"At the Source"

[Marcus Quintus 0]

... 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."