The Setting Sun: Chapter 1 (Superpowers)

The Third Hour AM, Kalends of Martius, 2754 Ab Urbe Condita
My first view of Italy as the plane landed on the runway was the rising sun across the Eternal City. This has always been the reason for which I book morning flights. Out of the window I saw the glowing, red sphere of the sun looming over the vast canyons of grey and white buildings which was blocked only slightly by the dome of St. Peter’s Cathedral. It seemed as if the Heavens themselves were radiating out of the building. Such a view of Rome was so moving that, for that one minute, I had forgotten that I was late.

This wasn’t the everyday sort of late; it was of the sort that could ruin my career, or in this case, my entire reputation with the Senate. As I worked my way down the exit stairs, the only thought that could comfort me was that He would understand why I was late. His messenger only reached me a few hours prior, so how was I expected to make a meeting at three hours to noon when the earliest plane across the Atlanticus only arrived at that time. With each stride spurred by anger, I quickly made my way to the boat that ferries passengers east from the senatorial airport.

As I waited for the boat to depart, my mind raced from one worried thought to the next. Since my senatorship in Upper Manhatta is over and no current prospects for another position have been offered to me, the Emperor can just as easily end my political career now as he could reassign me elsewhere. If the former happens I will lose any of the dignitas that I have left. It was already enough of an embarrassment to have failed to be reelected for a second lustrum in office. In those few minutes of contemplation I felt like I had been sent to be strangled by the carnifex.

Luckily, it wasn’t long before my anxious mood was cleared away by a familiar, rasping old voice.

‘Atticus!’ At my name I immediately turned around and saw the sky blue eyes, faded with age, of my old friend, and distant relative, Rabirius, who – as he often does – kept talking before I could respond, ‘What are you in Rome for? The Senate doesn’t meet until Saturdies. I thought you would be in your villa enjoying the beaches of Halorium.’

‘That chapter of my life is over, Rabirius.’ I dramatically looked away. ‘The people there want a new senator.’

‘Nonsense! I told you already; those popular assemblies are not about what the people want. They only reflect the will of the mob. It is as I’ve been saying in that reform campaign that I’ve been running for what seems like a lifetime. What those thickheads in the Senate don’t understand is that the mob is interested more in passion than reason, charm rather than a good policy. Someone as timid – though might I add as intelligent – as you, Atticus, would have a great deal of trouble gaining the favor of such an impetuous group. But you shouldn’t worry about that now. Instead, you can finally request a censorship from the Senate. As thick as they are, the senators recognize competence when they see it. I think you’ll find senatorial politics to be more…reasonable. I’ve always told you that popular politics are too cut-throat for you.’ The thought of the executioner came to my mind again. ‘You know, old friend, there is a censorial spot open right now and you are of age since this year, correct?’

‘Right, but…’

‘Precisely,’ Out of respect I let Rabirius keep talking after his interruption, ‘If you become a Censor then you and I can work together to get more political attention for my reform bill. Maybe you could even mention it to our Lord, Caesar again when you speak with Him today.’

'Rabirius,’ I began slowly, ‘you know as well as anyone that I can’t take an unpopular position like that, especially this early in my cursus honorum. It would be political suicide. Not even the populists are in support of your bill, to say nothing of the optimates. Right now I just want to survive the day with my career intact. You know what though; I heard from Quintus Sarenus in Spain that the Hispanic Consul, one of the Solenarii, will be attending my meeting today in the Palace. If I make a good impression on him then I’ll tell him about your bill to improve popular assemblies. Sarenus tells me he’s a reasonable enough fellow, maybe I can convince him to promulgate the bill in Congress. This might just be your lucky day!'

He seemed unmoved, ‘And what about taking the censorship?’

‘It’s a tempting idea to be honest, but I can’t risk being too ambitious right now. I’ll accept whatever our Lord, Caesar offers me.’

‘Really? You would not want to disappoint an old friend though, would you?’

‘Sorry Rabirius…this time I will… You’ve still got hope in Consul Solenarius. You and I can talk about it tonight. Ok? In fact, I invite you and your supporters over to my villa in the Valentissima District for dinner. I’ll be expecting you just before dark. Let’s say, 6 pm. What do you say to that?’ By now I could tell that he didn’t have much faith in the idea. At least he understood that it was all that I could realistically offer him today. Besides, no respectful patrician could refuse such an offer when it came with a dinner invitation.

‘Thank you, old friend. I’ll go straight to the Senate House to extend your invitation to my friends.’ Rabirius replied as the boat carefully maneuvered to its spot in the ports of Ostia. He suddenly looked grim, ‘That is…As soon as I finish this one little errand.’

‘Oh, what’s that?’

‘I have a message from the governor of Numidia. It’s too important for the line. It concerns…Galacius.’ Although Rabirius’ expression was serious, I couldn’t help but laugh when he mentioned Mettius, though I now regret that I did. Mettius Aemilius Galacius was well known within the Senate for his “disappearances”. Despite being our illustrious Minister of War, he often pursued the middle-class habit of visiting brothels alone. His importance to the imperial government, and the dubious attitude of his wife, have ensured that he is constantly protected, though most say watched, by five lictors and several bodyguards from the Order of Knights. For this reason, he has always had to use very shrewd methods to satisfy his desires. In his last escapade he went missing for a whole six days and didn’t return until there was a meeting of the Council of Generals. Now it seemed that he has disappeared once again. (I later learned that he had been missing for 13 days at my encounter with Rabirius.)

My laughter was cut short by the swoosh of the boat’s doors as they opened. Rabirius gave me a rather serious glance before slowly turning his elderly frame around and stepping out to the exit ramp. Although I was at the time concerned by his sudden mood swing, it didn’t dawn on me until the time of my writing that he was feeling anything more than embarrassment at the thought of such a disgraceful specimen of the same bureaucracy we both worked for. Well, in my case that employment seemed questionable. Although I was somewhat stunned by his rushed departure, I eventually picked myself and followed suit. To my surprise Rabirius was not anywhere to be seen on the docks.

The port town of Ostia around me was already bustling with people in preparation for Saturdies, the busiest mercantile day of the week. Besides the small number of cruise ships and ferries there were also merchant vessels in the thousands. It seemed as if the entire merchant fleet of Rome was coming into the ports. On my walk to the Porta Marina, the primary entrance into the City from Ostia, I passed dock workers carrying all manner of goods to their respective destinations: there was an ivory statue of the crucifixion; some large boxes, filled with grain bags or, maybe, the latest wireless devices; barrel after barrel of wine; and, to my interest, one worker carrying crystals for large holographic displays.

The Porta Marina looked particularly radiant under the red morning rays as the painted blood on the friezes above the archway was strongly emphasized. I remember how my father used to tell me when I was young that those images depicted the battles against the Phoenicians from Africa during the First Republic. It is amusing to think that, in some long departed age, the Phoenicians, and even the Greeks and Spaniards, were once our enemies. To now know them on equal footing amongst ourselves is a change that I am in awe of. Unfortunately, I had no opportunity to consider such intrigues because my only concern at the time was to reach Africanus Station and board the first train that I could to the imperial Center.

When I reached Caesar’s Plaza, thirty minutes after I was expected, I immediately changed my rushed jog into a walk; I at least wanted to try to project the illusion of confidence. From the plaza I had only to pass a section of the Imperial Public Gardens to finally be at the Palace. These illustrious gardens are bordered on each side by reflecting pools of, supposedly, the clearest water in the world – I saw no reason to dispute this. They sparkled in such a way that it seemed diamonds were dissolved therein. Looking around me I could think of no better home more deserving for an emperor. The inner walls are built of ivory and marble, with gold friezes running along its length. The windows – made of crystal – are so delicate and finely crafted that they are almost ethereal. The emperor must have no qualms about keeping his home life public. I could even see his servants (slaves weren’t permitted in Italy) carefully making a bed in one of the rooms. Perhaps it was Caesar’s own bed. What a life that is, to constantly be in the presence of such majesty. I could never have bore such pressure as would accompany it. Nevertheless, I felt it was preferable to the predicament I was in.

The doors to the Palace were shut; the meeting had almost certainly started without me. However, as my eyes wandered the face of the entranceway, I noticed an almost skeletal figure standing firmly at its exact center. I expected it to be a servant meant to either guide me in or send me away, neither prospect being particularly pleasant for me, but as I drew nearer I realized that it was actually Sextus Claudius Levus, the imperial Dictor and Caesar’s primary attendant.

‘Good morning, Levus!’ I couldn’t possibly have sounded any cheerier than I did.

‘Good morning, Senator. Oh. My apologies, former Senator,’ he corrected smugly. ‘I have a message for you from our Lord, Caesar. Given the circumstances, he knew you would not be able to make it here on time and informs you that you have been summarily assigned to be the representative of the Imperium to the Shogunate of East Asia. Your flight to Kyushu leaves at noon and I have already dispatched an aid to your home in District 5 to inform you on the finer details of your new position.’ He looked to his toga and made a sweeping motion on it with his hand, as if trying to mentally will something away. ‘Our Lord, Caesar wishes you a felicitous journey to the Isles of Japan. Have a good day, ambassador.’ Now that he had done what his duty, Levus carefully turned around, put his spindly arm forward and opened his palm towards the colossal palace gates. On cue the doors slowly opened themselves, the almost inaudible panting of the motors drowned out by the yawning metallic hinges. Pleased with his theatrics, Levus rolled his shoulders and disappeared like a spirit into the shadows of the atrium.

Meanwhile, I stood in place stunned, as if by electric shock, at what the Dictor had just told me. Nevertheless, his message came with the highest imperium so it was impossible for me to object. Despite the dinner, which I have just canceled, and any intentions I had to spend a little time in Rome, it seems that I will be landing tomorrow in the far-off land of Japan.

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