Silent Rising

FLESH AND STEEL

  Book One: SILENT RISING

  by

  Kliment Dukovski

  Copyright © 2013 Kliment Dukovski

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  SYSTEM MAP

  LUCIUS

  Sudden burst of hot air and dust hit Lucius as he opened the quadcopter’s door. He put his golden hand in front of his face, to shield his eyes while he measured the distance to the palace. Three klicks, said his cranial computer, eighteen seconds to go. That was too slow.

  “Faster, faster,” Lucius called to the pilot. Four rotors muffled his voice.

  “This is the fastest we can go,” called the pilot. “The dust storm is slowing us down.”

  Lucius didn’t care. He needed to reach the palace and warn his father. There was no time.

  Under his feet, thousands of unsuspecting citizens crawled down like ants between houses of the upper capital, their robotic assistants doing their masters’ work around them. Lucius looked back at the palace – the black pyramid with its two massive obelisks that stood silent against the wind – one klick, six seconds to go. Lucius looked down at the marble floor of Forum Magnum, people rushing back and forth. Distance: two hundred meters. He turned to the pilot to ask for more speed, but he knew what the pilot was going to say. Lucius gritted his teeth, looked down. And then he jumped.

  The dust in the air and Lucius’s increasing velocity obscured his vision. It also enveloped his hearing with nothing but a loud whoosh. If anyone down there saw him coming, or screamed a curse, he couldn’t tell. He just saw a mosaic of different colors as he sped toward it. And then he slammed the ground like a cold meteor, rippling the marble in pieces. His golden legs completely withstood the impact, unlike the floor.

  My father will kill me, he thought as he flicked some dust off his golden chest.

  He looked at the startled citizens then and remembered he had to hurry. He turned, pushed some of them away and headed for the palace.

  At the gates, the Praetorian Guards let him pass without a word. And what could they say to the prince? To slow down? To pass weapons inspection? Not a chance.

  Lucius entered the hallway running. He asked one of the Praetorians there, “Is the council assembled?”

  “Yes, my prince. They are waiting for you.”

  Good. Lucius rushed to the elevator at the end of the hallway and waited for the metal box to get him up to the Combat Information Center. He turned to the mirror, adjusted his medals and wondered how to tell his father about the mission. Emperor Titus certainly received the report; every general and admiral in the Empire must’ve received it. But how will they interpret the findings? The council members were too old. They’ve been around here for too long. There was no way they could see what Lucius saw. They would never believe him.

  The elevator door slid to the side. Rays of pale light reached through a wide window above the door, lighting rows of gilded marble statues now standing vigilant on both sides of the hallway. Lucius hurried past them and entered the CIC. He took a seat to his designated place among the silver generals and admirals across from his father, and he waited for the man himself to speak first.

  His father sat few steps above everyone else, his golden throne glittering in the dim light of the command console on his armchair. He was reading something, or pondering on something, Lucius couldn’t tell. He just waited.

  “This is suicide!” Lucius’s father finally said.

  Lucius shifted in his seat. “My dear father,” he said, “not attempting this mission will be suicide by itself. If the Bions get a hold of that weapon–”

  “The Bions are chasing a wild dream, dear son of mine. And you will address me as Emperor Titus!”

  Lucius knew this would happen. There was no time. He pushed himself up on his feet, leaned his body forward, and pressed his hands against the table. “Emperor Titus. The Bions have been sending archeological expeditions for years now. Our patrols have intercepted their teams even here on Palatine. I don’t think they are foolish enough to send troops in our borders if they hadn’t found anything of importance.” Lucius swept his gaze across the table, making eye contact with every member of the Imperial council. He hoped to get their support, but he knew that it was an absurd hope. His eyes then moved up at the holographic projection of Palatine and its two moons where they rotated above the table. “My dear Emperor Titus. The weapon is here–” Lucius’s finger touched one of the moons, the holograph rippled by his touch– “on Timor.”

  The golden emperor leaned back on his golden throne, his fist supporting his chin, and he considered his son’s words for a moment. “Even so,” he said, “I would never authorize my best men to be slaughtered in attempt to infiltrate that wretched place. Our ancestors left it to rot there for a reason.”

  “I didn’t say there were no risks, but if the weapon is there we cannot allow it to fall into enemy’s hands.” Lucius looked at the golden man across from him, and then he said it. “I will lead this mission myself.”

  Emperor Titus growled. The energy field around his throne wobbled for a moment. If his legs weren’t useless, Lucius was certain his father would have stood up and slapped his own son in front of the generals. But all he did was slam his fist on his armchair and shuddered with rage. A general winced. Another looked away. They all knew Emperor Titus was ruthless when it came to disobedience. He was ruthless when it came to anything but protecting his son, now that Lucius came to think of it. But Lucius was not a boy anymore. The Empire would soon rest on his shoulders, and he was ready to take the task and the burden that came along. He wanted to prove to his father that he was ready to lead his men even when the odds were not in their favor.

  “Guards!” his father called. “Seal the room!”

  “Don’t do this, father,” said Lucius, but the emperor turned to the side, ignoring his request.

  Two Praetorians marched toward the door. Two more marched away from the statue of Emperor Titus and started toward the prince. Their hands were wrapped around pulse rifles in front of their chests, their metal boots echoed against the angular walls.

  Generals Furius, commander of the Praetorian Guard, who sat on the other side of the table decided to stand up, to oppose this nonsense. His eyes moved from one Praetorian to another, his mouth opened to give an order to his men. But a hand from General Sentius stopped him – he discretely shook his head. Lucius looked into the eyes of the first. He could read the fear that had amassed for centuries. It was fear that reached its tipping point toward action, which was now stopped from performing. Common knowledge inside the palace was that the generals were afraid of his father, of the way he enforced his opinion over them. Disobedience sometimes meant death on Palatine. And soon it will mean the fall of the Empire if they continue keeping their mouths shut.

  Emperor Titus turned to face Lucius. “I will have that base obliterated, my foolish son, and you will stay in this very room and watch the bombardment beside me, right where you belong.”

  Lucius backed off, his eyes scanning the approaching guards. “I belong on the battlefield where honor is earned,” he said.

  “There is no honor in death, you foolish boy!”

  I’m not a boy. But his father was not a man to be reasoned with – he was the emperor of a decaying empire, but an emperor, nonetheless.

  The guards approached him from behind, their uncertainty filling the air. One of them grabbed Lucius’s wrist, the other his shoulder. Lucius’s speed was unmatched by any Imperial soldier
or a Praetorian Guard. It only took a blink of an eye for him to overpower both men and slam their bodies on the floor. He then jumped over the table, his body cutting through holographic Palatine, rippling the entire planet, and then he grabbed the massive crystal chandelier that hung high above the table. Another guard decided to join the hunt – he pushed two generals aside and jumped after Lucius. The prince swung his body forward and let go of the chandelier only to reach a corner between walls. The corner gave enough support to his arms and legs to hold him there for the second he needed to activate his grav-boots, and then his hands let go. His body seemed to lie on an invisible bed high above the floor. He started running on the walls, defying gravity and defying his father’s order. The guard was on his heels by now. However, Lucius was faster, more agile, more adept to fight and survive.

  “Seal the doors!” his father called from below. “Do not let him escape!” But escape was all that Lucius had in mind – that, and the retrieval of Jupiter’s Scepter. If those savages get a hold of it…

  No, they will not! Lucius promised himself. I will take the weapon myself and I will be the one to obliterate the Bions and their wretched planet. And I will prove my father that I am fit to rule and guide our pitiful Empire out of its spiraling descent. And then a new Empire shall rise to glory – the Empire of Lucius Cornelius Venator – my Empire!

  The two massive doors were almost closed when Lucius came above them. He took a plunge and quickly slipped through the tight opening. His body rolled on the corridor floor until he came to a stop. Two doors slammed shut behind him. Lucius looked ahead. His eyes caught movement from both sides under the statues of his ancestors. Two more guards stepped forward. They exchanged glances between themselves before they decided to go for the prince.

  Lucius didn’t move. He looked back. The door toward the CIC was opening again. He looked ahead. Two Praetorians ran toward him like their metal bodies were on fire. Lucius activated his EMP cannon – a small tube slid up from his back and attached to his shoulder. The guards stopped few meters away from him. One of them turned to run back, the other turned to run toward the statues. Lucius unleashed two barely visible bursts against the fleeing guards. Their bodies collapsed the instance they were touched by the EMP.

  Behind him, the doors of the CIC were open enough for the rest of the Praetorians to come out running toward the prince.

  “Stop!” one of them shouted.

  Lucius turned to the elevator. He knew his father would have sealed it by now. He looked up above its doors – a line of windows stretched both ways. Lucius didn’t wait – he ran toward it.

  With his mind he reached out to his loyal friends – Carus! Olybrius! Macrinus! His cranial transmitter was the best the Empire had to offer. His friends would receive the message no matter where on Palatine they were.

  It was Olybrius who responded first, another voice speaking in Lucius’s head – You have need of me, my prince?

  Summon Caelus’s children. We are going on Timor – Lucius responded.

  Carus’s gruff voice came in his head next – Timor, my prince? – he sent – There is nothing but ancient ruins–

  Lucius gritted his teeth – You are my personal guard, Carus. If I say we’re going into the gardens of the underworld, you will say do you need a chariot, my prince?

  Umm, do you need a chariot, my prince? – said Carus’s voice.

  Lucius stopped under the windows. The guards were still in full sprint toward him. Forty meters until they catch you, said his cranial computer. Lucius crouched and then leaped high for the windows. His fists shattered the glass. His body went through like a Bion missile. And then he fell back on the slippery black