Muses of Terra (Codex Antonius Book 2) (18 page)

The problems, he said, were twofold: what to do once they boarded the vessel, and how to warn Libertus about its arrival.

“Forgive my bluntness,” Ulpius said, “but why should we—meaning us Romans—care what happens to Libertus or two people we don’t know?”

Cordus regarded Ulpius with the stoniest stare he could muster. Kaeso had used that stare many times to make the strongest Saturnist back down. But watching Kaeso do it and doing it himself were two different things.

It seemed to work, because Ulpius broke eye contact and glanced away.

“Because I told you on Reantium what I planned to do,” Cordus replied, “and you came anyway. Too late to back out now, Centurion. Besides, I saved your life
and
I gave you a ride off that dead planet. I would hope that honor dictate you return that favor.”

Ulpius shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate all that. But with all due respect, my allegiance is to Roma. Not you.”

Marcus Antonius suddenly stood next to Cordus. Cordus didn’t flinch or look at him.

“Well don’t get
us
wrong,” Marcus said, “but we’d just as soon you didn’t go chasing that strain. Though if you want the help of these plebs, there is a simple way you could get it.”

I told you, do not speak of the aura again.
 

Marcus sighed. “You are the most stubborn Antonius we’ve ever infected. And that’s out of a thousand years of living in your bloodline.”

Well, there’s never been an Antonius like me.

Marcus grunted.

Duran stood. “I can’t speak for the other boys, sir, but I’m with you.” He gave Ulpius a glare. “Roma never responded to our repeated calls for reinforcements, even when they knew the planet was almost lost. They left us to rot. As far as I’m concerned, the Republic can rot.”

Ulpius balled his hands into fists. “That’s blasphemy, soldier. You’ve taken oaths—”

“What about Roma’s duty to its soldiers in return for those oaths?” Duran asked, his deep voice shaking. “We begged for help up until the golems took us. All we got was silence. Roma left us to die.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Ulpius growled, “we’re in the middle of a godsdamned
civil war
! You don’t know what’s happening on Terra. They could have been busy with more important—”

Duran snorted. “More important then losing the Republic’s main food source?”

“Yes! Maybe it was more important than that!”

Piso and Gracchus stood next to Duran and stared down Ulpius. Piso said, “We’re with Duran and the Centuriae.”

Ulpius stared at all three of them. “Deserters,” he snarled.

Shouts and insults flew between the three soldiers and Ulpius. Before the argument descended into a physical fight, Cordus hit the controls that opened the Cargo One door ramp. A loud alarm blared and the lights in the hold turned orange. The Romans stopped arguing and stared at him in shock. Aquilina stood, her face alarmed. Dariya and Daryush exchanged grins.

“Are you insane?” Ulpius yelled over the alarm.

Cordus tapped the controls again. The alarm silenced, and the lights in Cargo One went back to normal.

“Now that I have your attention, gentlemen,” Cordus said in a low voice. Another trick he’d learned from Kaeso—people seemed to listen closer to a low voice than a raised one. In this case it worked, for Duran and Ulpius stopped yelling at each other and focused on Cordus.

“Ulpius, I respect you for honoring your oaths to Roma,” Cordus said. “But I will follow that vessel. Time is critical, so it may be a while before we make it back to Roman space or a colonized world. I apologize, but whether you like it or not, you’re coming with us. So you can either help us or stay out of our way. Make your decision.”

Ulpius glared at Cordus, then turned toward the hold’s exit. “I’ll make sure your man lives. That will be my contribution to this little adventure.” He brushed between Dariya and Daryush, neither of whom moved out of his way, and left the hold.

Cordus turned to the three Romans. “Thank you. I hope I haven’t made things worse for you when you get home.”

Duran glanced at where Ulpius left the hold. “I suppose he could report us. Technically we’re not deserters; we just figure the fastest way home is to help you.”

Gracchus curled his freckled upper lip. “Besides, that centurion is an ass. Been bossing us around ever since the golems threw him into that prison with us.” Piso and Duran nodded their agreement with Gracchus.

Cordus turned to Aquilina.
 

“Libertus is my world,” she said. “Of course I’ll help.”

Cordus nodded. “Now back to my original question. Once we’re aboard, how do we find my friends?”

The silence in the hold stretched for minutes.

Cordus glanced at Marcus.
The question is directed at you more than anybody.

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so now you want our help? Wonderful. Here’s what you do—”

“If they were once…spies,” Aquilina said, talking over Marcus, “I may be able to locate their implants.”

Marcus scowled and then muttered, “Which was what I was about to say—”

“But their implants are deactivated,” Cordus said. “How will you find them?”

Aquilina smiled, and Cordus looked away before forcing himself to meet her gaze.
Stop that!

“Trade secret,” she said. “You get us in, and I’ll find them.”

19

Cordus hit the sparring bag harder than he should have. The impacts sent painful jolts through his hands and elbows, even with his soft sparring gloves. When the pain grew too much, he switched to kicks until his ankles and knees screamed. After that, he switched back to the punches. Sweat poured down his face, and it felt good to release his frustration over recent events despite the pain.

Six years ago, Kaeso had converted part of Cargo Two on
Vacuna
into a gymnasium. Now that
Vacuna
worked exclusively for the Saturnists, they rarely took jobs that required much cargo space. Kaeso figured the crew needed a place to practice self-defense during the long days of intra-system travel, especially with the ever-present dangers stalking them in their new missions.

Cordus drilled himself over and over, the same way Kaeso had done. He pushed himself harder than Kaeso’s drills, going for one extra minute of punches, kicks, pushups, pull-ups, and various other calisthenics. The benefits of the exercise were physically self-evident, but it was mental cleansing he sought now. He needed to avoid thinking about the problems he’d been obsessing over the past few days. The ritualistic drills did more to clear his mind than any of Nestor’s prayerful meditations.

“Do you mind some company?”

Cordus dropped down from the rafter he’d been using for his pull-ups. Aquilina stood in the hatch to Cargo Two wearing a loose-fitting, white exercise suit, her long black hair braided down her back. Two wisps hung over one of her brown eyes. She dropped a towel on one of the crates near the hatch and began stretching without waiting for his response.

“I don’t mind,” Cordus said. “Where did you get the outfit?”

“Dariya lent me one. A little loose, but then I was half-starved for a week.”

“Are you well enough for exercise?”

She stretched her legs. “Your concern is touching, but I’ve had four days to rest. I’m at the point where if don’t spar, I’m going to pick a fight with somebody on this ship.”

“I know the feeling. Gloves are in the locker and the sparring bag is over there.” Cordus glanced up at the rafter he’d been using. “We kind of improvise for everything else.”

“I don’t want to hit a bag,” she said, giving him an appraising look. “Want to have a go, Centuriae?”

Cordus’s heart skipped a beat over the way she studied him. He was shirtless and wearing loose shorts. Kaeso’s relentless training, and Cordus’s own drive, had packed a lot of muscle on his frame. Even though he’d trained hard for the last half-hour, he regarded Aquilina’s gaunt face, which had admittedly filled out over the last four days, and wondered just how well she had recovered from her ordeal on Reantium.

“I hardly think it would be a fair spar.”

“You’re right. Should I fight left-handed?”

When Cordus only stared, she continued, “Centuriae, you forget I am among the best trained soldiers in human space. I endured far more hardship in my academy days than on Reantium.” She stopped stretching and then went to the locker and put on sparring gloves with a quick and efficient manner. She then took on a fighting stance five paces from him. “You won’t ‘damage’ me.”

Cordus tried to shrug indifferently. “Very well. Any particular style? I assume Greco wrestling is out.”

“Why?”

“I just thought…” Seeing her level stare, he said, “Never mind. So freestyle, then?”

“You’re too concerned with rules. I thought your mentor was Umbra.”

“He was,” Cordus stammered. “I just…well, I don’t want to…”

Aquilina rolled her eyes, then came at Cordus with quick jabs and uppercuts that he barely blocked. Her blows pushed him back against a crate. He finally caught one of her wrists and twisted it around her back. Her lithe body turned in the same direction until he almost had her wrapped up from behind.
 

Somehow she flipped out of Cordus’s grasp, did a quick roll, and came up several paces in front of Cordus in the same stance with which she had started.

Cordus stared at her. “How did you do that? I had you.”

“Another trade secret. Now you attack me.”

Cordus slowly approached, then circled just out of her reach. She turned with him, their gazes locked, a smile in the corner of her mouth.

“Roman tactics,” Cordus said. “You started with the
ludus dacicus
, then transitioned to
ludus magnus
. But I have no idea what that was at the end. Zhonguo?”

“Good. Umbra doesn’t discriminate when it comes to tactics. If it works, they use it, whether it comes from Roma or the Zhonguo. Are you going to attack or talk?”

“Talk for a bit. Where did you grow up on Libertus?”

“You won’t distract me with—”

Cordus spun around and swept his leg beneath Aquilina’s. As he expected, she jumped over his leg. He twisted in mid-air and brought his other leg down on her upper back. It knocked her off balance, and she fell to the floor. Golems programmed to master-level had fallen flat on their chests after that move, the air knocked from their lungs. He would then jump on their backs and put them in a headlock they couldn’t escape.

But Aquilina’s fall was lighter than he thought it would be. She brought her hands up in time and landed on them. Then in a spring-like motion, vaulted off the floor and away from Cordus’s follow-up straddle move. He scrambled away from her own follow-up to his move. They both ended up on their feet facing each other in their original stances.

Cordus smiled. “You’re amazing.”

“Pretty smiles won’t distract me, Roman.”

His smile faltered. “I’m Liberti—”

She came at him again, this time with roundhouse kicks that he blocked, but made his arms throb with their power. She used every bit of torque she possessed to make her blows powerful. They were executed with a master’s precision.

He ducked away again and jumped onto a crate just to catch his breath. She circled below, her chest heaving. Considering her weakened condition, all he had to do was keep attacking her, and he’d eventually have her.
 

But there was no honor or sport in that.

“What makes you think I’m Roman?”

“You fight like one,” she said. “You going to stay in your tree or finish sparring?”

“‘Fight like a Roman’?”

“You try to bludgeon me with your punches and kicks. No subtlety in your attacks.”

“Ancilia trained me,” Cordus said, stepping from crate to crate. “How could I fight like a Roman?”
 

“Has nothing to do with training. It’s in the blood.”

“You’re saying my blood is Roman?”

She chuckled. “I’ve rested enough. Are you going to come down and finish, or do you concede the spar?”

Cordus jumped down from the crate ten paces from Aquilina. “I’m not Roman.”

She closed in slowly. And then he heard her voice in his mind like a faint whisper, “My implant says otherwise…Marcus Antonius Cordus.”

She took full advantage of his momentary shock. Her attack sent him reeling. It was all he could do to block her rapid blows. She feinted with a swing at his head. He brought his arm up to block, but she somehow shifted in mid-swing to a stoop and then brought her leg under his, knocking him on his back. She straddled him with her forearm to his neck. Her face was inches from his, her breath warm and sweet from the apricot packets she had for breakfast.

“Do you concede?” she asked.

“I concede the spar.”

She kept her brown eyes locked with his a moment longer, then jumped off him and walked to the equipment locker to grab a towel.
 

“You’re good. For a merchant.”

Cordus stood, his mind racing to figure out what to say. Did he admit he could hear her voice in his mind? That meant revealing his heritage. Though the Liberti Muses knew he was with Kaeso and Ocella, he assumed they did not make it common knowledge to all Umbra. If Umbra Magisterium had not told this Ancile, then he was certainly not going to volunteer the information, considering Umbra had wanted him dead six years ago.

But how much longer could he conceal his identity? She was smart and talented. Right now, all she had was a guess, but she would confirm the truth soon.
 

“I want to check on Blaesus,” Cordus said. Better to retreat and regroup than flail about. “You may continue your exercises if you wish.”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No. You did well. I just haven’t checked on my friend today.”

She watched him unlace his sparring gloves and then towel the sweat off his chest before donning a loose tunic.
 

“I don’t blame you for not trusting me,” she said. “You barely know me. But we’re on the same side. We both want to stop that vessel before it reaches Libertus. The more I know about you, the more I can help you.”