellum omnium contra omnes
During the past few weeks, the Martianalists had been training themselves under the command of Sertorius, who was really beginning to appreciate his new troops; they were brave, willing to learn and also quick witted. Draco had usually been wandering around with Aeternia, sometimes guarding the area when there was nothing to do. He had not seen an Arg yet, but some among the Martianalists told him that it wouldn't last long until he'd see one. Aeternia had already encountered a few, which she didn't like to talk about.
Right now, it was night, and Draco was spending some time in the "panoramic cave". He couldn't sleep, so he had come up to watch the stars and become quiet and tired in order to sleep well. For a while, he just sat there looking up to the sky, but then suddenly his attention was drawn by a bright orange light that disappeared as quickly as it had come. He was just beginning to think of a possible explanation when a second flash appeared at roughly the same place. A third and fourth quickly followed, in shades of yellow, orange and red. Other lights soon joined the fray, and it was then that he realized Earth had begun its invasion.
In wild excitement, he ran down the stairway and made his way through the dimly lit cavern system to Venator's quarters. Once there, he was panting loudly. The guards outside looked at him more with surprise than suspicion. They know he was one of the guests.
"Earth is attacking!" Draco panted, "I.. wanted to warn Venator."
"Are you sure?" one of the guards asked with disbelief.
"Yés, I am sure."
The other guard knocked on Venator's door and slid in, closing the door behind him. After about a minute, the leader of the Martianalists stood in the doorway of his cavern, fully clad in battle armour. The guards speeded into several directions at once, waking the Martianalist community both vocally and mentally.
"Thank you for warning us," Venator said. Draco felt quite humbled, not because of what the leader had said, but because of the way he'd said it, which expressed an enormous gratitude, while in fact any idiot standing up there on the platform could have noticed things, and there was no immediate threat for the caves yet.
"With your permission, I'd like to go back to my quarters and grab some things to go outside with the rest," he said. Venator nodded.
About half an hour later, the Martianalist battle forces, led by Quintus Sertorius and Lucius Marius, were outside the cave system. Draco suddenly found the men and women, in their light, barely adapted uniforms with crude weapons rather pitiful, some of them suspiciously looking about for a sudden attack of Arg, others gazing at the sky, watching the flickering of light. Other than that, it was a clear, regular night. Despite the sand storm season having begun, it had not yet struck the Planum Australe.
The small battle force stood in Roman squares, with small anti-radiation shields modelled after those of the official Martian army. Most of them did not carry firearms; they claimed it was useless against most Arg, which made Draco somewhat anxious, because all he had except for his pilum gun was a laser lance, which was not the most reliable weapon in the world. He realized more than ever that his life was at stake, all because of things he'd never asked for, but sort of rolled into. All in all, there were about two hundred men and women outside, organised in five squares, gathered around the sole entrance to the caves. In the sky there were a few jetpack patrollers, among whom were Quintilianus and Maximius. Draco was positioned in the middle square, as were Sertorius and Peregrinus, who both appeared remarkably calm, and had the air of experienced soldiers, even though neither of them had ever fought in a war - this was in fact the first real war Mars had ever known in its existence, and the first one for the Roman Republic after so many millennia.
After another hour of waiting, shivering a little in the dry cold of the rocky Martian desert and growing tired of the many-coloured lights in the sky, which had increased in frequency and intensity, a wave of adrenalin shook Draco's nerves when a battle cry surged from the square of warriors to his left side, standing about hundred metres away. Everyone immediately looked in that direction, and saw lights flashing nearby, appearently from out of nowhere. Suddenly those same mysterious lights appeared in front of him as well, about two hundred metres away. He held on tight to his pilum, and felt that there was cold sweat in his handpalms. He thought of home, he thought of the marble fora and too many dead people he had seen in the past few weeks, especially Curio. The Arg closed in, and they were horrifying to look at: feline, stealthy creatures in mechanical, semi-organic suits, equipped with claws, and able to jump incredible distances. Their faces were hidden from view by a pitch black mask with a red horizontal stripe where Draco guessed the eyes should be. A part from their claws, which they used in man-to-man combat, they were able to fire blue-coloured, half-transparent projectiles from responsive and quick shoulder cannons. Draco, the young soldier, was looking in the grinning face of death, and paralysed with fear. It was only when the man in front of him went down under a violent and brutal strike of an Arg claw that he was released from his paralysis. The sudden release enabled him to pull his pilum and fire a few wild shots at the creature in front of him. Caught off guard by the unexpected blasts of the soldier's gun, the alien stood motionless for a fatal second. Draco quickly took aim and fired a few rounds in the Arg's mask, which he reckoned would be fatal, even on aliens. Lucky for him, his guess had been right. While the thin, nocturnal sky was filled with sounds of metal upon metal, and an occasional shot or battle grunt that could be heard through the protective helmets, the alien fell over
It appeared that the square in which Draco stood had been broken. The other squares seemed to hold themselves together, but were slowly retreating to the main entrance. An alien soldier jumped from out of nowhere, launching himself at Draco, who held up his pilum as a weak defence, before collapsing under the weight of the Arg. In his fatal jump, however, the alien had been pierced by Draco's pilum. It had rendered the weapon useless, but at least he was alive. He crawled from under the corpse and drew his lance. He decapitated an Arg than ran on by, and set a few steps back to where the others of his own unit were. He briefly glanced at Sertorius and Peregrinus, who were dealing with their own opponents. One of those blue, transparent projectiles hit Draco in the side, and he fell over by the impact. It had spread an unpleasant numbness. For a second he feared that it might be some kind of poison that would completely stun or kill him, but the effect appeared to be only local, slowing down his left arm somewhat. He ducked for a second shot, and his helmet traced the source; an Arg soldier a few metres away, behind a pair of rocks. When a third projectile dissolved in the ground beside him, he was pretty certain that the Arg was after him. Having no grenades at his disposal, he zigzagged forward as fast as he could, barely escaping a few lost bullets of the Martianalists themselves. While running, he brought his small lance up with one hand, and jumped over the rocks, trying to plant his spear into the alien flesh. He only hit an arm, and his adversary knocked him back with a claw. Draco, lying on the ground, fended off a next attack by holding his lance in both hands horizontally, and swung it in a wide circle to give him a chance to get up. While he got up, he swung it a second time, knocking the Arg off its feet. Without giving it a second thought, he slammed his spearpoint deep into the alien's torso. Dark purple blood rushed out of the ugly looking wound.
"Draco, where are you?" he suddenly heard in his helmet. The voice belonged to Sertorius. Draco brought his head slightly above the rocks. Quintus Sertorius stood further away. Most Arg grunts had been killed or had retreated a little, focusing on the right flank. The left flank was backing up their brothers and sisters on the right side.
"Here I am," Draco said, superfluously, as it was clear that his decemvir had seen him. He came from behind the rock and followed the rest of the Martianalists to the right flanks. They were slowly closing in on the Arg. The Martianalists, while primitvely equipped, were able to punch back the Arg with their mental capacities, and some were even killed before they could ever reach their adversary. However, a lot of Martianalists had already been slain in battle. The cold damp of sublimated blood hung about the places where the mutilated corpses of these people lay.
When the last Arg were being killed, a strange sound came from the same region where the first Arg had appeared. All turned around.
"One square!" Sertorius commanded. As in the drill excersises, what was left of the irregular Martianalist army stood more or less in one Roman square, guarding the entrance. The furthest angle of the square pointed at the direction from which the sound was heard. Draco was part of that angle. He used his zooming function in the visor of his helmet to get a better look at the new enemies. They were even more shocking than the Arg soldiers he'd seen a moment ago. They consisted of mechanical parts, which caused the clicking sounds, but were also humanoid in form, some of them having a swollen human torso, others having three human arms, some of them even a head. They were hideous, but softened the heart at the same time with an incredible compassion, especially those with a human head. He zoomed out again as they came into clear vision now. The Martianalists were not especially shocked, but he knew Peregrinus and Sertorius would be.
The first cyborgs crashed into the shields held up by the Martianalists.
"Advance!" Sertorius yelled from the centre of the square. His troops, not breaking formation, slowly advanced. Two Martianalists died under the heavy, mechanical blows of the cyborg commandos. A third one collapsed upon impact of a dark blue ray. Draco had reactivated his shield, and held it close to his body. A second wave of cyborgs rushed into the formation, which slowly turned, presenting a long side to the opponents. An Arg cyborg fell back dead due to a telekinetic attack, and another one impaled itself on Draco's lance in a suicide attack. While the formation was holding, in the middle the cyborgs were pounding their way in, sending the sound of crushing bones into the night, which made the neck hairs of Draco stand up straight, despite his excessive production of sweat. He was unable to rally to the defence of the centre, as his corner was now surrounded, too, by cyborgs. His compassion had gone, and he lashed out aggressively at two enemies, without slaying either. He took a step forward and made a running enemy trip by extending his spear on the ground, and then planted the sharp point deep into its back. Suddenly an immense heat in his left knee threw him on the rocky ground. Painfully he turned around to see his army uniform protection shattered at the back of his knee. As if the burning pain wasn't enough, it became mixed with the insane cold from the Martian night. A cyborg flung itself at Draco, who barely managed to use his shield to keep the creature's claws from penetrating his torso. Looking up at the human face of the creature, he saw that he recognised it.
"Curio!" he screamed from behind his helmet, unsure whether the cyborg would respond or even hear what he was saying. The cybernetic soldier lifted his mechanical right arm and crushed the shield generator Draco was carrying.
"Curio, don't kill me, it's me, Draco!" he yelled, and made eye contact with what was left of his former friend. Just as he raised his left, clawed fist to deliver the final blow, he appeared to break down, in a mechanical way. His face remained frozen and expressionless, but his eyes fixed their gaze upon Draco. All around he could hear battle cries, and every now and then the sky was brightened by an explosion from above, or a blue heat ray swirling through the sky.
"Don't you recognise me?" he faintly said, feeling the energy ebbing away from his body, and trying to make use of the cyborg's confusion. The cyborg turned his head, as if to get a better perspective. He then spoke, forcedly and mechanically.
"Draco?"
w.. Ecce homo!
Iasonus Serenus Carolus Peregrinus familiae suae SPD,
I do not know if - let alone when - this letter will ever reach you. By now you will know that I never reached Olympus Mons. When the monotrain arrived, we found the gates closed for anyone but military personnel, and had to return back to Nova Roma. The ride back was turbulent and chaotic, as we got caught in the middle of a small dust storm, and the train had to stop twice. I could swear that even the elements of nature were working against us, vexing and teasing our fragile psyches and our weak, mechanical constructs that barely protected us from the violent beauty outside.
The Urbs looked even worse than before. The rubble of the riots had been cleaned up, but there were almost no people on the streets. No merchants, no schoolchildren skipping classes, no lazy patricians wandering about. Only an occasional, half-demented Sokrates, or members of the praetorian guard. I checked into an unconspicious hotel, and repeatedly tried to call Olympus Mons, but to no avail. Paper was scarce, and worst of all, in my stupor and haste to get off the monotrain and find a payphone, I forgot my portable com in the train. Chances that I'll be getting it back are slim. With nothing better to do, I went down to the taberna, and engaged in an occasional conversation now and then.
During one of these occasions, I was talking to Gaius Sentius, a young fellow who had done some work for the Tribune Piscinus before he was killed. He had since become a technical assistant in the Curia, and caught a lot of gossip there. He was not very eager to talk about it, and nor was I eager to pry the information out of his skull, but as the evening went on, and alcohol was steadily consumed, he did tell me some things that you might find interesting, if it were only to give you an idea what sort of beehive the Roman Republic has become.
Everyone in Nova Roma knew that the only remaining Tribune, Fortunatus, had been placed under arrest on suspicion of high treason. Popular rumor held, however, that this was to cover up that Festus had escaped from his cell, and was now freely roaming the city and its temples. Three legions were dispatched to seek and destroy the Martianalists, and Australicus and Octavius then appointed Theodorus Tiberius as new supreme commander of the Roman army, and sent him to Mons Olympus to ready Mars' defences as quickly as possible. It slowly became clear that the Consules were growing very powerful. One Tribune was dead, and the other was locked up. There was only one Praetor left, and the lower magistracies had their own business to mind. Most of the Senatores that would have protested had also been killed earlier at the hands of Festus, and their faction was reduced to a minority. Gaius Sentius told me that the atmosphere in the Curia was growing more apathic every day.
But then, the invasion came. In its own way, it had something magnificent. The lights in the nocturnal sky were terrible and beautiful to behold at the same time. It was as if the very Gods were battling among our starsailors. There, you could spot Athena's long green spear, or on the opposite side, a twisted trident of Neptune. But none of these shallow images could stand up against Mars' own anger, that came upon the land in the form of an intense dust storm. Red and dark orange sand swept across the City's transparent shell, and several times that night the Aediles had to embark on missions to close some gaps that had been carved in our oxygen shields by those sharp, destructive forces of nature.
Next day, we got word through the official communication channels that the Roman fleet had been defeated, not by Earth's ships, but by an unknown, second type of craft that were most likely alien in origin. The terran fleet had already landed in the south, and had overrun a few towns without much resistance. The Arg - as those aliens appeared to call themselves - had set up a few bases in the south. Sattellites however could see that their progress was much slower than expected, due to an unknown cause. At any rate, the fleet was pulled back, and all available soldiers, mostly conscripts, were gathered around Olympus Mons and Nova Roma itself, when Mars' anger began to wear off later that day. I went to the remarkably deserted temple of Venus and prayed there for your safety and for love to abound. I can only hope that you have left Xanthe Terra before the Arg came. It appears that they show no mercy. That evening, the general mood in the city was one of despair.
Next morning, I was summoned by a few praetorians, and had to join the army. Having no other choice, I left the hotel with my few possessions, and went along with them and a group of other people, most of them men, some of them women. Overnight, they later told me, not only Diocletianus, Octavius and Fortunatus had disappeared, so had the three legions that had been sent down south to defeat the Martianalist terrorrists. I spoke little that day, and could only pray for the war to be over soon - Australicus was now Consul sine collega, and showed no intentions yet to hold another election for Tribuni or Praetores. Some Senatores had escaped in private shuttles to their villae in the Jovian Federation, or further even, on exotic Titan.
After a minimal training in combat tactics and arms, I was immediately put in a freshly assembled legion that was to guard the northwest gate of Nova Roma. Not that it mattered much. If the shell of our city was pierced, we were done for. Terrans would perhaps not do that, but nobody knew what the Args' intentions were, and what in Iuppiter's name had driven them to cooperate with Earth. Military camps rose from the ground like toadstools, all across the city, and even though the mornings had a sense of defeat, despair and powerlessness about them, the evenings could be quite jolly, under the turbulent blankets of a sandstorm, or in an improvised taberna with music and good company. However, each day the news got worse. Olympus Mons had been bombarded, and half of the town was obliterated, having been drilled into the weak ground of the filled up volcanic crater. What was left of the present defence forces had rose in a mutiny against Theodorus Tiberius - the news bulletins did not give any reason as to why they did that - and was now scattered across the western hemisphere, most of them in the area of Colonia Marineris. Earth's army was within a day's travel of Nova Roma, and since they did not send any bombers, we were somewhat relieved to know that even if we would lose, they'd probably let us live.
Strange news, however, came from the south. The Martianalists had not only vanquished three Roman legions, they had even enlarged their own army, and were allegedly under the command of a former soldier named Quintus Sertorius. He and his renegade army were responsible for fending off some Arg attacks, but were slowly driven northeast, towards the capital. When I heard this news, I hoped that you and the children would be among them. Renegades or outlaws as they may be, at least they are human. While most people in the streets, the camps and the guard positions were discussing the possibility of a temporary pact with Sertorius and his men - estimated about a thousand well-armed and battle-hardened milites - Australicus promulgated an edictum that declared them enemies of the state. Discontent was growing, but where could we go to? The price of a shuttle ticket had become ludicrously high, and travelling through space had become risky. The Jovian Federation had abruptly broken all ties with both Mars and Earth, and had shut its borders tightly. Most towns had been occupied, sacked, or were running empty. Plus, we were in the middle of the dust season, making chances of escaping even slimmer. The only way, we concluded, was to fight, not for the regime or the state, but for ourselves, and for our own well-being.
Today, Earth's troops will be reaching us. I'm writing this on the back of an election flyer that I found on the toilet wall of a taberna, using the ballpoint of a captain who was so kind as to lend it to me. May this letter reach you, but most of all - may you be safe.
Amo vos omnes.
Pater.
x.. Hannibal ad portas
All parties, with the exception of the fowl Arg, had now, in one way or another, reached Nova Roma, the Martian capital. What was left of the official Roman army had retreated into the inner city, protecting the most important buildings that were still standing, such as the temple to Iuppiter, the temple to Mars and the Curia. Earth had occupied the northern side of the city, while the Roman Liberation Front, or RLF, had succeeded in taking the southern blocks. The Arg were now public enemy number one: a few days back they had betrayed their former ally, Earth, and were now fighting a war against the other three parties. The two Roman factions were severely outnumbered, and were even fighting among each other. Everyone with a mind of his own knew that this situation could not last.
The high command of the Martianalist troops, and those of some importance who sympathised with them, was gathered in the domus of the familia Salicia, an important plebeian family in Nova Roma. Most of them had fled the city, but the ones that had remained, welcomed the entrance of the Martianalists in the city, and opened their domain to offer them shelter. The main oxygen hull of the city had been breeched, and thus most blocks had activated their own smaller hulls. Some casae and insulae, especially in the poorer districts, had been drained of their oxygen, their inhabitants ruthlessly killed by the low pressure and the poisonous atmosphere of carbondioxide. The place where they sat was the atrium, and the compluvium had been emptied to install a few improvised tables and chairs in a circle. Piperbarbus Ullerius Venator was of course present among those in the circle: his expression was still serene, and his cloak was rough and grey. His own men had suffered the greatest losses, and all of them lived in doubt whether their families in the southern caves was still alive. The one next to him was Oppius Flaccus Severus, who was more or less the military leader of Venator's troops, after Marius and Sertorius had been slain in combat. Like most soldiers, his equipment was dirty and rusty, because he'd had no time to change or to clean it. His expression was grave and serious. Then, there was the Arg cyborg Marcus Scribonius Curio. He'd been found by the Arg and transformed into one of them. However, he retained his own consciousness, and was now able to help his former allies as an insider. Then came the three Novaromani Titus Labienus Fortunatus, Marcus Octavius Germanicus and Caius Flavius Diocletianus. Each in their own respective way was disappointed and dissatisfied with the regime of Consul sine collega Australicus, and had, with a few of their loyals, defected to the RLF. Next to Diocletianus sat the host of the rebels, Gnaeus Salix Astur, a young, energetic man. Last one to complete the circle was Sextus
of his familia was killed by either Earth troops or squadrons loyal to Australicus, except for his cousin Tiberius Apollonius Cicatrix, whose position of loyalty was doubtful. In those last weeks, he had changed his cognomen into Solaris, and had been officially adopted by Octavius for a reason unclear to himself. His name was now Marcus Octavius Solaris.
"Now speak," Gneus Salix opened the meeting, "how do you think to capture the whole capital, restore order and get the Earth and Arg armies away from Mars?" He looked specifically at Venator, who, after a few seconds, began to speak deliberately and slowly.
"We have about two hundred men and women left, most of them in bad condition. I suppose that an open war is therefore not a realistic option. We should convince the other Roman faction to join us, and then unite our resistance against our common foes."
"How do you intend to do that?" Oppius inquired. He looked tired. Again, silence came. Before Venator could answer, the elder Octavius spoke in his place.
"I'm afraid that you can't bargain with them. Australicus is being pushed towards madness, by stress and hypocrisy surrounding him, and his getting quite fond of his position. Almost all opposition he's met so far has been erased. Perhaps he would agree to temporarily join forces, but he's still convinced that the Martianalists are somehow responsible for letting the Arg in."
"That is prepostrous," Oppius sneered.
"I know," retorted Octavius, "but that's the way he thinks."
"I would like to offer a crazy idea," Astur himself said. Everyone looked at him. The light from the roof of the atrium almost seemed to light up the presence of their host.
"The Roman spaceport still hasn't been destroyed, and I'm certain that it has some ships left there of important businessmen and politicians. Currently, the spaceport is still guarded by Australicus. But two hundred men should do to defeat those guards and get away to a new place. Some Saturnian and Uranian moons are still uncolonised, as is Triton, Neptunus' most important moon. As we leave, we could stop by your caves to pick up the rest of the survivors."
"That's a crazy idea indeed," Venator said, without a judgement in his voice. The creaky, mechanical voice of Curio was heard.
"Arg ships are guarding the planet, and are still fighting Earth ships. With those two armadas present, there is not much chance we will escape from Mars alive, even if we conquer the spaceport."
"What other alternatives are left?" Diocletianus wanted to know. The resigned Praetor looked rather fit, in contrast to most of the others, who suffered from chronic insomnia and constant fights. Solaris noticed that he was getting a little deaf. At any rate, rather deaf than dead, although he didn't fear death anymore. Almost all of his friends and relatives were dead, and he was alive, due to a combination of sheer luck and careful planning - although for different purposes.
"A duel," Fortunatus cryptically suggested. Everyone looked at him, and he explained.
"I know that Theodorus Tiberius is a swordsman like I am. We were both trained under Aurelius Tiberius, and he considered me his rival. What angered him the most, was the fact that I never responded to his constant challenges and competitions. We could send a messenger directly to him, to request a duel that will determine the fate of both armies. Theodorus will most likely agree: he, too, knows that our forces are lost unless we unite in an acceptable way."
"Wait a second, do you mean a duel to the death?" Astur wanted to know.
"Yes," Fortunatus calmly replied. Solaris found that the Stoic tribune and the Martianalist leader appeared to share the same calm, a sort of balance that he was positively jealous of. He was trying to find his way, and had begun to worship the Sun as a deity. It had become his sole companion.
"Nothing guarantees us that the armies will merge if either of you is dead," Oppius remarked.
"I think they will if they are ordered to do so beforehand," Fortunatus explained.
"What about Australicus, then?" Curio wanted to know. In another situation, he would have looked funny, in his half-metallic outfit, but now he was a tragic, mechanical doll in a war for a planet with few things left to fight for.
"If his army has gone away, there's not much he can do. The real authority over the people rests with Theodorus. Most people still loyal to the Senate like him more than Australicus or Vedius, who, according to the last rumours, is going to be made Consul again," Diocletianus answered.
A messenger was sent to Theodorus, and luckily returned alive the next day. The commander of the Roman forces had agreed to meet Fortunatus in a duel, in the Cassian Amphitheater smack in the middle of Nova Roma. Fortunatus was allowed to bring supporters, but under the condition that they were unarmed. He agreed, and the whole day was spent in eager anticipation of the duel. Luckily, no new attacks from either Earth or Arg soldiers came. In the afternoon, when Solaris was guarding the northernmost corner of the block they controlled, trying to think of nothing at all, a request for entrance was made at the improvised gate of the hull. At the other side, he could discern a female figure clad in the typical Martianalist battle cloak. He instincitely knew it was Aeternia, and entered the code to open the small gate. At a street's distance, other soldiers on guard watched what Solaris was doing, but then minded their own business. Between the two hulls of the city parts, sand was steadily flowing, scattered and carried by the sharp winds. Nova Roma began to look like a necropolis. Aeternia took her helmet off as soon as she entered. She was one of the Martianalist spies, and frequently worked together with Quintilianus, whose former partner Maximius was dead.
"What news?" Solaris asked. It came across more harshly than intended.
"Interesting news from the Curia. Just when Australicus was going to name Vedius as his colleague, Vedius fell over. He was probably poisoned."
"Who did it?"
"My sources claim it was Australicus himself, to give him an excuse to be granted even greater powers, and to not have to appoint another colleague. Also, Cincinnatus, the Augur and Pontifex, has been arrested. Coniuratio, Australicus and his acolytes claim."
"Great Iuppiter. Does Australicus know of the upcoming duel?"
"If he does, he isn't showing it, but my guess is that he doesn't."
"Let's hope so."
"I have to go to Venator and Oppius. See you." Aeternia disappeared out of sight quickly, through the maze of deserted streets and viae. Solaris looked at the far away sun through the upper part of the hull, lost in contemplations as dusty and red as the Martian Republic itself.
y.. Numquam non paratus
Iasonus Serenus Carolus Peregrinus, Id. Mart. 2855
To whomever reading this.
Chances are growing slimmer every day that I will ever see my family again, either dead or alive. I'm merely writing these words for their own sake, for the need to tell this, and to make it a more tangible reality for myself, because I can hardly believe what is happening here in this mad Republic.
Last night, there was a fight between Titus Labienus Fortunatus and Theodorus Tiberius Germanicus. The amphitheater was full. Both men, equipped with laser swords, fought with each other to the death. The victor would then claim the command over both the armies of the Martianalists and that of Australicus - no one was entirely sure if Australicus knew of this, but I for one didn't really care if he knew or not. The duel was long, fervent and magnificent. Both men were capable swordsmen, and I don't think it's a shame to say that I felt a tremendous amount of excitement, seeing them fight one another. I think they themselves could even enjoy it. In the last decesive seconds of the fight, Theodorus lost his sword, and his head. Fortunatus was victorious.
Feeling morally bound by the agreement, I joined Fortunatus and his supporters, as some of my fellow soldiers did, too. However, some of the others, who had felt a genuine liking for Theodorus, began to fight, and in the subsequent turmoil, about twenty more people were killed, until the praetorians arrived, and the Martianalists had to make a hasty escape. I went along with them to their quarters, and got acquainted there with a bizarre young man named Marcus Octavius Solaris.
Overnight, the sky was suddenly lit - even through the ever present sandstorms that once again whirled over the Urbs - by an enormous explosion. Soon after, spies reported to the Martianalist regions of Nova Roma, that the Arg mothership had been nuked by Earth troops. The Arg were practically defeated. In some way, it's a pity I never saw an Arg. The closest I've gotten is to behold one of their cyborgs, who works for the Martianalists. His name is Curio. I feel deep sympathy for him.
Next day, Australicus' remaining troops and ships threw a last ditch effort and attacked the Earth ships in their back. Surprisingly, he emerged victorious. Decisiveness and nervousness on the part of the Martianalists caused them to be divided, and made us an easy target for a next retaliatory attack from Australicus' men, who were probably as outnumbered as we were, but morally strengthened. Most of us were killed, when we tried to fight our way to the spaceport, and take a ship to escape. I'm happy to know that some good men, such as Gnaeus Salix and Oppius Flaccus, managed to escape.
I was captured. So was my new friend Solaris, and one of our spies, Aeternia. About a dozen people were arrested, and the rest was either killed, or could escape, destination unknown. Without any false pathos, I'm convinced that I'll be sentenced to death. Australicus, the grand victor of the war - a pyrrhic victor, if you ask me - has gotten the official title of "Princeps Senatus" from the Senatus, and has gotten the power to appoint magistrates at will. Some have said that history repeats itself.
To whomever reading this: cherish the remembrance of the Republic, and all those good men and women who have died for it. Be always prepared to restore not only the pride and dignity, but also the spirit and clemence of our noble ancestors. Be always prepared.
Amo vos omnes.
z.. .Vici?
A few weeks later.
Mars and Earth had signed a peace treaty under the auspices of the neutral Jovian Federation, and Earth was compelled to pay large amounts of money to help repairing the damage they had caused. Under the guidance of Australicus, Roman Mars was rebuilding itself. Old towns were rebuilt, monuments were erected and immigrants attracted. The only black spot on Australicus' glory was the presence of traitors in the prisons of the city, which was felt even more painfully than the presence of a few renegade colonists on the Neptunian moon Triton.
After a hasty trial, the three main accused, Marcus Octavius Solaris, Aeternia Cornelia Draconia and Iasonus Serenus Carolus, were brought to the stage, were their instruments of death awaited to welcome them in their grasp. A large crowd had been gathered to witness their execution. The announcer of the exuction, in a fresh white toga, was Gaius Cassius Nerva, formerly known as Gaius Lupinius Festus, rehabilitated by Australicus. The dust season was over, and the sun shone brightly over the marble and white Urbs.
"Today, my fellow citizens, I present you three traitors of the Roman cause. Here, we have Marcus Octavius Solaris. Not only was he involved in the killing of the noble commander, Marcus Minucius Audens, but also helped in the evil ploys of the likes of Gnaeus Moravius Piscinus - the Gods curse his name - and the escape of the mad cult leader Piperbarbus Ullerius Venator. Can our good conscience allow to let such a corrupted individual live? Nego!"
The crowd cheered, and chanted "nego", to express their agreement.
"Next convict here is Aeternia Cornelia. Look what beauty. But under her exterior is a snake, a treacherous viper. After gaining the sympathy - and adoption - of her patronus, Lucius Cornelius Sulla, she plotted against him, which resulted in his death, and that of Solaris' own father. It's no surprise that these two traitors are found on the same side. Should we have mercy on her soul. I say nego!"
Once again, the excited masses repeated Nerva's last words. Visibly pleased, he brought forward the third prisoner.
"Our last guest here, is Iasonus Serenus. When his commander, Theodorus Tiberius, was killed, he cowardly betrayed his superiors, and vengefully fought against them, to ensure the escape of his evil mentor Venator, to the cold moon of Triton. Due to his insubordantion, we failed to capture the greatest nemesis of our beloved Republic. Even in prison, he continued to brainwash his fellow prisoners. Shall we let him live? Nego!"
The crowd's answer was the same.
Solaris was in more fear than he had expected to be. To die in battle would have been less of an agonising death. Suddenly, in the crowd, he recognised Curio, dressed up, hiding his true nature. Both of them made eye contact. For the first time in his life, he was able to make telepathic contact, and heard Curio's voice in his head.
Do not worry frater. We will avenge you. You will live again.
The three convicts were brought to their gallows. Under the chanting of the crowd, the executioners hanged them quickly and brutally. The three bodies were left hanging from the ropes until the sun set, casting eerie shades of the gallows and the lifeless bodies over the square. Only now, some realised it was the shade of fear, and not of justice, that was falling over Nova Roma.
******
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