Centurion's Rise Read online

  With a backhanded wave Hastelloy excused the man from his presence. The business man expressed his profound gratitude and then meekly left the balcony. When the outer door clapped shut Gallono stepped out from behind a column carrying a decanter of red wine. He poured two glasses and took a seat next to his captain and friend.

  Gallono snatched a ripened apple from a bowl sitting on the corner of the table and took a healthy bite. With his mouth still full of fruit he glanced over at Hastelloy and lazily asked, “Tell me, do you ever feel guilty taking advantage of these backward people like that? Here you sit on your balcony eating fruit and drinking wine while that man and countless other families labor all day to pay your fees.”

  “You’re the one eating fruit and pouring wine,” Hastelloy pointed out. “I’m simply following the rules of economics and charging what the market will bear. Not a penny more or less. If he doesn’t like the terms, he doesn’t have to do it.”

  “Well what’s he going to do if he doesn’t like your terms? Go to the next lender, oh wait, there is no other. You have them all bent over a barrel with no alternatives.”

  “True. A monopoly only benefits the one who controls it, but look at what we’ve done for this island. It’s the second wealthiest trade port in the region. It’s raining money in this city and everyone’s getting wet.”

  “Never mind the fact that you now hold title to over half the land,” Gallono chastised.

  “Those men are living better now working for me than they ever did as land owners for themselves. They should thank me,” Hastelloy responded.

  “As the man who enforces your repossession orders, I can tell you from experience - they don’t.”

  Annoyed with the insulting direction of the conversation, Hastelloy sat up straight, snatched the apple from Gallono’s hand and took a bite for himself. “I’m not about to accept criticism from a man who indulges in the benefits of my business practices. Now say what’s on your mind commander. I don’t have a lot of time to waste.”

  “Time to waste,” Gallono repeated. “We have nothing but time to waste while living for a virtual eternity among these people hoping they advance enough so we can contact Novus and get a lift home some day.”

  “We’re working to expedite that advancement,” Hastelloy said, “but doing that takes money. Heaping mountains of it so tall a person could spend a life time digging through it and never reach the bottom.”

  “That’s all well and good captain, but in the meantime I’m a warrior sitting here watching you play financial head games with people from whom I eventually have to go beat up and confiscate lands.”

  Gallono grabbed another apple from the bowl and rolled it in front of Hastelloy. “I’m bored out of my mind doing a job I hate that any knuckle dragging thug could do. For the first time in my career I feel completely useless.”

  Hastelloy held Gallono with the disapproving stare only a parent could conjure toward a child. “Do you know why I have beaten you in all 26,543 chess matches we’ve played against each other?”

  “Oh gods, you keep count,” Gallono stated while throwing his arms in the air. “Please enlighten me, because I’m really tired of having my head handed to me every time.”

  “I win because I take the time to move every piece into its precise position. Then, and only then, do I unleash my gambits. You, on the other hand, get frustrated with the slow buildup and lurch forward prematurely.”

  “We need money,” Hastelloy continued, “because it makes everything else possible. Our time on this island, while lacking excitement, has been immensely profitable. I promise you my friend, exciting times will be here shortly and I’d wager even you will be satisfied with the pace.”

  Gallono casually leaned to the side in his chair and pulled a scroll sealed with an imprinted glob of wax from the folds of his toga. Hastelloy observed the seal was that of his engineer, Tomal, and it was already broken. A frustrated air emanated from Gallono as he handed the document over. “If you continue letting Tomal run wild in Rome you’ll soon find yourself penniless and begging someone to lend you coin at usurious terms.”

  Hastelloy calmly unfurled the scroll, knowing all too well what he would find written therein. He got to the bottom of the page and then tossed the roll of paper onto the table.

  “Gods, he’s out of money again,” Hastelloy groaned. “He needs another 200,000 sesterces to settle with his creditors.”

  “That’s more money than most people earn in a life time,” Gallono added with a sneer. “He pisses it away in a matter of months. When was the last time he sent for more money? It can’t be more than three or four months ago.”

  Hastelloy reached for his glass of wine and took a slow, thoughtful drink while he looked out over the calm Mediterranean waters.

  “Tomal’s presence in Rome is serving my purpose,” Hastelloy finally concluded. “The problem is the funding requests are growing in both amount and frequency.”

  “The senate elections are only a month away,” Gallono interrupted. “Maybe it’s time we return to Rome so you can run the campaign yourself and let me take Tomal behind the woodshed for a good spanking.”

  Hastelloy swatted away a set of tiny flies buzzing around a cluster of grapes setting in front of him. “The problem is voters have the memory span of a fruit fly. If I show up too early and make a big splash, all will be forgotten by the time ballots are cast. I was hoping to stay away for another week or so . . .”

  Hastelloy was cut short by the sound of Tonwen stumbling onto the balcony and dropping a set of iron bound books he carried. Hastelloy picked up one that came to rest beside his right foot. At first he tried to lift it with one hand and quickly added the other when he realized both arms were required to lift the deceptively heavy object. With effort he handed the text back to its owner.

  “A little light reading?” Hastelloy asked.

  Tonwen let out a loud grunt and set the two books he carried on the table. “They may have cost a small fortune and taken many years to acquire, but it was all worth it in the end.”

  He pointed to the book Hastelloy once held. “This is called the Tanakh and it lays out the foundations and beliefs of the Hebrew people you led out of Egypt, Captain.”

  “Why do you need to spend days reading a book about it?” Gallono asked. “The man sitting next to you was there and can tell you everything you need to know in fifteen minutes.”

  “That would be more efficient I grant you, but less enlightening I am afraid. I would like to judge the cultural impact that Captain Hastelloy’s actions had on the people based on their own words. I want to make sure their laws, ethics and beliefs are within the thresholds of their normal Neo Scale development.”

  Hastelloy never could figure out what drove Pharaoh to go back on his word all those years ago once he agreed to let the slaves go free. It made no practical sense to march his army away from his seat of power to chase down a group of exiles wandering in the desert.

  Whether it was rage or madness, Pharaoh came after the exiles like it was his divine mission in life, and Hastelloy used modern weaponry in front of the Hebrew slaves to spare them from slaughter. He knew his actions violated the directive, but what was he supposed to do, let thousands of innocent beings get hacked to pieces? He made his choice and was at peace with it, but Tonwen in his role as culture cop was not.

  “What about the second book?” Hastelloy asked quickly to guide the conversation in a new direction.

  Tonwen looked at Hastelloy with a disapproving eye. The science officer knew Hastelloy was deflecting the topic, as he always did. The look conveyed a clear message, ‘one of these days we will talk about this.’ Tonwen slowly loosened his stare and glanced toward the second book. “This text is titled The Republic and was written by Plato from Greece,”

  Gallono’s face lit up when he finally realized the angle Tonwen was taking with the captain. Anticipating the confrontation soon to follow had him positively glowing.

  Hastelloy did
n’t want an audience for what came next so he issued orders to his first officer. “Gallono, we leave for Rome in the morning. Make arrangements at the docks and have the workers start packing.”

  “That can wait,” Gallono said with a grin.

  The look Hastelloy leveled against the commander left no opening for debate. “Right now,” he said enunciating each word slowly and clearly.

  “Oh you’re no fun,” Gallono teased as he stood, finished his glass of wine and headed off the balcony. On his way out the door he shouted back. “You’d think at least once over the last thousand years I’d be allowed to sit at the grown-up table and listen to this debate.”

  When the door shut behind the commander Hastelloy looked over at his science officer with tired eyes. “So you think discussing your instance of cultural contamination will prompt me to open up about my own?”

  “The thought did cross my mind,” Tonwen conceded.

  Hastelloy radiated frustration, but he finally relented. “Fine. You first.”

  “Very well,” Tonwen nodded. “Three hundred years ago I got caught up in a moment debating philosophy with the keen mind of Plato. He used my arguments as the foundation for his theory of a democratic society where the people are ruled by a body of elected officials rather than an individual. While this is the optimal and longest lasting form of government a civilization can progress towards, the idea is very likely ahead of its time.”

  “I am virtually certain these people are not ready for that kind of governing body,” Hastelloy added. “Elected officials in a democracy must represent out of duty and dedication to the state and the greater good of the people.”

  “The Greeks were most definitely not prepared for a democracy,” Tonwen conceded. “Rather than selfless servants of the people they elected selfish individuals making greedy grabs for power and riches at the expense of society. In the end, corruption tore that prospering civilization apart and set us back in our mission to progress these people along at an accelerated developmental pace. I have high hopes the Roman Republic is different.”

  “We’ll see,” Hastelloy cautioned. “When I’m elected to the senate we can determine first-hand if democracy is working. Do you agree that if things are not functioning we will need to institute a change in government back to a single monarch to keep the Neo Scale in balance?”

  “At this point I am not sure that is even possible, Captain. Even the mere mention of supporting another monarchy is considered treason back in Rome. They threw Manlius Capitolinus from the Tarpeian Rock and razed his estates in Capitoline just for bringing the idea up in a senate debate.

  Tonwen lowered his head out of a deep sense of shame for his mistake all those years ago. Finally he nodded his head up and down in agreement and slowly looked up to deliver one last rebuttal.

  “Besides, I would hate to go backwards from here; the problem with a monarch is everything depends on that individual being a person of vision with the leadership abilities to achieve that vision. If the people are ruled by ineptitude then that society burns up in flames of selfishness, or crumbles to dust from the weight of corruption.”

  “Then the trick will be getting the right person recognized as that monarch,” Hastelloy concluded.

  Tonwen let his captain’s words hang in the air for a few moments before pressing forward with his confrontational agenda. “Now that we agree on how to correct my error in judgment, we need a resolution for yours. The Hebrews have developed laws and ethics around a faith that worships one divine being. The progression of worshiping many gods down to a single deity is the natural order of things so this is a positive step, but the belief the Hebrews hold that they are the chosen people is dangerous. It engenders feelings of superiority that will cause much strife in the future if it is not corrected soon.”

  “To be honest, Tonwen, I pay very little mind to the religious pan of the Neo Scale for good reason - in the end it becomes irrelevant. The more a civilization explains through science the less relevant religion becomes, and ultimately vanishes from society. Why would I devote time and effort to a problem that works itself out in the end?”

  Tonwen slowly shook his head from side to side. “Sir, I am a scientist through and through and therefore completely agree with your assessment. However, like it or not, at this point in time religion plays a pivotal role in society. Look at Rome itself if you do not believe me.

  “They believe Jupiter, king of all the gods, granted Roman supremacy because they honored him the most. Now everything revolves around keeping that god’s favor: sacrifices, oaths of office, marriage vows, peace treaties, and on and on. I would argue that Rome’s collective faith in Jupiter, and the other gods he commands, controls more aspects of their lives than the elected senators ever could.”

  “You make a valid point,” Hastelloy conceded. “But there are other Gods and competing religions all over the Roman Republic right now. Given everything else I have going on I’m content to let natural selection run its course to weed out those mono and polytheistic faiths that don’t measure up.”

  Tonwen looked poised to continue the debate, but pulled up short and simply nodded his head up and down in agreement. “I will let it go for now if I have your word we will address it aggressively if religion is found to be a major concern while we are in Rome.”

  “You have my word,” Hastelloy said as he got up from the table and helped Tonwen carry his texts back to the library so the servants could pack them for the voyage back to the city of Rome. He turned to take one last look at the gentle waters of the Mediterranean. The tranquility of the scene washed over him for the last time as he suspected nothing but rough waters lay ahead for the foreseeable future.

  Chapter 3: Pay the Bill

  Tomal staggered down a narrow street in the middle of Rome’s brothel district just after sunset. He received random course adjustments from his cluster of friends following close behind. Tomal stopped to take one last gulp from his flask of wine and then tossed the empty container aside.

  “Where to now boys?” Tomal slurred through a drunken fog.

  A fat, hairy beast of a man stepped forward and put his arm around Tomal. “We go to Angelina’s,” he shouted to great cheers from the other men. “The whores are clean and the drinks aren’t watered down.”

  “Good,” Tomal shouted as he raised his right arm. “For my drinking hand is empty and wants for more.” He gestured his fist up and down several times as if he were having an imaginary beverage. To his companions it looked like something else entirely.

  “No need to pull on yourself there, Citizen, we’re on our way to the whores to do the job for you,” a man bellowed to hoots and hollers from the drunken mob on their way to the disreputable establishment.

  Tomal took care to stand up straight and walk under his own power before entering the brothel. He burst open the door to Angelina’s, dropped a heavy bag of coins on the counter and shouted, “Drinks and twats are on me tonight my dear.”

  The madam of the house could not contain a bright-eyed smile when she saw the mob of engorged men and the accompanying bag of gold resting on her counter. For the next six hours she made sure every man left the establishment with a drink in his hand and a broad grin across his face.

  Tomal had long since passed out after utilizing the services of three women and consuming over twenty stiff drinks.

  The next morning a half-witted cleaning slave poked Tomal in the nose with her broom handle.

  “You dead,” she shrieked in his ear attempting to rouse Tomal from his drunken stupor. Seeing the man was indeed alive she moved on with a frustrated grunt.

  Tomal calmly pulled himself to his feet. Without a second thought, he grabbed the old slave woman, tossed her aside and proceeded to relieve himself into her cleaning bucket that rested on the partially mopped floor.

  After finishing his business Tomal bowed his head slightly toward the stunned woman and issued a mock salute touching an index finger to his brow.

 
“Continue,” he said and turned to settle his account with the madam at the bar.

  He looked for the bag of coin he’d handed over at the evening’s onset, but it was nowhere to be found.

  In a superior tone Tomal declared, “I will settle my account now and have what’s left of my purse returned, Madam.”

  The woman responded by pushing a piece of parchment in front of him along with a quill already inked for writing. “1,200 pokes with the girls and 5,553 drinks bought and paid for comes to a total of 241,000 Sesterces. Your purse was 150,000 light so you will sign the note and pay in full by day’s end.”

  “Your math can’t possibly be correct,” Tomal protested.

  “You’re right,” the stern woman snapped. “I gave the three girls you used for free since you were such a good customer; would you like me to add them to the bill as well?”

  “How in the name of the gods could my group of twenty men drink and screw that much?” Tomal hollered in spite of the headache threatening to split his skull wide open.

  “Your instructions before passing out were quite clear; drinks and women were on you for the evening,” the madam countered. “Word spread until nearly every citizen within walking distance stopped by to have his fill. I even had to call in the girls still on their cycles to handle the volume.”

  Tomal straightened his toga as best he could and projected a commanding tone. “I will not stand for this vile treachery. You knew my intent. You may keep the entire contents of the purse, but I will sign no note of debt.”

  With that declaration, three brawny men entered the room and stood directly behind Tomal with knives ready to be drawn. He looked around the room to see if any of last evening’s companions still lingered to aid his cause. He was disappointed to find the room completely devoid of allies - money buys a good time but not friends apparently. The only other person in the room not under the establishment’s employ was an unconscious man perched on a bar stool against the back wall. He would be no help.