Authors: Mark Henrikson
Hastelloy sat comfortably
in his chair adorned with plush pillows. He casually looked around the gladiator arena and took in how different the view was now than when he and Valnor met with the Vestal priestess.
Back then the arena was flooded with water so high the boats sailed
nearly at crowd level. Now the dirt floor rested twelve feet below and two gladiators armed with sword and shield slugged it out for the crowd’s amusement. Back then Hastelloy sat on a marble slab along the side reserved for senators, now he sat comfortably in a chair at the end of the arena in the Consul’s reserved box. To his right sat Tomal, who occupied the place of honor to preside over the games while Caesar was in Africa chasing down the remnants of Pompey and his supporters.
Valnor sat on the other side of Tomal
. The clanking of swords below drew no interest from the young man. Instead, his eyes were transfixed on the luxury box at the other end of the arena reserved for the Vestal Virgins.
In that
box sat six women in glowing white gowns. The priestesses were quite lovely, but Valnor’s attention was not held by the women in the box. His thoughts were obviously focused on the memory of the woman who was not present. Next to the six vestals sat an empty seventh chair, left vacant still from the woman Valnor influenced to break her vow of chastity, which ultimately resulted in her execution.
The young man
looked like somebody just punched him in the solar plexus. He was short of breath, dripping with sweat, and his eyes held an unparalleled anguish behind them. Valnor no doubt felt guilty about betraying his friend; however, the real cause for his despair was his wife back on Novus. Even though the woman thought him dead and probably remarried a few thousand years ago, Valnor still felt he betrayed his union vows.
The young man
looked on the verge of vomiting, which simply would not do in this situation. He sat in the place of honor at a gladiator match. If he soiled his sandals now it would appear the carnage below was too much for him to stomach. It would be a sign of weakness to everyone in the arena and invite trouble down the road.
Hastelloy was not the only
person in the luxury box to notice Valnor’s discomfort. In the Latin language of the humans Tomal laughed. “Young Octavian, is the bloodshed below too much to handle? Didn’t you see much worse than this on the battlefield in Macedonia?”
Valnor gave an
awkward nod but said nothing, which only encouraged Tomal to press his taunts all the harder. “Maybe if you’d actually swung a sword in that engagement rather than hiding behind the lines and kissing your uncle’s backside, this spectacle wouldn’t bother you so.”
Valnor
turned his head to face his tormentor. Unfortunately, the young man’s eyes were red and starting to fill with tears when they met Tomal’s.
“
Hah,” Tomal roared. “Pull yourself together boy. If you seek to follow in Caesar’s footsteps you’ll need to be made of sterner stuff. You see, having your tongue in Caesar’s ass may get you a seat at the big boy table but it won’t do much else. You need to be a man. You need to bring Caesar glory in battle, as I have. That is how you get appointed ruler of the city in his stead. That is how you become his successor to rule the Republic. I see now I have nothing to fear by you supplanting me as Caesar’s heir apparent.”
Despite the words,
Hastelloy could almost see Tomal plotting to murder his rival for Caesar’s favor. To head off any unfortunate accidents in Valnor’s future Hastelloy decided to let Tomal in on the little secret. In their Novan language Hastelloy jumped into the conversation. “
Cut him some slack Tomal. That’s no way to talk to a fellow officer of the fleet
.”
“Indeed,”
Valnor added.
Tomal’s smug grin mor
phed into a nasty snarl. At that exact moment, the crowd roared with excitement as one of the gladiators lopped off the other’s sword hand. The victor stood over the other, held his sword at the helpless man’s throat, and looked for Tomal to render his judgment.
Hastelloy switched back to using
the Latin language. “You’re on.”
Tomal r
ecovered from his shock quickly. In a lurch, he sprung to his feet and held out a fist. He extended his thumb to the side and twisted it down toward the ground. There were a few cheers, but mostly shouts of displeasure filled the arena. The crowd did not agree.
Hastelloy fought
back a grin realizing Tomal was allowing his anger to dictate his decisions again. The fallen gladiator fought extremely well and deserved to live. Everyone in the crowd knew it yet Tomal defied the will of the people to satiate his own angry desire. Seeing that part of Tomal’s nature so close to the surface gave Hastelloy added confidence in his plans.
The victorious gladiator hesitated for a set of heartbeats. Clearly he felt the fallen man was worthy of mercy, but he was a slave and had no choice in the matter. He did make it a quick and painless death fo
r the fallen man as he lopped his head off with a swift and clean blow.
B
oos and jeers from the protesting crowd only intensified as the order was carried out. Fortunately for Tomal there was one final match so the day still had potential to end on a high note. As the victor strutted off to the side and exited the arena, the master of ceremonies filled the air with his booming voice.
“Now, t
he Prefect of Rome is proud to present the primus event. It shall be a serial match to the death.” Instantly the crowd turned to cheers at the news, the injustice of the man killed moments before long forgotten.
“Two men will enter the arena,” the MC continued.
“When one falls, another shall enter and the battle will rage on. In all, thirty men will step into the fray. Only one will walk out alive to claim victory.”
The crowd
was positively frothing at the prospect of the premier bout and could hardly wait for the carnage to begin. A normal match between two gladiators lasted anywhere from five to ten minutes, so there was potential for the next five hours to be filled with thrusting swords, blocking shields, and above all else - death. Each match was to the death and that had the blood lust of the crowd on the verge of ecstasy.
Doors on opposite ends of the arena opened
and two armed combatants entered without apprehension. Both supremely confident they would survive the day. The man entering from the north side carried two swords and wore a small helmet with a long nose guard as the only obstruction to his view. The man from the south wore a very large plumed helmet with a mesh screen over his face. He carried a rectangular shield in one hand. The other held a sword while the arm was protected by metal scales running all the way up to his shoulder.
As the two men approached each other Tomal sat back down in his chair and commented on the combatant’s plight. “Poor beggars, these two stand
zero chance of living to see nightfall. No one can fight for five hours straight against increasingly more capable foes. The gladiator who survives this match will be one of the last two men entering the arena, mark my words.”
“You never know,” Valnor sighed. “People can surprise you sometimes.”
He made it a point to look Hastelloy in the eyes before enunciating his thoughts further. “If a man you respect and admire can let you down by issuing crushingly amoral orders, why can’t a person you expect nothing from rise to the occasion and provide a pleasant surprise?”
“On occasions
they can,” Tomal replied. He took note of Valnor’s anger towards the Captain as he casually poured himself another glass of wine. Then he leveled his own menacing glare toward Hastelloy. “Getting close to Caesar was my assignment. Now that I’m his right hand man, why do I now run head long into a backup plan that threatens to derail my progress?”
Hastelloy
felt the venomous stares of both men press in on him. To buy himself extra seconds to decide how best to proceed, he reached behind his back to pull out one of the overstuffed pillows and tossed it to the floor. The rigid back of the seat was less comfortable, but served to hone his focus on the matter at hand.
“Tomal, I don’t even go to the bathroom without a backup plan so this shouldn’t surprise you. Howeve
r, I have some news that will.”
Hastelloy spent the next
half hour describing how they came to know about the Alpha relics and Valnor’s personal sacrifice to gain the knowledge. He concluded the story by emphasizing the influence the Alpha now carried over the vestal virgins in the form of their Goddess Vesta, Julius Caesar through his faith in Jupiter, and the entire Republic through Caesar’s iron grip on the society at large.
Periodically
, the crowd drowned out the intense conversation as yet another gladiator died at the hands of his opponent. The three men paid no attention to the arena floor as the real battle took place in the luxury box.
“I don’t buy it,” Tomal insisted. “If the Alpha had the ability to preserve their life
force we’d know about it - period.”
“We both saw it first hand,” Valnor protested.
Tomal rolled his eyes before continuing his argument. “No, you each saw separate events. All we have is Hastelloy’s word about what he witnessed. You actually saw nothing, you overheard voices. Maybe someone else entered the tent with Caesar, maybe his god actually talked to him. With all these temples and gods all over the place, there has to be something to it all, right? Another explanation that comes to mind is just maybe you were high on some drug and imagined the whole thing.”
“I don’t like your tone
, Lieutenant,” Hastelloy admonished.
“And I don’t like having ludicrous notions thrown at me and
you insisting I believe them.”
“Where is he now?” Hastelloy asked.
“In Egypt courting Cleopatra to share her endless supply of grain with the Republic.”
Hastelloy raised an accusing eyebrow. “
And where do we have the Nexus so nicely hidden?”
“Oh please,” Tomal snapped.
“He’s been there for a year now. It doesn’t take that long to negotiate a trade agreement. He is serving the Alpha’s bidding and looking for the Nexus, Tomal.”
“I know Caesar,” Tomal insisted. “
I’ve looked him in the eyes and taken measure of the man’s soul. “He is no agent of the Alpha and the very mention of the idea offends me.”
“I think it’s the notion of losing the wealth and power Caesar provides for you that gives offense,” Hastelloy challenged.
“How dare you. First I get you elected to the Senate and you ship me off to the middle of nowhere for my troubles. Then when I return with more wealth, power, and influence than you could ever dream of commanding you seek to tear me down with these trumped up allegations.”
Tomal stood and walked to the
balcony’s front edge. He glanced at the action below then spun around to face Hastelloy. “This is about your lust for control. You can’t stand seeing me succeed and moving beyond your reach. Let me guess, my next assignment will be to murder Caesar, the man I consider a brother? That way I take the fall and everything I’ve gained gets ripped away so you can put me under your foot again.”
“Oh grow up
, Tomal,” Hastelloy said with a dismissive toss of his head. “This is bigger than you or I. This is about the Alpha taking control and threatening the Nexus we are all charged to protect.”
“Right,” Tomal insisted. “What better protection is there than having
one of us rule the known world? Caesar went to the vault of the Vestal’s before leaving for Egypt to amend his will. He made me his heir, I’m sure of it, so control over the civilized world will be under me sooner or later. What could be safer for the 20 million Novi soldiers stuck in the Nexus until we get off this godforsaken rock?”
“Careful there
, Tomal,” Hastelloy said with an appalled expression on his face. “You’re starting to sound an awful lot like the Alpha. Taking control of this civilization is not what we’re about. Plus, you’re assuming Caesar named you his heir.”
“Who else could it be?
” Tomal asked with his arms held wide open. When he saw Hastelloy glance in Valnor’s direction Tomal nearly leapt out of his skin in anger as he gestured toward the young man. “He’s here as a backup plan? More like a sabotage plan.”
Tomal’s eyes bore down on Valnor as he took measured steps
in his direction. “Being Caesar’s nephew isn’t going to cut it, you can’t match the victories I’ve already given him so that is out. What’s left as an avenue for you to weasel your way into his good graces?”
Valnor held the thought for a moment and then a vile sneer so intense his nose nearly pulled up to the level of his eyes consumed his face. “You little whore. You
’re using that tight little hole of yours to win him over.”
He spat on Valnor’s cheek and shouted, “You disgust me. Can’t you see
what Hastelloy is doing? You’re being used in the most perverse way imaginable. Wake up.”
“Tomal,” Hastelloy interrupted as he sprung to his feet
to restrain the raging man. “Get control of yourself.”