I sat in a dungeon underneath a Roman city-factory in the Southern Great Plains of what had been America in my world.  My hands were chained to the wall, and my feet manacled to a set of stocks in front of me.  I had tried, fairly successfully to escape the sentence of crucifixtion by beating up my guard, and hightailing it out of here.

Unfortunately, close doesn’t matter in prison escapes except to make your jailers take you more seriously.  My arms were numb, my wrists bled from scrapes from the rusty iron, and my thighs burned as did my back since the stocks were positioned just so.

That is, the jailer, nursing a bruised neck, had placed the stocks out far enough that I had to lean backwards on my shoulders, or pull at the stocks with my ankles.  One burned my back, and the other scraped my calves.  Both burned my thighs.

I’d be tempted to bite my tongue off, but I hate to give up.  And I had a leather tongue guard inserted into my mouth, and strings tied around the back of my head to hold it in place.

I was not a very happy person at the moment although I attained moments of peace in my prayers.

After some indeterminate time, doors opened, and even I, who was used to solitude yearned for company.  But I felt certain that they had come for some other, and that I would be disapointed.

Occasionally, I heard the moans and shrieks of my fellow wretches.  Most of us were slated for the execution block, but a few of us, like me, had the special honor of crucifixtion to look forward too.

They would tie me down to a cross of rough-hewn wood for the splinter’s sake.  I’d be naked.  Then they would drive nails into the space between my wrist bones, and one to hold my feet together.

And there I’d hang.

If I wanted to breathe as I hung there, I’d have to push up on the nail in my feet.  If I didn’t, I’d slowly suffocate.  So one cycled from one unbearable sensation to another and back again until the body wore down, and the victim died.  This could take days.

The Romans really did have a lot of things going for them.  Rule of law, roads, general prosperity, and all that, but they were also completely unmitigatedly vicious when it suited their purposes.

And since I had supposedly killed a Senator, a man of extreme importance in their world, I was a target for their wrath.  And so it was with trepidation and surprise that I saw the jailer, he of the bruised throat, open the wooden door to reveal several well-dressed men behind him.

He began shouting at me even as he unlactched me.  The goal was intimidation, but it fell off me like rain off a good roof.  I had already decided that I would force them to kill me rather than be  crucified.

"We wish to talk with you, Tad-Day-Ose.  This is not your final day."  The leader of the men at the doorway spoke, and I searched his eyes for lies, and found none.  So instead of springing to my feet to rend and maim, I slowly gathered myself, and stood.

They took me out of the filthy dungeon, and offered me a drink of relatively clean water from the well.  Nothing tasted better than I had taken in a long time ago.  I enjoyed the sunlight on my face, and waited for the questions.

"Why did you kill the Senator?" The youngest man of the three in good togas asked me fiercely.  Also with them was a centurion in full armor, and with a sword.

"Lucas, I did not kill your father."  I responded after noting the similarities of face between this man, and the Senator.  Add the restrained passion in his words, and it all added up to Lucas, the eldest son of the Senator.  And now, I suspected a Senator in his own right.

He slapped me hard across the face, rocking my head back as I absorbed the blow.

"Who are you working for?" He screamed at me, and the other two just studied me.  One seemed to be a power, in his late middle age.  The other seemed his assistant.

"Who hates the Senator enough to kill him? Or who stands to gain, young Lucas?  A young man with pride, whose father is in internal exile, banished to the top of a tower, and that self-same fellow can save his family honor, and win a good position for himself."

He lunged at me, with his eyes wide, and infuriated, and the Centurion caught him like he was a child, and pushed him back.

"If you’re going to sit here, and insult a young man of a good family, and the future Senator of a fine region once the Emperor signs off on it, we can toss you back into the dungeon."  The ‘power’ spoke softly, but I listened very closely.

I bowed in acceptance.

"I merely want to ask, who profits?  Think on this, I do not profit.  What gain would I have had?  And if I could sneak up there, then why did I stand around and not sneak back?  Instead, I let myself be taken by your soldiers."

"Perhaps you couldn’t."  The power noted calmly as he studied me.

"The troops say he put up a huge fight.  Got a casualty."  Lucas spoke up.

"He didn’t.  Pardon, my lords, but the troopers were just saying that because it makes for a better story.  I heard the real story from them.  They said he tried to keep himself from being hurt, but no more than that."  The centurion spoke up, obviously a bit uncomfortable to be talking to his higher-ups.

"May I ask a question, Lord Prosecutor?" I bowed to the older man of the four.

He nodded.

"Do the tribes roundabout have legends or ways of travelling without being noticed.  Of slipping into buildings, and hiding for days without being caught."

"You speak of the Ninja in Nippon Province on the far side of the world.  The local Aztec horse tribes have some skill at hiding, but nothing like what you describe."

"So, then who got up there to kill him?"

"You did, I said." Lucas burst out, frustrated.

"With what? There was a plasma torch on the desk, but it had not been used."  I did have a plasma cannon in my backpack.  But my backpack was thankfully several miles away outside the factory fortress.

"You used it."  Lucas insisted.  "Its the only thing that makes sense.  I just need to find out who hired you."

"Okay, Lucas. Suppose I did.  I snuck up an ironwork tower in full daylight, and full view of potentially hundreds of factory workers.  Once I got there, I stole your father’s plasma torch from his holding place, and got him to sit down in a chair without any bruises or injuries, and then shot him in the left eye.  And then I put the torch down on a fake wood desk which did not scorch from the heat of the barrel.  And instead of escaping, I waited to be captured and crucified.  Even if I was suicidal, I could easily have jumped.  Tell me, o wise Senator Intendant, does this make sense to you?"

I spoke slow and calm because Lucas was on the raw edge of being berserk.  In truth, I felt sympathy for him, and I thought his fury and pain proved him innocent of his father’s murder.

He stepped away, and shrugged.

"Sophist." He muttered.  I merely raised an eyebrow at the prosecutor who shrugged.

"We don’t know how you did it, but you’re our only suspect."

Ah. Well that was swell. Very enlightened of them.  I was the only suspect so I got the chop even if I could not have done it.

"Let me show you how it was done, and give you another suspect." I spoke even as I frantically visualized the whole murder scene in my mind.  I had, when I wished it, perfect memory.  Although I’m not a true logician such as the Alchemist or Master Oak, still, I had picked up more than a few tricks along the way.  And I could force myself to be step-by-step logical if it was required of me.

So, begging their indulgence, I closed my eyes, and thought rapidly since I knew their patience would be gone soon.  I considered adding a dash of shamanistic dancing to entertain them, but its not my style.

And then I opened my eyes to see all four of them staring at me curiously.

"Its simple enough. Please follow me."

There was some heming and hawing, but the prosecutor seemed amused and intrigued so we did what he wanted.  They followed me.  Besides, I’m rather good at persuading people.  Usually, its intimidation, but I can do persuasion as well.

We walked into the factory, and into the wing that was on the right side of the dead body.  Which is the direction the beam of death must have come from.

We came to the telescope fixed on the balcony rail at the end of the factory wing.  Here a man sat in a chair, and peered out into the grasses looking for invaders.

I walked up to him, and looked at him, and knew.  Then I stumbled and fell, and crashed into the telescope.  My clumsiness ripped it loose from the railing, and it fell to the courtyard below where it shattered with a tinkling sound.

Curses, and oaths echoed in my ears.  After all, I had destroyed a very valuable item, and rendered the factory fort vulnerable to raiders.  The centurion had his blade at my throat which was foolish of him.  It would make it easier for me to disarm him if I wished.

"Oh, I-I’m sorry. Really.  But you don’t have to go fetch one from the far side at the armory. This scout has one in his locker."

A quick look by the prosecutor, and a betraying jerk of the face and neck by the scout revealed this was true.  So they rapidly ran down to the scout’s locker, and got out the telescope, and remounted it.

"Good. Now, you go down to the dungeon…" The prosecutor began, and I did a leg split.  My legs spread apart, and my head dropped below the blade.  A fist strike, dim mak style, to the solar plexus of the centurion was carefully gauged.  I had to do enough damage to penetrate his breastplate armor, but not enough to seriously hurt him.

The force of my blow flung him across the room, and he collapsed wheezing on the floor in the corner of the watchroom.  A quick reverse somersault, and I was back to my feet, and two steps to my left brought me up to the scout even as the others advanced with daggers out.

I tossed him into their path, and spun the telescope about.

"A-ha! I have you now." I shouted out with full melodrama.

Ugly laughter came back to me.

"Barbarian, thats a telescope."

"Really?" I put my finger on a black button that looked like it had no purpose.  And then I spun it across the quintet of them.  Noting facial reactions, I slowed, and put it across the secretary, and the scout.

The secretary began to sweat. And the scout stared back at me with cold hatred.  And I saw the prosecutor notice this even as the secretary tried to regain his composure.  But it was too late.

"Would you like to explain, scout? What happened?"

He got to his feet slowly and bitterly.

"You go ahead, outlander.  You seem to know the story."

"Very well.  The Senator in the tower was in internal exile.  He had done something, I rather suspect that was too ethical, and his enemies hated him for it, and had him punished for doing right."

"The Senator opposed the hiring of mercenaries from foriegn nations which makes a great deal of money for the Diplomatic Service." The prosecutor spoke.  "He felt it was unwise to leave our security in the hands of outsiders like you and the scout here."

"Most wise of him.  However, when men wish to cheat, the wise are not seen as a blessing.  Which explains where the secretary comes in.  He was paid to help get rid of an embarrassment to the Diplomatic Service, I’d wager."

The secretary just blubbered his agreement.  He was terrified as well he should be.

"But I didn’t kill him."

"No. You didn’t.  You only made it possible."

The secretary had nothing further to say on that.

"You went up the day before to ‘deliver some papers’ I’d guess.  Instead, you had a candle, a bit of sealing wax, and a windcharm set of circular lenses.  You hung it up near the window, and took the candle to melt the wax.  You used the melted wax to stick the lenses to the ceiling in a particular formation.  And then you left."

"I didn’t know they were going to kill him.  I swear it.  I thought it was a means to spy on him."

I wasn’t sure he was telling the truth, but  I nodded anyways in agreement.  He was too young, too soft, and he might be innocent.  I could not tell.  So, with a clean conscience, I exonerated him.  Because Roman justice was too harsh for even my taste.

"Just so."

"You will still be flogged, and your position taken from you.  Or you can enlist in the Legions."

I could already see it.  Expunge the shame of a young nobleman by enlisting in the Legions.  Maybe it would make a man of him.

Of course, shame and guilt are two different things.

"Then, our scout here, an outlander mercenary…."

"Who hated my father for his anti-mercenary…." Lucas began, and the scout barked out a harsh laugh.  Here was one who was ready for death.

"Your father showed wisdom in that one thing." The scout said.

"Yes." I agreed. "And  the scout took his telescope off the rail,a nd put in another telescope, one he had gotten from shady characters.  This scope had a laser attached to it, in the barrel of the scope.  And so once, the scout ….."

"But we are on the ground, and the tower is two hundred feet above us.  You could not even see the dead man from down here."  The prosecutor began objecting.

"You could if you looked through a telescope and through lenses which refracted the light so that it went around the corner of the floor."  I pointed out.  Also the fact that I felt a small wind up there seemed to indicate that the laser had cut through the exterior glass, it being not clear enough to let the laser cleanly through, and then gone on to its further work.

"But the beam would not be strong enough…"

"Which is why the assasin called the Senator on the phone the secretary left, and told him to look out the right window along with making some threats so that the Senator would feel moved to get his plasma torch out in self-defense."

"And then the beam would hit the dark center of the eye, the pupil, and the light would be absorbed by that blackness.  It would possibly be enough to kill a man whereas a scalp wound might have reflected enough to keep the man alive."  The prosecutor added.  "And the lenses would have been heated by the light passing through them, and the wax would have melted, and the windcharm then dropped to hang naturally."

"He felt no pain, Lucas.  And now.."  The prosecutor turned to the scout.  "Arrest him."  He ordered the recovered centurion.

"But I need to know why!" Lucas raged as he grabbed the shirt of the scout.

"Why? Why? It was simple. Eliani was my wife-to-be.  But your father liked her, and chose her as a concubine.  And then she died in childbirth."

"My father did her an honor.  You should have been happy for her.  You could have found another."

"I loved her." The scout said, and I saw non-comprehension in the Romans’ faces.

"Well, now you will hang on a tree for her." Lucas said with a smile.  The scout sagged in despair at the prospect of crucifixtion.

"If you have not love, what good are you?" I asked paraphrasing a famed chapter in the Bible.  The Romans scoffed and laughed.  I just looked at the scout, and his eyes flared in hope.  Then he nodded.

I pushed the button on the laser, burnt out his heart.  He fell dead to the ground, slipping free of Lucas’s vengeful hands.  They turned to me with rage on their faces, and I met it with my own, with the fury that had shattered worlds.

"Please, I’m begging you.  Please, start something."  I waited, physically yearning for the chance to kill them if they attacked me.  The centurion was the first to step out of my way, and the rest followed.  Lucas was the last with a burning gaze.

"I’ll get you for this insult." He hissed.

"Power, even righteousness, without love is nothing."

"You’re a fool." He snapped at me, and I walked out to preach the words of righteousness, the love of Christ, and the proper technique for taking down curtain walls with brass cannon to the horse tribes of the Aztec.