The Fourth Rome by David Drake, Janet Morris Read Free Book Online

those around him would assume the imperial guard was being sent to spy on
     the governor’s personal life as well as to observe the conduct of his campaign. Fear of Clovis’ secret agenda provided cover
     for anything he or his servants did that didn’t fit with their public duties.
    “My master may not be as generous as yours,” she said. “But he has a very strong arm with a whip. If there’s something about
     his business that you or your master think you need to know, you can ask him yourself. But I don’t recommend it.”
    “Girlie,” the older man said with a trace of frustration—the first honest emotion he’d displayed during the interview. “This
     isn’t idle curiosity. If the noble Gallus is prosecuted for having the wrong friends, that’s his lookout. But if it happens
here,
in this wart on the hide of the empire—who’s going to buy his estate? Some hairy centurion whose idea of the good life is
     to drink till he pukes? A German princeling who hasn’t bathed since the last time he fell in the river? It’s important to
     us to know if the ax is about to fall!”
    “And we’ll pay,” Nestor said. Desperation tightened the lines of his face, making it less handsome but far more human. “Just
     give us the chance to get back to civilization before it happens.”
    Rebecca realized that she was talking to slaves, not men. Under Roman law they were furniture. Their apparent wealth couldn’t
     change that unless their master chose to sell them back their freedom … which Gallus hadn’t done, or they hadn’t asked him
     to do until now when the arrival of the emperor’s agent made them think it might be too late.
    “I don’t need your money,” Rebecca said, lowering her voice. “But I don’t think your master has anything to fear from the
     emperor.”
    The older slave nodded. “Come along, Nestor,” he said. “We won’t forget this.”
    No, you won’t,
Rebecca thought.
But at least the Germans will treat you the same as they do free men when they sweep over the army.
    The slaves closed the outer door behind them. Before Rebecca could touch the latch of the suite’s entrance, Barthuli pulled
     it open from inside. He held a microwave pistol.
    “I thought we could give them an overdose of sedative and hide the bodies in the storage room,” he said. “No one would notice
     the smell until long after we’ve left the horizon.”
    Gerd had come to terms with mortality, his own and others’, when his condition was diagnosed as incurable. He was a gentle
     man, as kind as he was intelligent; but he was also as ruthless as a cobra.
    Rebecca entered the suite and set the ewer on the triangular table. “Close the door,” she said. She felt drained She knelt
     and rested her forehead against the cool bronze container. “Gerd,” she added, “slavery is evil.”
    “Umm,” the analyst said, a noncommittal syllable with a vaguely positive lilt. “The most likely place for our revisionists
     is the settlement outside the camp, Rebecca. I thought I’d go check it over.”
    Rebecca stood and managed a smile. “We’ll both go,” she said, “because I don’t trust you alone, Gerd. But we’ll wait till
     Pauli gets back and discuss it with him before we act.”
    She didn’t want to call Pauli unless there was an emergency. Interrupting a busy teammate was a good way to screw up both
     him and the operation.
    Gerd nodded. “All right, Rebecca,” he said. He projected a shimmering display on his multifunction sensor and seemed to be
     concentrating on it. In a tone of mild interest he added, “I’ve always wished I could understand the concept of evil in a
     meaningful way.”

TC 779
Displacing to 1992 AD
    N an Roebeck had her issue weapons spread out before her on her command station’s console. The team in TC 779 was about to go
     operational.
    Everybody was rechecking their equipment one last time before insertion. Her people were nervous. She understood that. She
     listened