Muses of Terra (Codex Antonius Book 2) (36 page)

“Makes for better defense if the Temple is under attack,” Cordus explained. “We’ll stop at the Custudae post first.”

All three Praetorians gave him a puzzled look, but then nodded when he explained what they would do there.

“Then we’ll take the stairwell up to the top level.” He looked at Aquilina. “Once up there, you’ll need to lead us to the implant com.”

She nodded. “Let’s move.”

They opened the door the same way they’d opened the last one. Seeing nobody beyond, they entered the small hallway, which was similar to the spartan corridor they just left. Just like Cordus remembered, the private stairwell was immediately to his right and the door to the Temple Custudae post was straight ahead. The door had a large window on it. The darkened office beyond looked empty.

Rather than use their previous door-opening tactics, Aquilina strode up and opened the door as if she belonged there. She left it open for the rest of them to enter. They all affected relaxed strides, but kept their pulse rifles unslung in case things went badly.

Fortuna was with them, however; there was nobody in the post. It was past midnight, so the only guards likely to be there were the night watch, and they would be out in the temple. Especially with the Dictator’s assassination.

Cordus led them to a Custudae closet and they found what they needed—ceremonial Custudae uniforms. Each uniform had a gold breastplate, red-plumed gold helm, and black robes that fit beneath the armor. The helm was of particular interest to them because it would block most of their features.

They all found uniforms that fit, put them on, and quickly left the post for the private stairwell. Cordus led them up six flights of stairs until they reached the level of the implant com.
 

They stopped before the door and Cordus turned to Aquilina. “Your turn.”

“This is where it gets challenging,” she said quietly. “Praetorians should be guarding the place, not Custudae, so they will try to stop us. These uniforms should get us close enough to take them down.”

Ulpius and Gracchus frowned at each other. “Damned nasty business, taking down fellow Praetorians,” Ulpius said. “Them boys are just following orders.”

Aquilina glared at Ulpius. “Like Prefect Tarquitius?”

“Never said we won’t do it. Just saying I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I,” Aquilina said finally.
 

She gave Cordus a hard look, as if waiting for him to say something. He knew what she wanted him to do. Bile rose in his throat. He knew it would save the lives of honorable men and women who were simply doing what they thought was best for the Republic.

All I have to do is enslave them,
Cordus thought bitterly.

“If it comes to a potential fight…I will do what I can to stop it.”

Aquilina nodded, then opened the door.

They entered a corridor that was not as opulent as the temple’s public halls. Those halls were adorned with tapestries, murals, statues, and alcoves filled with more tapestries, murals, and statues. The flamens and Pontiffs did love their art. This hall, though not as dank and sparse as the corridors below, could have fit right in at any merchant’s office in Roma’s financial districts—gray carpeting, off-white walls, and wood doors with door-length windows at their sides. Each door had a control pad next to it, and all were marked with the name of an administrator or high-ranking flamen.
 

Cordus paused. Nobody was in the corridor.

This feels wrong….

“The Temple is on lockdown,” Aquilina whispered, noticing Cordus’s hesitation. “Tarquitius probably recalled all Praetorians to search for us. We either do this or we leave.”

And go where?
Cordus thought. This was his only chance to save Kaeso and Ocella. If he couldn’t do that, he might as well be captured or dead.

Cordus nodded, and they entered the corridor.

They marched down the corridor as if they had important business. Aquilina arrived at the implant com door, which bore the mundane nameplate “Numinatus”. Cordus smiled.
Office of the Numina
was an appropriate name to house a device that used Muse physics to communicate across the universe. It’s what the Praetorians used to call Umbra Ancilia before they figured out the Ancilia were simply humans.

Aquilina turned to Cordus. “Once I put my palm on that lock pad, they will know we’re here.”

Cordus nodded. “If my plan succeeds, they will be too busy to care.”

Ulpius growled, “Let’s get this over with.” Gracchus nodded his gold-helmed head in agreement.

Aquilina put her palm on the lock pad. It glowed blue as it scanned her hand, then the door clicked open. Aquilina reached for the door handle.

The door slammed into her, flinging her back into Ulpius and Gracchus. Two Praetorians charged through, all black armor and helms with raised pulse rifles. More of them poured out of the doors up and down the corridor, all screaming at Cordus’s team to drop their weapons.

Cordus didn’t have much of a choice with a dozen barrels in his face. He slowly put down his rifle. The others did the same, then put their hands on top of their heads.

Prefect Tarquitius walked out of the Numinatus room, his eyes angry.
 

43

Prefect Tarquitius paced in front of the prisoners and then stopped before Cordus. He reached up and pulled the ceremonial Custudae helm off Cordus’s head, then gave him an appraising stare.

“You look like him, I’ll give you that,” Tarquitius said. “Your surgeons did a remarkable job.”

Ulpius spit on the floor next to Tarquitius’s shiny black boots. “Because it
is
him, you whoreson traitor.”

A Praetorian slammed his rifle butt into Ulpius’s stomach. Ulpius grunted and doubled over, but then straightened slowly with a red face and a sneer.
 

Tarquitius’s gaze never left Cordus.

Cordus searched his Muse memories. Tarquitius had been an apprentice of Scaurus, the former Praetorian Prefect, and Saturnist, who had helped Cordus flee Terra. From what the Muses told him, Tarquitius was loyal to the Republic, the Antonii, and his oaths. He had performed his duty, taking the lives of enemy soldiers or agents when necessary. There were no memories of cruelty by Tarquitius.
 

Is he still the man the Muse memories say he is?

“How much did Arrius pay you to betray the Dictator?” Cordus asked.

Tarquitius’s eyes narrowed. “I’m no mercenary.”
 

“That’s right. You’re loyal to the Republic and do what you think is best to secure it and make it strong. You served the Antonii and then whomever held the title of Dictator. But the constant rotation of dictators has worn on you. You see this civil war as a blasphemy that must be stopped. You want the Republic united again, but you don’t care who does it, so long as this conflict ends. Better someone like Arrius become consul and stop the war than have it drag on in perpetual negotiations, deadlocks, and broken treaties. Is that about right?”

Tarquitius raised an eyebrow. “You think you’ve figured me out, eh?”
 

He drew the pulse pistol from his side holster and placed it against Cordus’s forehead. It took all of Cordus’s will to keep from releasing his bowels. He stared at Tarquitius, praying he masked his terror with determination.

Aquilina said in a strained voice, “Cordus.”

He didn’t look at her. He knew what she wanted him to do.
Not yet, not yet…

“So tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now, impostor. You’re the most wanted man in all the Republic. I’d be a Hero, given a Triumph even. Why shouldn’t I take that?”

Cordus swallowed once. “Are you asking me or yourself?”

Tarquitius stared at him with cold, blue eyes. He had Nordic features with pale skin, blond-white hair. The wrinkles around his eyes shifted as he thought.

Don’t make me do it, Tarquitius. Please Jupiter, don’t force me do it.

The Prefect’s head suddenly tilted, and Cordus saw a black com-ring in his left ear. He put his other hand on his throat to activate a voice sensor. “What?” he growled, his gaze and pistol never wavering from Cordus. He listened for a moment, and then his eyes widened. “When?”

He suddenly looked like a very old man. His cheeks sagged, and he gave a weary sigh. He removed his hand from his voice sensor then dropped his pulse pistol from Cordus’s head. He stared at Cordus with a desperation that brought Cordus more fear than relief.

“Are you
him
? No more games.”

Cordus lowered his hands from his head. “It’s here, isn’t it.”

Tarquitius stared at him a moment longer, then nodded once. “Just came through the way line. Planetary defenses are engaging it now. My orders are to take you to a prison cell.”

“Whose orders?”

Tarquitius’s jaw moved back and forth. “Senator Arrius.”

Cordus felt Aquilina tense at this confirmation of Tarquitius’s culpability in her mother’s death. He prayed she wouldn’t do anything stupid right now.

“Prefect, let me in that room. I can stop that vessel. The Legions may only delay it at best, but they can’t defeat it. Let me help.”

Aquilina shifted next to Cordus. “You can prove it to him.”

Tarquitius glanced from Aquilina to Cordus. “How can you prove it? Because if you can’t convince me in the next five seconds, I’m taking you to a cell.”

“Just for a moment,” Aquilina said to Cordus.

Just for a moment. Surely I won’t be damned for a moment’s weakness? What’s one more time…to save the Republic?

He swallowed, then said to Tarquitius, “You know the Antonii and the Collegia Pontificis were able to command the loyalty of any human being, yes?”

“They were touched by the gods,” Tarquitius said. “I felt it when I was around them. But with you, I don’t—”

Tarquitius inhaled sharply. The Praetorians standing around Cordus shifted in their places, their weapons wavering, some lowering them altogether. Even Aquilina, Ulpius, and Gracchus gave Cordus worshipful stares. The Muses rejoiced at him releasing their power; they reveled in the worship from others, which Cordus spent so much of his energy denying them. He wondered where Marcus Antonius was.
Probably too busy soaking in the worship like an addict in an opium den.

Tarquitius cried out, “My Consul!”
 

He started to kneel, but Cordus shouted, “No!”

Tarquitius looked confused. Cordus immediately stopped releasing the Muse aura and ignored the disappointed cries from the Muses. It took a few seconds for the aura to dissipate. When it did, the Praetorians around him immediately brought their weapons back up as they shook their heads to clear them. Tarquitius blinked several times, but continued to stare at Cordus with the same awe as a moment before.

“I’m not consul,” Cordus said, quieter. “And I will not allow you to kneel before me while I—” He tried to find words that would make sense to someone who was unaware of the Muses. “If you kneel, it must be by your own choice.”

Tarquitius still looked confused, but he nodded. “I won’t pretend to understand what you just did, but it’s the same feeling I had when in the presence of your father. And that’s proof enough for me. Lower your weapons.”
 

Almost as one, the Praetorians lowered their weapons and backed away. Aquilina, Ulpius, and Gracchus brought their hands down from their heads. Ulpius and Gracchus seemed relieved, but Aquilina still stared daggers at Tarquitius.

“What do you need from me, my Con—” A sharp look from Cordus, and Tarquitius said, “What do you need from me?”

“Make sure I’m not disturbed after I enter that room. And put a detachment on the roof to guard the signal dish.”

“Right. Centurion Drusus?”

A helmed centurion behind Tarquitius stepped forward. “Sir?”

“Station your men outside this door and in all the stairwells. Coordinate with the Custudii Prefect…”

As Tarquitius issued his orders, Cordus stepped in front of Aquilina’s hate-filled stare at the Prefect. “I need you in there with me,” Cordus said.

“You don’t need me anymore,” she said, still watching the Prefect over Cordus’s shoulder. “You’re here and all these fine men will protect you now.”

“I don’t need your protection,” Cordus said. He took her hand, and she looked at him. “I need
you
.”

A softness flickered in the cold mask she wore. For a moment, he thought he had broken through. But it was as if she realized this, and she strengthened the mask.

“Very well,” she said.

Gracchus cleared his throat. “I’d like to volunteer to stay with you as well, sire.”

“Gracchus, I’m not the consul—”

“Sire, with all due respect, you’ve been my Consul since you pulled my ass out of Reantium.”
 

Ulpius nodded. “Agreed. But if it’ll make you happy, I won’t bend my knee until you walk out of there again.”

Cordus didn’t know what to say. He realized he had earned their loyalty not by command and not by using the Muses. He had earned it because they respected him. It was something his father and all the Antonii before him could never claim. He would die to protect these men, and they would do the same.
 

Ulpius broke the awkward silence. “Well enough of this sap. Go save the godsdamned Republic.”

Cordus grinned and then walked into the implant com room.

44

No ceiling light pads illuminated the com room; glowing tabulari and holo-monitors that lined the walls provided the room with flickering multi-colored illumination. The room was no more than ten paces square. A single, high-backed chair was fastened to the floor and faced the tabulari. A headset hung from the right corner of the chair’s back. A rush of memories came back to him—his own memories, not from the Muses—of using a similar device to deactivate Ocella’s Umbra implant six years ago, the night they had fled the Consular Palace.
 

“Well,” he said, walking up to the chair, “they made the interface easy. What do these monitors do?”