The Dance of Time

the telescope back to his eye.

'At an estimate-best I can do, since they haven't finished it yet-the tower will be at least three hundred feet tall. From the looks of the-'

'Never mind, never mind,' interrupted Justinian. 'It doesn't really matter. With a tower that tall, they're obviously planning for general AM broadcasting.'

The former emperor's badly scarred eye sockets were riveted on the distant Malwa tower, as if he could still see. Or glare.

'In God's name, why?' he demanded. 'For military purposes, directional broadcasting would make a lot more sense and require a lot less massive construction. That's what we're doing.'

Justinian waved a hand toward the south, where the Roman army was erecting its own 'antenna farm' almost at the very tip of the triangle of land formed by the junction of the Indus and Chenab rivers.

Only the tips of the antennas could be seen from the fortifications on the north side of the Iron Triangle. The Roman radios were designed to be directional, not broadcast, so there was no need for an enormous tower. The key for directional radio was mostly the length of the antennas, not their height.

Folding up the telescope, Belisarius shrugged. 'Maybe for the same reason we're having Antonina and Ousanas build exactly such a tower in Axum. It'll give us general relaying capability we wouldn't have otherwise.'

'That's nonsense,' Justinian grumbled. 'I could understand them building a tower like that in their capital city of Kausambi. But why build one here, on the front lines? We're not, after all.'

Belisarius said nothing.

After an uncomfortable moment, Justinian chuckled harshly. 'Fine, fine. Presumably they don't have quite our motivation. At least, I think it's safe to assume that monster from the future doesn't have a peevish wife like I do.'

Belisarius smiled crookedly. Although they had never discussed it quite openly, both he and Justinian knew perfectly well-and knew each other knew-that one of the main reasons they'd tacitly agreed not to build a general AM tower in the Iron Triangle was so that the Empress Regent could not easily bombard them with instructions.

More easily bombard them, it might be better to say. As it was, just using the telegraph, Theodora averaged at least two messages a day to the Iron Triangle.

One of which, almost every day, was either a peremptory demand that Justinian stop playing soldier and get back to a position of safety far to the south in Barbaricum, or a pleading request for the same, or a threat of dire consequences if he didn't-or, often enough, all three rolled into one.

'Is there something we're overlooking?' Justinian demanded.

The question wasn't aimed at Belisarius so much as it was at the 'jewel' that hung in a pouch suspended from the Roman general's muscular neck. Inside that pouch rested Aide, the crystalline being from the future who had come back into the human past to thwart-hopefully-the intervention of the so-called 'new gods' of the future.

Aide's response came only into Belisarius' mind. No, the crystal being said, rather curtly. We're not overlooking anything. Tell that nasty old man to stop being so paranoid. And tell him to stop being so nasty, while you're at it.

Since Justinian couldn't see the expression, Belisarius grinned openly. Outside of himself, Justinian was the only human being who regularly communicated with Aide via direct contact with the jewel. Most people found direct contact with Aide rather unsettling. The jewel's means of communication typically involved a flood of images-many of them quite disturbing-not simply words, which could be easily sanitized in the mind of the recipient.

Justinian probably found it unsettling also. Belisarius certainly did, often enough. But if the former emperor was 'nasty' and 'paranoid'-terms which Belisarius would allow were fair enough, even if 'old' was a bit off the mark-he was also just about as tough-minded as any human being who'd ever lived. So he seemed to tolerate the problem well enough-and, on the other hand, got the benefit of the direct contact with Aide that had enabled Justinian, in a very short time, to become the Roman Empire's master artisan.

Or designer for artisans, it might be better to say. Blind as he was, it was difficult for Justinian to do the work himself.

Although Aide tolerated that extensive contact for the sake of their mutual project, he didn't like it at all. He didn't like Justinian.

And why should he, really? Most people didn't like Justinian.

His peeve apparently satisfied by the remarks, Aide added uncertainly: I don't really know why they're doing it. But I'm sure it's not some clever trick we're missing.

Belisarius gave Aide the mental equivalent of a nod. Then, said to Justinian: 'Aide doesn't think so, although he doesn't know why they're doing it. What I think is that-'

'Oh, it's obvious enough,' interrupted Justinian, as if he hadn't been the one to demand an answer in the first place. 'Morale, that's all.'

Again, he waved toward the south. 'That mass of wires we've got stuck all over down there is just something that annoys the soldiers. We've even had to position guards to keep the silly bastards from stumbling over them in the dark. Especially when they're drunk on the local beer. As many defeats as the Malwa have suffered these past few years, that monster Link has got to be worried about morale. A great big impressive-looking radio tower will help boost its soldiers' spirits, even if it isn't really that useful. Especially those soldiers. Ignorant and illiterate peasants, most of them.'

Again, Belisarius grinned. 'Ignorant and illiterate peasants' was a fair description of most of the Malwa army, true enough. On the other hand, it could be applied to most Roman soldiers also. Over time, the changes Aide had brought to the world would produce a rapid increase in the general level of literacy-was already doing so, in fact, among many of the Empire's youngsters. The ones living in big cities, at least. But, even five years after Aide's arrival, very little of that had penetrated the Roman soldiery. It was still true that, below the rank of hecatontarch, not more than one in ten of them could read and write. For that matter, a hefty percentage of the empire's officer corps was illiterate also, beyond-in most cases-being able to painfully write out their own name.

So be it. Wars were fought with the armies available. Whatever weaknesses and limitations the Roman army possessed, Belisarius knew it was far superior to that of the enemy. Man for man, certainly, on average. The Roman Empire, whatever its many flaws and failures, was still a society in which a determined and capable man could rise based on his own merits. The Malwa, on the other hand, with their rigid adherence to a caste system, had to rely primarily on the sheer mass of the army that northern India's teeming population could produce.

That had been, from the very beginning of the war, the basic equation Belisarius had had to deal with: using quality against quantity, in such a way as to eventually defeat the Malwa without ever giving them the chance to use their immense strength against him in a way that was effective.

It had worked, so far-but it took time. Time, and patience.

* * *

Alas, patience was not a virtue often associated with Justinian, as he proved an hour later, once they entered the sunken bunker behind the front lines that served Belisarius for his headquarters.

'So how much longer are you going to dilly-dally?' he asked, after taking a chair.

Belisarius decided to try the tactic of misunderstanding. 'About the submarine?' He harrumphed very sternly, almost majestically. 'Forever, Justinian-so you can just forget about trying to cajole me-'

He didn't think the tactic would work. Sure enough:

'Stop playing the fool. I don't even disagree with you about the submarine-as you know perfectly well. I just think it'd be an interesting experiment, that's all. I'm talking about the offensive against the Malwa that you keep postponing and postponing. I'm beginning to think you've converted to that heathen Hindu way of looking at things. All time is cyclical and moves in great yugas, so why bother doing anything for the next billion years or so? Or is it that you think the way your soldiers are copulating with the local natives, you'll have a huge population of your own within a generation or two?'

The former emperor sneered. 'Idiot. The population density here is already horrible. You'll be facing starvation soon enough, you watch.'