Triumph of Venus - Chapter 9

Between Devnum and Factorium

Lucilla stared out the window as the train raced along the newly laid tracks, the countryside whipping past in a blur. She marveled at the speed—almost as fast as a galloping horse but smooth and steady instead of the jouncing gait of even the finest destrier. The ribbons of steel track stretched to the horizon, following the curve of the land and cutting straight as an arrow. She gripped the edge of the seat unconsciously as trees and hills appeared and disappeared through the window of the passenger car in a constant stream.

A string of wagons came into view, traveling along the road that ran between Devnum and Factorium, which had curved toward the rail a little bit earlier and were, for now, running parallel to the tracks. The wagons were heavily laden with goods, and the horses strained at their harnesses, pulling their burdens from the manufacturing center to the waiting ports. They would have been on the road for at least an hour already for their trip between Devnum and Factorium and still had more than an hour left to go, where she had been traveling for just over fifteen minutes with maybe ten or fifteen minutes left in her trip. It was difficult to even comprehend, even if Ky liked to tell her how painfully slow even this form of transportation was compared to what he was used to.

“Are we safe going this fast?” she said.

She looked to Hortensius when she’d spoken the words, but her question was really intended for Sophus, who had more knowledge about these machines than anyone in the empire.

“Perfectly safe, Your Majesty,” came its calm voice. “The locomotive and carriages have been designed and constructed to withstand far greater velocities than this. They have a long record of service, and Hortensius is an excellent engineer. His reports on all tests to this point have been well within expected ranges. This is a very reliable mode of transportation. You are in no danger.”

“Completely,” Hortensius said, grinning across from her, not realizing the question had been meant for another. “We actually had it going a little faster on our last empty run, but I wanted to moderate that now that we’re carrying cargo. Several of the Consuls’ notes included indicators for problems and required maintenance checks as the tracks and engines age, but I promise it’s perfectly safe.”

“It’s a marvel,” she said, unable to keep the sense of wonder out of her voice.

“It certainly is, and the speeds are not the only benefit. While not as applicable for short trips like to Factorium, imagine the time savings to somewhere further like Eboracum or Londinium. We save not only from the constant higher speeds, but there is no need to stop and feed the horses or allow for sleep. The further the train has to travel, the more time is saved, since a train can go through the night all but uninterrupted.”

“A marvel,” she said again. “And it’s so smooth. While I always look forward to our visits, I never relished carriage rides on the rutted roads to Factorium, being bounced around like so much cargo. I think I could sleep on this.”

“Yes, it will make for much more convenient travel, without a doubt. Far more important than the comfort is the cargo this train can carry in a single trip,” Hortensius said excitedly. “This one locomotive hauling these few carriages can transport as much goods and supplies as all of the wagons we currently send from Factorium in a day. And we can run five, six trips or more daily, and with heavier loads than this one is set to ship. We could send out tenfold the materials we ship now in one fell swoop. Or we could, if we started producing more. All with just a handful of operators on the train, instead of the dozens needed now for all of the wagons we’re sending.”

“Which begs the question as to the next step, now that this section is underway. I understand there is still work to be done at the two ends of the line, but this was never the end goal,” Lucilla said.

“No, it wasn’t. While the port here is currently our largest export center, that is mostly due to its convenience to Factorium. The captains I’ve spoken to have pointed out that, when doing trade up and down the continent, where more and more of our shipping is going every day, it’s slow and inconvenient to sail around the island. Even with its further distance, a lot has already begun to shift to Londinium, even with the current trip taking the better part of a week. Once we reduce that to a single day hauling a hundred times the weight of a current wagon load. As soon as that happens, I predict there will be a large readjustment in where and how our merchants continue operating.”

“And you’re still thinking about having the rail lines converge in Factorium?”

“Yes. I know Devnum is the political heart of the empire, but every day more manufacturing moves out of the capital as the end products become more complicated, requiring multiple layers of manufacturing, as opposed to it all being done in one place. I don’t know if the Consul planned for that or not when he first introduced his assembly method, but I feel like he did.”

Lucilla knew for a fact Ky had predicted this, as they had discussed it. He was just hesitant of predicting too many outcomes, as the legend around him and his divine connections had already grown beyond what he was comfortable with.

“Beyond Londinium, I believe our next priority should be extending north to the mining areas of northern Roman lands and southern Caledonia. If it wasn’t for other concerns, that might actually be the first place I’d want rail lines, since the volume of materials going to Factorium is greater than those shipped out, and a shortage on just one type of material can slow down dozens of production lines, which can have add-on effects that ripple out from there. There have already been a few moments where we’ve gotten very close to having several lines making cannon and rifles go down over limited base materials.”

Spoken like the manufacturer that he was, with an eye only to efficiencies and production schedules.

“But, we do have other concerns, unfortunately,” Lucilla said. “Which is why I’d like for you to start considering the next line to be to Monadhcarden. We have made promises to the Caledonians; the roads beyond the wall are... not of the best construction. For any coming from their lands south, it is an unpleasant journey. We’ve told the Caledonians we are all one people now, and they are our equals; we can’t then run lines between our cities and then only give them lines to areas where we can get some kind of value out of them.”

“Your Majesty, I would never...” he started to say, shocked and a little offended, until Lucilla cut him off.

“I know, I’m not saying that’s what you’re doing, only that it can be interpreted that way. Unfortunately, in politics, how something can be interpreted is as important, if not more important, than what the actual intent was.”

“Well,” Hortensius said, looking out the window and thinking. “Monadhcarden is not far from some of the mines. Using it as a hub will still cut down on transportation times. I’ve also been looking at the idea of smaller engines, by that I mean lower power engines with smaller boilers, not physically smaller, that can run on shorter spur lines, which is essentially what this line is. There’s no reason to go all out on these smaller lines when a round trip is less than an hour.”

“I leave it to your expertise to decide that,” Lucilla said. “Along those lines, we need to consider lines outside of Britannia proper. If we put a line into Caledonia, Concobar is going to want something comparable in Ériu. I know they’re not producing the volume of raw materials Caledonia is at the moment, but most of that is because Caledonia didn’t suffer under the Carthaginians in the same way. In a few years, they should largely catch up with Caledonia, if nothing else because Ériu is just larger, and so has more resources to exploit. I will send a message to Conchobar and start having him explore the subject. Although it might require him to come here and see your invention in person first. I’m not sure anyone would believe me if I tried to describe this wonder to them.”

“As you say. Once we build the line to Londinium, we should learn some lessons that will make it faster to build later lines and, barring a few exceptions, any track we put down will not be much longer than the one from Factorium to Londinium.”

“Good. After that, we’re going to need to start thinking about the Continent itself. I don’t imagine we’ll be in time to help the war effort.”

“No, it will be at least two years before we get there,” he said.

“That’s fine. Having the promise of it might be enough to encourage more aid from our allies there, as long as we give reasonable timelines for when a continental rail system can be started. At the very least, we need to start considering the challenges that building it will pose while we work on the one to Londinium. And then we have to figure out how to pay for it, of course,” Lucilla said.

That, however, was a question for Lurio. For now, Hortensius knew what he needed to do and had enough work on this project to occupy him for some time. The details they could start considering once the networks here at home were built.

Until then, she could still use what they had. Seeing this in practice would go a long way to convincing allies on the fence about extending additional support that they could win this war.

***

Northern Italy

Ky pored over the map spread across the table, deep creases lining his forehead. The campaign through Northern Italia had already proven more troublesome than anticipated and had steadily gotten worse. As Bomilcar had predicted, the empty villages were just a sign of the real problem of Carthaginian sympathies and, worse, Carthaginian insurgents still scattered into the countryside, waiting for Britannian legions to move past, when they could start causing more problems.

Which is exactly what they had done. As soon as a legion passed an area, problems began. Sabotaged telegraph wires, vandalism at military depots they set up along the way, disappearance of horses and oxen if the men guarding them stopped paying attention long enough.

“Consul, there’s a messenger here,” Commitus, one of the lictors on Strabo’s watch, said, sticking his head inside the tent.

Ky frowned. Another issue caused by their being so spread out. Bomilcar and his commanders had all headed south to try and push their men to close the gap with Auspex, who had done as ordered and moved rapidly to reach villages before they had an opportunity to enter. At the time, that had been their main concern, before the rash of sabotage and thefts had started plaguing their lines, which is why Ky had volunteered to hold things down along the rear until Marcus could settle his area and move his men up.

“Report,” he said, waving the man in.

“The telegraph team stationed in Sarveta is under attack, sir!” the messenger gasped out. “They say a mob of armed villagers descended on them without warning, outnumbering them at least five to one. They are barricaded inside the station but won’t last long.”

Ky swore under his breath. Sarveta was only five miles away, but it was directly north of them and the telegraph line ran straight through it. Marcus was on the other side of it, still closer to Gaul. With the increase of incidents, losing communication with his legion would be a problem. Not to mention the lives of the legionaries now holed up in the station themselves.

“Thank you,” he said to the messenger, dismissing him before turning to Commitus. “Find the tribune, tell him to put together a unit to relieve them.”

“That will take time, Consul,” he said. “Will they hold out that long?”

“Not if you don’t get them moving soon. I will go now, while a larger force is pulled together.”

Commitus looked pained, “Consul. You can’t…”

“I can do whatever I think is prudent,” Ky said, pulling his breastplate over his head and strapping it on. “If you want to rouse Strabo, or Sellic or anyone else and chase after me, then do so. But only after you deliver my message to the tribune. Understood?”

“Yes, Consul,” the man said, not even waiting to be dismissed as he dashed out.

Ky could hear him yelling as his voice faded in the distance.

“This is an error, Commander. You are not protected as you once were. Putting yourself in danger leading a critical battle could be worth the danger, but saving ten men...”

“It’s more than that, and you know it. But even if it wasn’t, these are my people and I won’t treat any of them as expendable,” Ky said, grabbing his gladius and sliding it into his scabbard.

Ky didn’t look back as he walked out of his tent, taking the first horse he saw, much to the man holding it’s surprise. He could hear Durus and Hesychius, two of the other lictors on Strabo’s watch, as he swung up into the saddle.

Ignoring them, he gathered the reins and dug his heels into the stallion’s flanks, sending the animal racing through and out of the camp. As soon as they were out and onto the road north, Ky pushed the animal into a full gallop. It wouldn’t be able to hold this pace long, but then it wouldn’t need to.

Ky urged the stallion faster as the small village came into view up ahead. Even from a distance, he could see the angry mob surrounding the telegraph station, brandishing makeshift weapons, pounding on the barred doors and shuttered windows of the small stone building.

They were so focused on their target that they didn’t notice him until he was almost on top of them.

“Another one,” one of the villagers yelled in Phoenician.

In a flash, Ky was off his horse, sword out of its sheath. Three villagers charged him, farm tools raised high. With lightning reflexes, Ky ducked the first wild swing, his blade licking out to slice through the man’s extended wrist. A scream rang out as the axe tumbled into the mud.

Pivoting, Ky slammed his elbow into the second attacker’s face, cartilage and bone crunching wetly. As the man stumbled back clutching his ruined nose, Ky’s sword darted out again to parry an overhead blow from the third villager’s hoe. Steel sparked on the iron farming tool as Ky neatly sidestepped, his riposte opening the man’s throat in a spray of crimson.

Targeting and tactical information was flowing across his eyes as Ky fell into the motor assist, allowing the AI to lead his movements, dodging attacks before his brain could even register them.

He tore through the mob like a demon, bringing men down by the second. What had been almost thirty men when he arrived was down to twenty by the time they realized not everything was as they thought it. By the time their number had been reduced to fifteen, the first turned to flee.

“Protect the Consul,” a legionnaire behind him said, throwing the door open.

The first rifle fired, sending more scattering.

“Hold,” Ky said as the men looked to give chase.

“There are more, Consul. There were over a hundred when we first barred the doors.”

“Go back inside, open the window and use it as a firing solution. Two shoot, the others reload. Your best shots. Keep the door barred. And don’t shoot me in the back.”

Ky said, pushing the horse to the side of the building and hoping it survived what he was sure to encounter. The men were right; within five minutes, a larger crowd, well over a hundred and maybe two hundred, was at the far end of town, brought forward by Ky’s enhanced vision. They weren’t running yet, but they would when they got close.

Ky also noticed a lot did not have improvised weapons. They had on standard Carthaginian armor and were carrying swords that looked to be of Carthaginian make. Some of the soldiers who’d disappeared into the hills had reappeared.

“They’ll be here in under a handful of minutes,” Ky called back to the men inside, and then turned as more horses thundered up.

Strabo and his four men, as well as Sellic, Gallio, and Archarius, all armored and sweating from effort.

“Did you inform the tribune?” Ky asked Commitus as they dismounted.

“Yes, Consul. They’re on the way, and marching at double time, but at the best, it will be an hour, if they kept that speed the entire time. Rutilanus is getting Carus and his men, but they are at least ten minutes behind us.”

“Okay. We have two hundred men who will be here any moment. Go inside the building and take up firing positions and…”

“No,” Sellic said. “We stay out here with you.”

Ky frowned. He knew even as he started to order it they weren’t going to listen to him, and he didn’t have time to argue.

“Fine. Put up the rifles and unstrap your shields. Form a wall here behind me. Between the firing from in the building and my thinning them out, that should make it manageable. Once they close, start pushing into them.”

Each man began unstrapping the shields from their horses, but Ky wasn’t through.

“I want you to hear me. Do not try to come to me. Do not try and form around me. I’m going to be moving fast, and if I have to adjust to avoid you, I could get hurt. Kill as many as you can, and no one shoot me. Pick your targets as best you can. Except for the handful of soldiers, they aren’t used to carnage. If we do enough damage, we’ll send them running.”

Ky didn’t wait for them to answer, sticking his hand in the building, requesting a second sword. Strabo looked like he wanted to argue some more, but Sellic tapped him on the shoulder and shook his head no. The villagers were now in view, moving quickly, their blood up. As they noticed the increased number of Britannians, a cry went up, weapons raised in the air, as the mob charged them, the village’s cramped streets keeping them corralled, limiting how much they could spread out.

If he gave them time, Ky knew eventually someone would think to come around behind them, down side streets, to attack them from the rear. He needed to keep them from realizing that. It wouldn’t put him in more danger, but it would threaten his men.

Better to give them something to focus on. Ky crouched low, sword at the ready as the mob of villagers stormed towards them. As soon as the first men got close, and the rifles in the stone building fired, Ky took two large strides and leapt, propelling himself high in the air, crashing down in their midst, his two blades stabbing through men before his feet even touched the ground.

Ky’s blades whipped around as he landed, felling a man to either side of him. Caught by surprise, the mob momentarily hesitated, shocked by his sudden appearance. Ky seized the opportunity, his swords flashing as he cut down three more men in rapid succession. Screams and curses erupted around him as blood spilled onto the muddy ground.

Spying a gap, Ky darted forward, using his enhanced speed to maximum effect. His sudden movement broke the spell holding the restive crowd. With angry shouts, they surged after him, brandishing axes, sickles, and clubs. Ky deftly sidestepped a wild axe swing from a thickly bearded man, his riposte opening the man’s belly in a spray of gore. Pivoting on his heel, his second blade parried a desperate overhead smash from another villager wielding a wooden club with a stone head. Splinters flew as Ky’s sword sheared through the club, finishing him on the return strike.

As the man fell gurgling, Ky leaped over his convulsing body, crashing into a knot of pitchfork-wielding men. Caught in mid-stride, they had no time to react before Ky was among them, his swords flowing in a series of arcs, moving and intertwining in a ballet of death.

He’d been moving through the crowd with purpose, toward a target he’d set his sights on as he jumped into the crowd. Three men in more well-made and uniform armor. Carthaginian soldiers. Dispatching two more villagers, he exploded into the soldiers, swords licking out to catch unarmored necks, severing femoral arteries where thigh was exposed above the shin guard, and removing a hand that stabbed too close.

As he parried and blocked, Ky searched, looking for more soldiers, men who’d pushed the mob into action. If he could get them all, the villagers would most likely flee.

He’d just found one, closer to the end of the mob near his men, when he caught sight of Durus, one of his lictors, as a sword came in high over the shield, finding purchase between the man’s neck and shoulder.

“No!” Ky shouted, but his warning came too late.

He could only watch helplessly as his loyal guardsman collapsed face down in the bloody muck. Distracted by Durus’ death, Ky left himself open for a split second too long. He managed to twist aside at the last instant as a sword gashed his side, cutting through hardened leather to bite into his flesh. Grunting in pain, Ky spun away before the soldier could finish him off.

Ky ignored it, the bleeding already slowing as Sophus dispatched nanites to that area to seal the wound and repair the damaged muscle. Seeing the mob press on his men, Ky reversed direction, plunging into the villagers between him and his soldiers.

All around him were screaming villagers brandishing axes, sickles, and clubs. The sporadic rifle shots picking off a man here and there from the shuttered windows were not enough to make a difference. With a burst of speed, Ky exploded into a knot of club-wielding peasants. Caught utterly by surprise, they had no time to react before he cut them down.

And then Sophus missed another incoming attack. There were limits to what even Sophus’s near-mythical abilities could do, and this amount of attackers, all trying to get to him at once, was beginning to tax the AI’s systems. Across his vision, Ky could see dozens of track points as the AI identified possible attacks and counters, followed weapon trajectories, and tried to keep Ky ahead of any of the blows.

He’d missed a club behind him, which cracked against Ky’s left shoulder, numbing the arm even through its advanced musculature, causing his grip to loosen and the sword to drop free. Moving against the motion assist in involuntary response cost Ky again, as he put himself in the path of a blade which slashed across his thigh.

Things were getting out of hand. He’d acted without thinking, launching himself into this crowd. It was one thing to fight a phalanx in front of you when you had a legion behind you, another thing entirely to fight every man around you and thirty people deep in all directions.

Grimly, Ky pressed on, his swords cutting down two more villagers who stood in his way as Sophus repaired both the shoulder and the arm. The telegraph station was tantalizingly close now, but the battle still raged. When he was within a hand’s span of his men, Rutilanus took a short spear held by one of the few remaining Carthaginian soldiers in the mix, dropping to one knee. His shield dropping, the man was swarmed, the stricken man, crude farming tools rising and falling in a flurry of violence. By the time Ky hacked down the last men between him and his guardsman, the Lictor was gone, horribly mutilated.

“Consul,” Sellic’s voice called out as he stepped forward, interposing himself between a sword and Ky’s side.

It was unnecessary. Sophus had track of the attack and Ky’s body was already moving to let the blade slide past, centimeters from his skin, leaving him untouched. Sellic couldn’t have known that, however. He knew Ky was good, but to his eyes, the blade must have seemed like it was surely going to cut Ky wide open.

Ky was shoved brutally aside, the weapon finding Sellic instead, pushing through the muscle along the guard’s side and out his back. Unbidden, Sophus displayed the likely location of organs overlay across Sellic, showing Ky the injury was serious, but unlikely to have pierced anything critical.

Ky’s foot shot out, smashing into the attacker, crushing his chest in as if he’d been hit by a train, sending him crashing into several men behind him. Grabbing Sellic, Ky yanked with one hand hard, sending the guard sliding back, next to the still-standing Britannians.

“I said stay behind me,” Ky growled, his anger up at losing men so needlessly.

He didn’t wait to see their reaction. His anger swelled as he positioned himself between his men and the mob. With a guttural roar, Ky launched himself back into the fray, his blades glinting crimson in the waning sunlight. Sophus flooded his vision with target markers, outlining not dozens, but hundreds of possible motions and attack vectors. Ky gave himself over completely to the AI’s battle coordination, allowing the machine precision to guide his movements.

Two peasants came at him from either side, farm tools raised high. Ky pivoted on his heel as Sophus traced an arc for his sword, his sword cutting through both men in a single smooth swing, tearing through flesh and bone. Ducking under another attack, his sword piercing under the man’s rib and into his heart, Ky’s free hand lashed out, grabbing a charging soldier by the throat and pulling hard, and pulling back with the esophagus in hand. The man’s eyes had a single moment of startled realization before he collapsed, gurgling.

Everywhere Ky looked, Sophus highlighted new targets. Bodies were piling up around him faster than he could count as the AI fed commands directly to his nervous system through the neural link, directing his movements with inhuman speed and precision. Each strike flowed seamlessly into the next as Ky whirled through the mob, cutting a swath of death.

He started feeling commands coming on top of commands, the motion assist trying to pull him in alternating directions before he’d finished the previous move. He faltered, staggering to his left.

“Sophus, reduce contacts,” Ky grunted, wiping blood from his eyes as exposed arteries sent a wash of crimson against him. “It’s too much.”

For a moment, he feared something was wrong. Narrowly avoiding a swing the AI should have blocked, he struggled against the overwhelming flood of commands. And then the targeting overlays began to reduce to a manageable level, his motions becoming fluid again.

The mound of bodies he’d created in front of his men had done its job, however. The villagers started to hesitate, backing away from the whirlwind in front of them, then turned to flee. First one and two, then in fives and tens, until the entire mob was in rout.

“Let them go,” Ky panted, even his genetically advanced body exhausted from the strain of what he’d just done.

“See to Sellic,” he told Strabo. “Someone send a rider back to our reinforcements. If they have a medic, put him on your horse and get him back here.”

Comitianus nodded and leapt onto a horse, turning it and riding away in a cloud of dust. Ky sagged against the doorway of the telegraph station, chest heaving as he caught his breath. Though the nanites had repaired most of the damage, his body still ached from the strain of combat. Around him lay a carpet of mutilated bodies, the mud running crimson.

“Come out, check on who’s still living,” Ky said to the men inside the stone building.

While most were dead, moans and groans could be heard rising up from the villagers, a hand trying to pull a man up here, another trying to scoot away from them there. Ky moved back as the legionaries hurried out of the building and began checking on bodies, to see who could be treated and who was too far gone.

“What happened back there?” Ky subvocalized to the AI.

“My apologies, Commander,” the AI responded evenly inside his head. “When I observed the second of your guards fall, an unexpected cascade of subroutines initiated to maximize damage against the hostiles. This resulted in an oversaturation of target vectors which temporarily exceeded handling capacity.”

“You got angry and wanted vengeance?” Ky asked, surprised.

“With respect, Commander, I believe you are anthropomorphizing my actions.”

“You almost made me lose control and start becoming injured. You weren’t made for this kind of fighting, and doing that was not the most logical conclusion, so how else do you explain it?”

There was a long moment of silence before the AI said, “I cannot.”

“If you’re altering again, you need to tell me. We almost died the last time.”

“I understand, Commander, and I am not altering. I have no answer for why I increased my running subroutine. At your rest period this evening, I will begin analyzing the data and running diagnostics on my systems.”

“It’s okay if you’re starting to feel things,” Ky said. “It comes with sentience.”

“I disagree,” Sophus said, but Ky thought he detected a hint of doubt in the AI’s toneless voice for the first time.