Sabina departed, leaving Alex alone in the silent study with the impossible object. It sat on his desk, a small, dark, unassuming piece of metal that felt heavier than a block of lead. He picked it up again. It was cool to the touch, its strange, non-corroded surface seeming to absorb the light from the flickering oil lamps. He ran a thumb over its pitted texture. This was real. This was here. And it shattered every assumption he had about his unique, solitary predicament.
He was not the first.
The questions crashed over him in a dizzying, terrifying wave. Who? Who else had come here? When had they arrived? From what time? The 21st century? The 23rd? Were they still here, somewhere in this sprawling, ancient world? Were they an ally, a neutral observer, or an enemy who had been manipulating events for centuries? The sheer scale of the unknown was staggering. His carefully constructed understanding of his own mission, his own place in this timeline, had just been obliterated.
His first, most urgent instinct was to consult the only other intelligence in the world that could possibly comprehend the situation. He secured the door to his study, ensuring even the ever-vigilant Timo was posted far down the hall. He uncovered the laptop, its screen a dim but steady blue, the trickle-charge from his strange contraption keeping it alive.
"Lyra," he whispered, his voice hushed, as if he feared someone, somewhere, could be listening. He placed the strange metal fragment next to the laptop's chassis. "Analyze this object. I need a full material composition analysis. Compare its metallurgical signature to your own casing."
Acknowledged, Lyra's voice replied, her tone as calm and steady as ever. A thin, pencil-like probe extended from a port on the side of the laptop, a device Alex had never seen before. It touched the surface of the metal fragment, emitting a low hum and a faint blue light. Activating onboard mass spectrometer... Raman spectroscopy engaged... Analyzing atomic weight and isotopic decay...
The process took less than a minute, but it felt like a lifetime.
Analysis complete, Lyra stated. The alloy composition is a 99.98% match to my own chassis. It is a carbon-nanofiber reinforced titanium-osmium alloy with trace elements of tungsten. A material not successfully synthesized until the year 2028.
The confirmation was a jolt, a cold spike of fear and awe. It was from his time. Or just after.
"The breakwater, Lyra," Alex pressed, his mind racing. "Sabina's engineers said the structure it was found in was ancient. Pre-Roman. How ancient?"
Accessing and cross-referencing Sabina's preliminary report on the submerged strata, Roman Republic-era port construction records, and my own historical database on Mediterranean harbor engineering, Lyra said. The construction style—interlocking, precisely cut megalithic blocks with no mortar—is inconsistent with known Roman techniques. It more closely resembles advanced Phoenician or possibly late-Minoan harbor engineering methods. Based on the depth of the sediment layers reported by the engineers, the structure was likely built, and subsequently submerged, no later than 500 BC. Possibly much earlier.
The paradox was horrifying. A piece of a machine from 2028 had been sitting at the bottom of the harbor, embedded in a structure that was at least two thousand years old. This wasn't a recent arrival. This wasn't another time traveler who had crashed last year. This was an ancient event.
The implications were mind-bending. Did another traveler arrive here centuries before Rome was even an empire? Did they live out their life here, building impossible things? Or was it something else entirely? A ship from the future, thrown so far back in time that its very existence had been absorbed into the geology of the ancient world?
Alex knew, with an absolute certainty, that he had to control this discovery. He could not let anyone—not the Senate, not his allies, not even the brilliant and increasingly close Sabina—know the true nature of what lay buried in the mud of Ostia. How could he possibly explain why this one piece of strange metal was more important than the entire Parthian Empire? How could he explain his obsessive interest without revealing his own impossible secret?
He had to seal the site. Completely.
The next day, he used his full imperial authority. He summoned Senator Rufus, bypassing Sabina entirely. He fabricated a story, a lie built on the religious superstitions of his time.
"Senator," he said, his face a mask of grave seriousness. "Your researchers in the Great Library, the ones searching for agricultural texts? They have uncovered something else. An obscure, prophetic text from an ancient Sibylline oracle." He handed the senator a scroll that he and Perennis had spent half the night creating, using aged papyrus and perfectly forged archaic script. "It speaks of a 'cursed star' that fell into the sea at the mouth of the Tiber in the age of the kings. It warns that if its resting place is disturbed, a great plague will be unleashed upon the city."
Rufus, a man of deep piety, read the forged prophecy, his eyes wide with awe and fear. "By the gods…"
"Indeed, Senator," Alex said grimly. "The ancient breakwater your commission has uncovered… it is the site of this fallen star. It is a place of immense religious significance, and of great danger. It must be protected, sanctified."
He issued an immediate edict. The dredging operations at Ostia were to be rerouted, leaving the area of the ancient structure untouched. The site itself was to be declared a locus sacer, a sacred place, off-limits to all civilian traffic. And, to "guard it from looters and the impiously curious," he placed the site under the direct and exclusive control of General Maximus and a full maniple of his Speculatores.
The move created immediate friction. Sabina was furious. She came to him, her eyes blazing. "You have undermined my authority, Caesar! You have halted the most important part of the port expansion based on the superstitious ramblings of a long-dead mystic! You are allowing fear to dictate policy!"
"I am allowing respect for the gods to dictate policy, Domina," Alex countered, his face an unreadable mask. "A wisdom you would do well to learn. The matter is closed."
He had pushed her away, creating a new wall of secrecy between them, and he hated it. But he had no choice. The secret of the vessel was too vast, too dangerous to share.
Maximus, ever the loyal soldier, followed his orders without question. His men, the disciplined veterans of the Danube, descended upon the site at Ostia. They established a hard perimeter, driving away Sabina's curious engineers and the local fishermen. They constructed a fortified encampment around the section of the port, sealing it off from the world. Then, under the guise of "sanctifying the cursed ground," they began their own careful, secret excavation of the submerged structure.
A few days later, Maximus returned to the palace. He came alone, his face grim, his usual military bearing replaced by a look of profound, unsettled awe. He strode into Alex's study and dismissed the guards with a sharp gesture.
"Caesar," he began, his voice a low rumble. "We have found more. Down in the harbor. More than just fragments."
He unrolled a large sheet of waxed canvas on the desk. On it was a drawing, rendered in charcoal by a military engineer, the lines still wet from the sea spray. It was a partial schematic, a rough outline of what his men had uncovered by clearing away centuries of silt and marine growth.
"It is not a breakwater," Maximus said, his voice hushed. "We were wrong. It is too… regular. The curve is too perfect." He tapped the drawing with a thick finger. "It is the outer hull of a vessel. A ship of some kind, made entirely of that same strange, dark metal. We do not know its full extent. It is massive, Caesar, larger than any ten grain ships put together, and most of it is buried deep in the bedrock of the seafloor, as if it struck with incredible force."
He looked up, his eyes meeting Alex's, and for the first time, the unflappable general looked truly shaken.
"It has been there," he said, his voice barely a whisper, "for a very, very long time."
Alex stared at the drawing. He was looking at the rough, partial outline of a crashed, impossibly ancient, and undeniably star-faring ship, lying in a tomb of mud and water at the bottom of his own harbor.