Annales Imperii - I. Ostiia

by Ted Mayes

  Everyone scattered to their tasks, but Beth was proud that she and Kevin were on duty at the door in less than two minutes. Fifteen minutes later Jon showed up and took her place while she got her bunk made and all her gear put away. Then she went back outside on guard while Kevin went in and got his gear stowed away. The only thing unusual that happened that first hour was a continuing stream of messengers, delivering all sorts of papers, folders and packages – all of which were carried inside and piled up on a large table at the far end of the entry room.

  The first of the other soldiers didn't show up until near the end of her second hour on guard. Publius had given them plenty of warning, so when the other decurion showed up just before 1900, there was no surprise. Kevin notified Jon when it was obvious that the veteran was headed straight for them. The only thing that could have caused any raised eyebrows were the numbers on his honor stripes, and the fact that he looked tough enough that he could gone through their tough-as-nails basic decurion without breaking stride or slowing down.

  “Decurion Mills, sir, welcome,” Jon said with a nod of respect.

  The other man grinned. “Youngster, you don't say 'sir' to someone of equal rank.”

  Jon smiled back. “I know that, sir. When you arrived I was ordered to deliver this message to you,” handing him a letter, “and told to congratulate you on your promotion to principales.”

  Mills read the message and muttered something, apparently in a language Beth didn't know. She happened to be looking past Kevin at the time and saw his eyes widen as a startled look briefly appeared on his face. The new principales apparently noticed Kevin's reaction and spat a brief sentence at him, to which Kevin gave a one word answer. The man then sighed and said “Looks like I'm going to have to watch my words from now on. What's your name, son?”

  “Kevin Little Bear. And you don't have to be careful with words on my account, sir. I'm always willing to expand my vocabulary, and I'm certain that I'd never learn some of those words from my grandmother.”

  Mills grunted, “Don't make a bet on that, son – I know your grandmother.” He turned his attention to Jon. “Harrison...,” he said musingly, looking at Jon's name tag. “I imagine I know your parents as well.”

  Jon nodded. “Seeing that message, or rather seeing who it comes from, I wouldn't be surprised, sir.”

  “Okay, first order, stop with the 'sirs'. If you can't use my name, then at least use 'first' or something like that.”

  “Whatever you want, First.”

  “Okay, fill me in on what you've done so far …,” Mills was saying as he and Jon entered the residence.

  The First had Jon order pizza during the last hour of their watch. Maria and James ate at the doorway while everyone else gathered around the big table, but Beth noted that Jon and Ari were deep in conversation with the First. When their watch was finally over, Ari's squad took over and Beth went on a quick tour of the residence with the rest of the squad.

  It was magnificent – at least that was Beth's first reaction. The entry, what Jon called the 'atrium', was a huge 30 feet by 30 feet with padded benches around the edge of the room. However that was dwarfed by going down either of two small hallways and entering a great room that was at least 60 by 60. All sorts of beautiful furniture was scattered around the room, gleaming hardwood floors spotted with what looked like expensive oriental rugs. Another hallway to the left led off to five good-sized bedrooms, fully furnished and each with its own bathroom.

  Across the great room, the hallway that led off to the right went to a master suite that was huge – at least as big as their spacious barracks that ten people could fit into. On the west side of the great room was a fairly large kitchen with, apparently, every gadget a cook could want. On the south side was a formal dining room that was at least 30 by 60, with breakfronts scattered around the edge of the room filled with china and silver. What caught the guys’ attention was a theater room off the east side of the great room, with seating for at least thirty people.

  When the tour was ended, First cleared his throat. “If this is all for whom I think it's intended for, it seems … a little much.”

  “Not only that,” Jon added, “but if it's for the person who sent you that message, it should be an interesting … spectacle, shall we say? As I understand it, this place is this … lavish … because the person who lives here is supposed to be formally entertaining people on the emperor's behalf.”

  The First smiled at Jon. “That will indeed be interesting to watch. It might even make up for my 'promotion'.”

  As Beth headed off to get some sleep before the midnight watch, she heard the First tell Jon to plan on a shopping expedition early in the morning, because they were to be in 'dress uniform' by noon.

  4 – August 1993

  Michael Baxter stood in front of the airport locker, hesitating for a moment. Vacation was over and it was time to get busy again, but the last weeks had been so relaxing that he was a little surprised at how reluctant he was to get back into harness. His former mother-in-law was correct though, he decided. He did need to slow down a little bit and pace himself – he was no longer a youngster in his twenties. Stifling a sigh, he opened the locker and pulled out the satchel inside. He checked inside to make sure everything was there, then pulled out his headset and a book. He closed the bag and picked it up, looking around to check and see where the imperial assembly area was located in this terminal.

  Now that he thought about it, though, there wasn't much sense in wasting more time. He put the headset on and spoke in a low murmur. “Samuel? Checking in. I've arrived and I'm going to wait for the next bus.”

  “Welcome back, Master Michael. The emperor would be most happy to send you a car.”

  “Yeah, I know that he wants to dump all the fancy stuff on me, but if he should contact you, tell him I've learned my lesson watching him all these years – I'll be as inconspicuous as possible, thank you.”

  “Very well, sir. ETA?”

  “Depends on the next bus, but I'm going to guess it'll be just after noon.”

  “Very well, sir – and again, welcome home.”

  He started off towards the assembly area, watching the people and trying to sharpen his people sense again – after two weeks in the mountains, seeing hardly anyone, it certainly was different, being in the middle of crowds streaming by, hurrying on their way to somewhere. As he got closer to the imperial area, though, the fewer people there were, which wasn't that surprising – the empire wasn't 'open' yet, and aside from imperials traveling, the only bother was the occasional reporter who had not yet comprehended that the empire didn't want any publicity, of any kind. Or, he reminded himself, the empire hadn't wanted any publicity of any kind, up till now.

  When the imperial assembly area came into view, he saw he'd guessed right. Most of the individuals there were in Imperial Security dress uniform, although he saw one soldier in utilities dozing. He sat down apart from everyone else, partly because he wanted to keep an eye on the scene, but also because he wanted some space and quiet to do some 'assigned reading' in the book. The bag at his feet, he opened his book and began reviewing what he had read weeks ago.

  * * * * *

  Amanda was a little frustrated by the plane's late arrival, but she tried to stay calm. Not only was this 'fly-over country' – and who knows if they really knew what they were doing – but this could be a good chance to kick her career into high gear. And it would be her career, not a spin-off of her father's influence. All she had to do was get inside the corporate headquarters of Imperial Security – what a pretentious name! - and write sort-of-an-expose about those megalomaniacs for a major west coast periodical. Having an article like that on her resume would indicate her ability and talent, not daddy's bucks. It made it even better that she would do it with her grandmother's maiden name, as Amanda Wright, rather than using a family name known in the world of journalism.

  She congratulated herself on traveling light, with only an overnight case in the o
verhead. She smiled to herself somewhat regretfully as she remembered showing up for her freshman year at Vassar – all those bags and clothes. She would have been better off showing up with some of the humility she developed at college – it wouldn't have taken so long to get over her 'princess' attitude. Now, there was only one case that she could pull through the airport terminal by herself, adding to the impression of a normal working girl, an impression that she was trying to give other people. Well, maybe she was trying to convince herself a little bit, too.

  Finally getting off the plane, she looked carefully at the terminal signs, working out where the so-called 'imperial assembly area' might be. She headed in that direction, hoping that she wasn't dressed too fashionably. She'd been worried about that, but as far as she could see so far, she was okay – young and hip, but not too young or too hip. It was a long walk – the darn place would have to be at the other end of the terminal – but once there a bus was supposed to provide transportation to 'imperial headquarters.' That was funny, using an 'imperial bus' – she wondered as she walked if she could work that into the story as a comic item.

  As she got near the lounge, she slowed down and carefully inspected the area. A number of security personnel, probably going to the 'headquarters' for some reason. They were all sitting together and talking, which would make it more difficult to get information from them. One soldier, in some kind of field uniform – and what was he doing there? – but he was napping, so there was no point in trying to get information from him. Finally, sitting apart from everyone else, with his nose buried in a book, was a – for goodness' sake – a cowboy, complete with cowboy boots. Well, at least he was by himself, which made him a perfect target. She ought to get tons of information out of him. Boys had been drooling over her and falling at her feet since puberty, so she was sure a cowboy would be no trouble at all.

  She made her way over to where he was sitting, and was surprised that he didn't bother to look up – that was indeed an unusual reaction, for her. Standing in front of the chair next to him, she cleared her throat and asked “Is this chair taken?” By the time she was done talking, he was looking at her and she could immediately tell that she'd made a mistake. First of all, he was handsome enough, with striking deep chocolate brown eyes, that he had to think she was hitting on him. Even worse, he looked intelligent, and that had to be one of the stupider things she could have said.

  It didn't help that he looked searchingly at her face, then slowly turned his head to see the ten or twenty empty seats around them. Out of the corner of one eye, she could see that they were attracting attention among the security people, but she had no idea why. Finally the cowboy looked back, at her face, and said, “It doesn't look as if it belongs to anyone.” Then he focused on his book again.

  This didn't feel like it was going to go very well at all. The cowboy was probably too used to women falling all over him. It might even be hard to get rid of him when she had the information she wanted, but he wasn't reacting in any way she was used to, and that was also worrisome. She sat down beside him, trying to plan the next step in getting information out of him. “Are you going out to imperial headquarters? I'm going out there to apply for a job.”

  Again there was that slow movement of the head and an intense stare at her face. She suddenly had the impression that he was greatly amused by something although his expression didn't change. “Is that so? What job are you going to apply for?” he asked politely.

  “Well, they always need secretaries and clerks, although I guess I'd hope to eventually work in the president's office.” The sense of having made some mistake grew stronger, so she decided to change the conversation, fast. “That's a beautiful book. What is it?”

  “De Jure Belli ac Pacis.”

  “What?” Whatever he'd said made no sense. He simply repeated himself and handed the book to her. It was beautifully bound in leather, and the paper inside was a heavy, cream-colored paper that was a delight to look at, or touch. The words, though, were obviously not English. She thought she could recognize enough to make a guess what it was. “Latin?”

  “It was the last time I looked.”

  Oh, this guy was hilarious. He must be a college prof, dressed up like a cowboy – but what would he be doing going to a security company headquarters? She was thinking of how to turn the conversation to the information she wanted to hear when she noticed that the sleeping soldier was awake and coming towards them. The soldier's attitude was … different. She got the impression of someone who thought he was in a lot of trouble, but why would that involve herself or the cowboy?

  “Salve, praetor,” the soldier said, bringing himself to rigid attention.

  “Salve, Alta Aquila,” the cowboy replied, and then waited. The soldier seemed to be struggling to find words to say, so the cowboy continued, “Erisne praetorianus? Esne serus?”

  The soldier replied, still frozen-faced. “Ita. Nullam excusationem habeo.”

  The cowboy gave a slight smile. “Laxa, miles. Primus ab vectura descendere eris; ultimus ero. De hoc tuo decurioni iudicium concedebo.”

  A smile broke out on the soldier's face. “Gratias, praetor!” The soldier turned and moved away quickly, apparently relieved, but still a little afraid.

  “What was that all about?” she asked, more than a little disgruntled from being left out of the conversation.

  The cowboy made that slow turn of the head to look at her and said, “Is it any of your business?”

  By this time, Amanda was starting to lose her temper, although she tried to keep it under control. She had just about had it with this cowboy who just wasn't reacting the way that he should.

  * * * * *

  Michael had to struggle to keep from breaking out in hilarious laughter. The young woman with the slight upper-class Manhattan accent seemed to be trying to strike up a friendship, probably to pump him for information, but she wasn't doing a good job of it. He'd originally thought she was some kind of reporter, but her clothes were too expensive, and she was far too ignorant of the situation at Ostia. Going out to apply for a secretary's job, hopefully in the president's office? That one had been especially hilarious. He was really curious to see how long she was going to keep this up – it should make for a very amusing ride back to Ostia.

  * * * * *

  Beth was quite content by the time the early lunch was over. The platoon had gone out right at 0800 and gotten fitted for uniform coats – dark blue, simple, single-breasted. They had gone on to get jeans and white shirts to go under the jackets. By the time they got up from a short nap to have an early lunch, their jackets were ready, and they didn't look too much different from the other decury who had shown up – all except one of them – during the night. So when, after lunch, they got into a loose formation and strolled to the gate, she was sure that something was going to happen soon. Probably they'd meet, and guard, the new consul and the air of excitement was pretty contagious. First seemed to be of the impression that 'great' things would be happening soon.

  The other decury, all older men and seasoned veterans, spread out, leaning against the wall of Ostia as they waited. Jon strung out Ari's squad on the right side of the veterans, and his on the left. Then they all waited, though not very long, because soon a bus pulled up silently to discharge passengers. The first passenger off was a soldier in utilities who seemed to shrink from the glare that First gave him. Something was said, though Beth couldn't hear what it was, but the soldier tried to blend in with the rest of the veterans, so she assumed he was the missing veteran. Then a series of men in security jackets got off the vehicle and lined up to enter the gate.

  She did hear Jon saying something then about a series of black vans on the street, waiting to pull up close to the gate. He reported them to First and then she heard him clearly on her headset. “Heads up, guys. I don't think there have ever been five black vans on the street before, following a bus.” The last two passengers got off and the bus pulled away. Most of the passengers got through th
e gate with no problem, showing their passes or orders to the gate guard. But there was a problem with the next to the last passenger, who apparently had no ID or orders and was therefore refused admittance – and she was not happy about it. It looked like she was going to cause a real scene when the last passenger swung into motion. Opening a bag at his feet, as Beth expected, he pulled out a soldier's double shoulder harness – and two pistols, she was sure – and then a uniform coat that he put on. She couldn't tell exactly how many stripes he had on his sleeve – she was too far away for an accurate count, but she could tell that he had more stripes than she had seen so far.

  * * * * *

  Amanda was seething even more by the time they got to the company headquarters. The cowboy was acting even more like a smug jerk than he had been. She had forced herself to keep asking questions and he had kept on making terse, uninformative replies. All the time, she kept getting the sense that he was becoming more and more amused by her – and she wasn't happy about that at all.

  It didn't help that things were going downhill fast. She'd been given the impression that this was a story about a security company. However, based on what she'd heard and seen so far, this 'company' had 'corporals', 'sergeants' and 'soldiers', operated a powerful bus that was so silent it could only be electric, and had a 'corporate headquarters' that was surrounded by a thirty foot high stone wall. If that weren't enough, when she tried to talk her way inside to 'apply for a job' she was politely but firmly told that she wouldn't be allowed in because she had neither orders nor an imperial ID. She hated that because she could feel the amusement coming from the cowboy behind her – he must have known she was lying about why she was coming here.