Four hours later, the green landing lights of the runway blinked through the fog ahead of Caius as he dipped to land. The wheels of the landing gear touched down on the brand new asphalt with a squeak and bounce. Julius and Tiberius touched down neatly behind him, and they taxied over to the Naval Intelligence hangar. The automated mechanics swiveled out of their little compartments lining the walls like a hive of silvery ants, instruments extending from their little metal bodies with a whir. The bots began to swarm over the plane as they came to a halt, servicing the plane and removing the flight recorders to be sent into Central Processing. But they weren’t the only ones waiting inside the large domed building for the pilots to return.
As Caius snapped open the canopy of his plane, lights clicked on suddenly and the squad’s staff sergeant strode out of the briefing room door. “Airman Caius Serica,” he bellowed, echoing through the huge hanger. Behind him, a group of heavily armed guards filled the doorway, wearing bright crimson uniforms buttoned up to their necks and with bone-white masks covering up their faces. Praetorians, Caius realized. Lingering in the doorway, Caius recognized Generals Kaneshiro and Lucullus standing silently, watching him clamber out of the narrow cockpit. Caius had never even seen Kaneshiro in person; he was the ranking commander of the entire Japanese campaign. And Lucullus was the general in charge of the Fukuoka base.
They must have already heard about the Ming battleship, Caius thought. How had they gotten the information this fast? And why the guards? His mouth went dry as he desperately tried to remember if anything had gone wrong. The generals were staring intently at Caius, studying him like he was some misshapen science experiment. Lucullus turned and whispered something unintelligible; Kaneshiro nodded, stroking his graying mustache.
Julius taxied into a hangar bay next to him and opened his own cockpit canopy with a snap. “What’s going on?” he whispered to Caius, who only shrugged in response.
“Caius, come with us,” the sergeant said. Caius tried to read his expression, with no luck.
Min Jae and Julius leapt from their seats and stepped in front of Caius’s plane like protective mother hens. “Why?” they asked, eying the Praetorians. Everyone knows that when you leave with them, you don’t usually get to come back. “What has he done?”
General Kaneshiro stepped forward into the center of the wide, echoing room, and addressed Julius and Tiberius first. “Do not worry about Caius here; he will be just fine. We simply need to have a conversation with him.” He had a quiet but commanding voice that could quiet a crowded room. Julius and Min-Jae relaxed, but still didn’t move from in front of Caius.
Caius jumped out of his seat and onto the concrete floor in between his companions. Julius towered over him, but that was fairly normal for people from the Western portion of the Empire. Asian citizens like Caius were usually much shorter. “We’ve taken the liberty of packing some of your clothes. Please put on your formal gear, son,” Lucullus spoke for the first time. A servant rushed forward, opening the large black case in his hands to reveal Caius’s gold-plated armor and ceremonial sword. Cauis saw the puzzled expressions on the faces of his companions. He wouldn’t need formal gear for a debriefing, they were all thinking.
“I have some personal belongings that I need,” Caius responded, not moving. “Specifically, the pictures of my family. They are on the bookshelf in my bunk.”
“You can send for those later,” General Lucullus answered with a casual wave of his perfectly manicured hand.
“Sir…” Caius wasn’t one to disobey an order, but this point was non-negotiable.
General Kaneshiro understood, though. Even after two hundred years of unity, the East and West were still very different places. And Lucullus was from the West.
“Get the pictures,” he ordered a servant waiting nearby, who promptly rushed off to the barracks.
Caius gave a crisp, thankful salute and strapped on the formal uniform. He removed his helmet, revealing a shock of fairly short black hair that stuck out at weird angles, the result of wearing the tight aviator helmet all day. He removed his flightsuit, revealing wiry but defined muscles. He took the robes from the servant and slipped them over his head, then began the arduous process of strapping on his formal armor. The clanging metal echoed through the hangar, mixing with the sounds of the drones taking out parts of his plane. The masked faces of the Praetorian guards, twisted into permanent grimaces, glared at him intently with their gloved hands resting on the carved ivory hilts of their rifles. “Ready, sirs,” Caius said as formally as possible, barely managing to keep his hand in place. His mind raced to and fro, unable to focus. Why had they packed his things? Did this have something to do with the ship?
The generals turned wordlessly and walked through the gaping hangar door out onto the runway and into the evening mist, followed by their deadly entourage. Caius turned briefly and looked at his companions with a slight, helpless shrug. Taking a deep breath, he followed his superiors out, giving his plane a light pat on the wing for luck. Caius could sense the eyes of the rest of the flight crew in the barracks peering out behind him, probably pushing and shoving at each other for a better view. Maybe taking bets on whether he’d return with lashes or medals. As they passed the door to the barracks, General Lucullus turned to the staff sergeant and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. He gave Caius one last long look, a mix of dread and burning curiosity. Caius nodded to him almost invisibly as the sergeant slipped inside.