Annales Imperii - I. Ostiia

by Ted Mayes

  They went back top-side and Beth began giving her a thorough tour of the city. When they reached crossroads, though, Amanda stopped and looked at the gate for a moment. “How do you know I won't run for freedom.”

  Beth shrugged. “You could try it if you wanted, but I suggest you think about it. You saw how you couldn't just take a penny from the pit. Do you really think someone who was just bought for 5,000 aurei is just going to walk out the front door?”

  “You're probably right, but I've got to try it – I've got to know.” Amanda turned and began walking toward the gate.

  * * * * *

  Beth hoped nothing too bad was going to happen as Amanda tried to 'escape', but she could understand, sort of, what she meant by needing to know. So Beth followed a step behind Amanda, keeping a close eye on her. About twenty feet away from the gate, Amanda staggered a bit and said, “Suddenly I don't feel good.” She kept on moving, though slowly, until she was almost in the gate tunnel. Then she raised a hand and put it out in front of her.

  Suddenly she froze and Beth got the impression that there was something wrong, even though no sound was made. Beth pulled Amanda's hand back and Amanda immediately tottered back. Quickly moving twenty feet away, she turned around and said shakily, “Well, that's something I don't ever want to try again!”

  Beth looked at her quizzically and she went on, “Closer than this to the gate and I feel awful, like I'm ready to throw up the worst of all possible meals. Just putting my hand into the gate was the most excruciating pain I've ever felt – and I couldn't move and couldn't even scream.” She shuddered and said, “I'm ready now for that tour.”

  The rest of the morning was very enjoyable. It was easy to see that Amanda was impressed by the size of Ostia, especially the underground parts, but Beth got the impression that she wasn't as excited about the shopping possibilities as Beth was. They stopped briefly at one place because Beth saw a top she wanted to get for school, but Amanda wasn't very interested in doing any shopping. Finally, as they were leaving the shop, Beth asked, “Is there something wrong?”

  The older woman shook her head, “No. I was just realizing that I don't have much in the way of clothes right now. I only brought an overnight case with me, so now some of my clothes are on the west coast and the rest are on the east coast.”

  “Talk to Samuel about it,” Beth said.

  “What can a 'computer' do about my clothes?”

  “I don't know, but the point is that you won't know unless you ask.”

  Amanda looked at her for a moment, then asked for Samuel. There was a short explanation, a pause, and then she gave Samuel two addresses. Then she pulled her headset off and looked at it before putting it back on. “Samuel said he'd take care of it.”

  Beth smiled at her and responded, “Then there's no point in worrying about it, is there?” With that Amanda gave her a look that, to be charitable, clearly expressed some doubts about Beth's intelligence. Regardless, they strolled back to the residence cheerfully enough, with Beth telling her some stories about basic training.

  When they got back, Beth showed Amanda all the ins and outs of the barracks. In return, Beth was invited to see the bedroom that Amanda had been assigned. The opening of the door, though, caused Amanda to freeze. Peeking into the room, Beth could see piles of clothes all over. She restrained herself from laughing at Amanda's reaction. There was a slight click and both were able to hear Samuel's voice. “If you wish me to return any of these, either to your apartment or to your father's house, simply let me know which ones you do not require.” A soft click indicated the closing of a channel.

  “What the … This is impossible,” Amanda sputtered, standing in the middle of the room looking at all the clothes.

  Beth tip-toed past a couple of piles and sat on the edge of the bed near the desk in the room. “Impossible?”, she said. “Are you saying that these aren't your clothes?”

  “They're my clothes, even my hangers, even,” she held up a pair of boots, “my Doc Martens. The problem is that there's no way Samuel, or anyone, could get these things here from both coasts in what, the thirty minutes it took to walk back here.”

  “No, that's not the problem. Samuel said he'd take care of it thirty minutes ago, right? You say that this stuff is all yours, right? The problem isn't that this,” she waved her hand at the crowded room, “is impossible – the problem is that you have no idea how it was done!”

  Amanda stopped and looked closely at Beth. “Doesn't it bother you? Or do you know how it was done?”

  “No, I don't know how it was done, and I'm not sure I'd understand if someone tried to explain it to me. I don't know how a TV works, either, but I can turn it on and use it. Now, do you want some help going through all these things?” When Amanda shook her head, Beth added, “I don't know if it will help your sorting, but Jon, Sergeant Harrison, said something about this place being set up for 'formal entertaining' on the emperor's behalf.”

  While Amanda was either putting clothes away or making new piles, all the time muttering about what she'd like to do to 'that cowboy,' Beth happened to glance at the desk and saw a handwritten document there. Without picking it up, she looked at the first words – 'Today I saw justice – really saw justice.' She skimmed the words, apparently written by Amanda about her 'experience', and was impressed by how good it was. Probably this was something the boss should know about.

  * * * * *

  Michael had finally gotten through the most important part of the paper backlog. The rest could wait a little bit. It had only been a day and a half – the old hands of the Praetorians were settling in well, while the youngsters, the new graduates from basic, were as cute as a basket full of puppies. Everything had turned out well, then he caught himself and was really tempted to slap his own head. Yes, there was that one slight hiccup – the one that lead to him being the reluctant owner of one spoiled New York socialite. He wondered very quietly to himself how long the emperor was going to make him put up with her. He'd have been happy to bounce her out of here fast, since no harm was done. Unfortunately, the emperor was adamant that you did not let spies of any kind run free, and thus he was stuck.

  Well, time for the next step. He'd told Tommy to gather everyone in the great room and they were gathering around the food he'd ordered. The food was being consumed quickly, but he was glad to see that the praetorians were sharing stories and tips with the youngsters, who would, hopefully, absorb a lot over the next 11 days. He saw Amanda slide into the room as well. She was staying back from everyone else, but he was sure it wasn't out of respect for someone's exalted status. She was probably still scared stiff that she was surrounded by blood-thirsty savages. No matter – she was as stuck as he was.

  “When you're done eating, boys and girls, it's time to talk – Tommy, make sure your guys at the door can hear this.” As they all quieted down, Tommy nodded. “Okay, some housekeeping rules. One, none of this stuff is mine, so be careful with it. Two, starting tomorrow morning, the contractors are going to start feeding us the same stuff that they feed the first legion. If you don't want to eat it, that's up to you, but it comes out of your pocket. Amanda,” her head shot up when she heard her name, “will find a place to post the menu and figure out some way you can indicate whether you're eating it or not.”

  “Starting at 1400 today, for the next few days, I'm going to be inspecting some 'projects.' The emperor insists that a full platoon go with me, and I'm going to be taking the youngsters,Tommy. Jon, is everyone ready for active duty?”

  “Yes, sir, as long as it doesn't include running. Private Modi can move, just not very fast.”

  “Speaking of Private Modi, First, didn't you want to say something?”

  “Yes, sir! On your feet, son!” the First barked. As Lal struggled to his feet, the First unexpectedly smiled at him. “Two days ago, you did your duty and were wounded in the service of the emperor. For this, the emperor thanks you, and awards you the wound medal and an aureus. Congratulations!”r />
  While the First was pinning a small medal with a blood-red ribbon on his jacket and handing him a gold coin, one of the praetorians stage-whispered, “Don't forget to tell him, First, that it's also called the 'too-dumb-to-duck' medal!”

  “You should know all about that, High Eagle, since you've been awarded the 'too-dumb-to-duck' medal nine times!” the First said sarcastically.

  “And now, speaking of Private William High Eagle,” Michael interjected, “I've noticed that some of you praetorians have somehow developed a bad case of modesty and seemed to have somehow forgotten to wear all of your awards and decorations. That had better be corrected by tomorrow morning.” There was an awkward silence at Michael's words and some of the praetorians were definitely trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  After glaring at some of the older men, Michael continued speaking. “The empire has remained hidden for 19 years, and the older praetorians know, to a greater or lesser extent, how hard that has been – how hard it has been to defend the empire, and to keep that defense of the empire quiet enough that the empire could grow without interference or major problems. As some of you may have guessed from rumors, the emperor has decided that we no longer need to hide,” there was an excited movement among the older men, “but that does not mean that anyone gets to behave like a barbarian.”

  “It does mean that we will be facing new problems very soon – guests and visitors who don't know how to behave, workers in the empire who are foreigners or Latins and will never become citizens, new workers who would like to be citizens – perhaps we'll be up to our ears in reporters and diplomats. The praetorians know what is expected of them, but I want the youngsters to understand what is going on.”

  “The emperor and his advisers have been considering these things, and future problems, for a number of years, but the emperor doesn't pretend that he knows everything. If any of you have ideas that could help, make them known. I can assure you that your ideas will be considered, and, if they are of any help, you will be rewarded. So, as you stand watch you can consider the first concern the Imperial Council is considering – exactly how do we go about letting the world know that we're here after 19 years of hiding? You are free to leave.”

  Michael was slightly amused by the bored looks that the praetorians affected as most of them strolled off, even though, knowing them, he knew they were honored by the request for advice. The youngsters, though were simultaneously awestruck and thrilled to be in such a position – they even stuck around chattering excitedly. With two exceptions – Private Jordan was hesitantly coming forward to talk with him. And Amanda was moving forward even more cautiously, as if he were a rabid dog at the end of a chain of unknown length. “A suggestion, sir,” Private Jordan said, and out of the corner of one eye, Michael saw Jon Harrison's attention shift to the girl in front of him. He nodded and she continued. “It seems to me that it would help to have a skilled writer who could be in the empire, someone who could see what goes on in the empire and yet still be a believable 'outsider.'” She paused briefly. “Amanda has written something that indicates she might fit that general description.”

  He saw Amanda give a start and then freeze as he turned his attention to her. He almost laughed, because it reminded him so much of a rabbit freezing into motionlessness at the approach of a wolf. “Amanda, is it all right if Private Jordan brings the document to me?” She gave a quick, jerky nod, and Beth disappeared, only to reappear quickly with a couple of sheets of paper in her hand. He read them through carefully twice, then looked steadily at Amanda before saying, “Samuel, ask the emperor if he has a moment to talk to us, and send copies of these sheets to the emperor immediately.” There was a moment or two before there was a response, during which time Michael noted with disguised amusement that the youngsters had gotten extremely quiet, and that it was hard to decide who was more pale, Amanda or Private Jordan.

  Then there were five very penetrating 'pings' and a deep, rich voice was heard in the room. “It's a rare moment when I don't have time to speak with you, Michael.”

  “Sir, Private Jordan made the suggestion that my new slave might be an opening step in 'publicizing' the empire, using documents like the one I copied to you.”

  “Hmm,” the voice murmured, as if partly distracted by reading, “by 'Private Jordan', you're referring to the young lady who was so quick-thinking yesterday?”

  “Yes, sir, Private Bethany Jordan.”

  “And your Amanda wrote these?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is your Amanda capable of talking, Michael?” the voice said with amusement. “Is she capable of claiming this document as her own?”

  Michael directed a questioning look at Amanda, who cleared her throat and answered with a “Yes” that didn't have too much of a quaver in it. After a second, she realized she hadn't made a complete answer. She took a breath and answered more clearly, “Yes, I can speak for myself. Yes, I wrote that.”

  The silence that followed stretched out for a while. Michael remained relaxed, the youngsters remained frozen but listening carefully, and, to Michael's amusement, Amanda seemed to become more nervous.

  Finally, the voice spoke again. “The article is very good. You have quite a bit of talent, Miss Ochs. The idea is approved, Michael. Please have your Amanda work with the Foreign Department to contact the full gamut of print organizations, and if it works out, maybe she can deal with all news organizations for us. Contact the Urban Praetor to see her rights as an author are respected and set up an account for her peculium with the Imperial Bank. Oh, and make sure you thank Private Jordan for me, a beneficium minor.” There was a repeat of five 'pings' and then silence in the room.

  Michael smiled at the youngster's looks before saying, “Yes, that was the emperor speaking – he's always announced by those five pings – and he was probably watching your reactions. No, that isn't what he really sounds like, so don't expect to hear it on the street.”

  “Private Jordan, the thanks of the emperor,” he said flipping an aureus to her, “and you have a small favor you can ask of the emperor – and I'll explain that to you later. Decurion Harrison, have your troops ready to go at 1350. Dismissed.” He smiled again as the youngsters left, talking with each other in subdued excitement.

  Then he turned his attention to Amanda. “Go on over to the Foreign Department and tell them who you want your articles to go to, I'll tell them to discuss with you the benefit of distributing them to governments first, before they're released to the general public. Think about it and let me know tonight your ideas about dealing with non-print news media. I'll have Samuel alert legal services about protecting your copyright, but I doubt that will be a problem with the empire behind you – and I'll have Samuel set up an account at the Imperial bank for whatever monies you get paid.”

  Apparently, Amanda had had enough because she almost screamed, “Will you tell me just what the hell is going on?”

  Michael continued to smile. “I assume from your question that you have other questions?”

  “I have so many that you're gonna be busy for quite a while, buster!”

  It was all Michael could do to keep from laughing out loud. “Well, I'll take care of one right now, but just one – we have a busy afternoon.”

  She was speechless for a moment, partly from frustration, he suspected, as well as partly from trying to decide what one question to ask. Then, “What kind of slavery is this? A nice place to sleep - good food - no threats, beatings, or assaults – good grief, asking my permission for things – and, if I understand you correctly, legal protection for 'my' copyright and I get the pay for my work? That's not what slavery is!”

  “Technically, that's more than one question, but they are all related to the same topic. What kind of slavery is it? Imperial slavery, though there are some forms of Imperial slavery that are not as nice as what you're experiencing – incidentally, you'll get to see some of that other slavery, 'hauling rocks,' soon, in fact, tomorrow, I think. As for
the things you mentioned – and I am somewhat curious whether those were actually complaints about your own situation – the emperor takes Ephesians 6:9 very seriously, and any questions you may have about that, take them to the imperial chaplain. And finally, as for your statement of what slavery 'is', remember your world is not our world. We feel no obligation to do what others do, or what others think is right. Now you'd better get over to the Foreign Department because you need to be ready to leave here at 1350.” Michael left the room, smiling even more broadly, because, if his ears were functioning correctly, 'his' Amanda was stomping her foot in frustration.

  * * * * *

  An hour and a half later, Amanda wasn't quite as frustrated, but, if it were possible, even more confused. The Foreign Department had been way ahead of her from the beginning, almost as if they had already planned the whole program and were just looking for someone to plop into the position of 'official reporter of all things imperial.'

  She'd had a few minutes to review her story for corrections, had agreed to an imperial statement that this article was being released to governments 24 hours before it's general release, and had been able to furnish the names of a couple of people in TV and print media that she knew. She was told they would be contacted and provided with a copy of her article. Then, outside in the street she was stopped by someone claiming to be with the legal department of the ‘urban praetor's’ office – whatever that was – who suggested that the first story be free, as a 'tease' and that he would send over later a contract for her approval that would be binding on further sales of her articles. He said he wanted to hear any comments she wanted to make on the contract, and then led her into the Imperial Bank, where she signed for a new account with a thumb print and was given an old-fashioned 'passbook' for a savings account. He also told her that he thought she was going to be 'spectacularly successful' – the only source of (paid) information that many were anxious to have.