Return Once More (2 page)

I cast a glance at Analeigh. “If I ever decide you need to die for, you know, valid reasons I promise to give you the chance to defend yourself.”

It took a split second for her bio-tat to render the translation, and then her eyes bugged out. “Or maybe give me the chance to run away?” she hissed back.

“Sure. Or that.”

Her head whipped back toward the assignment, her jaw tight as though it could ward off the bloody horror we both felt coming. In fact, it didn't seem possible for a man so adept at warfare that he was more legend than mortal to sit in that chair, unaware of the suffocating tension spilling out of the curia and into the courtyard. It made me think again that something felt off. Too convenient.

A man stepped forward, draped in the same off-white, purple-striped toga as the rest of the room. A senator of Rome, a nobleman. My brain stem tat spit out the answer into my mind before the question fully formed—
Tillius Cimber.

My heart climbed into my throat, lungs struggling with oxygen. It was happening.

“You were going to consider my petition to return my brother from exile,” he said, too loudly. The words vibrated on the taut strands of anxiety in the air, bounding off the stone walls and crashing into my ears, easily translated by my tattoo.

It was hard not to wince, but that would shake my face. I'd been distracted enough today, wandering into the portico, and my tendency to be sidetracked did not endear me to the overseers or our Elders. My family had endured enough disgrace in the past few years without my adding to it by being a space cadet. I was two Level-1 sanctions away from the Elders notifying my parents. After what happened with my brother, they might die from shame.

“I'm still considering it,” Caesar replied, his tone dismissive.

My lungs ached with unspent air. They struggled to call out, to warn him. Policy forbade any interaction, of course, and the brain stem tat did more than provide me with handy dandy information—it insisted I follow contemporary custom. It saved me a ton of studying, but the downside meant occasionally losing control of my own limbs. It had forced me into an absurd curtsy on more than one occasion, once nearly toppling my giant wig right onto Marie Antoinette's feet at a ball.

There was no way to change the scene that began to unfold in front of us, anyway. No way to nudge it a different direction without setting off unknown effects that might reach all the way to Genesis in 2560. I squeezed Analeigh's hand tighter as Caesar shook off Cimber.

He barely took a step before another senator, Casca, stabbed him square in the neck, the blade sinking all the way to the hilt.

The almost comical surprise on his face slid quickly toward resignation as Brutus attacked him next, his blade strong and true as it sunk into his old friend's heart. The betrayal in Caesar's eyes sent a sizzling chill down my spine, but no words passed his lips. He did not single Brutus out as more important than the others, despite the infamous line in Shakespeare's version of these tragic events.

In fact, though he struggled and fought, Gaius Julius Caesar spoke not one more word as nearly sixty grown men surrounded him with daggers, each intent on taking their part of the blame—or the credit—by plunging their own weapon into flesh.

Sarah's face turned pale, chalky, as the scene descended into a melee. Men stabbed each other instead of their target. Their leather shoes slipped in crimson puddles dotting the floor, more than one of them slipped, and Caesar disappeared inside a crowd of thrusting blades. The coppery, slick odor of spilled blood clogged the air, coated my tongue. I swallowed, and it stuck to my throat.

It seemed like it went on forever, but in reality, he bled out in mere minutes. Just a man, after all. Not a god.

With the last bit of his strength Julius Caesar pulled his toga up to hide his face, clinging to the final shred of his dignity as his last breath whispered past his lips. The curia stood silent but for the ragged breaths of the betrayers. There were onlookers other than the four of us, but no one moved. Not at first.

The dagger clattered from Brutus's bloody hand, hitting the stone floor. “
Sic semper tyrannus
,” he muttered, staring down at Caesar's bloodied body.

Thus always to tyrants.

The senators fled, leaving footprints in the pool of sticky blood surrounding their leader, their Caesar. Apparently planning to murder one's friend was more appealing than the execution. Bunch of lily-livered hacks.

Analeigh tugged on my arm, signaling that I had, once again, missed my cue. “Let's go.”

Everyone else had run the opposite direction of the portico, brushing past us into the streets to spread the news to the masses, who loved Caesar. Revered him, craved his leadership. His death would set off a series of events we would spend the next month discussing with various Elders back home.

Right now, we needed to leave Earth Before.

The scent of the blooming roses tried and failed to dislodge the taste of blood from my mouth. We met Sarah and Maude in the empty, quiet amphitheater and picked our way together into the shadows provided by a copse of plane trees. It was the same secluded spot we'd arrived in this morning, just in time to hurry to Caesar's home and overhear Brutus goading him into ignoring his wife's bad dreams—dreams of holding her husband's broken, bleeding body, if she was to be believed—in favor of joining the senators in the city.

On the way to Pompey's theatre, a servant handed Caesar a scroll that, according to contemporary sources, informed him of this plot to kill him. He never read it. For the first time since we began studying this event in detail, his fate seemed sad as opposed to simply unnecessary. He would not be the last visionary intent on changing a place for the better to be thwarted by men who had much to gain by leaving the world the way it was.

Maude extended her arm as the breeze kicked up, tearing at the loose hem of my toga. A metal cuff decorated with a series of dials and lights slid from her elbow to her wrist and she didn't waste any time pressing a tiny button. Her thin, colorless lips lowered to the invisible microphone. “Return.”

A bluish haze surrounded the four of us, buzzing like a swarm of angry wasps and flickering like the lights in the underground apocalypse bunker we'd observed a few months ago. Four red dots on her cuff turned to green one at a time, and when the last light changed, the final days of republican Rome disappeared.

*

Sanchi, Amalgam of Genesis—50 NE (New Era)

“Home sweet home,” Analeigh drawled as our group of four arrived back in the small air lock we'd departed from several hours previously.

Ever since we'd spent an afternoon observing the antebellum American South, Analeigh had been obsessed with perfecting her accent. The bio-tats would supply one if she asked, but she found exaggerating it more amusing.

I did, too. It never failed to make me giggle. “Yes, although most people wouldn't call the Academy air lock
sweet
. It stinks of sweat and feet.”

She shrugged with a smile. Sanchi was home for all of us, even if Analeigh and I were the only two out of our class of seven born on this planet, and I supposed that made it sweet, in its way. The rest came from nearby planets in Genesis, the solar system adopted by humanity over a generation ago.

Earth Before hadn't blown up or disappeared or anything so dramatic. The environment had simply reclaimed the majority of land, and as medicine evolved, so did disease. There had been too many people fighting over declining resources, more wars than peace, and a host of other issues that forced those who remained to seek out a new home.

Now, the Historians strove to ensure those things didn't happen a second time.

The four of us stripped off our dust-covered woolen tunics and togas, placing them in a drawer that extended to receive them, then retracted. Sarah and Analeigh dumped their wigs, too, and the dust in the room made us all cough before the ventilation system kicked on and recycled the oxygen mixture. Everything would be inspected for bacteria and other contagions, and if cleared, returned to the wardrobe closet. Sometimes we had to shower before the air lock let us out, but not often. We allowed a sharp metal protrusion to prick our fingers in quick succession, drawing blood that would also be analyzed for infections or biohazards.

There was nothing to do until the doors unlocked except stare at one another. Black leggings and hip-length black tank tops made of a lightweight Kevlar blend covered our bodies as we perched on stainless steel benches that always transferred a chill, no matter how many times maintenance promised the air lock temperature was “comfortable.”

“How do you feel you did?” Maude rose and paced the small area, her question mechanical. More habit than anything.

She and her twin sister Minnie weren't my favorite overseers. They smelled like old clothes and some kind of alcohol, and neither of them paid enough attention to us while we were observing. They'd been to the same time and place on countless trips, so maybe I shouldn't be so judgy, especially given that I often struggled to pay attention even the first time.

I stared at the Historian insignia stamped on the ruddy flesh inside Maude's right wrist, trying to appear as though I wasn't avoiding her gaze.

Speculamini. Memorate. Meditamini.
In the English: Observe. Record. Reflect.

The words ran along the outside lines of a triangle and decorated not only the inside of our right wrists, but also the breasts of our Historian uniforms and the cloaks we wore on the colder trips.

When none of us answered, she turned her attention on me. “Kaia Vespasian. Answer.”

“I feel confident I'll get into trouble when my chip is uploaded.”

Maude removed her glasses, black rimmed now that we were home, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why this time?”

Nerves danced in my stomach. I had to try harder, even though the main events never interested me the most. The ways the major historical episodes affected the loved ones, the children, the enemies, the world around them …
that's
what I loved to decipher. In a few years, once my training was complete, I would be allowed to choose my subjects. But not until then.

“I wanted to see the gardens.”

In truth, the couples had drawn my attention. I couldn't tell Maude
that
, though.

“Until you're certified, you'll see what we tell you to see. Even after that, I doubt you'll be able to convince the Elders that studying flowers and trees is a worthy use of our many privileges. As always, work on your focus.”

I nodded, looking down at my toes until I felt her gaze slide to someone else.

“Sarah Beckwith? Analeigh Frank?”

My friends answered automatically, describing details of the assassination we had been instructed to capture that I had missed. I really did need to pay more attention. Every child in Genesis took aptitude tests that determined our course of study, and they were never wrong. I knew I belonged at the Historian Academy, not in Agriculture, or Genetics, or any other school.

This had become my home, and despite my struggle to do as instructed on occasion, I loved my studies. Loved the purpose and dedication of the Historians, what we stand for, what we can accomplish. I was lucky to be here at all, after what my brother had pulled. Citizens of Genesis were exiled for only the gravest of infractions, and often their families were sentenced along with them. Jonah's fate should have been all the encouragement necessary to behave, but a desire to witness those special moments convinced me to break the rules far more often than was wise.

But the more infractions on my record, the less likely I'd be granted the specialty of my choosing after certifications, and that wasn't part of the plan.

My left arm dangled unadorned but a gleaming metal loop circled Maude's, drawing my gaze. I dreamed of a transport cuff of my own, aching for the freedom it represented. We'd been largely confined to the Academy since we were ten, nearly seven years now. For all of the times and places I'd visited in the past, in the present I'd never left Sanchi. Genesis wasn't huge, but there were seven small planets and several uninhabited moons. The thought of planet bouncing and freedom brought my brother to mind for the second time in as many hours, but I banished the thought of his name and the image of his face with a frown.

Stay gone, Jonah.

I'm not sure if the silent, fervent wish is because of my anger with him or because he'd be executed should he show his face here again.

Right then, all I knew for sure is that getting out of this decontamination air lock would be enough freedom for me. It usually took less than twenty minutes for computers to analyze our vitals and clothes to make sure we didn't bring back anything undesirable, while the tattoos etched deep into the skin over our brain stems, wrists, and throats uploaded all the bio information they needed.

The hollow feeling in my stomach said it had to be close to dinnertime. “What time is it?”

Analeigh rolled her eyes, and Sarah laughed.

“I know, I know, I always forget my watch. Is it time for dinner?”

“Yes,” Sarah answered, shaking her short, dirty-blond hair in an attempt to lose the wig crease.

“You have a pass tonight for a home visit, right? For your birthday?” Analeigh asked.

Of course. My birthday.

The reminder that tonight meant dinner with my parents cracked a grin across my face. I missed them more since Jonah had left the Academy, and the thought of seeing them relieved some of the stress over another botched assignment. “Yep.”

“And we're still going to Stars tomorrow, right? For your friend celebration?” Analeigh's eyes sparkled with anticipation.

“I can't believe the Elders gave you
two
passes for one week. Must be nice to be from an Original family,” Sarah commented, her perfectly formed eyebrows creased together.