The Peacemakers Page 7

  Octavia knew she was playing with fire. When Titus got in these moods, he could either close off completely or explode in a fire of rage. She had to play this carefully.

  "Decimus was a wild card. It was only a matter of time before his rampant foolishness ended him this way."

  "That idiot," Titus said, pacing around his small quarters. The HQ was tight on living space, so it was natural that all personnel were given accommodatingly sized quarters. But still, he was the heir to this company. Octavia knew it enraged him that he was considered no less than a typical Centurion by Tiberius.

  When he stopped pacing, she placed her hand on his shoulder, moving it back and forth soothingly. He was tense; always carrying so much emotional baggage.

  "Relax. You need to be focused. Everything rides on what you do in that meeting."

  He abruptly spun to face her, "Don't you think I know that? I've been ready to lead for years now and instead I am forced to hold back−performing second rate operations any idiot can do." He snorted, unable to meet her gaze.

  Octavia remained calm, knowing precisely how to sooth her lover.

  "Your place is at the front of our legions. The Prometheus test will secure your place and your father will accept you for who you are."

  "How is Prometheus performing?" Titus asked, abruptly changing the subject.

  Octavia tossed her hair, enjoying the moment of downtime from the rigid protocol of duty.

  "He is...progressing. But without the entire Code, his mind has fought the procedures constantly."

  Titus exhaled heavily, "We must get the other half. Everything rides on it."

  Octavia could see his emotions were gripping him tightly. She needed to make him focus; clear his mind for the meeting ahead.

  She let the bed sheet slip down to the floor.

  "Everything will work out, my Tribune."

  Titus breathed deep, once again enamored at the sight of the woman in front of him−naked, svelte and seductive.

  "You're toying with me," he said, placing a finger on her lips, tracing their outline slowly. She licked his fingers, smiling coyly. She slowly gripped the bottom of his tunic and hoisted it up over his head.

  "I'm toying because you love it." Octavia moved closer, kissing him passionately, her mouth lingering on his lips. "−because you want it."

  Titus returned the kiss, caressing her smooth breasts with his powerful hands. Holding her body in his arms, the Olympus heir guided Octavia back to the bed.

  "No...because I deserve it."

  * * *

  THE MEETING began ten minutes late.

  Octavia arrived first, followed by Titus two minutes later. Behind him was his loyal dog, Falco; the aged bodyguard stoic as ever in his duty to mind the heir to Olympus. The interior of the Olympus HQ was built using onyx-black metal, with fluorescent lighting running along fixtures atop the hallways. There were times when Titus walked through the hall, that he felt like he was in a Purgatory of darkness.

  He reached the conference room and stood for a moment outside, gathering himself.

  Your time has come. Now you shall rise up amongst the ashes of those who came before you.

  A faint shadow of a smile crept along Titus's mouth. He quickly swallowed his enthusiasm as he pressed the button, alerting those inside he had arrived.

  The doors opened with a quiet swish, and the Tribune stepped into the meeting area, with Falco directly behind. The room resembled something more akin to a war room than a simple conference hall. A shining steel table, designed like a semi-circle, was permanently built into the floor. A gigantic OLED screen was positioned on the wall opposite the table, currently blazing propaganda images of the Olympus PMC.

  As Titus entered, the two figures seated at the table stood up. Tiberius was in the seat closest to the door. Beside him, Octavia stood−a knowing look in her eyes.

  "Welcome Tribune. Fraternitas bellatorum, qui in honorem!" Tiberius spoke the traditional Latin motto of the Order of Olympia Brethren.

  "Ad manes fratrum." Titus replied, honoring the longstanding traditions. A Brotherhood of Warriors, Ruled by Honor, the ancient motto spoken by those from years past, answered by the simple phrase, To Our Brothers Spirits. "Forgive my lateness. Important duties."

  At the center of the table, Octavia stifled a smile.

  Titus looked around the room and noticed something was awry.

  "Where is my fa...the Imperator?"

  Tiberius enjoyed Titus's momentary fluster. With an air of smugness, he answered, "The Imperator has been detained. He will be joining us via view screen within the next few minutes. He has asked us to begin the meeting in his absence."

  Titus felt his face flush with rage. My god I despise this man. He swallowed his anger and stomped quickly over to his seat. Falco took the seat beside him. The veteran soldier still held an honorary position on the Olympus council, though lately his ideas were heeded far less than in the past.

  The last empty seat stood bare on the opposite side of the desk: the seat of the Imperator.

  Tiberius, as Olympus Legate, was the acting meeting chairman. He began to speak−his deep, commanding voice filling the empty space of the conference hall with staunch assurance.

  "We begin today by remembering our fallen brother. Maximillion Decimus, member of the Brotherhood of Olympia. Grando autem in mortuis victor."

  Hail the victorious dead, indeed, thought Titus. From what he'd heard, Decimus had shot himself rather than fighting to the end. A coward's way out.

  Tiberius continued, "To put an end to rumor, Decimus was killed by the rogue Canadian soldier Danny Callbeck, who along with Colonel Walsh's other two agents, Joseph Braddock and the Russian named Krieger, caused a massive fire fight and the deaths of most of the Centurions sent with our arms dealer." Tiberius paused to take a drink from a glass of water, "In the ensuing carnage, it has been confirmed that the noclist carried by Decimus was taken. We must assume it is the hands of Colonel Walsh's crew of terrorists."

  Why had that fool been carrying a noclist at an arms deal? Nothing that imbecile Decimus did made any sense to Titus. He only half listened to the rest of Tiberius's speech.

  "Needless to say, all names on the noclist are open for the world's perusal. All lists are coded in Olympia transverse, so it is highly unlikely the CIA or any other organization will understand the contents. Still, we must cover our tracks in light of future events."

  Tiberius continued the spiel, his voice growing deeper, if that were possible, "Of more immediate importance, however, is the invasion of Zimbala. As I presume most of you know, President Musabe has signed a six-billion dollar contract with us to provide resources and equipment to counteracting the growing insurgency against his regime."

  Finally, getting to the important matters. Titus knew little of Zimbala and cared even less about its ruler, David Musabe. A ridiculously corrupt ruler, the man had systematically reduced the once prosperous, oil rich country into the armpit of Africa. Now with unemployment reaching seventy percent, the populace had decided it had had enough of Musabe's cruelty and dictatorial practises. The capitol city, Sadoma, twenty miles from the border of South Africa, was in anarchy, with guerrilla conflicts breaking out all around the city. It was Musabe's last ditch attempt to retain control of his fractured, tiny nation. The contract he had signed stipulated Olympus would provide forces to put down the insurgency and restore order. At any cost.

  It would be the largest Olympus operation in the 21st century, so far.

  Tiberius began to wrap up his briefing, stating, "Sadoma has been chosen as the testing area of Prometheus. Of all current war zones on the planet, this location suits our needs perfectly."

  Titus felt his heart leap. He spoke cautiously, not wishing to raise suspicion to his desires. "My lord, who has the Imperator chosen to−"

  Before he could finish the question, Tiberius cut him off. A blinking light on the computer readout in front of the Legate flashed. He entered a few short commands into
the computer and then looked up at the massive screen in front of the four seated commanders. The screen flashed on to reveal the seated form of the Imperator, Undisputed Supreme Commander of Olympus and Lord of the Olympia Brotherhood.

  Titus's breath caught in his mouth. He had only met his father in person a handful of times in his life. Raised by many different people, Titus had known nothing of the love a father should give his son. It always seemed to boil down to this: sitting across from an image of the man who's position Titus would one day inherit.

  The room the Imperator sat in was very dark; darker even than the conference room. Titus could just make out two Praetorian guardsmen flanking his father in the background. His father was an old man, upwards in his seventies. The Imperator's leathery skin was aged and pockmarked, but not as wrinkled as one would expect. On his nose were a pair of mirrored glasses, that refracted all attempts to see past into the eyes of their owner. His head was bald on the top, with thin amounts of hair on the side. At first glance, there really was little remarkable about the man.

  That is until he spoke.

  When the Imperator spoke, the voice heard hardly seemed human. As deep as an ocean abyss, it bellowed through the room, sounding like the breath of god. The voice pierced its listener's souls, so much that those who heard the voice often wished they could un-hear it, in fear that they would never forget the sound as long as they lived.

  "Salve, my brethren. My absence is sadly required this day. I trust plans are proceeding as necessary?"

  Tiberius answered before Titus could speak, "Yes, my lord. We are caught up on the current events and await your leadership."

  Bootlicking bastard.

  "Lord Octavia, how is the Code implementation of the Centurions proceeding?" The room rumbled at the sound of the hellish voice.

  Octavia answered her master, "The preliminary testing of the first two battalions of Centurions is almost complete, my Imperator. Combat effectiveness in the ranks has increased by nearly twenty-five percent across the board. But..." She paused nervously, wondering how much she should tell her Lord and Commander. She sent an uneasy glance in Titus's direction. He could only give her a non-committal gesture in response.

  Octavia swallowed, "We can only proceed so far without the Tactical disc. Without it, implementation of the Code into Prometheus can only proceed so far."

  The Imperator was less than pleased with that answer, "I...dislike delays, my dear."

  Octavia bit her lip, lowering her eyes from the view screen in fear. The Imperator let the moment of tension hang for ten very long seconds before continuing.

  "But delays happen. I am sure everything is being done to reclaim the second half of the Code. In the meantime, what is being done about the missing noclist from our brother, Decimus?"

  "We were just about to decide this, my master." Tiberius replied hastily. "I would like to suggest Tribune Titus would be an adequate choice to do the...mopping up of the remains of the noclist."

  Oh no you don't. Titus would not be the designated wetworks janitor this time.

  "Fathe...my lord, I wish to make a request of you."

  "Yes?" The Imperator asked, watching his heir patiently.

  This is it, make your case now or you may never have another chance.

  "I believe I should be the one to lead the counter-insurgency force in Sadoma. The noclist assignment could be given to Agrippina, instead."

  The Imperator looked slightly surprised at the request. "Agrippina? Why do you ask this?"

  Titus stood up from his chair, leaning on the conference table with both hands. "Because I am ready to command your army. If this is to be Olympus's ascension from a Private Military to a world force, I should be the one to lead it!"

  Tiberius interjected, his face pulled with anger at the gall of the upstart boy. "Please my lord, with all due respect to your young heir, the honor should be mine. Experience is the essence of war. This mission is too important to trust to one so...untested."

  His face burning with anger, Titus shot back, "I have been tested in every imaginable virtual war simulation. I am as ready as I will ever be. This mission will make Olympus a dominate military power throughout the third world. Father...I must lead it. My passion, my heart is devoted only to Olympus. "

  Out of the corner of his eye, Titus could see Octavia looking at him, watching with pride as her lover stood his ground against Tiberius.

  The Imperator thought silently for a few seconds. "It is a large responsibility you ask for, my son. If I am to allow such a thing, there would have to be reservations."

  "Of course, father."

  Titus could see Tiberius practically fuming in his chair.

  The voice of the Imperator continued to speak, "First, you must do everything in your power to protect President Musabe. The primary stipulation of our agreement states that our involvement in Zimbala hinges on one inalterable clause; that if David Musabe is no longer President, the contract is terminated. He must be kept alive until the experiment is complete."

  Titus nodded, enthused. Things were going smashing so far.

  "This also extends to the civilian populace of the city. Under no circumstances are civilians to be targeted for attack by us. Civilian casualties will destroy our credibility abroad. Is that understood?"

  "Yes father."

  "Second," the Imperator continued, "You shall be accompanied by Falco, who will be my eyes and ears. Follow his advice on all matters, are we clear?"

  Crystal. Why did he, a Tribune, have to follow the advice of the man who had, essentially, been his wet nurse since he was a boy? Titus was not impressed. But if this gave him command, he would not complain.

  In the chair beside him, Falco spoke to the visage of the Imperator. "My lord, Tribune Titus is fully capable of heeding his own mind in matters of war. I don't believe my word is that impor..."

  "There will be no more debate on the subject." The image of the Imperator focused on Titus. "Is all of this understood?"

  "Yes father." Titus lowered his eyes, reverently.

  "Very well, my son. The command of the Sadoma operation and by extension Project Prometheus, is given to you. Tiberius, you may tell Agrippina she is to be reactivated to full status. Make sure those names are taken care of. And from now on, all outside technical expertise, once completing its usefulness, is to be eliminated, is that understood?"

  Every Olympus bigwig nodded in agreement.

  "Good. I leave the rest to you, Commanders of Olympus. Carry on and do not fail your Brotherhood." The screen went black for a moment as the connection was cut. The huge screen than transferred to a looped animated image of the Olympus logo.

  The moment the meeting was over, Tiberius stood up and marched straight for the door, his normally calm demeanor quaking in anger. Titus watched him leave, his own heart swelling with pride.

  Finally, I've put that cold bastard where he belongs.

  Octavia pushed her chair back and walked towards Titus, her eyes dancing with joy. Titus turned to his bodyguard.

  "Leave us. Begin organizing the invasion force. We leave for Zimbala this Friday."

  Falco nodded in understanding and took his leave.

  "Your time is at hand." Octavia said, taking Titus's hand in hers. "We shall unleash Prometheus together and show the world Olympus is a power to be feared."

  Titus breathed deeply of his success. Everything was beginning to come together. He would lead the forces of Olympus and stamp out the insurgency. He would prove to the third world that Olympus could retain order and control in the lawless countries. He, Titus, heir to the Brotherhood of Olympia, would seize power and run red the blood of nations.

  * * *

  AGRIPPINA GRIPPED her twin wakizashi blades tightly as she danced around her opponent. The Praetorian guardsman she had been sent to act as her training partner today was one of the best in the elite legion. He was dressed head to toe in shimmering obsidian black reactive battle armor and wore the traditional coyote-styled
helmet. The Olympus guardsmen was a true figure of menace.

  But he was nothing compared to Agrippina.

  They were training in the same gymnasium favored of all Olympus commanders. Ever since regaining her ability to walk, Agrippina had demanded having as much time to practice as she could manage.

  Olympus's most deadly assassin had changed much in the six months since her near-death at the hands of Danny Callbeck. The fall into the burning fortress had cost the devastatingly beautiful woman much, most notably her legs. Both of her legs had been amputated a few inches from the pelvis. It had taken every ounce of the formidable skills of Octavia, and her team of bio-engineers to create a pair of endo-skeleton legs that could give Agrippina back the ability to walk.

  And they certainly did that, and much more.

  As Agrippina nimbly dodged one of the Praetorian's brutal katana slashes, she inwardly thanked whatever god was listening for the second chance she had been given. She was beginning to feel like her old self: strong and in control. She lashed forward with the blade in her right hand, deftly holding back her left. As the Praetorian opened his guard in an attempt to parry the blade, Agrippina lunged with the other sword, skewering the Praetorian straight through the lightly shielded side of his armor. Blood spewed from the wound and the Praetorian dropped to the ground on one knee.

  "To show your weakness to an enemy is to die a dog's death!" Agrippina sneered at her fallen foe. She was angry at the speed of her victory. It had only taken six moves to bring the once proud guardsmen right to his knee.

  The soldier made a choking sound within his battle armor. He raised his hand up, pointer and forefinger held up in a sign of truce.

  The sign enraged the woman assassin.

  "There is no quarter in Olympus!"

  She yanked the blade out of the Praetorian's body and pushed him to the ground where he lay, splayed out; defeated.

  But not defeated enough for Agrippina.

  She lifted her bionic right leg up and brought her boot down on his head with a sickening *crunch*. The incredible power of the kick dashed the soldier's head to pieces, splattering blood and brain matter all over the arena floor.