Page 2 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

“We need to shelter them,” Laura explains, her voice taking on a protective edge. “Can you imagine the media frenzy if this got out? These men have been through enough trauma. The last thing they need is to become a worldwide spectacle before they come to terms with what’s happened to them.”

As she neatens the stack of NDAs, I ask, “This operation sounds… pricey. How are you paying for it?”

“The reason I was fascinated by the wreck of the ancient Roman ship, theFortuna, and so dedicated that I spent years of my free time searching for it was because of the rumor that there were two chests of gold on board.”

My thoughts flash to thePirates of the Caribbean. This sounds just as believable as that movie.

“We found the chests filled with gold. The gladiators were just a serendipitous find that made the riches fade in importance. It did, however, give us enough money to rent this wing of the hospital and pay for the best specialists and equipment money can buy… including you.”

She gives me a moment to absorb that, then I nod slowly, beginning to understand the gravity and extent of the project. “So… what do you need from me?”

“A translation program. As you can imagine, once these men are revived…” Her gaze flicks heavenward as though she just gave a little internal prayer, “communication will be a big hurdle. Latin may be the root of many modern languages, but it’s considered a dead language. No one truly knows how it was pronounced in daily speech.”

“And you need me to…?”

“We need you to develop a program for real-time Latin-to-English translation. Varro will help with pronunciation once your project reaches that stage.” Laura leans in, her expression no longer hiding her excitement. “Your boss, Dara Hobson, assured us she has people who, once you’ve done the programming, can help produce wearable earpieces. The goal is for the gladiators to communicate seamlessly, to understand and be understood.”

The magnitude of the task before me is staggering. My heart races as my mind tries to catch up with this info dump.

“This is… a lot to take in,” I manage.

Laura reaches across the desk, squeezing my hand. “I know. But think of the possibilities, Skye. You have the chance to bridge a gap of two millennia, to give voices to men history has silenced.”

Her words stir something within me. The programmer in me sees the monumental challenge, but the human in me recognizes the profound impact this could have not just on the men involved, but on the modern-day world.

“Okay,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Where and when do I start?”

“How about you get some rest after I show you to your room? Ms. Hobson—I still can’t believe I had an actual conversation with one of the richest people in the world—assures me you’re more than capable of the programming part. We’ll hash outmore details tomorrow, after you’ve… gotten over your initial shock.”

When I tip my head in question, she laughs and adds, “Your mouth has been hanging open since I told you about Varro.”

I press my lips together after discovering she’s right about my gap-jawed expression. Well, can she blame me?

The hospital layout is straightforward, with four patient hallways surrounding a lovely atrium in the middle. My room is sparse—clearly a converted patient room—but clean and functional.

“Get some rest,” Laura says kindly. “Tomorrow, you meet your first gladiator.”

As the door closes behind her, I sink onto the bed, my thoughts swirling. Ancient Romans. Secret revivals. Chests of gold. Translation devices resting on my skills and abilities.

What have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Two

Thrax

Cold. So cold. My body aches. It’s a deep, bone-chilling agony that makes even breathing a struggle. Although I try, I can’t command my eyes to open.

Am I dead? Is this what awaits in the afterlife—an eternity of frozen torment? Behind the blackness of my eyelids, I search for Charon, the ferryman, to haul my soul across his infernal river.

Memories flood back, fragmented and chaotic. Setting sail from Ostia near Rome, bound for the far-off shores of Britannia. New arenas awaited us there, new crowds to entertain with our blood and sweat. But fate had other plans.

My stomach twisted as I stared at the big ship calledFortuna. The journey across the sea scared me more than fighting a champion in the arena. I had just joined a group of other gladiators who I’ll join on this journey. They look as though they’ve all trained together. I arrived alone.

A woman blocked our path to the ship. Her golden dress shone in the sun as she raised her arms.

“Travelers!” she shouted over the noise of the busy port. “Seek the blessing of Goddess Fortuna before your journey!”

Sulla, the man I later learned was ourludusmaster, made that ugly laugh I grew to hate. “What blessing, woman? We’ve no time for superstitious nonsense.”

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