One Nation, Under Jupiter

JANUARY 1, 2766

Slowly came to as the Sun rose, rubbing the stinging light out of my eyes. The day that I began my greatest work was off to an unimpressive start. The apartment was a mess, my slave having neglected his duties in favor of last night's festivities. Trudging through the mountain of clothes strewn all over the floor, I reached for the telephone. The cord was a tangled mess, another apparent victim of Servius' drunken recklessness. I punched in the number of my editor as best as my half-lucid state could muster.

"H...heh?" muttered the voice on the other end. "Hello? Who is this?"

"It's Diagoras," I told him.

"Diagoras? Wha...what time is it?"

"About seven-twenty."

"Seven? Hercules, man, what are you doing calling this early?"

"Business, of course." Turbidus groaned on the other end. It was an odd change of pace, me calling him in the morning to ride his ass about getting my latest work released. Usually it's the other way around. "What's with the whole sick voice?"

"It's the morning after New Year's...take a guess," he retorted, a little more coherent now. "Why are you so chipper?"

"I didn't drink." Incoherent noise came out of the phone. Poor Turbidus was having a coughing fit, I'm guessing.

"You didn't drink? Really?" he asked. "Why? New Year's not as special an occasion for you as every single Marsday?"

"I wanted to stay alert in case there were already people asking about interviews, and if my reliable editor was doing his job and letting me know." I cleared my throat.

"Y...yeah, I think a few people might have written in. Give me a bit. I'll filter 'em out and give you the details later."

"When?"

"When the hangover goes away! Come on, Diagoras. A day off won't kill you. I'll send the info over soon enough." The phone went dead after that. Turbidus was a strange breed. A few months back, the spent an hour screaming at me over a typo, but as soon as you expect anything of him he crumples like a cheap paper cup. I'm sure he's a good guy once he leaves his office and get back to the wife, but that's not when I see him.

The interviews would need to wait another day, it seemed. The stall was frustrating, but probably for the best. I was guaranteed at least one more day as a free man. There isn't a single country as devoted to the gods as Nova Roma, and not a single city in this country as devoted as New Antioch. On near every street you can find a whole temple of crazies doing whatever rituals they think they need to stop the ground from opening up underneath them. And I'll be calling them out on it. Not the kind of thing that the Emperor's big focus on piety is likely to suffer. It'd take just one suspicious priest, one call to the police, and the whole plan will topple.

I wandered into the living room, where my loyal slave Servius lay fast asleep on the couch, still recovering from last night's shameless use of his wine rations, his bald head glistening in the morning sun. He knew full well the importance of this day, and yet there he was, soaked in wine and unconscious instead of preparing.

"Wake up!" I screamed. Servius promptly popped upright with a startle.

"Gah..." my slave moaned, rubbing at his eyes. "What is it, master? We got an interview already?"

"Of course we don't. I trusted Turbidus to do a job. You know how that goes." I squatted down on the floor, sifting through the clothes sprawled all over. There had to be something I could wear that didn't smell like a bar.

"Then why did you wake me up?" Servius said with a yawn.

"I swear, Servius. You've been the family slave since we were kids. You think you'd know me by now. Today is when I start exposing the priests of the pantheon for the liars they are," I explained, an undershirt clenched in my hand. "I said I'd start today, and my editor being dumb as a rock isn't going to stop me. If I can't interview, I'll observe. It doesn't take a genius to find a religious crazy in New Antioch on the Kalends. Help me find some pants."