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Authors: R.M. Meluch
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the long journey across empty space. “One way or the other, I shall see you on the other side.” Jose Maria drew Farragut in for a hug and a kiss on both cheeks, and one more on his forehead, as he would one of his sons. “Vaya con Dios, young Captain.”
The ship was nearly cleansed and most of the new communications links established, when the com tech reported, “Captain, I’ve got a hail on our old res harmonic.”
Specialists on the command deck tensed at their stations. This far into the protocol, no one should be using the old harmonics. Anyone using an old harmonic had to be hostile, no matter what kind of excuse they tried to give. Captain Farragut moved over to the com station. “Who is it claiming to be?”
“Numa Pompeii in Gladiator.”
“Well, he better not have the new harmonic,” said Farragut.
Farragut relaxed, but only a degree. Numa was a devil he knew. Made sense for Numa to be on the Attack Group’s old harmonic. Did not make sense that a Roman general would be contacting Merrimack during a state of war.
Captain Farragut motioned the com tech to put the call on speaker, and he said into the com, “Numa. Maybe I can help you find your way into the nearest black hole. Where are you?”
“Not far from you.”
Farragut reared back from the com, motioning the com tech to mute it.
Not good. Not good.
Farragut ordered Targeting: “Find him.” And to Gypsy, “Are we tight?” He meant the ship’s force field.
“We’re tight, sir,” Commander Dent affirmed. The ship’s condition watch had been elevated ever since the declaration, just for this sort of surprise.
Lately an ally, Numa knew where the Mack was headed when they parted ways. Merrimack hadn’t moved from that known destination.
Numa’s Gladiator was like a hippopotamus submerged in the muddy river water. Hidden. Deadly. Powerful. Territorial.
“Should I move us?” Gypsy suggested.
“Stand by. Just because he says he’s here doesn’t necessarily mean he’s here.” Farragut motioned the com back on. “State your intentions, Numa.”
Farragut had expected Numa to be long gone. He would be, if his destination really was Near Space. And if he was not headed for Near Space, what the hell was he doing? “Permission to approach,” Numa Pompeii requested, his voice a rumble as from the volcano.
“You’ve got my permission to proceed to the Elysian Fields, Numa. Tell me where you are.” Farragut muted the com and barked aside at Targeting, “Do we have him?”
“No, sir. Trying, sir.” The needle was fat but the haystack was vast. Targeting muttered into his instruments. “Wish I were a gorgon right now so I could home in on the source of a res pulse.”
“We have gorgons right downstairs,” Gypsy said. “Are any of them pointing somewhere besides at us?” Horrified that he hadn’t thought of it, Targeting hastened to check out the idea.
Gypsy then suggested very low to Tactical, who was not helping in the hunt, “Do you know that Mister Vincent would really like to come back on days?”
Tactical could pick up a hint when it exploded on his bow. Murmured back, “Aye, sir.” And set to helping Targeting find Gladiator.
Gypsy moved to the captain, where he stood glaring at the com, waiting for Numa’s response. Again, she spoke very low. “I don’t believe the Roman, sir. He wouldn’t still be here. He’s got a three-month journey home.”
Numa’s voice sounded from the com, “I would like to come over under a white flag.” Farragut felt his own eyes go wide. Heard Gypsy whisper, “Bullskat.”
Numa Pompeii had not been Caesar Magnus’ man.
He was even less Caesar Romulus’ man.
Numa Pompeii had not been on Palatine for the Senate vote that elected the new Caesar. Worse, Numa had not been there to make his own bid for the job. Maybe Augustus wasn’t the only rogue Roman out there.
Making sure the mute was still on, Farragut told Targeting and Tactical, “Bring your search in tight,
The ship was nearly cleansed and most of the new communications links established, when the com tech reported, “Captain, I’ve got a hail on our old res harmonic.”
Specialists on the command deck tensed at their stations. This far into the protocol, no one should be using the old harmonics. Anyone using an old harmonic had to be hostile, no matter what kind of excuse they tried to give. Captain Farragut moved over to the com station. “Who is it claiming to be?”
“Numa Pompeii in Gladiator.”
“Well, he better not have the new harmonic,” said Farragut.
Farragut relaxed, but only a degree. Numa was a devil he knew. Made sense for Numa to be on the Attack Group’s old harmonic. Did not make sense that a Roman general would be contacting Merrimack during a state of war.
Captain Farragut motioned the com tech to put the call on speaker, and he said into the com, “Numa. Maybe I can help you find your way into the nearest black hole. Where are you?”
“Not far from you.”
Farragut reared back from the com, motioning the com tech to mute it.
Not good. Not good.
Farragut ordered Targeting: “Find him.” And to Gypsy, “Are we tight?” He meant the ship’s force field.
“We’re tight, sir,” Commander Dent affirmed. The ship’s condition watch had been elevated ever since the declaration, just for this sort of surprise.
Lately an ally, Numa knew where the Mack was headed when they parted ways. Merrimack hadn’t moved from that known destination.
Numa’s Gladiator was like a hippopotamus submerged in the muddy river water. Hidden. Deadly. Powerful. Territorial.
“Should I move us?” Gypsy suggested.
“Stand by. Just because he says he’s here doesn’t necessarily mean he’s here.” Farragut motioned the com back on. “State your intentions, Numa.”
Farragut had expected Numa to be long gone. He would be, if his destination really was Near Space. And if he was not headed for Near Space, what the hell was he doing? “Permission to approach,” Numa Pompeii requested, his voice a rumble as from the volcano.
“You’ve got my permission to proceed to the Elysian Fields, Numa. Tell me where you are.” Farragut muted the com and barked aside at Targeting, “Do we have him?”
“No, sir. Trying, sir.” The needle was fat but the haystack was vast. Targeting muttered into his instruments. “Wish I were a gorgon right now so I could home in on the source of a res pulse.”
“We have gorgons right downstairs,” Gypsy said. “Are any of them pointing somewhere besides at us?” Horrified that he hadn’t thought of it, Targeting hastened to check out the idea.
Gypsy then suggested very low to Tactical, who was not helping in the hunt, “Do you know that Mister Vincent would really like to come back on days?”
Tactical could pick up a hint when it exploded on his bow. Murmured back, “Aye, sir.” And set to helping Targeting find Gladiator.
Gypsy moved to the captain, where he stood glaring at the com, waiting for Numa’s response. Again, she spoke very low. “I don’t believe the Roman, sir. He wouldn’t still be here. He’s got a three-month journey home.”
Numa’s voice sounded from the com, “I would like to come over under a white flag.” Farragut felt his own eyes go wide. Heard Gypsy whisper, “Bullskat.”
Numa Pompeii had not been Caesar Magnus’ man.
He was even less Caesar Romulus’ man.
Numa Pompeii had not been on Palatine for the Senate vote that elected the new Caesar. Worse, Numa had not been there to make his own bid for the job. Maybe Augustus wasn’t the only rogue Roman out there.
Making sure the mute was still on, Farragut told Targeting and Tactical, “Bring your search in tight,
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