Collected short stories, p.211
Collected Short Stories, page 211
I was noticing many things. Again, I nodded. And then with a troubled voice, I asked, What should we do? Do you have a plan?
Marcus gave me a little sideways look, using his clumsy, overdone smile. Then with an overly loud voice, he claimed, I don't have any plans. I just think this is something to discuss. You know. Calmly and rationally? Like the two statesmen that we are...?!'
* * *
They have just entered unmapped terrain. Until now, the machinations of the inner circle have belonged to rumor and conjecture. Forrester's daughter is openly, fervently pleased, sitting back in her chair, allowing herself a moment of selfcongratulation. Then to avoid teasing the Fates, she leans forward again, using a calm, understanding voice to profess, This is all fascinating.
Fascinating, the emperor repeats. Then he grins, shrugging his shoulders and confessing, To me, it's drab. Ugly and petty and drab.
She won't hear of that. Your excellence, she blurts. I know it's not my place to force you to reveal anything. But this is an important subject. It is common knowledge that Marcus attempted a coup against Lucian. Did he enlist others from the inner circle? Or was it his doing alone?
No, says the emperor. And no.
Her face tightens, and in the next moment, relaxes.
There was no coup, he professes.
Not a successful one, she counters.
I mean there was no coup. Nothing that dramatic or effective, certainly. He appears frustrated, with her or with his own careless tongue. Placing his spidery hands on the tabletop, the sleeves of his toga pulled up, revealing his thin waxy wrists. I finished my inspection tour and returned to Rome, and when I saw Lucian againwhen it was just the two of usI mentioned my conversation with Marcus. Lucian's reaction was laughter. He laughed and shook his head, and I did the same, and it felt genuine. And then my friend put a hand on my shoulder, and quietly, he confided, This isn't the first time that I've heard rumblings about that man.
I was disappointed. I had assumed that I was the first one approached by the conspirator. Evading my own pettiness, I told Lucian, What he said is stupid. I mean, look at you. Sitting in the Basilica Julia, presiding over your subjects ... shit, you're doing exactly what you've always wanted to do...!
My born calling, he added, and we both enjoyed a good long laugh at Marcus's expense.
The journalist nods amiably, but a flicker of doubt shows itself.
There was no coup, the emperor repeats. Coups are extravagant. They require organization and treachery, and Marcus didn't have enough of either. He pauses, sighing softly. No, the pure, ugly truth is that this was a family squabble. It was bad blood and small feelings, and Marcus didn't have any chance.
He sighs, and sighs.
The fights began after that, he remarks. Their battles were mostly private. I saw only one or two of the minor blowups. Theresa was the best witness. When Lucian was traveling, she'd visit me at my residence. She was usually upset. When she cried, that intelligent face of hers aged ten years. I could see the pain, and I'd make some glancing mention of Marcus, and she would shake her head and sob, telling me, That little jerk has to be difficult. He has to complain about everything.
What doesn't he like? I asked.
Everything, she repeated, as if the specifics were too obvious to repeat, or too dangerous. Marcus doesn't have the right, she would grumble. I don't care if he was our bank. We don't need his help anymore, and we don't deserve his damned opinions.
What does Marcus want? I pressed.
He says we're too civilized. We've allowed too many natives to keep their land and wealth. Troublemakers need to be killed, he says. Not launched into some other time. Romans understand a sword through the heart, and he says that if we aren't sufficiently brutal, we're going to lose everything.'
The emperor glances at Octavian.
You were absolutely right, he adds. That little man was trouble for us. I knew it then, and eventually the rest felt the same. Inside the inner circle, I mean. We'd been together for nearly twenty years, planning and sacrificing. I don't think Marcus understood how isolated he was from us. We became adults together, and he was the newcomer. Any bored billionaire would have worked as well as him, or better. That's what we decided, during our first winter and into the next spring. Marcus was a spoiled little boy, and he was trouble, and eventually something was going to have to be done about it.
He turns to the cameras. We still kept meeting for pizza. Every month, on a scheduled night, we'd converge at someone's mansion on the Palatine Hill, or if Lucian didn't want to leave home, we came onboard his ship. We drank Roman wine and our latest beers and ate pizza made with the first tomatoes grown on the European continent, and we shared gossip and scraps of gossip, and of course, we spent a lot of time and beery breath making fun of our colleague.
Really, this couldn't be any more trivial of a story.
It was March. We had been here for a few days less than a year. It was a beautiful, surprisingly warm evening in a city that was increasingly ours, and we were standing outside my houseCicero's old residenceand Emperor Lucian looked down at the rooftops and shook his head. Then he said, He isn't happy, you know. And he's going to get angrier and more embarrassing as time passes.
We didn't have to ask who he meant.
He has helped us, Lucian reminded us. With his money and his energy, he's been a huge help. But I think we should talk about changes. Because the man just isn't happy here.
I was a little drunk. I laughed and said, Maybe we should send him home again.
Lucian turned, and with most of his face, he smiled. But not his eyes. His eyes were bright and cold, never blinking.
I winced, shoulders dropping to my ribs.
Then with a bellowing voice, he told everyone, I have a generous offer for our colleague. But I won't go alone. Everyone is with me, or this isn't worth doing. Then he showed us his wide, winning smile, asking, Who's coming?
All of us were, of course.
Just like that, we were marching together, our guards keeping close. It was late at night. Even the Palatine wasn't electrified yet, and that's why we carried flashlights. En masse, we marched over to Marcus's home and pounded on his gold-encrusted door. One of Marcus's drinking buddies opened it, finding us waiting. Bring us the little man, Lucian cried out. And a few moments later, blinking and scratching his rumpled hair, Marcus looked out at our flashlights, asking, What do you want?
You're not happy, the emperor told him, sounding more drunk than he really was. We know that, and I know you think you can do better than me. Hey, Mark ... don't interrupt me, buddy. Listen! You keep your ship. Take the Justice. Find a crew and take all the supplies you can carry, and give me a date. It's your choice, buddy. Name a year, and I'll put you there, and you can have your own world to conquer.
Then Lucian threw an arm around Marcus, dragging him out in front of us. The little man was in shock. Stupefied. He couldn't move or speak, nearly weeping as the emperor said with a clear, strong voice, When have you ever heard a more charitable, big-hearted deal?
How can you even think of refusing me?'
* * *
Colfax pauses. Sweat seeps through his makeup, rolling across his scalp and down his weary face.
Lucian gave Marcus three weeks to make his
preparations. Any longer, he argued, and the plebeians would get wind of our troubles. We tried keeping the event secret from our servants and advisors. I didn't mention it to you until afterward, Octavian. Although as I recall, when I did finally tell you, you didn't seem very surprised by the news.
Marcus decided to jump back fifteen months, appearing before we arrived here. A new timestream would erupt. His timestream. Marcus loved Rome, and now that he knew its language and politics, he convinced himself that he would prosper here without our help.
But he ended up with a skeleton crew of followers, fleshed outso to speakwith a few girlfriends. Even some lifelong friends didn't relish the idea of taking on Rome by themselves. He had a few guns and our most worn-out seaplane, and maybe half the boxes in the cargo hold were filled with ballast, not machinery. I didn't hear about that particular cheat until later. If I'd known ... well, I probably wouldn't have complained. Marcus was abandoning us, and he was taking a third of our navy, and so yes, maybe I would have approved of Lucian's little deceptions.
But the rest of the story ... well, I would have been uncomfortable, and ill, and I probably would have raised my voice....
He pauses.
I saw them talking, he continues. Lucian and Theresa were arguing. We were at sea, following the Justice toward that wet spot where we appeared in this world. Lucian barked orders as I walked into their suite, and Theresa turned and saw me, and I saw she was crying, and she straightened her back and remembered to wipe at her eyes, telling me, It's nothing. It'll be fine. Can you move please, Jonathon?
I stepped out of the doorway, and when she was past me, I asked Lucian, What's wrong?
He looked at me. He didn't react immediately. Instead, he strolled over to his favorite recliner and sat and stretched out. He was tanned and fit and perfectly happy. With a remote control, he turned on the enormous television at the end of the room, and he said, Sit, Mr. Colfax. Sit and watch.
Marcus and his ship were churning across the water. The images were being piped down from a camera on top of the Virtue's bridge. I sat in the middle of a long sofa and looked at the screen, remarking, He's still got a few miles to go.
I'm not waiting that long, Lucian confessed.
I didn't know what to say. I just nodded and looked at the screen, thinking that it really didn't matter. Marcus could be roaring along at full speed, and it wouldn't disrupt his jump into the past.
Lucian panned the camera downward. The ChronoAble was perched on the superstructure, never looking more like a piece of artillery. Theresa and her people were hard at work. I saw her gesture. I saw her shout at someone, which was peculiar.
Then the machine gave out a thousand little sputters and sparks: It was making its calibrations. We had to guarantee that the travelers arrived at the proper altitude. But the calibration business was taking longer than I had ever seen, and I mentioned it to Lucian.
He said nothing.
I asked, Are we having trouble with the machine? It wasn't supposed to wear out for a hundred years, but what good was the warranty here? What's it looking for? The sea's the same height as it was last year.
Amiably, he said, Yes, it is the same.
I turned, looking at Lucian's handsome, grinning face. He was enthralled. He was wearing the same great smile that had lit up the dormitory room when we were freshmen. Spellbound and proud of himself, he gave out a peculiar little laugh. Then he said, I haven't told anyone yet. Not even Theresa knows.
I swallowed, and I waited, holding my breath somewhere under my stomach.
I just figured something out, Lucian confessed. Just a month ago or so, it came to me. Finally, I know what my true calling is.
Your calling? I blurted. It's Rome, isn't it?
Rome is a resource, he replied. A raw material.
I asked, What's that mean?
But he refused to enlighten me. Instead, he said, Watch, as the camera returned to the Justice. Marcus kept churning his way through the blue waters. Lucian bent forward and hit a flashing red button on a nondescript control panel, and a moment later, a bright blast of light tore open a new doorway in our present.
Suddenly, our instant led into a distant instant. Delicate sensors designed and built by never-born physicists analyzed that unique flash of light, filtering and scrubbing the data, searching for the occasional photon that happened to leak through that very temporary doorway. A picture was built. In moments, a grainy photograph showed me where Lucian had sent Marcus and the other traitors: I saw a cold gray sea tossed by waves, and great sheets of snow falling from a leaden sky.
I blurted out, When is this?
Calmly, happily, Lucian told me, Eighteen thousand years ago.
I looked at him.
In winter, he added.
I looked away.
If the man can survive, he remarked, imagine all the remarkable futures that I have just given wings to...!'
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IX
The perspiration worsens. Emotion or a fever is to blame. Either way, this is a warning sign, a cause for concern, and the ground rules for the interview are explicit. Forrester's daughter glances at the physicians, who look at Octavian, begging for orders. He nods, giving permission. Then the interview is suspended while ancient thermometers are placed inside the emperor's ears, each wrist held gently while the pulse is counted. Colfax is a compliant, mostly indifferent patient. Like many of the chronically ill, he has learned how to surrender his body to other hands.
There is a fever, one of the physicians confesses. We should stop for today, and wait
No, the emperor says. Not now.
The ranking physician looks at Octavian. Sire, I don't recommend taxing him anymore.
Octavian nods and begins to rise.
I said no, Colfax erupts, yanking his wrists free of the clinging hands. Mop my forehead. Fix my face. But I want to finish this business. Now!
As you wish, a dozen voices mutter.
And take your seat, my friend. You belong to these events. You saw what I saw, to one degree or another.
Then I shall, your excellence.
The doctors retreat, and a squad of makeup specialists descend in their place, working quickly to dry and patch, leaving a face that mostly resembles the public image of the man. More drinks arrive, ice water and a fizzy sweet. A long pile of pills is set between the glasses, and the emperor picks through them, selecting a narrow white tablet that he downs with an artful little sip.
He coughs, but with vigor.
A few weeks later, he continues, Lucian left Rome on an extended cruise. We had planned the event years ago. The new emperor would tour his empire, admiring its beauties while allowing his subjects to see him. Lucian was a living god, and we would play on that angle to a shameful degree. He glances at Octavian. The truth is, we took our cue from the great Augustus. Deification of the leader is an ancient, honorable tradition, particularly in the eastern provinces. We were going to marry that impulse to modern tricksgrand speeches delivered to packed coliseums, propaganda films shown at night in outdoor amphitheaters, and glorious new shrines built to honor a god who had traveled two thousand years to help a great people.
I stayed in Rome. With Forrester, and with most of the inner circle, I began our sprint to the modern world. The first new schools were built, the new generation learning about science and the zero and aluminum and the internal combustion engine. The aqueduct system was married to crude turbines, producing enough electricity to keep the main streets lit at night. Rome had always been such a dark, dangerous lady after nightfall, and we helped change that. Traditional blood sports were banned, or at least minimized, and then to keep our public entertained, I sacrificed a dozen of our precious Hum-vees, racing them inside the great Circus Maximus. Plus, I opened medical clinics and green-lighted the crash production of penicillin and smallpox vaccines, and that's why before our second winter, we were saving more lives than all the other gods of this land combined.
Lucian and Theresa returned to Rome in the winter.
He was fit and happy, and as much as any man I'd ever seen, he was gorgeous. The light inside himthat beatific glow that I'd first seen twenty years before, in our dormitory roomwas always present now. He smiled relentlessly. When he spoke, he seemed to be singing, his rich voice falling from some lofty, infinitely more important place. But Lucian preferred long silences and dreamy stares, those giant black eyes glittering in whatever light happened to grace them.
Theresa was the opposite. She was middle-aged, and tired. She had gained weight in the last months. Her eyes were perpetually bloodshot. Her skin was suffering some tropical rash that wasn't responding to medication or any priest's incantations. I know she wasn't sleeping. She told me as much. She even admitted that she and Lucian were having troubles. Her phrasing and the sad nodding of her head made me believe another woman was involved. Or more than one, perhaps. Then after a weary little gasp, she added, I'm just glad to be home. At least for a few months.
What happens in a few months? I asked. Where are you going?
She nearly spoke. But she caught herself, and she conjured up a ghostly little smile.
No, Theresa told me. God Himself should tell you this news.'
* * *
A pause. A fist rises to stifle a cough that never comes, and then the emperor opens the fist to reveal a tiny yellow pill that he swallows without water.
We met here, he says softly. Julius Caesar had begun the remodeling of the Senate House, and I finished it, with help from his own architects. Lucian thought this was an appropriate venue. He invited our inner circle and maybe a hundred other time travelers, plus the surviving Senators and our best Roman friends. You were there, Octavian. You had mastered our language, which meant you listened to Lucian's speech twice. A few sentences of American, and then a few sentences of Latin. And of course, cameras recorded everything, saving this historic, perfect moment for the ages.
Lucian was full of himself. I saw that, and really, it didn't bother me. I was loyal enough, even then, that I could embrace what I adored and ignore the rest. Let him be God, just leave the rest of us to manage his empire ... hadn't that been the plan from the beginning...?
It was a fine, competent speech, and it was uninspired.
Lucian was too confident, I suppose. Too self-absorbed and cocksure. He began with photographs just brought from Greece. One of the new temples was nearing completion. In its essentials, it matched our original plans. Marble columns formed the walls of a crescent-shaped building. The building occupied a wide plaza, and at its center stood a large statue of Lucian standing beside a jewel-encrusted time machine. But when the perspective turned, following Lucian's stony gaze ... well, that's when my heart kicked and my belly ached.
