I remained focused on the monitor, analyzing the latest genetic sequences related to the FEV serum, as I spoke without raising my gaze.
"Very well, Todd... what matter brings you here, rather than tending to Texas?" I inquired in my usual measured tone. "You are well aware I require those rifles posthaste. A new generation of legionaries is soon to emerge. Thousands of them. They are already undergoing training, preparing to strike the NCR precisely where it shall cause the most grievous damage."
I heard him exhale sharply. The initial shock my new praetorian had given him had evidently worn off. He returned to his customary tone: irritable, impatient, utterly convinced that his own affairs warranted priority over mine.
"What the hell happened to the Texas campaign, anyhow?" Todd said, voice rough with frustration. "That Texas Brotherhood's weaker than a runt dog after a summer drought, and ya got that monster Lanius just waitin' for a damn word to sweep 'em all away. It'd be like takin' candy from a kid!"
I responded without so much as glancing toward him, advancing calmly to the next sequence on the monitor.
"Lanius seized half a million slaves in a single campaign. Half a million, Todd. Do you truly grasp the magnitude of that figure? I find myself hard-pressed to determine where to even begin integrating them into Legion society in an orderly fashion. Mexicanorum is an option; its mineral reserves are ample. Alternatively, the lower Rio Grande could be transformed into a massive agricultural complex, utilizing this influx of labor to bolster our food production."
The silence behind me was telling. Then, predictably, I heard his muttered reply:
"Goddamn... that many?"
I nodded, never ceasing my work.
"Indeed. Were I to unleash Lanius upon Texas at this juncture, I would merely find myself burdened with yet another colossal influx of captives. And many among them would be Brotherhood-trained: engineers, technicians, former soldiers. Individuals with the knowledge and resourcefulness to fabricate weapons, sabotage supply lines, foment rebellion. I have paused the campaign not out of fear of defeat, but because we are not yet prepared to properly process and secure what such a conquest would yield."
With a smooth gesture, I signaled to Henry, who knew precisely what was required.
"Bone density increase of twenty-three percent. Muscle mass growth at forty percent. No notable intellectual gains," he recited, indifferent, reading the projected statistics of the latest test subject. A promising young veteran, now reduced to an experimental variable.
"C'mon, Gaius, you know what we could haul outta there," Todd pressed, tryin' to sweet-talk me. "Plenty o' old bases. We could fire 'em up, start crankin' out supplies faster than ants at a sugar spill."
I neither turned nor replied immediately.
"Not feasible," I said at length. "The administrative strain would be overwhelming. We are speaking of mass reclassification, relocation logistics, heightened security, slave training systems... I will not risk granting de facto citizen status to Texans simply because we lacked the infrastructure to restrain them. The Brotherhood's remnants would infiltrate our ranks with ease."
Todd let out a frustrated breath and rubbed his forehead, struggling to maintain composure.
"Aw, come on, partner. I didn't cross half the Empire just for a pat on the back. Ain't there anythin'? A lil' skirmish? Test their walls, at least?"
I allowed him to speak, watching with detached interest as his tone shifted again.
Then he changed tactics.
"Look... just hear me out," he said, rummaging through his portfolio.
I raised an eyebrow slightly as he pulled forth a set of carefully preserved documents.
"What is it?"
Todd smirked, layin' them down carefully, as though he were revealin' a royal flush.
"Got what ya wanted. Dug deep through all them old super mutant-held factories. Found the original blueprints you been itchin' for. Air-to-ground strike fighters. Light bombers. Pre-War military models."
I took the papers in silence, unrolling the first set of schematics. I reviewed them slowly, methodically.
And, for the first time since his arrival, I allowed a slow, measured smile to surface.
"You have my full attention, my esteemed Texan associate," I said without looking away from the documents.
"I can get 'em made," Todd continued, pressin' his advantage, "but I'm gonna need funding. A whole damn lot of it. None o' my plants can handle this sorta production. Figured I'd pay for it with Texas money—seized factories, auctioned land—but if that's off the table, maybe the Legion wants to, y'know... invest a lil'?"
I regarded him calmly, considering the figures in my mind.
"Given the wealth accumulated from recent conquests, the auctioning of slaves, and the flourishing export of raw materials... combined with my own considerable private holdings... yes. It is an attainable investment," I replied evenly.
Todd leaned in, his palms flat on the table, wearin' that same damn salesman grin he probably used to sell .
"Course... investment..." he chuckled softly. "See, it's gonna take a mighty lotta specialized gear. Frames. Engines. Cockpits. Guns. And we're gonna need a whole pack o' trained folk to make 'em right. So... how many aureus can Caesar's golden boy spare for a little ol' project like this?"
I paused.
"Whatever you require," I answered, voice cold, firm.
Todd grinned wider, eyes lightin' up.
"You got all them trucks loaded and ready, or am I s'posed to bring my own wheelbarrow?"
"I am well aware how troublesome it is to carry tons of gold around, even if the roads are safe and no one would dare take it by force," I said thoughtfully, never losing focus. "I believe it is time we move from gold and silver coinage to paper money—or perhaps a digital medium—to ease the transport of wealth."
"Yeah... that's a smart call," Todd said, more serious than usual. "Long as ya don't start printin' them bills like them Californian fools, we oughta be fine. Ain't no problem for the Legion to pump out colorful bills, so long as they're backed by gold."
"There's your bone. Now stop bothering me," I replied coldly, returning my attention to my work.
"See ya 'round," Todd said cheerfully, strolling outta the bunker like he'd already won the damn war.
I watched him leave in silence.
"What an unpleasant man... he must be your friend," Henry commented, sounding more relaxed now that Todd was gone.
"Most find him charming and charismatic," I replied, eyes still locked on the mutation console. "I think we are simply too intelligent to fall for his smile-and-sell routine."
Henry gave a bitter chuckle as he flipped through sheets of data.
"Hmph... These blueprints are from the old American army. So he just rummaged through ruins and now he's rakin' in mountains of funding... while I still have to scrape to get support for curing super mutant schizophrenia," Henry said, disappointed in himself.
"I require everything we can gather to throw at the NCR," I said bluntly. "They are faltering, yes, but they are also preparing. Building defensive lines, supply caches, fortifications. This time, it won't be like kicking in a rotted door like it was in the Mojave. We may have to break down two or three doors before we breach through."
I glanced toward the observation cell, where the test subject twisted and writhed under the brutal effects of the FEV. Every muscle in his body fought against the forced mutation.
Henry gave another dry, humorless laugh.
"So much suffering we coulda spared our people if we'd crushed the NCR when we had the chance."
"Indeed," I said quietly, removing my lab coat. "Well, administrative duties await. You are in charge, Henry. No one is to touch my treasures while I am away. Use whatever resources you require for your personal research."
"Already a week gone by?" Henry asked, checking the calendar on his terminal. "Damn... guess it has."
He rubbed his face, exhausted.
"What's next? We could bring in more scientific equipment. There's real potential in these facilities you built."
"Better not," I said as I fastened the plates of my power armor. "Unless you find someone whose life you are willing to stake on it. A competent scientist within the Legion is about as rare as a pear on a cactus. Most only understand what they can shoot, weld, or hammer. They do not comprehend that true power lies in manipulating the very bricks of life itself."
I set the helmet on my head, and the armor sealed around me with a clean mechanical hum.
"I shall proceed with Todd's suggestion. A few squadrons of aircraft could soften NCR's anti-air defenses ahead of our Vertibird assaults. I will also initiate the central bank project... and issue paper currency, allowing our citizens to move wealth without hauling kilos of metal."
I left the bunker and returned to my quarters in the Lucky 38.
It did not take long before I was submerged once more in the endless tide of administrative work. I had fought so fiercely for power... only to find it tedious. Ironically, absolute rule was not glory nor celebration—it was labor. Mountains of documents, urgent decisions, burdens only I could bear.
There were real problems demanding immediate solutions. Cities requested additional legions due to swelling slave populations. Infrastructure crumbled: bridges collapsed here, highways disintegrated there. And everywhere, endless petitions from governors begging for funding for their grand projects.
Everyone wanted to impress. Every new governor wanted to build their own little Rome, to raise marble statues, forge forums, craft plazas, hoping Caesar would notice their work and elevate them.
But gold and silver were not infinite.
It was not my duty to reward dreams of marble. It was my duty to ensure the Legion survived—and won—the next war.
Considering how little time remained before our inevitable clash with the NCR, I could not afford to fund vanity projects that would take decades to bear fruit. Every coin had to be invested where it could produce immediate strategic returns.
I approved funding for canning factories to supply our armies with food, textile mills for uniforms and gear, pharmaceutical labs to provide medicine for our combat medics and hospitals, and assembly plants for transport and military vehicles. Everything that could strengthen our ability to move, supply, and endure.
The arms supply was stable and plentiful. There was no immediate need for more. That was why Todd's request for additional rifle production was denied.
But his aviation project was different.
If he delivered even a dozen functional aircraft within the next year, it could tip the scales. The NCR was reinforcing its defenses. It would not be a simple matter of knocking down a rotten door this time. We would have to tear through fortified gates—and I would need every weapon available to do it.
The Central Mint of New Rome would be a reality. One voice. One currency. One symbol. No more scattered coin makers, no more old molds passed from town to town like relics of barbarism. All gold, all silver, all future currency production under my Treasury, answering only to me.
We had taken too long to unify the monetary system. But it was necessary. Too many old coins still circulated, relics from conquered regions or governors desperate to assert autonomy in petty ways. That era was finished.
Establishing the denarius as the official currency was not merely an economic reform—it was an act of war against monetary chaos.
The design of the banknotes was something I took into my own hands. I delegated it to no one. It could not have been otherwise.
The one-denarius note, the most common, to be held by every freed slave, citizen, and legionary, would bear the aged face of Caesar. Not the young conqueror. Not the brilliant scholar. The old one. The immovable. The man who had endured betrayal, war, disease, and still forged an Empire. On the reverse, his eternal legions marching under crimson standards. Inscription: Aeterna Imperii.
The five-denarius note would honor our material greatness. New Rome rising from the earth, the new heart of the world. On the reverse, Hoover Dam—the stone wall that shackled the desert to fuel our ascension. Inscribed: Nova Roma and Magnus Murus.
The ten-denarius note... a touch of ego, perhaps. But well earned. It would be more visible than the hundred, more present in every transaction. My own face on the front, as architect of this new era. On the reverse, the railways binding our cities, our factories, our battlefields. Inscribed: Ordo et Sapientia.
The twenty-denarius note would honor Lanius. No man in Legion history had broken so many foes or spread such terror. His figure, sword in hand, facing east toward the conquests yet to come. Behind him, his legions marching with grim determination. Inscribed simply and brutally: Fortitudo per Sanguinem.
The one-hundred-denarius note gave me pause. I could not choose between Legate Malpais and Lucius. One, the faithful friend of Caesar, the first to believe. The other, his eternal shadow, his incorruptible guardian. So I chose both. Lucius on the front, Malpais behind him, a reminder of unbreakable loyalty. Inscribed: Custodia et Fides.
And finally, the thousand-denarius note. Reserved for the great merchants, governors, and bankers of the Empire. Upon it, the three pillars of power: Caesar at the center, myself at his right hand, Lanius at his left. Throne, administration, and army. The trinity that had secured Legion dominance.
Its inscription would be simple and absolute: Unus Imperator, Unus Imperium.
On the reverse, a full map of the Empire—Arizona, Mexicanorum, Oklahoma, Texas, and beyond—stretching eastward like an unstoppable red tide.
I signed the decree.
And I sealed the future.