“I’m glad to hear it,” Augustus said, willing himself to be patient and let all the polite customs proceed. It wouldn’t stop him moving forward with more pressing plans. Umbuwe introduced the other farm coordinators. He didn’t bother to remember their names.
“So,” Augustus said, cutting off some blather from one of the coordinators: a young man who looked no older than twenty-five and who appeared to be having trouble growing a beard. “You’re here. We’re together, united. I will command us to a better future. Without the threat of the croatoan council, we’re free to colonize and settle—as soon as we eradicate our immediate threat: Unity.”
Augustus spent the next ten minutes educating the coordinators on Unity’s numbers, resources and levels of technology.
The young man’s face stretched in a smile as he said, “With you leading us, Augustus, how can we not fail?”
Although he liked the sentiment, his sycophancy just didn’t do it for him as it would coming from Zoe. Still, he took in the spirit as befitting his role and nodded his head.
“Umbuwe, I’m putting you in charge of the two shuttles. From now on, you’re the line of command to your troops, answerable to me. Zoe, likewise, you’re in charge of this group.” He pointed to the battalions of humans and croatoans on the square.
Both women saluted him stiffly.
“We set out in three hours. In the meantime, you two will come with me and I’ll explain how the attack will happen, but before that, Zoe, I need you to do something for me. Umbuwe, you’re to stay and watch.”
Zoe’s eyebrows came together as she asked a silent question. Augustus gripped her shoulder and led her away from the entourage until they were standing in front of their troop formation.
“Among this group are ten traitors,” Augustus said. “We can’t afford to have any seeds of dissention.”
“Of course not, sir. That would simply be… unacceptable. Do you know who they are?”
Augustus stepped forward and walked down the front line of the formation, peering at each individual. Some held his eye, others looked away, but neither were an indication of guilt, for he knew there were no traitors among this group.
Once he had walked the length of the formation, staring into the eyes of twenty men, women, and croatoans, he followed his footsteps back to where Zoe stood.
“I do,” he said. “But it’s immaterial.”
“Oh? I don’t understand,” Zoe said.
Umbuwe and the other coordinators were watching with curiosity and—with what Augustus had hoped for—fear.
“We need to set an expectation,” Augustus said. “We need to show everyone what’s at stake. Without that motivation, when the fight gets tough, our forces will crumble. They’re not used to combat. They’re used to working on administrative orders around the farm. We need to reach to that animal inside that will claw, spit, and thrash to survive.”
“I understand,” Zoe said, her voice displaying a slight tremble.
This was good, Augustus thought. He needed the officers and coordinators to feel the same fear and animal fury as the others. He needed them to know that their lives were at stake as much as those on the ground and in the trenches.
This was his mistake when he was Roman Emperor: those at the top had grown soft and weak and were too secure in their positions. It clouded their judgment, made them choose the easier, safer choice, even if it meant defeat for the empire.
He wouldn’t let that happen again.
Turning to the waiting formation of troops, he noted their apparent nervousness by the way they fidgeted and looked to each other. Augustus suppressed a grin as the thought about a group of meerkats suddenly realizing they had a hyena in their midst.
Addressing them, Augustus stepped forward and projected his voice so that it echoed across the square, rebounding off the small buildings surrounding them. “I want ten volunteers, right this moment.”
At first nothing happened, but then slowly a few croatoans stepped out. He knew they’d be the first; they just didn’t understand what was going on without the direction of the council. The humans were warier.
“I want the volunteers, right now,” August repeated. “If not, I’ll choose at random.”
When none stepped forward after a few seconds, Augustus pointed out ten random human soldiers. “Line up in front of the formation.”
The soldiers jogged out of the ranks and stood shoulder to shoulder, ten meters in front. Zoe and Augustus moved behind them. Augustus removed the pistol from his hip holster and handed it to her.
“Execute them,” he said. “We teach the lesson now so we don’t have to in the future. There’s no discussion on this.” He didn’t even wait for her response. He turned his back and walked toward his private room.
Most of the selected soldiers protested, but with each step he heard the crack of the pistol and one less voice questioning his decision. By the time he reached his building, ten shots later, there were no more dissenting voices.
The entire place took on a deathly silence.
He turned to survey the scene. Zoe stood over the bodies, holding the smoking pistol to one side. She looked up at him, no expression on her face. Augustus nodded once to her and then addressed the entourage.
“All of you, including Zoe, are to see me in my room in five minutes as soon as you’ve cleared the bodies. We’ve plans to make.”
When he received nothing but salutes, he smiled behind his mask and stepped into his building, knowing that he had learned from his mistakes and that knowledge was indeed power. He had this army exactly where he wanted it.
Unity would fall, of that he had no doubt.
Chapter 8
DENVER DUCKED to his left between two solid benches at the front of the temple. He winced in agony as the high-pitched tone continued to blast through the intercom.
Layla crashed to the ground next to him. The strip light inside her helmet illuminated her panic-stricken face.
A bead of sweat rolled down Denver’s temple. He had fought aliens all of his life, but nothing like the scion.
The prism remained in position. It seemed to float with an assured arrogance on the other side of the temple while inflicting torturous pain. The rifles had proven useless and Denver racked his brains for a plan.
White bolts spat from the halo above the prism and peppered the walls around the temple. Stone chips pinged off Denver’s and Layla’s suits.
Two tredeyan rifles fired outside. Denver guessed Charlie positioned himself by the door to assist in the fight. Vingo had also retreated outside.
Denver took a deep breath, raised his rifle and fired a full magazine. The halo vanished and the prism’s rotation slowed as twenty rounds slammed into its solid rectangular body. Thin white wisps of smoke and yellow spark fizzed from its underside and shot across the floor.
“Are you okay?” Charlie said.
“I think I’ve damaged it,” Denver said. “Give it hell.”
“You got it.”
The temple descended into a murky gloom apart from a single white beam that shone against the wall above their heads. Denver and Layla edged along the back of the bench away from its focus. His helmet automatically switched to night vision and he peered through a gap in the seating. The prism had closed in on them and a circular light shone from its midsection.
A bolt flashed over Denver’s head and punctured a six-inch hole in the wall behind him. The building shuddered and dust dropped from the ceiling. He grabbed a magazine from the magnetic holding position on his hip and reloaded.