This story is very different from the majority of those on the site, both in perspective and scope. I found that this character had something to say; and, moreover, would go about it in a much different way than most.

Thus, I accommodated his voice, and let him speak.

I found I enjoyed his words—and think you will, too.

"Prince of the Blood"

By Joseph Manno

It is a difficult thing to know battle is coming, and be sent far from the fighting—even by one you love.

Especially by one you love.

I am Tertius Galenius, a Roman soldier; I hold the rank of centurion in the 1^st Legion, but must allow that my fame comes far more from association than by any achievement of mine—for my father is General Antonius Galenius Aerus, first among the men of Rome.

His accomplishments are myriad—his victories, too many to list. To be the child of such a man is to know pride and uncertainty in equal measure. How can a son hope to please such a father?

I am a pragmatist; this I acknowledge: We Romans tend towards practicality, as a matter of course, and I am no exception.

Neither is my father.

Despite his formidable skills and talents, he labors under no delusions that the coming times will be anything less than a test of Roman mettle such as we have not had since Hannibal camped outside the gates of the old city, with his elephants and his hatred of all for which we stood and stand.

War is coming; and despite my request to remain at his side—despite his promise that it would be so—I find myself dismissed by him beyond the bounds of the Empire itself, delivered into the keeping of another captain of men, to be kept safe until such time as he calls for my return.

It galls me nearly beyond my endurance.

***

This great vessel upon which I find myself, Libertas, is a wonder of technology and might… would that we Romans had such a ship. Yet, for all her power, she does not ring with a fully martial tune. I have wandered her corridors at my will—and heard laughter everywhere. I do not understand how she functions with a crew that seems so chronically jocular; or why her captain, who is as hard a man, in his way, as the father I leave behind, would permit it.

***

The bell to my quarters chimes gently.

"You may enter," I say to my unknown assailant.

It is the Basteta—the Felisian, I believe the Terrans call them. Her name is Egyptian, as I recall—Nefertiri, or some such—but since I do not remember, I merely nod in greeting. I have no desire to offend, after all.

She seems to be purring. It is a not unpleasant sound, and is no doubt supposed to put me at ease. Considering that her teeth and talons are impressively prominent, I do not imagine I shall feel relaxed in her presence any time soon. With difficulty, I restrain the urge to rest a hand on the hilt of my gladius.

"Am I disturbing you, Tertius?" she asks of me.

Presumptuous, is my first thought. It is usually best to address such impudence when it occurs. Thus, I speak.

"You will please refer to me by my rank, Counselor. My name is reserved for those to whom I grant it."

If she is either impressed or offended, she gives no sign.

"My apologies, Centurion. I have only recently returned from my leave on Felis Minor, and desired to make your acquaintance. I thought we might… talk."

“What is it you wish to discuss?" I inquire. "Philosophy? History? Ethics? Theology?" I'm curious as to what would bring her to my door if she had "only recently returned."

If her purr is calming, her trilling laughter is delightful. I find myself on the verge of a smile, but manage to contain it in time.

"Nothing so erudite or esoteric. Merely whatever comes to mind… as you like it."

I understand now. She has done me a kindness by coming here. I am alone among barbarians—foederati, true, but barbarians nonetheless—and she wishes to make me feel welcome.

The irony does make me smile, despite myself… and I follow where she leads.

***

What the Federation calls a counselor might be considered an interrogator on Magna Roma; yet, the Felisian makes no effort to regale me with questions. Instead, we exchange pleasantries, and I find it actually pleasant for one of the first times in my life.

"How long have you been aboard?" she inquires.

"Four days."

Evidently my expression speaks unbidden, for she asks me, "You seem upset. May I ask what is bothering you?"

I decide to be candid.

"I am unused to having no responsibilities," I tell her. "There is nothing for me to do here but eat, sleep, exercise and begin the cycle anew."

She nods—I find the gesture odd, since I cannot imagine that it is a trait felines acquire naturally—and says, "I imagine we can satisfy you on that score.

"Come with me."

And so I do.

***

"How extensive is your knowledge of security systems, Centurion?" inquires the captain. He is a man whose every question seems a test of sorts.

I am determined that he will not find me wanting.

"I am a Roman soldier, sir," I reply, with just pride. "Nothing more need be said than that."

Immediately afterward, I realize to my secret chagrin that he had expected precisely that answer—and had prepared for it appropriately.

"Very well, then. Using the power granted me as a captain in the Federation Starfleet, I'll nominate you to the post of assistant security chief, where you'll second the recently promoted Lieutenant Müeller. You'll be expected to demonstrate a thorough knowledge of Federation law, Starfleet security procedures, and legal precedents of both, within a period of time to be determined by the lieutenant and myself. In addition, your supplementary education will consist of assignment to various department heads; this will be complete when each tells me you've satisfied their individual requirements.

"Are you equal to these tasks?"

I had requested duties. I had not expected them to be of this magnitude.

I cannot allow him to know this; certainly a Roman's training is more than sufficient to easily shoulder such a burden.

Still, I hesitate; his eyes are like my father's eyes, and nearly daunt me.

"What is it?" the captain asks, sensing something amiss. The Basteta's eyes alternate between us. She seems to be warning me that I am proceeding into treacherous waters.

I am undeterred: I have always been a gifted swimmer.

"Am I permitted to speak freely, sir?"

He inclines his head slightly… and I plunge in.

"I was recalling something my father once told me about Sicilians. That they are all, at heart… Greeks."

The captain's expression remains inviting—but a noose, no doubt, is comfortable, too, in the instant before it tightens. Ah, well.

"And then I considered Virgil."

Despite her education, the counselor is now in unfamiliar territory. She looks to her captain.

He arches a brow, and smiles.

"I know the passage: 'Whatever it is, I fear Greeks, even when they bring gifts.'"

I note a point of interest: This man takes offense only if he chooses to do so, and for his own purposes.

It is a gift my father has told me to cultivate.

"Perhaps General Aerus was considering Socrates, rather, when he sent you with me."

My mind ventures back to Plato's Dialogues, but I am uncertain…

Evidently, this is clear to the captain. He reminds me, "'I am not an Athenian or a Greek…'"

Curse me for a fool… it is obvious—now. I finish, "'…but a citizen of the world.'"

He glances at the Basteta, and, in an aside, tells her, "Never let it be said there are no benefits to a classical education." When his gaze returns to me, it is stern.

"Cosmopolitan must now mean much more to you than it did even to Socrates, Centurion. You will experience as much of the galaxy as we can impart to you… and you will perform your security functions, as well. I'll not have you say your time aboard my ship was less than productive."

I have the distinct feeling that, once again, I have spoken my mind… and surprised no one.

It is an impression I have often had during the course of my life. I may not like it, but at least I am accustomed.

I salute the captain in the Roman fashion, and say, "I accept your commission—so long as it does not bring my into conflict with my people." I do not know why I add that last… but if a foresight is upon me, it should not be ignored.

"Very well. Lieutenant T'Vaar will acquaint you with your secondary duties. You're dismissed, Centurion. Counselor, stay a moment."

Such is the power of this man, that I feel both relief and regret when I have left his presence.

Again, it is not a sensation with which I am wholly unfamiliar.

I seek out Lieutenant T'Vaar.

***

"You seem distracted, Centurion. Are you unwell?"

The Vulcan, T'Vaar, seems equal parts composure and concern.

"My apologies, Lieutenant," I reply. "I am not usually so inattentive a pupil. I am… distracted."

She is gracious.

"Such is understandable; the captain has required that you assimilate a great deal of information rapidly. Do you require, as the Terrans call it, a 'break'?"

I nod. "Perhaps that would be best."

She rises from her chair. "We shall reconvene tomorrow, at 0445 hours—unless this is too early for you?"

For the second time in a day, I smile. "I am a Roman, lady. I shall have been awake for some time, by then."

T'Vaar arches a brow in the Vulcan fashion, as I have observed the captain do to great effect. I see upon her face—or, admittedly, perhaps, imagine—the hint of a smile as she agrees, "Very well. If you'll excuse me."

Despite myself, my eyes are drawn to the contours of her form as she departs.

Is she not, I think, much like how we Romans describe great Minerva? Then, again, Minerva, lovely though she is, remains a virgin goddess, stately and unreachable by men.

The metaphor becomes even more profound, upon reflection.

After a long moment, I put such thoughts aside. I have never before been affected in such a manner, unless I myself allowed it. Affection for a woman, my father feels, is essentially an exploitable weakness.

But must it always be so?

***

It is a difficult thing to place yourself in another's care, but often necessary if one is to learn the wisdom that will allow you to prosper. This, two men have shown me; and I am honored to call one father, and the other, teacher.

I am Tertius Galenius, a Roman soldier—and, for now, an officer in the Federation Starfleet.

I am pleased to take pride in both.