This isn't your fight, Jay Welch, a voice told him as he opened the
door. You don't even belong here, Jay Welch, the voice told him as he
ran out into the hall. You're crazy to go to bat for these monsters,
Jay Welch, the voice told him as he pushed the elevator button. You
fought before for a bunch of people who didn't appreciate it one
damned bit, Jay Welch. Remember about the Iron Hand and the Negroes,
the voice told him as the doors opened and he stepped in. Remember you
were shanghaied, it said, as the car shot upward and the bottom of his
stomach felt as if it had been left behind. Remember you were going
back to Duo Point and Herman's and Joe Scaccia's restaurant and Julie
and tie and suit and Julie and the tight shoes and Julie and personal
freedom and Julie and Jerry, the black guy you worked with and liked
so well and Julie and the new Olds and Julie. Tomorrow you were going
back.
The doors shot back. He stepped out on the roof.
"Mister Welcci?" said the clerk. "That's Tribune Ilaria's plane over
there."
He pointed to the little PR ship marked with the three silver diamonds
of a Tribune and the staff of psychology. Jay ran. Wind was whipping
across the roof and their cloaks streamed out and fluttered. The three
men came together.
"This is Commander DeVito, Jay. Commander, Jay Welch, The Man From
1954." The way Ilaria said it always made it sound capitalized.
They shook hands. They got into the plane and shot straight up and the
city was a blur beneath them. In less than a minute the little flier
dropped down faster than any elevator and landed at Standiford.
"Sergeant, Sub-Tribune Welcci needs a uniform. A--"
"Forty long," Jay suggested, then colored. Tunic and a hundred years
made a difference in his size. He went with the supply-sergeant, who
gave him a correct fit the first time--times _have_ changed, Jay
grunted--and fitted him with a helmet on the second try. He felt a
tremor as he buckled on the pellet gun. With the cloak flapping about
his heels and the gun banging his leg and the helmet biting his ear
he ran to the elevator and down to the room Kevin had designated.
The Tribune and Commander DeVito and five or six other officers were
standing around a table in the steel-walled underground room.
Before them was a gigantic map. They looked up as Jay burst in.
"This is The Man From 1954," Ilaria said. There were hand-shakes all
around that reminded Jay of fraternity rush. DeVito and one of the
others wore wings. Jay wondered if that were still a pilot's insignia.
The red X's on the map, they told him, were places under attack. The
blue ones were areas taken by the fast-moving rebels. He learned that
the messenger-jet they'd sent to Rome--they were lost without their
instantaneous push-button communications system--hadn't made it. More
had been sent. Meanwhile they were on their own.
The nearest major battle was at Chicago, where Cocuzzi Flight Base was
located. Ilaria despatched Commander DeVito and something like fifty
jet fighters to Chicago. The other man was in charge of a group of B-90
Stratosonic bombers. They lifted their fists in stiff-armed salute and
left.
"The rest of the ships will remain here, ready for instant take-off.
I'll command interception. Sub-Tribune Rinaldi will command the base in
case I have to go up.
"I can't understand why we haven't been jumped yet. We must assume
they'll attack Louisville because of Standiford and the Time Building.
They'll also be interested in you, Jay."
* * * * *
By 2:00 that afternoon Louisville had not yet been attacked. Abruptly
at 1:59 world communications went into operation. Everyone turned on
his television set, wondering if Caesar's talk would go on as scheduled.
It did. There was a screaming crowd before the Capitol. On the high
balcony stood the Dictator. At his side stood Senator Chianti and
around them were ringed Caesar's Pretorian Guards. The city was nearly
empty of field soldiers. They had gone out to meet the insurgents.
"People of the Republic of Rome." The noise subsided as Caesar raised
his hands and spoke.
"You have all heard of the revolt now in progress against us throughout
the Empire."
Ilaria nodded at the Caesar's psychologically clever use of the word us.
"With your aid, my people, we can put a quick end to this treason.
You have seen better than half a century of peaceful, successful
government. These traitors and conspirators would attempt to overthrow
our government and put an end to this peace ... this Peace of Rome.
"The world is now in a state of emergency. If you, my people, will bear
with me through this period of crisis we will return to our world of
peace and serenity once more."
Cheers. Wild applause.
"They believe him," Jay murmured.
Ilaria looked at him. "Of course," he said.
"For a long time our Empire has remained ..."
Caesar's face stiffened. The deep-set, weary eyes blazed and widened.
His hand reached out for the railing. Then he stiffened again and was
limp as the bursting pellet of sulphuric acid and potassium cyanide
took effect.
Gaius Julius Caesar Imperator V fell.
There was uproar and clamor and shrieking.
Jay and Ilaria stood, staring, as the Pretorian Guards levelled their
guns and became a solid, surrounding wall. The T-V cameramen were
getting the scene of the century.
"Lamberti!" Ilaria bit out.
The Pretorian Prefect, his hands outspread, stood on the balcony over
Caesar's body. The white cloak with Liberacione on it fluttered about
him. A couple of Pretorians came out with an amplifier.
"Friends, Romans, Countrymen," said Farouk Lamberti.
"--every available long-range ship to Rome," Ilaria's brittle voice
was hacking out orders. "Every one. Contact every other base while
communications are still working!"
"... a noble man. But not the man to govern Earth. No, not he nor his
government. I bring you a new government. I, Farouk Lamberti, long his
best friend, have done this not to him, but for him. For you. The Earth
was not meant to be governed by a system of--"
"Yes, I said bomb Rome."
Sub-Tribune Rinaldi smiled. "But Kevin, my friend, we can't bomb
Lamberti just when he's getting a good start."