Aer Mutatio: How Environmentalism Fixes The Roman Empire
by Ayami Tyndall
Published by Ayami Tyndall at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Ayami Tyndall
Cover by Taliesin Tyndall
* * *
Dedicated to Phil Jones.
You made this possible.
* * *
Global Warming:
A measurable increase in the average temperature of earth's near-surface air and oceans, as well as the predicted continuation thereof, believed to be caused by human activity.
Chapter I
NEW RESEARCH RELEASED, NATIONS PANIC AND/OR CELEBRATE
It was damp.
But not the usual sort of someone dripped on your chair and got your butt wet damp. This was a deeper, more irksome kind of soggy boot on your right foot damp.
Or perhaps it was more of a damp bedsheets after your house guest left sort of damp.
Whatever manner of damp it was, it was a truly dark, insidious and saturated sort of damp, and Joe didn't like it. Heaving his shoulder against the lid of the crate, he rolled free from the growing pool of water.
Blinking back sand from his eyes, Joe climbed to his wobbly feet. He shuddered as he felt the sunlight. Shaking himself physically and mentally, he looked around to see where he was.
It was obviously a fairly northern shoreline. The air was cool and laced with mist. The water churned with a decisive note of irritation, like some considerably unfriendly and very hungry beast, the waves lapping at Joe's feet like a drooling tongue.
Shivering in his wet clothing, he turned inland, trying to determine where he was. It did not take long, thanks to the tall flagpole which climbed from the ceiling of a nearby building. Fluttering in the wind was the red and white flag of Canada, the pointed maple leaf dancing about high above Joe's head.
Sighing and taking the first step away from the crate he had landed here in, Joe thought back to a time in his life not at all long ago. Things had seemed so much simpler then, so much more hopeful...
* * *
"'...We're all gonna burn.' I repeat, 'the world is melting. We're all gonna burn. We're all gonna burn.' These words from the senior climate researcher at Oxford University while giving a keynote speech on the recently released research papers which indicate a far greater rate of increase in global temperature than was previously known.
"Other researchers also joined in, stating their belief in the immediate peril humanity now faces as our own polluting technologies and lifestyles begin to negatively affect the world we call home.
"Announcements are expected from other leading research institutes around the globe to expand on the climate predictions we have already seen, allowing us to better determine what action will be necessary from the nations of the world.
"With this in mind, we wish to remind our viewers that there is no need to panic. There is no greater danger now than there was previously. We are now just better informed of the situation we have placed ourselves in.
"This has been Joe Body, reporting for Madrid Central News. Thank you and have a nice day."
"And we're...clear!"
"Good job, Joe."
"Yeah, great report!"
"Thanks," replied Joe, stretching his neck as he rose from his seat. Loosening his collar, he quickly fled from behind the fabricated desk and out from under the studio lights. Circling around the back of the large board printed with his company's logo, Joe came back out the other side, briskly walking past the cameras as he made for the back of the studio.
"Joe, you've got a call on line four. It's from the Madrid Inquirer. They want your personal comments on the new weather news."
"Climate, Sally," said Joe, walking with the secretary down the hall toward his room. "Climate, not weather. And tell them what I always say: I have no personal comments."
"Yes, sir," said Sally, turning the page on her schedule planner as she ducked away into a side hallway.
Sighing in relief as he closed the door of his dressing room, Joe all but tumbled into his chair as he devoured a handful of nuts. Riffling through the pile of paper folders on his desk, he huffed in annoyance and turned away from them.
"Those can wait. For now, I've got some research to do."
Digging through his desk drawer for the remote, he clicked on the small television in his room. The plasma display came alive with a bright flash and a hum.
"...piling up more and more material, all in hopes of averting what they perceive as their own doom."
The TV had come on to one of the Southeast Asian networks. The dark skinned reporter stood in a small village, wooden huts raised on stilts all around him. In the background the ocean was visible, waves crashing on the shore of the small island.
As the newsman spoke on, long lines of locals milled about behind him. They formed two ranks, going to and from a large pile of debris situated at the seaward border of their village. This was not the leftovers of some great wave, however. Instead it was meant to prevent such an occurrence. Piled up together were rocks, dirt, furniture, leaves, rugs, seashells, clothing, and anything else the villagers could find to build a wall.
"The rising global temperatures are putting these tiny villages at risk, so the inhabitants have taken their protection into their own hands."
The camera swung over to zoom in on the wall. More and more stuff was being piled on, forming a barrier against rising sea levels.
Just as he was changing the channel, Joe saw what he thought was a pair of human legs, sticking out of the barricade at an obtuse angle and kicking wildly for freedom.
Click
"Gaman ao kynnast per! Hvernig gengur? Mer er heitt! Skal!"
There on the television was now a pair of Icelandic weathermen, both clad in heavy furs and metal helmets adorned with curved horns.
"Mer er heitt! Skal!!"
As they sang and danced about happily, they were slowly removing layers of their clothing and tossing it aside. Behind them was a large image, obviously digitally added, depicting an animated map of Iceland. All around it the white indicating ice was disappearing as if melting away. In its place appeared little green sprouts which swayed from side to side in tune to the song.
Above the map was a single line of bold text which read: Counting down! Fifty years to skinny dipping and turnips!
"Mer er heitt!"
Click
"And coming on the uplink now is the representative from China."
Joe had now moved into the Canadian networks. On the screen was a Canadian reporter, not unlike Joe himself.
"Okay, gentlemen. Are you ready?"
The picture changed to a split video feed of the representatives of Canada and China, each calmly seated in their own offices, an ocean and more between them.
"Good, eh. Now, in brief, please give us your statements on this recent news of the climate problem."
For a moment the two men didn't move. Then each turned his head, as if looking away from their teleprompter and at some other screen. Then both men leaped to their feet. Turning to one side, they now stood so that on the news screen they seemed to be facing one another.
"He did it, eh!" shouted the Canadian representative, beginning to hop up and down, his eyes bulging as he wildly pointed at the other man.
In response the Chinese representative leaned back and pump both arms rapidly as he pointed at the Canadian, shouting in a whining voice.
Click
"Welcome to the Brazil Morning News. Our first story today comes from our economics correspondent. Let's go down to the wharf now with Uiara Mandes Pape Prado Luiz Soares."
"Thank you, Chuck. I'm here on the beach front, where all the effects of the recent climate research can be seen. Many store owners now fear for the safety of their pier shops, but every action possible is being taken. Demonstrations are also being held to increase awareness for the problems of the rain forests. New estimates out of Oxford put the time to total deforestation of Brazil at...four days, twelve hours and forty-two minutes. However, there is a five minute error margin.
"Despite rising anxiety, not all economic spheres are suffering. Stocks in bikini producing companies have increased 70% in the past 24-hours, already creating new jobs across the whole range of production for these iconic garments. Sales of video-capable cellphones designed for filming semi-spherical objects in motion are also up by 40%."
Click
"Welcome to a special Canberra News Network broadcast. We are now outside the city university, where the prime minister has been meeting with the heads of the Climate Research Division, created late last night, to discuss issues of..."
"There he is!"
"Yes, yes. The prime minister is emerging from the building. He is heading for the podium. I think he's going to make a statement."
"Mr. Prime Minister!"
"Mr. Prime Minister!"
"Yes, Sydney News."
"Mr. Prime Minister, could you please give us a statement on the newly documented climate issues facing the planet?"
"Meh."
Click
That was enough news for now. Tossing the remote back onto the desk, Joe had another fistful of nuts before making for the door. He wouldn't be on the air again for several hours, so he headed for the exit of the studio, eager to spend a little time on the street.
"Happy New Year to Rome! Welcome to the Year 1010!"
Blinking in the sudden sunlight, Joe looked around in amazement at the festivities which surrounded him.
"Happy New Year to Rome! Welcome to the Year 1010!"
The massive speakers on the blimp circling the plaza blared out the message for all to hear, although the shouting of the throng on the street dulled even that. It was New Year's Day and the streets of Madrid were filled with gleeful celebrations to welcome the second decade of the second millennium. Everywhere were celebrators waving the red and gold flag of the Roman Empire. Most of the people were also dressed in red and gold, the men in their togas and the women in their trousers and tunics, although a fair number had foregone the tunic.
Joe descended the marble stairs and worked his way through the crowd.
"Hail Rome!" shouted one celebrator as he took Joe by the arms and shook him vigorously.
"Hail the New Year!" replied Joe, returning the greeting and saluting the man before moving on, smiling at the beer stains which covered the man's flag toga.
Wandering through the streets, Joe watched sidewalk performers, many from far across the Empire, all dancing and singing, usually less than harmoniously, in the midst of the celebration. The roads were packed, forcing all the motorchariots to use more roundabout routes.
"For more than fifteen-hundred years Rome has stood as a mighty beacon of the strength of humanity!"
Wiggling his way through the packed bodies, Joe came to stand in a circle of people listening to a man giving a speech while standing on the shoulders of one of the many statues of past emperors.
"Through war and famine, through storm and flood, we have thrived. Even the greatest eras of turmoil could not bring Rome to its knees. Our greatest emperor, Julius Caesar, led us into the new millennium with boundless strength! Christ shook Rome to its core, but we came back stronger! The barbarian invaders may have cracked our borders, but we drove them back and made their land our own! We now span all of Europe! Some have said that we should be more cautious, that we should go slower. They say that things could have gone worse. Some have said that we came close to entering a 'dark ages', that Rome nearly collapsed. But I say that what matters is that we didn't! Rome is forever!"
It was true that Rome had expanded greatly since its infancy. With the world now well into the eleventh-century, Common Era, Rome stretched all across the continent. Well, all expect the Netherlands. Somewhere along the way, Rome's generals had forgotten to actually conquer the Netherlands, so it had remained an independent state. Friendly to Rome, but not part of it. No one was quite sure how that one had happened.
Turning in to a side alley, Joe headed toward his apartment building. He had to get his notes ready for the meeting in the morning, and he still had an evening newscast slated for the day.
Chapter II
SPECIAL REPORT: EXPERTS MEET TO CONFABULATE ON CLIMATE ISSUES, BUT DUE TO AN INSUFFICIENCY OF COMPREHENSION OF MODERATION OR SELF-CURTAILMENT THEY ARE INEFFICACIOUS AT ANY ENDEAVOR EXEMPTING BLABBER AND SO GET CATEGORICALLY NOWHERE, UNTIL A THIRD PARTY INTERVENES TO THE PRODIGIOUS BETTERMENT OF ALL, A BREVILOQUENT INTRODUCTION
"Ladies and gentlemen, hello and welcome to the Roman Energy and Ecology Summit and Environment Symposium, now being held in Madrid. I would like to clarify that this is the Symposium hall. For the Summit, please go to suite 14B."
Several people seated before the stage rose to leave, whispering embarrassed apologies for their mistake as they darted from the large room to find their desired event.
"Yes, very good. We are here to discuss the environmental issues which have presented themselves to the Roman Empire, but I would like to begin with introductions. I am here from the Oxford Research Institute and I will be here to handle any general questions from the press. With me are many of my esteemed colleagues. We have the head researcher at the University of Roman Geologists in Italy."
"Greetings," said the scholar, his skin a tanned rainbow of earthy hues and stony shades.
"Next is my good friend from the Greek Regional Oceanic Study Society."
"Hello," said the Greek man, stroking his beard casually as he surveyed the crowd of reporters seated before the platform.
"And here we have the director of the Agricultural Research Department and Vegetable Adaptation Research Klub in Switzerland."
"Hello," he said, looking down at his wristwatch, as he had been doing regularly since he was seated some time before.
"And the head of the German Organized Forestry Enrichment Regiment."
"Hello," said the German in a husky voice, raising a hand and nodding stiffly.
"Ahem," coughed the man at one end of the long conference table.
"Oh, yes," said the Englishman, trying little to hide his contempt. "I almost forgot." His eyes nearly rolled out of his head. "With us is a lecturer from the largest university in Ireland."
"Use its proper name!" shouted the Irishman, glaring acid at the scientist from his island's neighboring shore.
"Yes, from the..." The Englishman stuttered, forcing a smile as he made himself speak the words. "From the Queen's Rear Academy."
The Irishman smiled triumphantly.
"And finally, our good friend and ally visiting us from the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics."
"Privet," said the Russian, continuing to stare at the crowd from his seat at the other end of the table. He was a massive man, dwarfing the chair he sat in and proving a very intimidating figure. From his bushy beard rose a steady plume of smoke which everyone assumed was a cigar hidden somewhere within.
No one had dared to ask him to be sure.
It was obvious that the presence of the Russian made everyone uncomfortable, but diplomacy required that he be present. Ever since the French Exodus, each and every Roman emperor had declared war upon Russia in hopes of conquering new territory. It had practically become mandatory for each new ruler to do this, to such an extent that the last two wars had only been reported on by tabloids. And blogs.
However, all these many attempts at conquest have been less than fruitful. Each war has ended within the first three engagements, each time the Roman legions forced to withdraw from Russian territory, the nation's troops and ego both thoroughly bruised.
After each war diplomatic channels have been eagerly opened, to resolve the nations' grievances and prevent any further hostilities (until the next election). Over the centuries this has led to the creation of many dozens of treaties, each written by a different administration, often hastily and with little care. This has caused more than a few problems, most stemming from odd contradictions which arose between treaties, all of which still stand.
For example, one anomaly created by the relation between several of the treaties forbids of any Roman from saying the word 'firkin' to a Russian, except while drinking a cup of camel milk measuring no more than seven ounces and containing at least three pinches of Swiss mustard. Three other treaties have separately defined what a pinch constitutes, leaving the only satisfactory definition at forty-three pounds. Luckily, an international incident has thus far been averted.
"Excuse me," said one of the reporters, standing to address the committee, "but where is the committee member from Spain?"
"Spain?" asked the Englishman, looking at the single empty chair at the table.
"Yes. This conference is being held in Spain, after all."
"Ah, yes. He is here, but he is...busy. He is currently occupied with commissioning provisions from one of this establishment's waitresses."
The other men at the table snickered.
The Russian bellowed a laugh, which seemed to actually increase the amount of smoke leaving his beard.
The reporter sat back down.
"With all that out of the way, let's get started. As you all no doubt know, this conference has been called to address the newly uncovered climate dangers presenting themselves to the Roman Empire. Much of that research was conducted in my department, at," he paused slightly and rose his chin, "Oxford, so I am quite familiar with the data.
"As you have been told, the primary problem is an increase in average global temperature. This is being caused by the ever increasing level of carbon-based emissions being put out by every nation on the earth. These greenhouse gases are causing more heat from the sun to be retained within the atmosphere, causing the increase in temperature.
"While the obvious implications alone are fearful, it is important that we look deeper. This increase in temperature will have a wide range of other effects, from increases in sea level and ice melt to loss of livable and farmable space and water supply."
One of the reporters raised their hand, eager with a question.
"Yes?"
"Danny Higgins, Romanian National Post. How can you be so sure that it is humans causing these climate problems? Couldn't it be a natural trend?"
"That is a very good question. It is easy to see how some might have a hard time believing that we humans could affect the earth to such a degree, but the data is there. I think..."
"But even if we are causing it," interrupted the Irishman, slamming a fist on the table, "smaller nations like Ireland have no bearin' on the global climate. We just..."
"That's enough," said the Englishman angrily. "You will have your turn to..."
"It seems to me," continued the Irishman, steamrolling over his fellow committee member, "that smaller countries should be exempt from having to adopt new policies."
"That is the most," began the Englishman, his chest visibly inflating as his face turned red and he sputtered in search of words, "block headed, lame brained, ill conceived load of..."
"That is enough!" said the Italian speaker, quite forcefully. "We are here to discuss the problem, not government policy on how to solve it."
"But sir," said Joe, rising from his chair with an audio recorder in hand, "isn't it important that we find a way to fix the problem? Do the U.R.G. researchers believe it can be solved?"
"Yes, of course it can. However, before we can focus on a solution we must make sure the problem is understood. As we say at U.R.G.: you have to know where the tear is before you can knock it out, tie it down and staple it shut. We must know what we are dealing with. First of all, we have to make sure everyone understands the cause of the problem."
"Da," agreed the Russian, causing everyone in the room to jump at his deep voice.
"Yes, thank you. Our data clearly shows that this is not a natural phenomenon. It is true that the earth goes through natural warming and cooling trends, but our current measurements show levels of change far beyond anything our tree rings or ice cores show in past millennia. The only possible explanation is that the excess polluting gases being emitted by human cities and industry are choking the atmosphere, causing a dangerous heat buildup which could threaten all of humanity if it is not dealt with. It is for this reason that we need to redouble our research efforts, so that we can better understand what we are dealing with. Institutes like U.R.G. can facilitate such research."
Another reporter rose with a question, this time a woman with a pink scarf tied about her head in an enormous bow. The Italian nodded.
"Rose Nickers, Swedish United Press, Women's Issues Editor."
"Chyort voz'mi!" shouted the Russian. Trying to rise, he nearly fell out of his chair and then started coughing uncontrollably, apparently nearly choking on whatever it was he was smoking.
All the other members of the committee simply went wide eyed and gulped loudly.
"I have a simple question," continued Rose Nickers. "Why are there no women on this so-called committee?" She took a defiant stance, her whole form demanding a prompt and extremely satisfactory reply. Even her bow seemed to glower.
"Ah, yes," said the Englishman, stepping in as the Italian began to flounder like a fish in Miss Nickers' net. "That is to say..." Looking at him, you could almost see the gears churning away behind his eyes, red hot with effort and very nearly seizing up in an impossible task. Then there was a loud bang on the wall behind the committee, which seemed to knock the gears back into working order. "We do have a female member."
"Where?" demanded Rose Nickers.
"She is with our Spanish committee member."
"You said he was with the waitress!"
"Waitress? Don't be silly." The Englishman quickly climbed to his feet and scurried through a door behind the table.
Moments passed, Rose Nickers growing more angry with each inaudible tick of the Swiss scientist's watch.
"Here we are!" said the Englishman as he emerged from the door. He dragged with him the Director of Environmental Studies at the Madrid Academy, who in turn dragged with him a young woman, probably half his age. She wore a knee-length tunic, but her trousers were noticeably absent and her hair was extremely frazzled, as if she had just climbed out of bed. Judging by her swaying stance, it looked as if she had just climbed out of a bed which was in a wine cask.
"I meant to say," continued the Englishman, "that he was with Ms. Flo, our Women's Concerns Consultant."
Rose Nickers continued to stare at the committee as the Spaniard took his seat. Ms. Flo seemed intent to sit as well, but the only free space she could find was the table top. She promptly slumped onto it with all the confidence of a queen but all the grace of a brick.
"Heh," said the Englishman uncomfortably. The other committee members smiled awkwardly.
Rose Nickers continued her ocular assault.
"That is," said the Greek speaker, "Ms. Flo here is our Women's Concerns Consultant, and the Vice-President of the panel."
The speakers kept on smiling.
Nodding sharply, Rose Nickers sat down without another word. The entire room relaxed as she did so.
"If I might continue," said the English speaker, eager to break the silence which hung over the hall. "I would like to elaborate on the topic of agricultural damages likely to be caused by environmental heating."
Ms. Flo released a mindless giggle, but the scientist continued.
"Besides the simple matter of raw temperature, another major threat to our farming capacity is water. As the temperatures rise, so will our water consumption rise, putting a major strain on all our glaciers, lakes and reserves of usable water."
"Yes," interjected the Greek researcher, "I agree that water is our key issue. However, there are far more important things at stake than the meager needs of humans for their gardens and showers."
"And for drinking," said the Irishman.
"Yes, yes. That too. But what really matters are the seas. The oceans are the lifeblood of our very planet, and they are going to be thrown into chaos beyond all knowing if we do not take immediate action to mediate our own effect on the ecology of the oceans and coasts."
"That is true," conceded the German agriculturalist, "but we must keep our focus on the needs of our populace. I think the suffering of humans is a bit more important than some fish getting churned up."
"Ha! There are more than just fish in the ocean!"
"While true, that does not change the fact that our focus must be on..."
"The oceans!"
"On," said the German with a sidelong glare, "the assurance of required levels of food and water for Romans, as well as the peoples of other nations across the globe."
"Fish are people too!" shouted the Greek oceanographer, his short beard almost sizzling with enthusiasm.
"So what you're saying," said a reporter, standing without introduction, "is that you think fish rights are of equal importance to human rights?"
"What about bird rights?" said another.
"No, I..." began the Greek researcher, his fury suddenly quelled as half the room began to stand and shout questions.
"What is your stance on women's rights?" shouted Rose Nickers.
"What about reptile rights?"
"Reptiles? What about the platypus? No one even knows what the heck it is!"
"What is this committee's position on microbe rights?"
More and more reporters joined the frenzy, all drowning out one another to the point that none of their questions could be heard over each other. This didn't deter them, though, and the screaming continued for some time, soon escalating to the reporters physically climbing over one another as they started to knot up and move toward the platform. Joe was near the back of the pack, but he was quickly getting sucked in.
"Zamolchi!" shouted the Russian, rising to his feet in a manner not unlike a bear. He slammed his fists on the table in an attempt to return order.
No one heard him, or at least they didn't respond.
By now Joe was somewhere in the middle of the snarl of reporters, fighting more for his life than for a chance to ask a question.
"Zamolchi!" the Russian shouted again.
Seeing that his attempts were proving futile, he moved to the end of the table as the other speakers merely cowered in their seats.
Ms. Flo was apparently asleep.
Gripping the end of the table in both of his massive, hairy hands, the Russian heaved his whole frame back. The table lifted off the ground, held aloft by the Russian like a normal man might lift a small coffee table.
Ms. Flo rolled off, landing softly on the stage. While unharmed, she did not stir.
"Zamolchi!" screamed the Russian, hurling the table across the room with such force that it created a gust of wind which sent the reporters flying into the rows of chairs. The table smashed against the far wall, shattering into wooden splinters which piled up nearly to the ceiling, completely blocking one of the doors.
Suddenly stricken with fear, all the reporters had frozen. They now stared at the Russian, but he merely stared back, the curling wisp of smoke continuing to climb from his beard.
"Gah!" shouted the Russian, raising his hands threateningly. The reporters were sent scrambling back to their seats, at least those who didn't flee the room entirely. They quickly took their places, now very tight lipped and well mannered.
Returning to his chair, the Russian plopped down and nodded happily. He then gestured to the man sitting next to him, the Swiss scientist.
"Ah, yes, thank you," he said, dipping his head down to check his watch as he stood to speak. "I suppose that makes it my turn to..." Another glance at his watch. "To speak. I agree with my fellow speakers that there are many serious threats now before us. Water is a major one, in both its salty and fresh forms. The effects on our forests as a whole are also of vital concern, but I believe that there is yet another, even more drastically important issue which we must discuss."
He paused to look at his watch again, but this time his eyes lingered there, leaving the room draped in a curtain of silence as everyone awaited his statement. Joe leaned forward on his seat, eager to see what this noteworthy academic thought was of such great importance to the future of humanity.
"And what I wish to discuss is...the imminent shortages of chocolate."
The Swiss speaker sat calmly back down in his chair.
His calm didn't last long.
After a moment of silent surprise, the room erupted in noise once more, this time both from the press section and the row of speakers, now without a table to stand between them and the reporters.
"What kind of chocolate shortages?"
"That is the most ridiculous idea I've ever heard!"
Disturbed by the noise, Ms. Flo rose to rest her head on one hand.
"What other crops will begin disappearing?"
"We can not worry about such petty human desires!"
Opening her eyes groggily, Ms. Flo surveyed the room, for the first time paying attention to what was going on around her.
"What actions can we take?
"What about the fishes!"
"What were we talking about?" asked Ms. Flo, an intoxicated smile curving her lips.
Everyone in the room stopped shouting as the curtain of silence again engulfed them. It was hard to tell if they were more surprised by what she had said or that she'd spoken at all.
"That's easy, my dear," said the Spaniard. He opened his mouth to reply, but so did the other speakers.
"Earth Heating."
"Temperature Climb."
"Global Warming."
"Planetary Warming.
"Earth Hottification."
"Surface Warming."
"Greenhouse Buildup Induced Increase of Average Annual Temperatures."
"Da."
All the reporters stood dumbstruck, unsure of whose term was the correct one. They could only watch as an argument broke out on the stage, each scientist convinced of the superior nature of his label for this new occurrence.
The argument soon grew into a shouting match, which quickly escalated into an all out brawl. Several reporters moved to join in, including Rose Nickers, but they found it hard to get on the stage with all the speakers churning about.
Just as the Russian was about to physically toss the Englishman off the stage, a loud crash wrapped everyone in that same curtain of silence once more, except that this time it wasn't merely metaphorical. The cloth draped about the ceiling lamps had given way, burying half the room in literal silence and darkness.
Soon everyone was free, however, and so they turned to face the back wall, where the main door had been swung open, sending the pile of splinters flying in every direction.
One unlucky man stood in frozen fear against the wall, surrounded by splinters which had barely pierced the wall instead of his own flesh.
Through the door now strode a solitary man, accompanied by no less than a dozen men and women dressed in scientific-looking overalls and goggles. The lone man and his followers made straight for the platform.
"Ladies, gentlemen," he said, "please calm yourselves. I am here to help."
Stopping before the platform, he turned to face the reporters.
"Scholars, reporters, and all the idiots who fall between, please know that I am about to revolutionize your understanding of our world."
Turning back to the platform, he hopped up. Or rather, he tried to hop up. He was less than fit, however, and so the hop turned into more of a crawling drag up the side of the platform, almost leading to a major toga malfunction.
"Ha," he huffed as he stood before the scientists. His entourage was now milling about below him, setting up some kind of electronic equipment station. "Thank you all for your attention. My name is Albinus Gordian and I have a very special presentation to give you all."
Drawing a small remote from his pocket, Gordian pressed a button as his crew stepped back from their work. The projector they had setup now came to life, beaming an image along the far wall for all to see.
Incommodus Veritas De Dies Diei Secundum Cras, read the title, printed in bold, dramatic letters.
"That seems like a rather overly complex title," remarked one reporter.
"Well," replied Gordian, "it is a complex idea, but most assuredly not overly so. Now, allow me to begin."
An image of the earth appeared.
"We all know what this is. This is where we live. This is where our families live. This is where we keep all our stuff. However, have you ever wondered what might happen if the earth..."
The image changed to that of a sphere of molten rock floating in space.
"...was to stop being so nice? That is why I am here today, to educate you on the dangers which we have placed ourselves in."
A series of charts and graphs played across the screen, each one only staying up for a moment before switching to the next.
"As this data clearly demonstrates, humans are the cause of the danger. As carbon emissions rise, so approaches the date of our certain doom."
The word DOOM hovered on the wall for several seconds.
"But we all know that, surely. What we might not know is the extent of the peril we are confronted with. I will now give a presentation detailing the course of events which will take place, should no action on our part be taken to save the earth."
The map of the earth was shown again.
"Our first danger is that of increasing temperatures."
The map gradually grew more pink.
"Sweltering summers and barely nippy winters will plague the earth, causing crop failure..."
A withered field of plants was shown, the ground littered with human bones which had obviously been added with a computer. Everyone gasped.
"...forest fires..."
A simplistic animation was shown of a woodland scene. A tree stood by a strangely green stream, surrounded by squirrels, deer and rabbits, all of an oddly pink coloration. Then the entire scene exploded in flames, drawing shouts of panic from the audience. All that was left was ash and a few disembodied eyeballs.
"...and melting polar ice caps."
An animation like that Joe had seen from Iceland played, the northern ice fields receding, except that this one also showed the sea levels rising along all the surrounding coasts, reducing the Roman territories to a small piece of Slovakia.
"Huge ranges of land will be engulfed by the ocean, and as we know, the sea is not kind."
An image of a coastline showed. Protruding from the water was a spire of stone, huddled on top of which was a pack of young children, the frigid waves reaching up and threatening to wash them away.
Gordian continued on with his presentation, running through all the problems to be caused by the increasing temperature of the planet. Joe sat and listened intently with the rest, mesmerized by Gordian's voice and his visual display.
Joe didn't notice when someone sat down beside him, at least not until the man spoke.
"Albinus has plans of his own, wanting to court the throne."
Turning now, Joe saw that it was an older man who sat beside him. He spoke with a Canadian accent and looked about himself nervously. He was clad in most peculiar clothing, clearly not of Roman make. Above his bare feet he wore knee-length shorts which were a dark shade of green, but which Joe guessed had originally been blue. Their pungent odor was only enhanced by the numerous barbecue sauce stains. Above this he wore a suit jacket of surprisingly good make and fit, meticulously clean and apparently freshly ironed.
"What did you say?" asked Joe, staring at the man. Actually, he found himself staring at the man's odd necktie. On it was painted a robust gray and white creature, having a shape like an egg and looking to be furry. Its face held a broad grin, from the sides of which protruded thick whiskers. Its angular ears and long finger-like claws almost seemed to wiggle with life on the garment, as did the long-stemmed leaf it held above its head.
"You can call me Georges," said the man, and then he was gone, leaving Joe blinking in confusion as he turned back to Albinus Gordian's show.
"And so we reach the conclusion of my presentation, but one question still remains: where will all this end? Well, let me show you."
A map showed again, but this one was growing whiter by the second.
"All this will not stop with simple warming. No, this is much more serious. The heating will in turn lead to even more drastic and deadly cooling. First, the currents will stop."
On the display was an image of the Atlantic Ocean, frozen solid like an enormous ice cube. On the surface could barely be seen penguins, sliding about on the ice.
"Then storms unlike anything we have ever known will begin to ravage the earth."
A digitally rendered video clip of a small city played. As the audience watched, frigid winds began to blow, growing stronger and stronger until the buildings began to ice over. They then rumbled and shook as they were torn from their foundations, carried off into the air by the unimaginable gusts.
"And no where will be safe."
Now it was Rome itself on the wall, the city streets filled with snow, the fountains frozen over and the statues draped with icicles.
"And then comes the worst, most evil, most dangerous part of all."
Falling snow began to haze over the video image as three dark shapes appeared.
"Then come...wolves!"
The shapes materialized into a pack of wolves. Or at least Joe thought they were wolves. They were computer rendered, not actually recordings, leaving their form a bit fuzzy. They definitely were either wolves or mangy cows. As the beasts jumped forward and growled, everyone screamed in terror.
"And what do I call this phenomenon?" said Gordian, most of the crowd still shaken. "That is simple: Climate Change."
"So," said Joe, the first to regain his composure, "in summary, what you are saying is that it will get hot, then it will get wet, then it will get cold, and then...wolves?"
"Well," replied Gordian, turning off the projector, "yes. Hot, wet, cold, wolves. The end, of everything."
The room erupted in applause from all sides. Gordian took several bows, smiling and speaking thanks to all present.
"Yes, yes, I know. I intend to help spread the message with a tour of showings of Incommodus Veritas De Dies Diei Secundum Cras. My tour will follow the southern borders of the Empire, ending in Rome." He paused to make sure everyone's attention was on him. The pens and microphones of the reporters pricked up like a hound's ears as they sensed a scoop. "And once there, I intend to register as a candidate for emperor!"
The room erupted in applause again, this time with the force of a mighty volcano which clashed with the tidal wave force of reporters scrambling to get this news to the presses.
Joe rushed as fast as the rest, but there was more waiting for him back at the studio than he could suspect.
Chapter III
ALBINUS GORDIAN: GREAT MAN OR GREAT LEADER?
"That's right, Joe. I want you in Gordian's entourage on his trip to Rome."
"But Chief..."
"Butts are for flatulating, Joe."
"That's not even a word, Chief."
"Yes it is. Look it up. Now, I want you tracking everything Gordian does. I want you on his tail like a flee who jumped at a cat too late."
"Chief!"
"I want you like his shadow. I want you like his favorite tie. I want you like his old pair of boxers that are so sticky, they stay on for a week solid without moving."
"But Chief, I...wait, does he actually have boxer shorts like that?"
"Knowing the answer to a question like that is what being a reporter is all about."
"But I'm not a field reporter. I'm the station anchorman."
"This is just a celebrity tag along. You'll be fine, now get going. I need to go outside and have a good belch."
And so Joe packed his things and made ready to leave. Gordian already had a considerable caravan he would be traveling in, most of the participants not hired but there of their own wishes, traveling along together to witness this new contender for Emperor of the Roman Empire. Joe was checked into the press bus line, where he stowed his luggage while he waited for the procession to depart from the outskirts of Madrid.
It was an impressive sight, the long string of buses and trucks covering two parking lots and half of Mr. McGregger's yard.
"Curse you, Gordian!" shouted Mr. McGregger, kicking at a tire parked on his rose bush.
At the front of the line was Gordian's bio-diesel-hybrid convertible, trimmed in green and fitted with solar panels to power the massage seats.
Next were Gordian's bodyguards, traveling in what looked like a cross between a van, a tank and a brick wall. There were several dints in the chassis, the sort created by missile impacts.
Then came the press. A half-dozen silver buses purred in anticipation of departure, each crammed full with reporters, camera operators, editors and the occasional goat brought along to dispose of rejected article drafts.
The bed next to Joe's was home to one such goat who was named Linda and who was apparently incapable of ever stopping her continual chatter about her sisters.
Behind the press was everyone else. There were independent photographers, political bloggers, fangirls, fratboys and a traveling circus troupe composed mostly of dwarfs, bearded ladies and bearded lady dwarfs.
There was also a traveling barber quartet, their business booming to such a degree that half the press buses had already been refitted to run on loose hair clippings. The stench was repulsive but the mileage was fantastic.
Soon the caravan was getting underway, Gordian's vehicle at the head and signaling the rest to follow, slowly but then building speed as the line snaked onto the highway, occupying as much road as the usual rush hour. They were heading northeast, through the northern region of Spain.
The caravan made numerous stops, traveling slowly from city to city so that Gordian could put on a show each night, always to great cheers, as well as many offers of mayorship or marriage to local maidens. He accepted only a few. The show was done in whatever building could accommodate the crowd which gathered to watch his presentation, which was always considerable.
In one coastal city they simply shined the projection on the nearby cliff face and allowed the populace to watch from their homes, although even this wasn't free. Gordian insisted that he charged only a 'reasonable fee to facilitate the continuation of the tour', and no one argued the point.
By the time they were approaching the northern Spanish border his convertible had a hot tub in the back.
It was night when they passed over the unmarked border, so Joe didn't even realize that they had passed into France until after he had taken breakfast in the bus. Pulling open the small curtain with a yawn, he gazed outside.
There stood the stark, bleak and vaguely Baroque remnants of what had once been the beautiful and famed nation of France, known for their bread, their cheese, and their mimes. Abandoned cities rolled by, the buildings decaying more rapidly with each passing year. Windows stood jagged and empty, doors swung on half hinges and animals climbed through the holes of the roofs.
Even the beret boutiques had closed down.
The caravan moved non-stop, what with there being no people left in the country to put on a show for. All was silent as they passed through the ruins of Paris, save for the low rumble of their engines. Buildings stood crumbling all around the Eiffel Tower, now leaning at a haphazard angle and serving as lookout point for local birds and as jump platform for particularly adventurous flying squirrels.
It had been in the late seventh-century that the first stages of what would become known as the French Exodus had begun. Due to reasons ranging from religious oppression to poor cable service, the French populace had begun to flee across the Atlantic, abandoning their quaint Euro-apartments to make new homes for themselves in the untamed wildernesses of the Americas, primarily in the northern regions. These rural settlements would eventually grow into Canada, and by the year eight-hundred France was empty and the French were known as the Canadians.
In the two centuries since then, Canada had grown into the Grand Canadian Commonwealth, a world power beside Rome, China and Madagascar. The French immigrants had spread across the two American continents, forming one massive nation, but also forcing the native population to adapt to their French sensibilities.
Most had chosen to move to Siberia instead.
The speed and width of the Canadian growth is still a topic of heated discussion among Romans, who have not yet figured out how they bred with such speed as to populate some 65000000000000000 (sixty-five-quadrillion) square inches of land, give or take an acre. Some believe that their impressive procreation is due to inter-breeding with the native wildlife, while others attribute it to the Canadians stealing babies from Asia and claiming them as their own. However, most people believe that it is simply due to the cold and lack of much of anything to do in the northern regions of the nation.
The caravan continued on without pause, quickly leaving France and returning to the populated lands of the Roman Empire. Gordian returned to his nightly presentations and Joe was present at each, phoning reports back to Madrid about the reactions Gordian received. This tour had become a topic of interest across the Empire and all major news outlets were documenting it.
The London Post had dubbed it The Showman's Campaign for Emperor.
In Belgium, Gordian's caravan was being called The Save The Planet Parade.
Gordian's own transport had been unanimously named The Greenmobile.
Joe had been calling the whole affair The Greatest Show For The Earth, which had become quite the popular phrase back in Spain, sparking numerous editorial cartoons in other publications.
The only negative press to do with Gordian's trip wasn't actually about Gordian at all. A Norwegian paper had called him Earth Messiah, but this had drawn complaints from several Christian, Jewish and Islamic leaders. None got far, however, since they soon started arguing with one another over which of their own beliefs to do with the Messiah was 'truer', allowing Gordian to continue on without hindrance.
With all this press, by the time the caravan had passed along the northern shore of the Mediterranean and looped back to Rome the city was alight with excitement at finally seeing the now famous Albinus Gordian. The streets were packed as Gordian waved his way into Rome, pausing under each emperor's statue to address the populace.
There had been a presentation scheduled for the Colosseum that night, but Gordian was forced to change his plans when he received a phone call.
"Listen up, everyone," he called out, standing in his car to address the caravan. "We're making a route change. We're going to the Temple of the Imperial Cult."
And so off they went, winding their way through the pillar lined streets, under arching bridges and past tiled roofs toward one of the most important buildings in all the Roman Empire. It did not take Gordian long to get there, but the length of his caravan left the vehicles at the end somewhere in the middle of the city once he'd parked at the Temple, forcing the barbers and carnies to jog the rest of the way.
The Temple of the Imperial Cult is a truly impressive building, dating back to the sixth-century, with only one major renovation in the eighth having altered its original mosaics, vaulted ceilings and air conditioned cinemas. It stands as a emblem of the strength and majesty of Rome, the sheer power of which is said to entice shudders in anyone who enters the Temple.
Joe did shudder, but it might have been because his toga was uncomfortably damp from Linda.
Gordian and the press were led through the high ceilinged corridors. Their footsteps echoed off the marble walls, seeming to be the breathing of the statues which lined the halls. These were the members of the Imperial Cult, the individuals whose achievements were enshrined and remembered in these vaults. People from all over the Empire came to thank them for their actions and to read of their deeds so that what they did would never be forgotten.
There was Deludo Letum, author of the world famous book titled How To Not Die, a four-thousand-and-three page tome considered a guide to life itself. It was credited with having increased the average human life expectancy by some 15 years.
Then there was Papilla Vendo, the first woman to be made part of the Imperial Cult. An engineer by trade and a mother of many, she had invented the modern brassiere. Besides the obvious benefits of such an invention, it had also won Vendo fame as an instigator of peace. The employment of her brassiere by the indigenous women of many countries had been linked to widespread desertion from various armies, greatly reducing fatalities in recent wars.
Across from Vendo was her student, Proeliator Adversus Pallens, a physicist who had documented the exact nature of gravity in its many forms. Not one to be outdone, Pallens continued her work to create a superior bra to that of her teacher, using her knowledge of gravity to craft the perfect supportive garment. The year of its release, national self-esteem of women had almost doubled. Sale rates of pepper spray and contraceptives had soon also increased by a similar amount.
The procession continued on, reaching the central chambers. There the Presiders of the Temple of the Imperial Cult were waiting for Gordian. They stood before a carved alter, each dressed in the ancient robes and square hats of their illustrious order. Apparently having been informed of what he was to do here, Gordian knelt before them, awash in the candlelight of the Temple and the flashes of the reporters' cameras.
"Albinus Gordian," said the Head Presider in his deep, echoing voice, "you stand before us to represent your actions in the betterment of the Empire. You are here to be judged. Do you come of your own free will?"
"I do."
"Good. We the Presiders have reviewed your actions toward the preservation of the land of the Empire, which we have deemed a worthy cause. As such, we have chosen to bestow you with our highest honor. Do you accept?"
"I do."
"Rise, Albinus Gordian, and accept your Knobble Prize."