Kyle West - Extinction

We reentered the gates of Augustus’s camp. At Augustus’s order, the majority of the Praetorians disbanded, leaving only six to guard the Emperor, Maxillo included. We walked the rest of our way through the camp as evening settled into night.

We stopped outside the Emperor’s large tent. He turned to Maxillo.

“Have them wait inside for now. I’ll be back shortly. In the meantime, make yourselves comfortable.”

And with that, the Emperor walked away; Maxillo and another Praetorian peeled off from the original six to stand guard over us. Maxillo gestured toward the tent flap.

There was nothing left to do but to follow the order and go inside.

The Emperor’s tent was a world within a world. Inside its thick, canvas walls, the bustle of the camp had dimmed. However, I could still hear men shouting, hammers tacking, the wheels of carts squealing, horses neighing, and feet stomping. The air inside was thick, scented with some spicy fragrance. Intricate Persian rugs of purple and crimson covered the ground so thickly that none of the grimy tarmac of the runway was visible, or even felt, beneath my boots. Lamps and candles radiated yellow warmth, sending shadows dancing on the canvas walls bedecked with the furs of jaguars, bears, and other exotic creatures. The lavishness of the entry area made this feel less like a tent and more like a palace.

A richly clad man stood within a curtained partition that led deeper into the tent. I recognized him from Augustus’s palace, back in Nova Roma. He was the butler who had seated us during our first audience with the Emperor. He introduced himself as Zuma, and offered us chilled wine to drink. After we declined, he withdrew to the corner and stood silently.

Maxillo stood by the tent flap, his demeanor as hard as stone. The other Praetorian must have been guarding outside.

At last, Augustus returned, startling me as the tent flap whipped opened. I caught a glimpse of a few Praetorians standing outside, armor flashing by the light of torches. The flap fell, shutting out the night.

Augustus adjusted his steel breastplate. Quickly, Zuma stepped forward, to take off the Emperor’s rich, purple cape. Augustus cleared his throat as the cape was unclasped. The butler hung it by a hook along the far wall.

As the butler set to work on helping Augustus take off his armor, the Emperor faced us.

“It’s clear Black is nervous. Why wouldn’t he be, when my whole army is camped outside his walls? When I have a spaceship? I can’t predict what he will do, and that’s what’s bothering me.” Augustus paused, shrugging off the breastplate. Beneath, he wore a white, linen undershirt. “That makes reaching Bunker Six quickly all the more important.”

“Are you serious about wanting to ally with us?” I asked.

Augustus gave a small smile. “Never doubt my words, Alex. Many men have, to their peril. What I told you by the wreckage of Gilgamesh remains true. We must work together to ensure the future of humanity. Whoever controls this world, in the end, is a less important question. The important question is how we can save this world.” Augustus gestured with his head outside the tent. “Those barbarians don’t understand that, and they can’t be made to understand that. They only understand blood.”

None of us responded to Augustus. It had been a long day, and all I could think about was eating and sleeping.

Seeming to sense this, Augustus turned to Maxillo. “Take them to the First Cohort and see that they’re fed. I want them to see how this army works. After that, show them to an empty tent.”

Maxillo nodded, holding the tent flap open for us to walk out.

“We’ll head for the Bunker tomorrow morning,” Augustus said. “It shouldn’t be long, now.”

We headed out of the tent and into the night.

Maxillo led us outside to a campfire that wasn’t far from Augustus’s tent. Around the fire, several legionaries were eating. A table was set up nearby, upon which food was spread out: roasted pork, corn, rice, bell peppers, sliced onion, and some flat, round bread that folded. I watched the other soldiers, who wrapped the bread around the rest of the food and ate it that way. I followed their example and started to eat what was quite possibly the best thing I’d ever had.

We were allowed as much as we wanted, so I stuffed myself. It was fully dark now. Most of the legionaries were done eating and were cleaning up what remained of dinner. That left Ashton, Anna, and me sitting around the campfire while Maxillo stood a few feet off, eating his own food. I asked him what it was called. He said fajitas.

Two of the legionaries stayed behind while the rest went to their tents. They sat on stools across the fire from us. One of the legionaries had a lean face and wide eyes. The other was short, with a thick beard and a wide face. The wide-faced man offered us some cobs of corn he had been roasting on the coals. I accepted, and he tossed it to me. I caught it in the air, bouncing it around to avoid getting burned.

I quickly unwrapped the corn from its charred husk. It was yellow, almost white, in the firelight. Even though I was already full, I wanted to try it. I took a small bite. The corn juice was hot, and its flavor sweet.

“Is good?” the tall man asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

I’d had corn before, both in Bunker 108 and in Skyhome, but not roasted like this. The man nodded at Ashton and Anna, pointing to the fire. They each got some corn still roasting on the coals.

“Where are you from, friends?” the tall man asked.

“You know English?” I said.

He nodded. “Most of us…can’t. But…many…how do you say? Bosses. We know.”

“The officers, you mean.”

The man nodded again. “Yes. Officers. We speak a little.”

“You are an officer?”

“Sí,” he answered. “This is my tenth campaña.”

“Your tenth campaign, then. You have seen a lot of war?”

The tall man gave a bitter smile. “Yes. Too much war. En el imperio, la guerra es eterna.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means ‘in the Empire, war is eternal.’”

“Then why don’t you quit?” Anna asked, biting into her corn.

“You mean, stop?”

With a smile, the short soldier said something in Spanish to the tall officer. They both chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“It’s different here,” the tall man said. “A man must give ten years of his life to the legions. Every imperial must.”

“Why?”

“It is ley.”

“Ley?”

“I do not know English word for this. It is the order of Augusto .”

Ashton explained. “It is the law in the Empire for each man to serve ten campaigns in the legion.”

“That seems like a lot,” I said.

The tall officer nodded. The shorter man just listened.

“Yes, it is harsh,” the officer said. “But Augusto protects us. Helps our families. Gives us food and…land…to give for our time here.”

“You will farm after all this?”

“Farm?” the man asked, unfamiliar. “I do not know this word.”

“You will work on the land?” Anna asked.

“Ah, yes. My wife and children, they work on the land. We have no land to…name to us. But after esta campaña, I will go home and the boss of the land will give land for me.”

“That is good,” Anna said.

“Yes, very good.” The man smiled. “I must only survive one campaign more. It is a hard life. My wife tells me: as long as there are men, there are wars.”

“Will there ever be peace in the Empire?” Anna asked.

“La paz?” The man shook his head. “No. We have another… dicho …in our land: Sólo los muertos han visto el final de la guerra.”