"Cyclops." Immediately, its golden arm swept across its torso, clanking its fist against its left breastplate. "Do you recognize me?"
Its head lowered briefly and then returned. "I do not, master." The metallic, staggered voice echoed in the marble chamber.
The emperor's chin jutted and he said, "I am Caesar Maxentius the Ninth. Lord Imperator of the Tiberian Empire."
"Understood, my lord." It then bowed at the waist.
Caesar's eyebrows lifted and he turned to Ouranos. "And it will remember this?"
"Indeed, imperator. It has learned."
He walked toward his scientist, glancing only briefly toward the wall where Donovan stood, hiding. "And for the Life Extension Project." Ouranos nodded. "Can a unit such as this be adapted for my purposes?"
Ouranos smiled again. "It can indeed. Doctor?"
Ryall slowly moved from the wall and into the open beside Ouranos. "We have greatly expanded the amount of information that can be stored and miniaturized all the relevant technology. There are, still, a few hurdles …"
"Minor," Ouranos interrupted.
Caesar ignored Donovan completely and put his hand on Ouranos' arm. "What do you need?"
Ouranos' head lowered slightly and he said, "Two things."
"Name them."
"Grapheet. It is an invaluable resource in producing nanocircuitry like the Cyclops utilizes."
Donovan spoke from the side, "It would also be of great help in the bioengineering we need for organic bodies."
Caesar ignored him again. "Two?"
"Cereisium." Casear lowered his head. "Other elements in its group would suffice. Palladium, arcium, rhodium, ruthenium, olfactum."
The imperator stepped back toward the Cyclops and watched its eye circulate. It still had its hand planted on its chest. "With what we have available, how many more can you make?"
"With little margin for error," Ouranos paused, "less than two hundred." Caesar sighed and moved away from the machine. "If we expend our stores on making Cyclops, in force, we wouldn't have enough to continue research down this avenue for the Project. Even without making more, we may not have enough to continue the needed research."
Maxentius returned to his ornate, enameled wooden chair and allowed the cables from his back to drape properly around it before he sat. When he did, he crossed his left leg over his right and held his chin in his left hand. He glanced from the Cyclops to Ouranos. "I know where we can get a surplus of both items."
He lowered his head and responded, "As do I, lord."
That was ten months ago.
Today, Caesar stood upon the deck of Tiberia's largest aircraft carrier, Valerian. In the distance, he watched smoke rise from Nandia's capital city. Planes screamed overhead toward Pithardra, loosed their payloads, and moved away before explosions rocked what remained.
"Imperator," a subtribune said from near Caesar's chariot. "Our forces captured the prime minister of Nandia, three generals and the mayor of Pithardra as they attempted to flee."
The imperator looked away from the battle and beamed at the woman. "Fantastic news. Ready my landing."
"As you will." She turned and ran away.
With a thought, Caesar turned his large, motorized chariot toward the deck lift. It carried the whole of his existence disguised in an ancient vessel of war; the box that held his mind was hidden under his feet and in the front of the vehicle. That fool Donovan tried to talk him out of taking it into a warzone, but Ouranos created a backup of his mind for safekeeping.
"Praetorians," he called. Blue-robed men came to the chariot's side. They wore contemporary battle armor, highlighted with silver, and carried automatic weapons. As the deck lift lowered to the shuttle bay, Caesar addressed them. "I will take my chariot into the city and meet with the prisoners. As per our oldest traditions, I will not set foot upon foreign soil until they have surrendered." He bent over and lifted a fistful of dirt, taken from the palace gardens in Tiber. He looked at it and then let it fall back to the chariot floor. "Should that happen, you will remain close behind me to conceal my attachments."
"Yes, my lord," they said in unison.
Minutes later, their amphibious craft was lowered into the bay. Its engines churned and the dark gray bulk rode through waves toward the city.
The imperator dove into the Matrix in his thoughts. He watched news from other nations, covering the incursion. He was more interested in seeing footage from his own forces at Nandia's southern border with Tiberia.
There, he watched as thousands of soldiers marched behind two centuries of golden warriors. One hundred sixty Cyclops ran forward with their rifles raised. They squeezed the triggers for only the barest moments, allowing just a few bullets to escape. Caesar didn't have to check; he knew those shots found their marks.
A column of tanks rode up the right while the Cyclops moved down a slight incline. Low, rolling foothills of the Pyrenees stretched out as far as he could see. There were some fortifications and they fired at the Tiberian forces, but the machines were too fast. The emperor watched footage of the initial invasion for more than twenty minutes. He never saw a Cyclops fall.
"Door is down!" he heard an officer yell.
The imperator withdrew from the Matrix and rolled his automated chariot toward the ramp. The sea lapped underneath the metal panel and he moved over it quickly. The wheels of his cart dug into the wet sand before it found purchase and moved into Pithardra.
"Welcome to Nandia, lord," Legate Basilus said from further up the beach. "The Line Command is just ahead."
"Lead the way," Caesar said.
The chariot rolled over sand and grass before reaching a street. The emperor looked up and down its length, seeing nothing but debris and smoke. In the distance, another great explosion echoed and caused the ground to quake.
"My lord," another legate said from a tent flap. Caesar nodded and ducked underneath as he rolled into the spacious command facility.
Legates, generals, tribunes, subtribunes, and more were arrayed. They saluted at once and then parted to reveal bound men and a woman kneeling on the ground.
The imperator moved his chariot toward them and rotated it so that the open rear was facing them. He studied their lowered heads and watched them for a sign. Any sign.
"I am Caesar Maxentius the Ninth," he said. "Ruler of Tiberia." The prisoners said nothing. "Do you welcome me?"
Slowly, a general's head rose. She inhaled deeply and pursed her lips. With a violent motion, she spat toward the emperor with the glob falling just shy of the cart. Several of the Tiberian soldiers began to move toward the general but Caesar raised his hand to stay them.
"What about you, Prime Minister Somap?"
The older man raised his head and shook it slowly. "No, emperor. We will not welcome you or your men."
"Very well." Caesar watched as Somap lowered his head. He looked across the group and knelt within his chariot. "Do you surrender?"
The three generals all lifted their heads to look into the imperator's eyes. They shook their heads as the other prisoners did from their cowed positions.
"The might of Tiberia is upon you. Pithardra smolders," he motioned toward the door of the tent. "Armored columns have made short work of your southern border and are coming here. And," he stood up, holding a single finger aloft, "have you seen the newest weapon in our arsenal?"
A general looked down somewhat and muttered, "Yes."
"A century of Cyclops is coming this way." His volume increased. "They are fast. Faster than any soldier you have ever seen. They are strong. Their aim is true." He knelt down again, "They are deadly."
Slowly and deliberately, the prime minister raised his head. He looked at the Caesar and said, "Nandia will not surrender. We have not surrendered to Tiberia ever, though the Caesar's boot finds itself upon our necks time and time again."
The imperator nodded and stood. "The last time was … two hundred ye
ars ago." He inhaled deeply, though he didn't have to, and continued, "We freed Siron from the rule of your king."
"Lies," Somap barked. "You sowed rebellion so you could take the Siron Corridor for yourselves." Caesar didn't respond. He looked at the faces of the generals. They were staring at him now. "Tiberia takes and takes. You are no different than your forefathers."
Maxentius grinned and said, "Thank you." He folded his arms across his chest. "This is what will happen. Our forces will hold Pithardra until the ground units arrive in about ten days. Your armies will be obliterated, your people will be rounded up. If you value their lives and your culture, you will surrender to imperial rule at some point before my magister arrives here."
"We will not surrender," the female general said. Caesar was about to turn and roll his cart away when she continued, "You cannot kill us all. When the batteries run out for your puppet there, I will take our flag and frak your plastic ass with the pole."
The imperator tilted his head and glared at her. Within his mind, he felt something he hadn't felt in years. Rage. He looked at his boots. He twisted his left foot and watched the dark brown soil displace slightly on the floor of the cart.
Then Caesar stepped to the ground.
The Nandian prisoners whipped their heads toward the sight and their eyes widened. The Tiberian legates and tribunes gasped. The imperator paid them no mind. He took another step forward. He flung his purple cape behind him to conceal the cables that tethered him to the chariot. He extended his right arm and flattened