Marcus Quintus

... two years earlier The subspace project, or the "Ears of the Gods" as it had also been referred to, had been underway for about three years before it had finally yielded results. The simply device-to-satellite-to-device mechanisms had been the first fruits from the seeds of the communicators left by the Starfleeters, implemented quickly and easily. Reversing the technology to figure out a subspace transmitter capable of reaching the stars, however, had taken more time. The results, quite honestly, were unexpected. When the first message from "beyond" was received, the scientists met it with varying results. Some thought that it was the Federation again, but that wasn't quite right, and why would the Federation lie about its identity? Others were certain that the Furies were descending upon them, ready to mete out judgment for some crime that the Roman people had committed. Others in the small community that had been privy to the "messages from the stars" were positive that the gods had abandoned them and barbarians were about to descend upon their idyllic world to destroy them all. Others, however, including the consul and master of the project, took the contact blandly, caxlling it for what it was: yet another alien species making contact out of boredom or curiosity or just out of protocol. Barbarians, certainly, but nothing worthy of horror or concern. After all, they had only been vaguely interested in the Romans, and one "ship" was hardly an invasion force. They were passing by, they'd said. But Marcus Quintus also had recognized a truth that had been true to the Romans for millennia, and had decided to regard that truth as a sort of divine benevolence or providence. These barbarians, like all others, could be traded with for the betterment of Rome. * * * They certainly had sounded gruff, the consul thoguht as the peculiar, disorienting, tingling feeling left his limbs and the interior of the Clinganus vessel phased into being before his eyes. But he'd never expected this. It took all of his well-honed diplomatic ability not to hold a fold of his clothing to his nose to mask the stench of the ship. But even if he'd been able to do so without offending his most gracious hosts, he still could hardly have deprived himself of his eyes in order to block out the sight of the filthy thing he'd "beamed" to. And then, then the creatures had the gall to start laughing. Laughing at a man of Rome! "They are even smaller than humans," one laughed, spewing a bit of salive as he bellowed. "Remind me why we are even bothering with such p'taQ?" "Because they have much deuterium, and such a source is good to have," the other responded, finally turning to address Marcus directly. "You are aboard the IKS Turgath. I am Jorn, of the house of Sirg." A yellowed... yellowed!... smile started to creep across his face. Dear gods, how these creatures - who made the Minotaur look like Adonis - became star-faring was absolutely inconceivable. "I am..." he began, gathering himself, only to be cut off by Jorn. "I know. Marcus, yes?" The way he said it made his name sound as if it were something more akin to a foul oath than a praenomen favored by his gens for generations. "Now, Marcus, let me give you dinner and bloodwine, and we will talk about this plan of yours. Business always goes well with bloodwine." The "blood" part of that, Quintus wasn't so sure about, but he certainly could appreciate a good wine. Perhaps this meeting could be salvaged after all. * * * Dinner did not go so well, even with the bloodwine, unless one counted Marcus' ability to not retch at the mere sight of their "food", at least. It didn't help that they took great amusement in his apparent reduced virility resulting from the fact that he was "not man enough to eat gagh", which was apparently one of the dishes he'd staunchly refused on account of the wriggling quality. "... but on to business." Jorn, who'd by now long established himself as the clear general-figure on board the Turgath, was the worst perpetrator of the somewhat good-natured teasing, which didn't particularly endear him to Quintus. "You want a warp drive," he continued, bringing the Roman's attention back to the matter at hand. "That's right," he answered, carefully adjusting a fold of his toga so it wouldn't drape into a brown of stream of... something. "We are prepared to offer..." "We already know what your capabilities are for pay," he answered. "And if you desire this technology, friend, it will cost you greatly. We do know why you want it so badly." "Oh, do you?" "Yes. You want to be part of the Federation with the rest of your human friends, but you need warp drive to do it. They think themselves too good for friends who aren't yet faster than light." Marcus frowned. He didn't want to be part of the Federation, exactly: giving up Roman autonomy was tantamount to being conquered by a foreign power, and by no means would Quintus be the man to so undermine the Empire. But while the Clinganus might have been an unadulterated pig, he was still a rather perceptive, unadulterated pig. "Perhaps," he allowed, acknowledging the semi-truth in the other man's words. "So I imagine you are very willing to pay a fair price for what you want." Marcus sighed, sitting back in his chair and taking a deep gulp of the strangely-flavored red wine. "Name your price."

Quintus was no particular devotee of Bacchus. Normally, the amount of whine which he had consumed would ahve sent him to bed with a large goblet of wine and no further plans for the evening. But it was a testament to the knowledge and fascinating discoveries that the earthmen offered that he was wide awake and sobering rather quickly. With his guests shown to their rooms for the night and their security staff neatly set up in his villa's guard-barracks, Marcus retired to his study. The sea air wafted through a single open window, rattling a few papers on his desk. The peaceful setting for what were sure to be monumental discoveries (or, perhaps, re-discoveries) made the consul smile slightly. Activating the computer terminal which linked now into the library of data Challenger had sent, Marcus reflected on the possibilities the Federation data had to offer - not to mention the information which he had briefly mentioned to the captain. As Pontifex Maximus, the chief of priests throughout the Empire, he had access to a great deal of religious and pseudo-religious documentation. And as he had reminded his new friend, Romans' political and religious worlds were often very closely interwoven. What his prestigious college of priests knew, he knew. Therefore, Marcus knew quite a bit. He knew, for instance, of maps. Maps which were fraying bits of linen and pressed reed, but which were incredibly detailed yet imaged places which quite simply did not exist. "Mythic lands," the priests and various clerics pronounced. "Realms of the gods and earlier ages," they stated, and refused to dig any deeper. Diaries and letters, tens of centuries old, which talked of kings and rulers and the same foreign places which were never able to be explained. Of course, their whole culture acknowledged some bits of the mystery, even if they were never really cognizant of the fact that they were doing it. There was no literate child who had not read the tales of beautiful boats sailing from a land of vice and impiety into their current home, where a chosen people - Romans, of course, with a few select associates tossed in for good balance - had been set up in a colony by their beloved gods as paragons of virtue and goodness. It was supposedly a new age, an age of gold again, as in the greatest and oldest traditions. But muddled as most such heroic stories were, most of the populus viewed them as allegories (not to mention good reasons to run roughshod over "barbarians", who were their lessers by necessity in such tales). Those who dug deeper started to find very interesting and slightly more scientific notions, however - at least before their efforts were quite publicly ridiculed as the pursuits of damaged minds... No, Marcus forced himself to think, before any other ideas could take root. He certainly was not going to release the priests' ancient information and data to the mob-at-large. It was better that the people not know that their government had been hiding such knowledge fro them, even if it was in the forms of "sacred artifacts" and "holy documents". The kind of dissent that accusations of "conspiracies" could produce would be... dangerous. The Federation's archive suddenly finished its uploading, rather suddenly and unceremoniously providing the consul with information that he had desired for so long. Leaning forward with an unabashed look of curiosity and a touch of anxiety, Marcus began to read. Soon enough, he would have all of his answers. Soon enough, he would have his long-awaited truth. ~ "Imperator, salve." Deep-set blue eyes, possessing a rare bit of clarity behind them for once, flickered away from the pinks and orange of what promised to be a glorious sunrise to regard Marcus. "Morning finds you to be well, my friend," he answered, voice crackling with age. "As well as any other day, I suppose." Taking the liberty that came with long friendships to dare to sit without so being bid by his emperor, Marcus smiled at him. "You look well yourself, imperator," he addressed, talking in the sturdy if aged frame of the man across from him. But then, it had never been physical ails which had troubled the man. Both he, Publius Caesar, and Marcus had overcome their share of illnesses in their youth, but something had taken all but a few, rare vestiges of the emperor's mind almost eight years prior. As the Princeps, Publius Caesar was free from removal from office, of course, but the consuls had been forced to take more and more power in the Empire to make up for an imperator who had almost daily, it seemed, grown more and more into a figurehead. Duties had been rerouted to the consuls, and their terms had been extended from the usual one year to five, and then the best of the consuls had those terms prorogated into proconsulships. Anything to keep the public from noticing how weak their beloved, semi-divine leader had become. Harder than it was, though, for Marcus to see a once-strong leader decay, however, was to see a dear comrade fade away. There were times when Publius did not even recognize his old friend, and many more occasions when Quintus had to very carefully cover for the fact that the emperor was growing less and less cognizant of the world around him. But he owed the old man. They'd both kept a few secrets for one another over the years. "I came with something important to tell you," the consul told him, with a look towards the balcony's door to see if any undesired ears were "overhearing". Seeing no one, he continued, pleased by the awareness in his emperor's eyes. He was here today, it seemed. For now, at least... "Speak, friend," Publius prompted him. "Do not force an old man to wait," he added, a bit of humor sparkling in his eyes. "I..." Quintus started with a flare of excitement, then faltered. The bravado of the moment seemed to die now that he was actually revealing it to his emperor, and simultaneously admitting that he had been making grave plans that the leader had little awareness of. "We have made contact with men from another world - a world that is possibly, no - probably - the origin of our people. They are here now," toppled out, too, before he could better ease them into the subject. The emperor blinked. Even at his age, he was capable of being shocked, even if he was better at hiding it than the younger Quintus. For some reason, that thought pleased Marcus. "Here? Now?" "Yes," he replied. "A ceremony of welcome will commence an hour after dawn." He considered for a moment. "They are genuine men, Imperator. They can only help our people." Publius Caesar was silent for a long time before he finally answered. "You engineered this," he accused softly. "You and your men." "Yes," Quintus admitted again. "But we have been aware of such things for years, and..." "You should have informed me!" Publius declared, a tremor of anger shaking through him. "You should have...." He trailed off, seeing the look on Marcus' face and deflating a little. Very quietly, the consul said, "I did, Sir." The two men shared a long look, and the younger finally broke it to stare decidedly at the sea. "You never mentioned it again, nor asked about it. I figured that the memory..." "Escaped me," the emperor finished for him, saving Quintus the disservice of having to put a description of his leader's mental failings into words. Marcus was grateful for that. "Yes," he admitted, softly again. "I wanted to tell you so that you were not like the lowest pleb in ignorance when the information hit the airways." "And for that, I give thanks to you," Publius said, with a heavy sigh. "What are they like?" he asked after a moment, inquisitiveness getting the better of him. Quintus smiled, happy for the shift in conversation. "Almost like us. The better men among them, anyway. They have a certain... open-mindedness to others' ways that is almost virtuous in itself." Publius sat back, reaching for a steaming cup of something and sipping it contentedly. "You do not think that such ways could affect our ways of life - negatively?" The consul shook his head. "No. Such ideas, especially in the mouths of off-worlders, would have no more effects on the populus than the ramblings of Son-Brothers peddling their religion on street-corners." The emperor's face grew severe again. "Religions are forces that one should never ridicule, Marcus. Better men than we have suffered as the result of one cult or another turning the mood of the mob." He visibly made himself untense then, then, smiling. "But then, I suppose the offworlders are not just bringing foreign gods to our soil, are they?" "Of course not!" Marcus answered, a bit excitedly. "They carry supplies and knowledge and... and history that could help us better know ourselves, and will set us up on trade routes - we'll be able to export for great profit and import new technology and materials - and you should see the libraries we have received! There are seven more complete books of Livius than we ever knew of, and..." Quintus stopped, looking towards the emperor, whose own attentions suddenly seemed to be dominated by a flock of seabirds fluttering on the horizon. "Imperator?" he prompted, gently, fearing that the emperor had lost his moment of acuity. The man's attention slowly shifted back to Quintus, blue eyes duller and blinking at him confusedly. "Consul?" he addressed after a long moment, shifting uncomfortably. "I'm... sorry. I forgot that I had a guest. " If his friend's admission was painful - almost too painful - to hear, Marcus gave no indication. "Do not worry, Imperator. I have not been here long, just to wish you well this day." A few moments of pleasantries later, and a recommendation to the emperor's chief steward that the man be kept away from his televisions for the broadcast, Quintus departed, hurrying in light of the late hour. He had done his duty, as fruitless as it may have been, and that was all he could ever ask of himself. At the ceremony slated for that morning, he could only hope that he would be accomplishing the same.

Sententiae de Historia Romae Thoughts on the Roman Past Marcus Quintus' face flickered into a small, pleased smile as the communications-screen blinked off. That had gone... remarkably well. He didn't think that his nerves had shown through when he'd talked to the off-worlders. They hadn't noticed any shake to his voice, or a hesitation to his answers - aside from the delay as his mechanised translators stumbled to put together coherent interpretations of the Federation's unfamiliar language. No matter, though, even if they had. It wasn't every day when a man - consul or not - interacted with the aliens who could actually have been his people's distant relatives. Nor had he, or any other Roman, Marcus supposed, really been so close to a chance at... truth. Nobody except the foolish few who had preceded him and who had encountered the other Earthmen had ever been granted the opportunity to know for once and for all whether or not their origins truly lay out there, among the stars, as so many legends claimed. His predecessors had decided that it was better to scorn their first opportunity at knowledge, sending the offworlders into the arena to die like rebellious slaves or true barbarians rather than learning from them and welcoming them. In a way, it was to make up for their first, foolish mistakes that Quintus had initiated the program to contact the Federation. Marcus hadn't learned of the earlier "encounter" with the "barbarians", the Earthmen from Enterprise when it was transpiring, nor for years afterwards. He had, however, been involved with some of the other "barbarians" who had, in reality, been more of the Earth-offworlders from the first ship that wrecked near their planet, the Beagle. It had not taken too much effort to discern their otherworldly nature during the process of acculturating them and placing them in Roman society, helping them to adjust to their bizarre and new surroundings. And perhaps not all that bizarre, he reflected, thinking of some of the reactions to their culture - or the absence thereof. It had been difficult to bring them into their world, of course and even harder to keep them from the whims of the greedy, intolerant eyes of the then-proconsul, but a few, at least, had managed to be saved from Claudius' torments. But... they had adapted remarkably well, as if much of what they were seeing was familiar to them in some form or another. It didn't really seem the natural reaction of aliens to an entirely foreign situation or civilization. Quintus, frankly, suspected that they were, indeed, one and the same - or had been, at least, many years ago. Some of those to whom he had spoken certainly looked as if they could have been the same species. The captain - Septem, was it? - would have been indistinguishable from one of their own (perhaps one with a bit of Germanic blood), and even the language of the humans had echoes of Latin interspersed with the odder sounds. It was all... quite fascinating. Deep down inside, he wanted to beg the Challenger Federationers for their stories and histories and books, and see if his hopes could be so easily confirmed. But he scolded himself, forcing himself to be patient. Time would give him al of the answers, and then there would be no more need for needless speculation. He - and his empire - would know the truth. That thought jarred the earnest look and boyish curiosity from his eyes, replacing them with a scowl (and the beginnings of a headache). In theory, the mob would be happy to hear more of their glorious past, hopefully exploring origins more ancient than they possibly could have imagined. But hte mob was a fickle thing, and how the people would react was difficult to predict at best. The Romans had a strong sense of pride and a stubborn will, so he didn't fear too much. It was no blow to Roman identity or pride to learn that there were "others" out there. They were, after all, past such superstitions as to believe that the universe revolved around their planet, and they were already quite comfortable with a firm schism separating "Roman" from "barbarian" (and always had been). It would be little hardship to reinstate a concept of "noble foreigner". Tradition had always held that there were other civilizations that had come before Rome, and until they had conquered their planet, the Romans had always believed that peoples of comparable strength to their own existed. But the only discoveries ever made were of people that matched... none of their stories. Barbarians, they had called them, and thought nothing more of it. A shame that they had never thought more on it... Such ponderance, however, had to wait. Dusk was soon approaching, and as the head of the state religion as well as holding the consulship, Marcus had duties to perform even before seeing to his guests from offworld. Saturnalia was ready to begin, and until the people knew that there was something else to be excited about, the usual traditions had to be upheld. Then he could see to he very special guests.

The mid-2200s saw two discoveries which cast new light on interpretations of the classical world; coincidentally, both were made during the five-year mission of the U.S.S. Enterprise. One was the discovery of the planet 892-IV, a variant off the classical civilization of Rome initially thought to have been the result of an extreme case of Hodgkins' Law of Parallel Planetary Development. 892-IV, or as it was later learned to be called, Magna Roma (Greater Rome), was a replica of the Roman Empire with the equivalent technology of Earth's twentieth-century. The second was an encounter with a lifeform which identified himself as the Apollo, one of the beings which became identified as gods in the early days of Earth's classical civilization. True "first contact" with Magna Roma did not go particularly smoothly. A private vessel, the S.S. Beagle, became stranded in the system, and the crew took up refuge on Roma with mixed results. Many of the crew were killed after they could not adjust to new lives on the planet, being identified as barbarians, but a few exceptions managed to blend into the society without incident. The ship's commander, however, was something of an exceptional case. Using promises of knowledge of great technology and connections to alien powers to gain allies and prestige within the government, R. M. Merik (Latinized to Merikus) became the Princeps -- First Citizen -- a title preferred to "emperor" but carrying the same power and connotations. Behind Merik, however, was a native of the planet and political power, Claudius Marcus, the real authority behind the "barbarian" figurehead. When the U.S.S. Enterprise discovered the situation in 2268, their mission was primarily to ascertain the condition of the Beagle crew, and to extricate their officers once the infiltration and survey of the planet was discovered. It was unclear exactly whether the Romans aware of Merikus' non-Roman status were entirely cognizant of the fact that "barbarian" in his case meant "offworlder", but the idea certainly took hold in some circles, especially after contact with the Enterprise crew. In 2295, following the development and mass-production of warp technology, officials in the Roman government began initiatives to make contact with the "outside" world -- the rest of the galaxy. The primary purpose behind this was to facilitate trade, thereby acquiring more advanced technology, coupled with an intense desire to learn more about the "aliens" possessing a culture with surprising echoes of their own. Their long-range communication project (which, Starfleet later assured itself, had nothing to do with the fact that they left communication devices on the planet when Enterprise had departed) met with success, and contact was established between the Federation and the Romans. However, at this point in the proceedings, only a few, key players in the upper echelon of the government and the scientists responsible for the development of the communications array were aware of the project's existence. In response to the Romans' overtures, Starfleet dispatched the U.S.S. Challenger.