Muses of Terra (Codex Antonius Book 2) (10 page)

Her brother nodded vigorously. Dariya and Daryush took their seats at one end of the horseshoe, then Kaeso sat next to Daryush. Cordus was about to sit next to Kaeso when Tarpeius called to him.

“Sire, would you honor me by sitting next to me?”
 

Tarpeius pulled a cushioned chair out from the table and looked at him expectantly. Cordus glanced at Kaeso, who gave him a slight nod. Cordus moved toward the open chair Tarpeius had pulled out for him and sat down.

“I hope you do not mind eating from chairs rather than couches, sire,” Tarpeius said, sitting to Cordus’s right. “Eating while reclined is the Roman way, but I find sitting up while eating aids my digestion.”

“Fine,” Cordus mumbled. “That’s how I’ve done it for the last six years.”
 

On Tarpeius’s right, Blaesus said, “Young Antonius has adapted well to the barbaric ways of the Lost Worlds.” He dabbed a bread roll into a bowl of olive oil and took a huge bite.

Cordus waited for Tarpeius to reach for a roll and then pretended to reach for the same roll. Tarpeius laughed. “I’m sorry, sire, go ahead.”

Cordus took the roll and set it on his plate. After Tarpeius poured some olive oil in the small bowl next to his plate, Cordus poured oil from the same urn into his bowl. He continued to follow the choices Tarpeius made throughout the dinner.
 

The only way he’ll poison me is if he poisons himself.

Blaesus and Tarpeius were engaged in conversations about old times in the Senate, so Cordus studied his surroundings without interruption. The golems were attentive throughout the dinner: They refilled his water glass whenever it was half-full, offered him more portions when he finished the last bite, even provided new towels whenever he wiped his mouth with one.

In all, it made him queasy like it did when he was a child. The Consular Family had to remain aloof at all times while in public. Cordus’s mother and father, both infected with the Terran Muses, had no trouble because for them it was not an act. Their Muses forced them to act like gods. To fit in, Cordus had to act the same way, even when he knew he was different. At first, he simply wanted to be like his family. Why didn’t his Muses ‘guide’ him like they did his parents and siblings? Why must he tell
them
what to do?

Cordus found himself clenching his chair arms with white hands. He eased his hands off the chair and placed them in his lap.

Nestor asked, “When can we see the prototype of the Muse device, Aulus Tarpeius? I’m curious as to how your flamens used Cordus’s blood to—”

Tarpeius waved a hand. “In time, brother. First let us enjoy dessert. My golem cooks have prepared fig tarts and walnut sweet cakes that would make the goddess Edesia’s mouth water.”

“You’re making
my
mouth water, old friend,” Blaesus said.

Tarpeius turned to Cordus with a large grin. “They may be golems, but I’ve programmed them well, don’t you think, sire?”
 

“Impressive,” Cordus said. “Have you received a signal from Ocella? They were supposed to be in-system by now.”

Tarpeius shook his head. “I have not, sire. Of course the com satellites have been dreadful lately. The way line to Menota is on the other side of the system. They could be in-system already, but unable to communicate. I wouldn’t worry, sire.” The golems put a platter of glistening tarts and cakes in front of them. “I’m sure something sweet will ease your worries.”

Cordus suppressed a scowl.
I’m not a child to be distracted with sweets.
But he shook his head politely. “No, thank you. I filled up far too much on the main course.”

Blaeus said, “Wonderful! More for me and ‘Ush.” He leaned forward and gave Daryush a wink. Daryush launched into the cakes with as much drive as Blaesus.

Nestor also took some cakes, then asked, “How have you tested this Muse device, Aulus Tarpeius? I wasn’t aware there were infectees on Reantium.”

A golem set another platter of cakes on the table, then reached into its work vest, pulled out a pulse pistol, and shot Nestor. The top of the Greek medicus’s head exploded. His body and chair fell backward and landed with a crack on the marble floor.
 

Cordus stared, frozen, the scene unraveling in surreal slowness. He could not think or feel or move. Four other golems had pistols in their hands and advanced toward the table. The head of one of the golems exploded into yellow fragments. Blasts erupted from his right. Kaeso and Dariya were shooting down the golems. Daryush and Blaesus dove under the table. Tarpeius stood, holding up his hands, screaming at the golems. Cordus could not understand his words.

In fact, he could not understand anything he was seeing until Kaeso slapped his face with an open palm. “Get up!” he screamed, pulling Cordus out of the chair by an arm.

Cordus blinked. Yes, he should leave this place. Where friends are gunned down by golems. Where the remains of Nestor’s head were scattered across the terrace. Yes, it was best to leave.

 
Cordus let Kaeso drag him after the others as they fled into the gardens beyond the terrace. Pulse shots cut through the gardens around him until the trees and bushes surrounding the villa hid all the humans. They continued running through the dense foliage. Leaves and branches slapped and scratched Cordus’s face and arms.

After sprinting a hundred paces, they found a columned, marble altar to Abundantia and hid behind it. Kaeso and Dariya peeked around the marble columns as they reloaded their pulse pistols. Daryush sat on the ground with his arms wrapped around his knees. Blaesus and Tarpeius, their chests heaving, sat on a marble bench surrounded by flowers.

“What’s happening, Tarpeius?” Kaeso growled. “Talk or we throw you to your dogs.”

Tarpeius closed his eyes, tears streaming from them. His surgical augmentation seemed to have failed, for he looked ancient, withered, and defeated. “They took Drusa and Figula,” he said between sobs and pants. “I had to do something. I had to give them something.
They’re going to crucify my family!
”

Blaesus glared at Tarpeius. “So you gave them
us
? Oaths you have taken, Tarpeius. Saturnists have survived the millennia because they did not give each other up, no matter the personal cost.” Blaesus snarled. “You coward.”

Tarpeius turned to Blaesus with wide, mad eyes. “Gods damn you, Gaius Octavius Blaesus! You have no family, so do not speak to me that way.”

Kaeso finished reloading his pistol. “The ‘why’ doesn’t matter. How do we turn off those golems?”

Tarpeius started laughing. Kaeso narrowed his eyes at Tarpeius.

“You can’t turn them off, you fool,” Tarpeius laughed with red eyes. “We tried. They run the gods damned planet now!”

Cordus suddenly found his voice. “The
golems
rebelled? The golems are this ‘Reantium Liberation Collegium’?”

Gods, those were golems at the discipulus checkpoint. They looked and acted like golems, but I still didn’t see them.
Golem programming was so secure that malfunctions were almost non-existent. It was like thinking a ship’s tabulari would suddenly start flying the ship on its own.

“We thought we could control them,” Tarpeius murmured, almost too quiet for Cordus to hear. Then he looked at Cordus with pleading eyes. “We thought we could use the same interstellar com mechanisms as your Muses. We thought we could reprogram them all at once, without master keys.” Tarpeius groaned. “All we did was
free
them.”

Cordus felt numb. “My blood. You didn’t use my blood for a Muse detector. You used it to reprogram
golems
? Why?”

Tarpeius laughed insanely again, then waved his hand back toward his villa. “So we could do
that
to a Republic with golems as ubiquitous as roaches!”
 

“Gods, man,” Blaesus said, aghast. “I cannot begin to think up a more horrid weapon to—”

“Roma needs to die so it can be reborn the way the gods meant it!” Tarpeius screamed at Blaesus, spittle flying from his mouth. “Isn’t that what Saturnists have wanted for a thousand years?”

Pulse blasts showered them in marble fragments. Kaeso and Dariya peeked from around the columns, searching for targets.

“Trierarch,” Kaeso said calmly, firing off pulse blasts. “We could use your help.”

You are the trierarch
.
Act like you know what you’re doing. Especially when you don’t.
 

Cordus retrieved his pulse pistol from the holster in his vest. He hurried to another column and then peeked around the edge toward where Kaeso fired.

“Movement to the right,” Dariya called out. “They are surrounding us.”

“Dariya, take them into the maize fields,” Kaeso said, “I’ll cover your retreat.”

Cordus said, “I’m Trierarch, sir, that’s my job.”

Kaeso stared at Cordus.

“I’m here,” Cordus said firmly.

Kaeso nodded once. “Take them into the maize, Trierarch. I’ll cover you.”

Cordus nodded, then turned and helped Blaesus up from the ground. Daryush was already up and impatient to flee. Cordus let Tarpeius stand on his own.

He turned to Kaeso, but before he could say anything, Kaeso said, “I’m right behind you.”

More blasts hit the columns, this time from the left and right.

“Go!”

Cordus led the survivors further into the dense garden until they reached a clearing. He stopped them. The edge of the swaying maize fields was twenty paces ahead of them across a green, well-tended lawn. Cordus turned left and right, but did not see any golems.

“Dariya?” Cordus said.

“Nothing. But those sons of whore machines could be anywhere.”

Cordus turned to Tarpeius. “Any other security we should know about?”

Tarpeius stared at the ground, shuffling from foot to foot. “Nobody was supposed to get hurt…”

“Blaesus?” Cordus asked.

“None that I remember besides simple sensors,” Blaesus said between heavy breaths. “But he obviously upgraded in the ten years since I was last here.”

Pulse blasts from behind split the branches and leaves around them. Trampling feet rushed toward them. Cordus brought his pistol around, but held off when Kaeso burst through the bushes.

“Go, go!” Kaeso yelled, pushing them forward. “They’re right behind me!”

Cordus and the others sprinted across the clearing and toward the maize rows. Just as he entered the maize, blazing cold agony enveloped his entire body. And then he remembered no more.
 

10

Ocella awoke with a start from a dreamless sleep. Despair flooded her heart when she realized she was still on the alien vessel. The dead, gray-brown planet Menota filled the view screen on the wall. She instinctively felt the pistol holster at her side and found it empty. She sighed.

Varo lay on his back beside her, and his eyes fluttered open. His face fell once he was lucid. She wondered if she looked the same when she realized where she was upon awakening.

“How long was I asleep?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Ocella said, sitting up on the black floor. “I was asleep, too. I think they did something to us, because I don’t recall lying down. They took our pulse pistols.”

Varo checked his empty holster and cursed.

Ocella stood and then nodded to the wall. “We’re above Menota. Last I remember we exited the new way line. Menota should have been a four-day journey from there, if they’re as fast as our ships.”

Varo stood as well, regarding the wall. “At least we didn’t have to sit here staring at that for four days.” He looked at her hopefully. “There’s some mercy in that, eh?”

Ocella didn’t say anything. She doubted mercy had anything to do with it. The ship wanted to keep them alive for some reason. It didn’t want to feed them or give them water, so it put them to sleep. Ocella was no more hungry or thirsty than when she first arrived on the ship, so it must have been a frozen sleep.
 

But why keep us alive?
 

“We’re overdue at Reantium,” she said suddenly.
 

“Do you think they’ll come for us?”

“I hope not.”
What can a few Saturnist ships do against this thing?

“How will we escape if no one helps us?”

She frowned at him. She assumed the vessel was listening. She did not want it to know they were hopeless mice, there to run whatever labyrinths in which it decided to put them.

“We will leave when it is time,” she said, annunciating each word.

Varo seemed to understand her meaning and gave her an abashed nod. “Yes, Centuriae.”

The wall behind them irised open and a naked woman stood in the entrance.

“Lucia!” Ocella gasped.
 

She went toward her Trierarch, but then stopped within a few paces.
 

The woman in the door was not Lucia. She looked like her, from her muscular build to her shaved, stubbly head. But her skin had a grayish tint, and veins of blue pulsed lightly beneath.
 

And she had no eyes. They were empty sockets.

“Gods,” Varo breathed behind Ocella. “What did they do to her?”

“It’s not her,” Ocella said in a low tone. “What did you do to my Trierarch’s body?”

The Lucia golem’s head turned to Ocella. “This is not your Trierarch’s body, Centuriae,” the golem said, her voice sounding like Lucia’s. “It is a replica.”

“A golem?”

Lucia’s head shifted. “Yes, similar to your golems. Forgive this appearance, Centuriae. Eyes are difficult. We will add them later. We have questions that cannot wait until then.”

“I have questions—”

“We would know the capabilities of your Umbra Corps ships.”

Ocella stared at Lucia, but avoided her eyeless sockets. Instead, she focused on Lucia’s mouth. “I don’t understand why you need—”

“This drone’s brain has limited data regarding Umbra Corps, yet it believed Umbra Corps to be powerful. Its memories suggest you were once in this organization. Do you know the capabilities of its starships?”