ground rumbled and quaked.
"Is it the Caesar?" his son asked.
"Probably," Rosto answered. They left the stairwell and ran across the parking lot to their vehicle. They were the most prepared family in the building, he thought, because they were the first to be out. A few other families, still in their nightgowns, were racing out of the doors now.
Rosto turned on the vehicle and quickly left the lot. "Food?"
"Here." The mother patted the two large bags she carried.
"Camping equipment?"
The son turned around and looked over the rear seat into the open space behind them. "It's there."
"First aid?"
The daughter answered by handing a medium-sized bandage toward the front seat. The mother peeled the paper from the adhesive and Rosto held his bleeding arm out. His wife applied it quickly and smoothly.
"Very good."
They drove through two traffic lights before they saw more fleeing vehicles. Planes shrieked overhead again. Bombs detonated behind them. As the new rumbling subsided, the warning sirens came on and screamed into the burning night.
"Late, of course."
The outlying neighborhoods began to be emptied and the highway out of the city, Auju, became crowded. Rosto slowed down and looked both north and south. All of the roads seemed filled now. He looked in the rearview mirrors and saw smoke and flame. He turned and looked out of the window. A squadron of planes swooped low and dropped their ordinance just east of Auju. The field was illuminated by the blast and rings of light expanded with the shockwaves.
"Was that the airfield?" his son asked.
"Yes," Rosto answered. "They won't strike the nefti fields south of town. That's why we're going that way."
"They need the energy for themselves," his daughter said.
"Yes."
Planes continued to streak by. Bombs were loosed and Auju continued to burn. They were on the highway for an hour before they reached the crest of the highway. Auju was five kilometers behind them, still visible, when they finally were about to drive down into the foothills of the Baetican Mountains.
"Dad!" his son yelled. "Dad!"
"What? Why are you screaming?"
"Look at the city!"
Rosto shook his head and looked in the rearview mirrors again. The fires were gone. He didn't see smoke. He only saw the normal lights of Auju.
"What the …" He stopped the car and got out quickly. He walked away from the open door and continued to stare at the city. Vehicles and trucks behind him began to beep their horns. Some lowered their windows and yelled at him. Rosto, though, was entranced.
He looked down at his arm after realizing it didn't sting any longer. There was no blood. He pulled away the bandage and felt no pain, aside from the hairs that were yanked. Underneath, there was no wound.
As he let the bandage drift to the ground, other evacuees noticed the city, too. They emerged from their vehicles and stood staring at Auju. Rosto's wife came up beside him and whispered, "What does it mean?"
He could only shake his head.
Behind them, from the south along the Baetican Mountains, they heard approaching aircraft. Slowly the people turned and they watched squadrons of fighters flying low scream overhead and toward the city. High above, bombers became visible as clouds parted. All of the vessels fired on Auju and the battle began.
As bombs detonated in the nearly empty city, fires and smoke became pillars in the night sky. Rosto, his family, and hundreds more stood on the highways outside of the city, trying to understand what got them to depart an hour before the attack actually started.
Nearby, the Messenger stood invisibly and watched their minds reel. He was weakened by that massive effort, but the being was pleased at the success of his deception.
XLIII
CRONUS
140 Years Before the End
The Caesar gathered all of the Psilons in his primary throne room. Banners and tapetries detailing the history of Tiberia hung from the vaulted ceiling among gleaming columns of great girth. Upon a marble and gold throne, the emperor sat atop a flight of stairs and looked down on the Titans.
"You have done well for me and for Tiberia," the imperator began. He was wearing his usual light gray tunic with some military decorations on the chest. He leaned forward in his grand chair and said, "And now I have favors to ask of you."
Cronus lifted a single eyebrow and glanced across the face of his comrades.
Caesar smiled a little and said, "Tiberia is threatened. Not just militarily, but economically, too. The Pact of Nations believes embargos are needed to choke the life from the Empire." He ground his fist into his other hand. "I will not allow that to happen."
He motioned to a uniformed officer, who then walked toward a cloth-covered board and pulled the drapery back. A lighted map of Isinnia appeared beneath. Tiberia was highlighted in red. Six nearby countries were slowly throbbing in blue.
"For the Empire to sustain … for the Empire to advance, these six nations must be added in Phase One."
Cronus' eyes widened. Coeus lifted his hand to catch Caesar's attention and the leader nodded toward him. "Dominus, wouldn't this action provoke the Pact into a military response?"
The imperator inhaled and turned toward the map. "There will be talk of it, yes. But the nations that would remain in the Pact are not, shall we say, up to the task of fighting us." Caesar turned and saw more than a few concerned faces. He smiled, caringly, and said, "Contrary to what you might have been told, Tiberian rule is not cruel. We allow subject nations to retain their cultures and have a measure of autonomy. The people are immediately put on a path toward Tiberian citizenship. In your years here, you know how much responsibility that is and the power it could mean one day for some … farmer in Saban. Or a fisherman in Lagas."
Cronus finally spoke. "You said you needed us."
Caesar nodded. "Yes. When this happens, I will need people in these six nations I can trust. Legates will take care of the military operations; that's their job. Ouranos has more than adequately prepared our armies. Fifteen whole cohorts of Cyclops in just five years." He folded his arms across his chest and continued, "Senators and consuls … and prefects," he scoffed, "will be vying for appointments." He pointed at each of the Titans and said, "But I'm going to give it to you."
"Excuse me?" Hyperion said.
"I want to name you as my praetors and put you in command of each nation."
The Psilons were stunned. Phoebe laughed out loud. Caesar smiled and Tethys said, "My lord, I … we're not politicians or generals."
"I don't want you to be either of those. You are among the most intelligent people on the planet and, beyond that, you have experienced, firsthand, the inhumanity of some people toward others, namely yourselves. You know how not to behave. You could be natural leaders."
Tethys was about to speak again when Mnemosyne interrupted, "I just want to work on the Project."
Caesar nodded toward the slight woman and said, "Please, do so. The LEP will continue with your valuable contributions. I know you and a few others," he glanced around, "have been working diligently on it. You've even been working with Dr. Donovan on it and I understand you're making great progress." She nodded and the emperor added, "But you keep hitting the stone, yes?"
Mnemosyne lowered her head and answered, "Yes."
Caesar pointed at the map. "Assuria. Some of the best farmland, next to Saban and Erlitoun. They have huge fields where they do nothing but grow algae. Then they process it into foods and fuels. And," he raised a pointed finger and aimed it toward the Psilons, "outside of Attica and Nandia, they have the most advanced bioscience facilities in the world."
Oceanus nodded. "They could have everything we need."
Caesar nodded and Iapetus stepped forward. "I volunteer."
The emperor smiled and exclaimed. "Fantastic!" He looked across the others' faces and said, "I only
need six of you for right now."
Cronus took a deep breath and then he took a step forward. "I'm ready."
Caesar smiled again. "Thank you."
One month later, Cronus was standing in an aeroplane as it descended toward the Alabor capital city. The Titan looked about the cabin at the Cyclops assembled around him. Their blue eyes circled and the gold armor reflected the setting sun that streamed in from the plane's windows.
Gold armor, Cronus thought. Military units, one would think, should be drab colored, dark colored, or camouflaged. No, the Caesar was so confident in Ouranos' machines that he kept them ostentatious and shiny. There was no mistaking it when a century of Cyclops came at you.
The plane landed quickly. The door opened and four Cyclops exited first. Cronus stepped out and onto the tarmac. He took in a deep breath, noting how different it smelled from either Doria or Tiber.
"Praetor Cronus," a general said as he approached. He saluted with his fist atop a chest loaded with medals. "I am Legate Terrence Varro. Welcome to Derben."
Cronus saluted in return. His gray tunic and pants were bordered with purple and he wore the gold badge of his office under his throat. After the salute, he adjusted the device and moved toward Varro. "Status?"
The legate turned and began to walk with Cronus. "Derben is ours. Alabor's forces have been driven from their bases and the bases destroyed. Their air force is nearly eliminated. The army has gathered in the Getulian Desert and their navy has set sail for Tiberia, apparently. The Caesar has been notified and our navy will