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  “Our people gave a good account of themselves on the battlefield,” the spirit commended. “You managed to hold the Romans almost to a draw and escaped with most of your forces intact.”

  “We were beaten,” Alaric shouted back. “Whether it was just barely or thoroughly matters not. My people know I am incapable of beating the Romans.”

  “There is more to warfare than winning battles. You must know and understand the ways of your enemy. The Roman emperor, Honorius, is a raving madman. Your attack will cause him to question the loyalty of every Gothic soldier and mercenary serving in the Roman legions. He is insane enough to order their collective executions.”

  Alaric collapsed into a rigid wooden chair and held his face in his hands. “What have I done? I have set into motion the extermination of my people.”

  “Do you really think our proud people will sit idly by while their throats get cut? No, they will resist and you will soon have legions of professional Gothic soldiers from the enemy defecting to your banner.”

  Alaric said no more. He simply shook his head in silence and reached for a flask of wine vowing not to see the bottom of an empty flask until the Romans arrived to finish him off. Weeks flew by amid a drunken binge until fate arrived at his army’s encampment.

  The sudden opening of the tent flap by his captain allowed sunlight to drench the inner sanctum with a golden glow that roused Alaric from his sleep. He fought back the urge to vomit as a result of the prior evening’s binge drinking weighing heavy on his stomach and mind. Alaric finally found the willpower to look up at his officer with disinterest. “What?”

  “A Roman army approaches,” the officer reported.

  “From which direction,” Alaric asked. Not that it mattered at all. He intended to give himself up for execution in order to spare his people Rome’s wrath.

  “I’m afraid they have us surrounded, but they approach in marching formations rather than in line for battle. They have sent emissaries ahead requesting an audience with you.”

  Alaric raised an eyebrow and forcibly moved the haze clouding his mind to the side. “I’ll be along shortly.”

  When the officer closed the tent flap once more Alaric heard an amused voice whisper from the corner. “Now the dismantling of Rome can begin.”

  Alaric donned the golden breastplate of his dress armor and paused on his way out of the tent to splash a handful of water on his face from a filled bowl. He dried himself and stepped into the midday sun with a relatively clear head and sense of purpose.

  When he reached the central gathering hall, four Roman soldiers stood in the middle. Three held their crimson tasseled helmets in their hands to show respect and deference toward Alaric. The fourth held a long metal box that stood roughly three feet long and one foot tall and deep. “Welcome, gentlemen. To what do I owe this fine company?”

  “The honor is ours, General. We come to join and aid your uprising in any way we can,” the one holding the box declared.

  Alaric struggled mightily to hold his poker face. “Why that is a very generous offer. Tell me though, why have you cast aside your Roman banners to join this upstart army of mine?”

  “Emperor Honorius has gone completely mad,” the soldier replied. “He questioned our loyalties following your uprising and ordered all soldiers of Gothic descent killed; he didn’t stop there. His armies are rampaging across all Roman territories murdering our wives and children. We are being exterminated and cannot stand for it.”

  “How do I know your soldiers are not just a plant to infiltrate my ranks and destroy my army from within?” Alaric asked.

  The man placed the metal box he carried on the ground, backed away and gestured for Alaric to inspect the contents. The man’s distance from the box put Alaric on the defensive. Rather than risk setting off an explosive trap himself, he gestured for one of his soldiers to open the chest.

  The man obediently stepped forward, knelt down and unfastened the lock without question or pause. He flipped the lid open and scampered back in surprise and horror. Not seeing an explosion gave Alaric leave to step forward and peer into the container. Inside, amid a torrent of buzzing flies, he saw four severed heads still wearing their Roman dress helmets signifying the rank of general.

  “When we got word of the orders we killed our commanders and wiped out their armies before they could visit the same upon us,” the soldier proudly reported. “Four Roman armies lay dead, and we present to you nearly thirty thousand soldiers ready to serve you, so long as you lead them toward Rome to save their families from the extermination order.”

  Alaric’s face lit up with excitement at the proposition. It was better than he could have possibly imagined. He took a moment to clasp each of the four soldier’s forearms to seal the arrangement. “Do not even bother having your men fall out of marching formation. We will all be on the move as soon as my men can assemble. The conquest of Rome is at hand.”

  Chapter 7: Breaking News

  Hastelloy studied the chieftain’s eyes as they assessed the chess board. The game was only seven moves in and Hastelloy already had his opponent pinned. If he took the bait and captured the queen, Hastelloy could deliver check mate with his bishop. If the chieftain protected his king he stood to lose his rook, bishop and knight so the game was over either way.

  Realizing the chess match no longer required any concentration on his part, Hastelloy looked around the meager Egyptian village that served as cover for the tunnel exit point leading to the Nexus chamber. The day was hot and sunny, but the tall tree outside his modest home built of clay bricks provided adequate shade to make things comfortable.

  He came out of the Nexus regeneration chamber three years earlier. Per his own orders he remained as master of the village to watch over the Nexus until another crew member came out to relieve him of the tedious protective duty. Sometimes it was mere weeks, others it was decades spent living in the simple village before a replacement arrived. It was just the luck of the draw.

  Though it lacked excitement, having a crew member perpetually stationed in the village was critical. Hastelloy still insisted no advanced machinery, like communication radios, could leave the village except in the most dire circumstances. If advanced tools were found by the humans, the potential for Neo Scale cultural contamination was just too great. This, unfortunately, left the crewmen scattered around the continents hunting for the last remaining Alpha relic with the difficult task of communicating with one another; which is where the village came in.

  The one constant on this planet for the Novi was the hiding place of the Nexus. Whenever crewmen left the village they documented their identity, whereabouts and task to accomplish in a central log. If discoveries were made or anyone ran into trouble, they sent word back to the village where the caretaker could send couriers to the rest of the scattered crew. From start to finish the process sometimes took weeks, but it did the job.

  “I know you are up to something, Master,” his opponent said bringing Hastelloy’s mind back to the game. “You never throw away a piece for no reason, but I cannot for the life of me figure it out. That leaves me with doing the obvious and possibly learning something for next time.”

  He captured the queen with his knight, and Hastelloy immediately moved his bishop into position. “Checkmate,” he said halfheartedly. The village chieftain was a capable player, but this was just too easy to be even remotely enjoyable.

  The Chieftain just shook his head and smiled. “I could live a thousand years and never win a match against you. You have played countless games against me and the others in your village and never lost, how can you be so consistent? How do you not slip up even once against a weaker foe?”

  “A steady regimen of discipline, and unwavering attention to detail,” Hastelloy instructed as the chieftain reset the board for another game. He omitted the fact that even if the man did live to be a thousand, that would still leave Hastelloy about ten times his senior.

  The rematch was interrupted by the arrival o
f a young man running up from the grain silos. “We are about finished loading the wagons.”

  Hastelloy looked up from the game board to see twenty workers in the final stages of tying down tarps over the beds of a dozen wagons. “You made great time. I think we can hold off leaving for market until the morning.”

  The teenager was about to run off and enjoy his afternoon that was suddenly free of chores or responsibility. At the last moment the youth turned and handed Hastelloy a piece of paper. “I almost forgot. A messenger just arrived with a letter from your family abroad.”

  Hastelloy took the folded piece of paper sealed with the wax imprint of Gallono. “Thank you.”

  He was about to dismiss the boy and play another game of chess, but Gallono’s brief letter put a stop to that plan.

  Rome has fallen to barbarians from the north.

  -Gallono

  Hastelloy sprang to his feet, “Assemble the couriers. We leave for the port in Alexandria immediately.”

  Chapter 8: Reunion

  As Hastelloy rode his mount down the flawlessly paved streets of Florence he calmly took in the scene around him. Considering the recently sacked city of Rome lay only two hundred miles south, he expected the city to be in a frenzied panic. Instead of seeing bolstered defenses and the conscription of every able-bodied male into the army, it was business as usual.

  The gladiator arena was standing room only, and deep cries of delight rang out across the city periodically as one combatant bested the other for the crowd’s enjoyment.

  When Hastelloy led his horse past the half-moon shaped amphitheater he observed the schedule of performances was uninterrupted by the calamity to the south. The masses seemed completely oblivious; as if their lives wouldn’t be affected in the least by the city of Rome’s downfall.

  From a narrow point of view the people were right of course. From an individual perspective it made little difference. Whether they paid taxes to a far off Roman Emperor or a local Mayor did not matter to them. On a grand scale however, the fall of Rome made all the difference in the world.

  The loss of a central, unifying government meant it was every tiny territory and city state for itself. Specialization of labor would be lost, replaced by a society focused on survival rather than advancing the arts and science that drove cultural and technological advancement.

  Once again the crowd roared with excitement from the gladiator arena. Hastelloy envied them the luxury of living in the moment rather than always peering toward the future. None of them were constantly tested by an adversary who never slept or ate. Goron’s entire existence was dedicated to thwarting Hastelloy’s plans.

  Hastelloy had proven time and again that he was the better man. He had the unparalleled advantage of existing for over ten thousand years and could draw upon that experience. As the centuries and millennia passed though, that advantage was fading. Goron was no simpleton. With every failed scheme he learned; growing in ability and cunning.

  Goron’s growing lethality aside, the law of statistics all but demanded the Alpha captain succeed at some point over the thousands of years. The situation was not unlike the prospect of Hastelloy losing a chess match to the village chieftain. The man was an inferior player, but if they played enough times, eventually Hastelloy’s attention to detail would waiver or the opponent would get lucky. Either way, the result was defeat.

  Eventually Hastelloy came to a freestanding building two stories tall just across the river from the city’s center. The first floor displayed signage advertising a currency exchange while the second story served as living quarters for the proprietor.

  Hastelloy tied his mount next to three other horses on a hitching post and stepped to the door. Since it was after business hours he rapped his knuckles on the door three times. Moments later heavy footsteps drew closer on the other side of the door until it swung open to reveal a silhouetted figure against the golden glow of a table lamp.

  He gave his eyes a moment to adjust and then looked at the figure once more to see the clean shaven face of Gallono staring back at him. It had been decades since the two last crossed paths back home in the Egyptian village. The moment did not require words or tears. The bond forged between the two soldiers over thousands of years transcended all. The two men simply embraced and let the moment speak for itself.

  Eventually, Hastelloy clapped Gallono on the back twice to bring the moment to an end. As Gallono ushered his captain into the room, Valnor, Tonwen and Tomal rose to their feet and acknowledged the entry of their commanding officer.

  Hastelloy waved off the military protocol, “Sit, sit. You look ridiculous; now sit.”

  With that, everyone took a seat around a long rectangular table with benches along each side. Hastelloy looked past the table and saw the only other amenity in the chamber was a desk at the rear next to a steep set of stairs leading to the second floor. Completing the sparse decor was a stone fireplace with a roaring flame providing warmth to the chamber.

  Hastelloy let his eyes wander to each individual seated around the table. It had been over two hundred years since all five of the Lazarus crew members were even on the same continent, let alone seated around the same table for a meeting. “It’s great to have the whole family together again.”

  The comment drew all smiles while Gallono pulled out a letter and set it in the middle of the table. He pointed to the last line with raised eyebrows. “I got your reply to my letter; we all did. I don’t know about everyone else, but mine said to drop everything and get to Florence immediately. Yet here we all sit waiting for the author of these letters to arrive.”

  Hastelloy chuckled softly while he crumpled the letter and tossed it into the fire. “You had the benefit of traveling by land. Try finding a ship’s captain willing to sail anywhere near the city of Rome while it’s under attack and see how quickly you make the trip all the way from Egypt.”

  “Likely story,” Gallono quipped, but then allowed his demeanor to harden and address the situation with the intensity it deserved. “You went to a lot of expense and effort to arrange this reunion, Captain. I take it you suspect the Alpha have a hand in the fall of Rome.”

  An affirmative nod prompted a frustrated huff from Tomal. “We rid that rabid dog of his hands a long time ago. How does he still manage to cause trouble?”

  “He finds new hands belonging to those he manipulates,” Valnor countered. “You ought to know,” he concluded under his breath but still audible around the table.

  The arrogant and rebellious Tomal of old would have continued speaking as though the cutting words had no effect. This new man took the shame of falling victim to Goron’s control five hundred years earlier to heart. He was functional again, but the mere mention of his epic failure back then made the man revert to a child content with not speaking until spoken to.

  Sensing the insult induced silence lingering for too long, Hastelloy spoke again, “Our searching for the Alpha relic has consistently pointed toward him hiding in the northern barbarian territories. Plus, a group of people don’t just up and leave their homeland to invade a well established empire on a whim. They need a reason, a divine reason most likely, and we all know how fond Goron is of presenting himself as a deity to further his designs.”

  “I really don’t see what the big deal is here,” Valnor chimed in. “The Visigoths sacked the city of Rome, so what? They’ll have their fun with the inhabitants no doubt, but in the end they can’t hold the conquest. Eventually Roman legions will boot them out and order will be restored with relatively little lasting harm done.”

  Hastelloy shook his head with disappointment at his helmsman’s thoroughly incorrect assessment of the situation. Valnor had come a long way in his abilities. He was even a key architect in shaping Rome into the long standing cultural and political icon that it was. Therein lay the problem, however. He had an unshakeable faith in the resiliency of his creation, and it shrouded his otherwise sound judgment.

  “The preeminence of Rome has been shattered
,” Hastelloy instructed. “The few Romans ruled the many peoples of the world because everyone believed Rome could not be beaten. Now they know differently, and every ambitious governor and foreign power will line up to have a try at casting off the yoke of their oppressor.”

  Valnor looked insulted enough to draw a blade and challenge Hastelloy to a duel. “Oppressor? Rome is a noble institution that brought law and order throughout the Mediterranean to keep the peace.”

  “It is a hard peace,” Tonwen interjected, “Enforced at the point of a sword against the will of the many.”

  “A hard peace is preferable to anarchy,” Valnor countered. “We should reinsert ourselves into Roman affairs to root out the incompetence and corruption to set this ship sailing on a proper course again.”

  “The sudden empowerment of Rome’s enemies aside. The Visigoths scorched half the empire on their way through Greece and northern Italy to reach Rome. There is no longer an empire to piece back together.”

  Valnor threw his arms out wide in exacerbation. “I guess we just sit here then and let Goron’s barbaric anarchy wash over the civilized world we worked so hard to build for these people? Let all the technological and social advancements regress back to square one? I’m sure that will get us home sooner!”

  Hastelloy felt all eyes on him. Valnor had a valid point and the entire crew awaited a retort. A sly grin crossed his lips before laying out his new plans. “Of course not, but Rome is not the answer. There is another unifying force among these people. One unencumbered by borders or nationality.”

  Hastelloy paused to look at his science officer. “Tonwen, former apostle to Jesus, would you care to venture a guess as to which entity I am referring?”