Free Alternate Generals by Roland Green, Harry Turtledove, Martin H. Greenberg Page B

lack your gifts."

    "Your dream?" he demands, his voice suddenly loud, the orator bursting forth.

    "Yes."

    "Dear one, we know better than to believe in omens. The gods reward intelligence and punish stupidity."

    This is a night of truth between them. She lets it out: "Sometimes I think the gods allowed there to be one Alexander the Great to torment all great men ever after with visions of the impossible."

    Caesar laughs—a rare sound. "Put aside your fears," he tells her. "I have decided to do what is best for Rome, and the only question is who will resist the more, my friends or foes?"

    He heads for the door, her voice following: "Where are you going?"

    "I must take some of the night air. Probably won't be much cooler than in here, but I remain an optimist."

    She remembers how to laugh.

    The moon and stars are his companions—along with one thin, black cat, part of its side a red ruin from recent battle. Caesar doesn't intend to walk very far. But he must be alone with his decision.

    Ever since his defeat of Pompey, he has realized the power that has come into his hands. Ever since the first night of passion with Cleopatra, he has realized how the world perceives him—his potential to be as great as Alexander. Perhaps even greater.

    Again and again, he has told himself there is no turning back. That is what he said to himself when he crossed the Rubicon. When he shared power with Pompey he knew that one day he would have to destroy this rival general. When the foolish senators feared Pompey more than Caesar (because the man was a popular general from a non-aristocratic family) the future dictator realized the odds were in his favor from then on. No one is as dangerous as an aristocrat without money.

    Poor Pompey. Assassinated in Egypt. Poor Egypt. Poor everyone who is not Rome.

    And yet there is nothing inevitable about the decision not yet taken . His staunchest allies are ready to support him for king, complete with hereditary succession. He has been prepared to take that final step. A century of corruption, of aristocrats looting the state, cannot be undone by half measures.

    So he has told himself.

    But of late he has been troubled by dreams that sound like his hated critics with one important difference: instead of the whining voices of privilege he hears voices so deep and true that they must emanate from the gods. Their style is even more direct and clean than his proud soldier's memoirs. There is no dissembling, no circumlocutions, no bad analogies. They ask him why he loves Rome.

    Why? His life has had no time for why. Only where and when. Why does he love Rome? As this troublesome question has taken root in his soul, as if a spear has been driven there, he doesn't like the answer. The rule of law, even if only for some, is better than the superstitions and traditions of the barbarians they conquer. He hates the republicans for how they have damaged good order, without which there is no trade, no prosperity. His decrees have already improved matters.

    He's been telling himself that a rotten republic is only good for growing an empire. The State's will be done.

    But the dreams, the voices, won't give him peace. They are different from the dreams of his past, maps guiding him to this summit. They ask if his empire might not cause the same problems as the republic, only on a greater scale that could never be corrected. What if his triumph starts a series of events leading to the destruction of the greatest civilization in history, handing over the world to emotion-guided children and their primitive taboos? A world of low prejudice and cunning with no room for nobility. The West become carrion for the East.

    It is a terrifying thought.

    Tomorrow Rome will listen to him. He will enjoy an opportunity few men in history have ever enjoyed. He will turn down the crown, any crown. He will . . .

    A voice speaks to him from the dark. It is not his wife's, but almost as soft. It is a man's voice that he