by Ted Mayes
Before he went to get breakfast, he checked the latest messages. Wilhelm Brandt, the urban praetor, reported the mensa outside the gate was finished and that, starting today, there would be agents from the appropriate departments and the university present to answer questions and take applications. Also, the first Acta Diurna, daily news, kiosk had been set up at the top-side crossroads. It would provide maps of Ostia (primarily the shops), news announcements, and a way to gather input for survey questions. In connection with that, the beginnings of some kind of news service was starting this morning at 0800. A note from Mary Chen spoiled the morning, though – thankfully, he could dump that on Amanda.
At breakfast he said good morning to Tommy and carefully observed the new set of youngsters. They were good kids, still fresh out of basic, but he could see a difference between them and Jon Harrison's group. That first group meshed almost instantly with the praetorians, and, although their nervousness was obvious, they had stepped up to new duties and responsibilities without hesitation. This group had a number of outstanding individuals in it, but they needed to be coaxed and encouraged to accomplish some things.
Amanda came in, surprisingly early, he noticed. She spotted him, picked up some breakfast and some coffee and came to sit down next to him. She had that legal pad full of questions with her, he saw with amusement. He had to admit, to himself, of course, that she had much more going for her than he had first thought. She was a Manhattan socialite, sure, but her family was almost as dysfunctional as his had been, which was saying a lot. However, she had also turned out to be more tough-minded and curious than he had expected, and she certainly seemed to have no fear of confronting him. Nodding at her food, he said, “Looks like we're corrupting you.”
It took a second for her to understand it, but then she smiled at him. He was struck by two things – it was the first time she'd smiled at him, honestly and without reservation and it was surprising how attractive the smile made her look. She said, “I guess you guys are corrupting. You have to promise to shoot me, though, if I start begging to run the obstacle course. I would be certifiably insane if I were ever to say I wanted to do that.”
“Before you get to your list of questions, make a note to talk with Mary Chen ASAP. She's starting to make noises about me hosting a diplomatic reception, and you're going to handle it for me.”
She looked up, curious. “Why me?”
“You're a New York socialite. I should get someone else, like maybe Tommy, to do it?”
“I mean, don't you have any one else to do it?”
The old, familiar, bleak feeling swept over him, but he concentrated and replied in a level voice, “You know my wife died some years ago. I have no one else.”
She took another bite, considering something carefully. Then she asked with just a hint of hesitation, “I wondered, after that dinner with Agent Reynolds, why your street name in New York was 'Michael the Bastard'?”
He smiled. “Because I am a bastard, both literally and figuratively.” She gave him a questioning look and waited for him to go on. “Literally, because my birth mother was a prostitute, my unknown father one of her Johns. She died early and I have no memories of her. Raised, unwanted, in the foster care system. Lived on my own on the streets for a while. Figuratively, because some people thought that I, that we, could be frightened into doing what they wanted. Shall we say that they were the ones who were surprised?”
She was silent for a while and he could almost see her remembering what Reynolds had said. “How did you get off the streets of New York? I think it's fair to say that you've come a long way.”
He shrugged. “The emperor found me. For his own reasons, he took me off the streets, gave me an education and a life. He and the empress are the only real parent figures I've had.”
She looked like she wanted to ask more questions about his last statement, but knew from experience that he'd say no more on that topic, so she looked down at her list of questions. “A number of my contacts from outside seem to be extremely surprised that, as a slave, I haven't been sexually abused. Many of them want to know why.”
“Not to mention that you're moderately interested in the answer yourself?” To his delight, he actually saw a little bit of a blush on her cheeks. “Okay. From the legal viewpoint, rape, the forced sexual activity of man, woman or child, citizen or slave, is punishable by death, no alternatives and no excuses. You yourself know how fast imperial justice works.”
“What about if it happens in private and no one knows?”
“You need to talk to some of the praetorians. With certain exceptions, there is no such thing as privacy. In your case, if you were sexually attacked, even by me, Samuel would recognize it as rape, record it, and report it – then, tomorrow morning, I'd be executed.”
She started to say something, but he held up his hand to halt her. “From the ethical viewpoint, you've experienced a bit of the power that the emperor has – your trial, the money pit, the lunar trip. If he and his high officials had no self-control, how miserable would he be able to make the world? No, instead he demands self-control from anyone who does wield, or could wield, any part of the imperial power.”
“Even these new recruits, fresh from basic?” she asked incredulously.
“If you think back to your first day here, you'll remember that a bunch of equally new recruits helped inflict capital punishment on some attackers. You'll also remember that you're the one building up the idea of how fearsome the imperial marines are. Should you be doing that, if they're here 'to stamp out freedom in the galaxy'?”
He was betting that she'd change the subject, wanting to think more about that question about privacy. “Is there something written down about how to get into this empire?” He was right – must be getting to recognize her way of thinking, he told himself.
“Other than committing espionage?” he asked with a smile.
“Yes, I think I have the basics down on that way of gaining entry.” She smiled back at him.
“Ask at the Foreign Department – they should certainly have an extra copy of the entry rules. Two other things before I have to run. It's been suggested that anyone and everyone be allowed into Ostia – to shop, go to a restaurant or attend 'cultural events.' What's your first reaction to that?”
She did consider it for a heart beat. “I'd have to say that if you wanted to publicize the empire, you'll do it. Gossip spreads the news faster than anything else. The other thing?”
“In case you didn't realize it, classes start at the Imperial University today. I've signed you up for a class, 1000, Capitoline building, room 201. Don't be late – I'm sure you'll find it interesting, to say the least.” He picked up his tray, placed it in the sink and left for his first inspection trip of the day.
* * * * *
Amanda finished her coffee and cleaned off her spot in the kitchen. She went back to her room, scribbling a few more questions as she walked. I'd like to ..., she thought and then disciplined her thoughts, no, she exercised self-control, she decided with amusement. The man was so frustrating – every answer he gave to her question led to ten other questions. And besides that, he was so … she couldn't think of an appropriate term. It wasn't quite the fact that he liked being mysterious about things, like the 'university class' – by now she recognized that was his way of directing her to a new story without actually telling her about it. The story of his childhood, though, was horrific. It tugged at her heart-strings, but he put on an act as if his childhood was less important than … needing to get a haircut.
She picked up her shoulder bag and made sure she had enough legal pads – after all she would need them if she was going back to college. She stopped at the Foreign Department and picked up a couple of copies of the 'rules of entry' – that had been one of the things the 'guys' had asked for. She'd been made the unofficial babysitter for a few reporters who had somehow managed to gain entry to Ostia. They were still a little lost, trying to learn Latin on their own, by immersion. Some o
f them were making progress, but they still looked to her for accuracy of translation and insights.
The news people had adopted a bar named “Claire's” on the Via Emporia just a few doors down from the crossroads as their 'watering hole.' When they weren't wandering through the city trying to understand and be understood, they were gathering their data, sharing notes and views, trying to make sense of things. As she approached the crossroads, she noticed the the new information/news kiosk, and decided that was the lesson for today.
She reached Claire's, called “hi” to the assembled group and heard their answers, most of them printable. She announced, “I got some copies of the 'entry rules' that you guys were interested in – I'll leave a copy here for you guys to puzzle over – and I got a couple of copies of a pamphlet some of the university professors put together on conversational Latin. I figure that some of you will owe me a beer for that.” There were several impolite suggestions about the likelihood of her ever getting any beer from them.
“Listen up, because I don't have very long this morning. First, some of you have been complaining about not being able to live and eat here because of financial troubles. I checked at the Imperial Bank and some of you must have misunderstood something. The bank will change any foreign currency into imperial coin, but they'll exchange currency only at the official exchange rate. However, they do not insist that you have to exchange your country's currency – the only requirement is no counterfeit.”
“Now, entry rules – anyone will be able to get a guest permit by signing up – a thumbprint and you'll get a pass. The rules for guests are: no theft, no violence, no drugs, obey any Marine orders. That last one I strongly suggest that you take special note of. To apply for a job, here or elsewhere, to apply to run a business or to rent a farm (that will be explained when you read my next story), you need to apply, be investigated briefly (and a letter of recommendation from an imperial helps here), then you may get a permit. Two years as a foreigner, three on probation with partial Latin rights, then you're permanently a Latin .”
“What are those Latin rights, Ochs,” someone called out.
“My quick research said they were commercium, the right to run a business, make legally binding contracts and sue in court, connubium, the right to make either kind (sorry, haven't figured out what that means yet) of marriage valid anywhere in the empire, and ius migrationis, the right to move anywhere in the empire.”
“Those last two don't mean much – the right to move up or down a level in this little town? Not worth much at all.”
Amanda couldn't help but glare at the speaker, an individual so stupid, she wondered how he'd gotten hired anywhere. She spoke with as much scorn as she could muster, “For those of you who don't have your head stuck up a dark place, you might want to reflect that this 'little' empire has a colony on the moon already and has sent an expedition to Mars. And, so far as I can tell, they dream pretty big dreams.” With one last glare, she said, “They've got something new at the crossroads, take a look at it! I just saw an announcement that a deversorium, a hotel, just opened. And I have to go to the University – I've been signed up for a class. See you later.”
She hurried off, not bothering to listen to the loud comments that were being made behind her. She had to do a little running because the Capitoline building was at the end of the Via Schola, but she found the room with minutes to spare. She quickly noticed two things – one was that she was already acquainted with some of the other students – four of the nineteen people already present were part of Beth's platoon, in fact, one of them was Beth's Jon. The other thing was the layout of the room – a table in the middle of the room, encircled on three sides by a 'two-story' counter/desk. Everyone was able to see the prof and the front of the room, and the prof could see everyone.
An older man walked in and closed the door, putting a portfolio down by the prof's chair. She saw several of Beth's friends glance at Jon and he nodded in return. Then she noticed all the decorations on the prof's coat and had the same reaction that almost everyone else had – an almost instinctive desire to snap to attention. There were the nine stripes of a praetor, only one rank below Michael, the five rings of an emperor's adviser, and more honor bars than she could make out at a distance.
He spoke, “I wore the uniform coat so you'd know who I am, not that you should let all the pretty colors bother you. I'm Dr. Nathanael Harrison, Praetor of the university system, Dean of the college of law and government, and your guide for this class which we call Politics 101, for lack of a better name. You may, if you wish, think of me as one of your drill instructors for college.” Amanda heard a very soft groan from one of the students. Dr. Harrison grinned in a way not unlike the First, or Michael, when they were planning something that would not be exactly pleasant. “Just so that you know what you're getting into, there have been students in the past who begged to return to basic, because it was easier. Check the student handbook for more information – it should have already been downloaded into your clerk, along with copies of the textbooks. To sum it up briefly, because we're not going to waste any more time on it, no tests or papers in this class – the only thing you have to do is convince me that you know as much about the subject as I do – and I've got fifteen years, at least, head start on all of you.”
“One last thing,” he said, “some of you may know that my son is a member of the class. I want to assure all of you that he will not get preferential treatment.”
“If I may, sir,” Jon interrupted, “I think it only fair to say that if I do get good grades, it may only be because you've been lecturing me for the last eighteen years.”
Dr. Harrison smiled broadly and said “Touché.” The ice was broken then, and laughter rang out. Dr. Harrison stripped off his coat and said, “Let's get started. The Republic – this Platonic or Socratic dialogue – and someone get ready to explain the difference and tell me which kind of dialogue this is – is really about δικαιοσύνη, 'justice' in Ancient Greek, but 'righteousness' in the Koine of the New Testament. Master Levi, give me a definition of justice ….”
* * * * *
Beth was still excited by the emperor's message when she got to the high school. Her Mom and Dad had been just as excited, but more by the anticipation of a new job than anything else. She parked in the 'senior' parking lot, picked up her 'tool' bag and headed for the school's entrance. She waved at a few friends, but headed straight for the principal's office. He was standing in the corridor, watching the students when Beth came up and he ushered her into his office, where he pointed to an open space on a bookshelf and said, “You can set it there, Bethany.” When she'd done so, he continued, “I do have some things to tell you. The security system that Imperial Security installed is fantastic. With it, I don't think we're going to have any trouble this year. However, if we ever should have trouble, 'Code Black' will be announced over the PA if there's a need to lock down the school. As long as that's all you hear, just stay in your class. But if you should hear 'Code Black – Mayday', leave your classroom and get down here to your 'tools' as soon as possible. Remember, just 'Code Black', stay in your classroom; 'Code Black – Mayday', get down here fast. All the faculty knows we have an unusual situation this year, and I've talked with all your teachers this semester about the codewords, so if they hear the 'Mayday' they won't keep you in class.”
“That's great, Dr. Andrews, but I really hope we never hear any of those code words.”
“That's true for all of us, Beth. If I'm not here at the end of the school day, just come in and get your bag.”
“Thanks, Dr. Andrews.” She left the office and went to check on her locker, located near her first hour science class. She hurried along, wanting to get to her science teacher before the class started. He was there and she went up to him, saying, “I have a present for you, Mr. Simpson.” She reached into her book bag and pulled out the lunar samples she'd gathered and placed them on his desk. “Here you go, a lunar rock and a sample of lunar dust.�
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He looked at her very strangely, then picked up the bags and examined them carefully. “Thank
you, Bethany. They certainly look like lunar samples, but no one's been to the moon since 1972.”
Beth froze. She had simply forgotten that most people didn't know anything about what she'd lived through. Her mind raced quickly – was there anything she could say? “Mr. Simpson, before you say anything to anyone, would you do one thing for me? Call the Kansas City FBI office and ask to speak to Special Agent in Charge James Reynolds – I'm sure he'll talk to you if you mention 'Ostia' and 'moon rocks.' Tell him what just happened and ask him what to do. Will you do that?”
“I'll try and make the call, but I doubt that anyone will want to talk to me down there.”
“You may be surprised at how they react.” With that, Beth took a seat and waited for the class to begin. She was a little embarrassed that she hadn't thought how skeptical people might be, hadn't thought through what might happen. Well, if nothing else, it showed her that, for all the growing and maturing she'd done this summer, she was still a high school girl. She made a note for later – 'talk with Jon – more growing up to do – think things through carefully.'
The bell rang for the start of the school and the PA came on, with the principal welcoming them to the new school year. He closed the announcements by telling everyone that the school was involved in the test of a new security system, and that any illegal drugs brought onto campus would immediately be confiscated. While the principal was making that announcement, she noticed Mr. Simpson looking strangely back and forth between her and the lunar samples. Well, maybe things would work out after all.
