Annales Imperii - I. Ostiia

by Ted Mayes

  The rest of the day went by fairly quickly. The day was mostly picking up textbooks and getting used to where the classes were – Physics/Earth Science, English Lit., Pre-Calculus, a late lunch (which she thought, strangely, wasn't quite as good as the food during basic), American Government/ Economics, Spanish 3 and last period study hall. Beth was glad after Spanish class that Maria had been in her squad, and that they'd had time to chat over the summer. She was much more fluent in Spanish now than she had been, though her teacher told her she now had an Argentinian accent.

  She was sitting in study hall during 6th hour, idly glancing at the first book that was assigned for English Lit, Heart of Darkness. She was paying only limited attention to the conversation her friends were having because she'd discovered during the day that her interests had broadened considerably over the last three months. In fact, she decided that much of the change had taken place during the last month. While she was wondering about that, an office messenger came into the room and, after stopping to talk to the teacher, came over to tell her that she was wanted in the office. Gathering her books, she followed the messenger, making a small bet with herself what it was all about.

  She would have won the bet, because when she got to the principal's office, Mr. Simpson was there, and excited. Dr. Andrews calmly invited her to sit down, saying “I didn't expect the school year to get so challenging so quickly.” Then he motioned for Mr. Simpson to talk.

  Which he did with great eagerness. “Beth, I did make the phone call, as you asked, and as soon as I said the word 'Ostia' they put me through to Agent Reynolds immediately. I told him what you had done and said. His response was that, even though he had done no tests on the rocks, I should consider your gifts as genuine lunar artifacts, that as far as he knew they were yours to do with as you wished – and to ask you for the story. So I have to ask how you came into possession of these samples.”

  Beth had been considering how to tell that story and she'd figured that showing the recording was the best option. So she pulled Molly out of her pocket, set it on the principal's desk and said, “Molly, display the recording of the trip to the moon with the consul, starting with where we were putting on the suits before going outside.” The scene was displayed, in three dimensions, to the startled, but intense, scrutiny of the two men in the office. It played out in complete silence until they had seen her pick up and bag the samples and turn toward the mountain Capitol was under. She paused the display on that image of the lunar mountain and said, “I'd be happy to bring you a tape of the whole trip, but it's too long to show you all of it now. After all, the trip to the moon took two hours.”

  Both men jumped a trifle, but only Mr. Simpson commented. Shaking his head, he said, “I have the feeling that you should be teaching me physics and earth science this semester.”

  “On, no,” she said earnestly. “I don't know enough to teach anything. I can see that something I said really bothered the two of you, but I don't know what it was or why it bothered you. That was one of the reasons I was looking forward to science this year. I want to learn enough to know what questions to ask.”

  Mr. Simpson was quiet, staring at Molly now. Dr. Andrews said softly, “Beth, when the US made the Apollo moon landings in the late 60's and early 70's, it took three days to reach the moon, not two hours. Since then, the space shuttles have been flying but no one has ever said anything about anyone returning to the moon – till now.”

  “And now, one of your students is the one who's bringing you the story.” She smiled at the principal. With all the upheaval in her own life, she could sympathize with all the confusion the two teachers must be feeling.

  “Beth,” Mr. Simpson said, “who is this Molly that you were talking with?”

  “She is my …, the term is paedogogus in Latin, but the English term that is used is 'clerk.' What I was told was that 'she' was a 'semi-sentient computer and communicator.'”

  “Is this 'computer' female?”

  “No, at least I don't think so. Females tend to give their clerks female names, men tend to give them masculine names. I have a friend who named his 'George.'”

  “How does it communicate with you?”

  “Oh, it can talk.”

  There was a look of surprise on Mr. Simpson's face. “Would it talk to, with, us?”

  “I don't know why she wouldn't. Molly, please run the recognition procedure for these two men – please say your name,” the last she said in a brisk tone that made her wonder, after she'd said it, whether she was being too bossy.

  Her teacher and principal both spoke their names, there was a soft click of acknowledgement and then Molly said, “I will recognize Mr. Simpson and Dr. Edwards in the future, Beth.”

  “Good, then, please answer any questions that they may ask you – within the limits of imperial rules on privacy and secrecy.”

  “Yes, Miss. Gentlemen, do you have any questions for me, now?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Simpson said quickly. “Molly, Beth said you were a semi-sentient computer – would you define that?”

  “Sir, I am assuming you're asking for a more complete description of myself. Based on the Turing test, one could claim that that I and my colleagues are sentient, but true sentience and rationality is much more than simply following a complicated program. Therefore the description of semi-sentient was accepted as more accurate. 'Clerks' are small computers running a very complicated computer program that gives the illusion of sentience and rational thought.”

  “Are you aware of yourself?”

  “Not in the way you are, sir, though I can give the appearance of it.”

  “Can you tell me what your computing abilities are?”

  There was a short pause. “Only in general, sir, because of imperial secrecy regulations. Also because of the great dissimilarity between your systems and ours, I can only give approximations. In your terms my speed is about 500 terraflops and presently I have only about 10 petabytes of RAM. Of course, I'm only a common paedagogus and so not necessarily a true indication of imperial computing ability.”

  Mr. Simpson looked as if he'd been hit on the head. Dr. Edwards leaned forward, “Molly, what help are you allowed to give Miss Jordan?”

  “Sir, I assume you are asking whether Beth would be able to use me to gain an unfair advantage in classwork or on tests. That would not only be dishonorable and infamous on her part, but I'm not allowed to do anything like that. During school hours, I can be used to keep short reminders for her, or, with school permission, to record lectures for later review. Except for emergencies, messages are not passed on during class periods – for instance, I have not yet told Beth that her mother called earlier today.”

  Beth looked at the clock. “It's almost the end of the school day – could I contact my Mom to demonstrate Molly's communication abilities?” At Dr. Edward's nod, she went on, “Molly, open a channel to Mom.” There was a pause, a click and then they heard her Mom's voice saying her name. “Mom, I'm here with Dr. Edwards. Molly said you'd called – what's up?”

  There was a very brief pause, “Oh, hi, Dr. Edwards. Honey, that offer your Dad got at breakfast, it looks like it's going to happen. We want you to come out to Ostia after school. Larry, Becky and the kids are going to come out this evening and we're going to have dinner out here. Dad wanted to know if you had any recommendations on where to eat.”

  “Mom,” she said dryly, “I really haven't had the time to do much eating out. The only two places I've been are both topside, Pietro's, which is Italian, and the Gasthaus, which is Bavarian. They're both good – I did assume you were talking about something more than fast food.”

  “Yes, it's definitely a celebration type dinner. Drive carefully, but hurry out – we have lots to tell you.”

  “Okay, Mom, see you soon. Molly, close the channel.” Beth looked at the two men, who didn't look like they were going to say anything, so she just sat there quietly. The silence stretched on, finally broken by the last bell. Then she said, “Dr. Edwa
rds? May I go now?” He nodded, and she grabbed her book bag, put Molly in her pocket and turned to pick up her 'tool' bag. She politely said 'goodbye' and left the office and then the school, heading to her car. She couldn't wait to hear Mom and Dad's news.

  * * * * *

  Michael was in the middle of a discussion when Amanda burst into the atrium, “You must be out of your freakin' mind, sticking me in that class!” She stormed across the room to stand in front of his desk. “And to try and tell me that that class is for beginning freshmen is outrageous. That has to be a post-doctoral seminar, not 'Politics 101.'” She was still angry, but she stood there tapping her foot, waiting for his answer – and he couldn't remember being quite this amused in a long time.

  “Sir Stafford, this is Amanda. Amanda, this is Sir Robert Stafford, the British government's Attaché assigned to the Empire.” She glared at Michael, then politely greeted Stafford.

  “This is the young lady who is your … slave? Excuse me if I'm being improper in asking, but her tone of voice in addressing you is hardly servile.”

  Michael laughed. “Amanda wouldn't know what 'servile' was if it bit her. May we pause our conversation until I've dealt with this?” Stafford made a gracious gesture of agreement and Michael turned to Amanda. “Let's see about your concerns. Not a freshmen class? But you know Jon and some of the others in the class, and they're freshmen, so what do you base your criticism on?”

  “But the class is too difficult, they can't handle it!”

  Michael shook his head. “I'll repeat what's been said before – your world is not our world. Here, the university is formed more along European lines. The university is not for everyone, and the ones who attend there can either keep up with what is demanded or leave.”

  “Well, I couldn't keep up with it! What am I supposed to do?”

  “Are you saying you can't handle it?” Her angry look told him the answer to that question. “As for how to go about it, perhaps you could use the record that Samuel made of the class. Samuel, display the first five minutes of the class.” Samuel did so, showing Dr. Harrison's demanding probing of the students. Michael noticed, from the corner of his eye, Stafford's interest in the recording. “Plus, I have a portfolio for you – it will allow Samuel to display 2-dimensional information for you, personally, and give you the opportunity to communicate with Samuel by writing.” He opened a drawer and removed a portfolio, which he handed to Amanda.

  While she was examining it with great interest, Stafford cleared his throat and said, “That looked like a most interesting class. Would it be possible to 'audit' the class, just to sit in and listen?”

  Amanda snorted and spoke dismissively, “Get serious! He wouldn't have let you know about the class if he didn't want to get you into it.”

  “Of course, that is a well-established procedure in diplomatic circles, Miss Ochs. However, it is only proper to be courteous when one is 'nibbling at the bait', so to speak.”

  Michael smiled at him, “And the courtesy is appreciated. Certainly I have no problem with you auditing the class, but you need to direct your request to Dr. Harrison, whose office is in the Capitoline, at the end of the Via Schola.”

  “Thank you, I'll call on him this afternoon.”

  Amanda claimed his attention again. “And exactly why did you want me to take this class?”

  He smiled again, “Because you should experience the Imperial University, at least in part, before you write anything about it. And because I know the emperor keeps his eye on these classes. The empire's form of government is not fixed in perfection. The emperor is always interested in 'advice' on how to handle things better. This is your opportunity to give the emperor all the advice and good ideas you can, assuming that you can survive Dr. Harrison's seminar.”

  Amanda looked at him, all the anger gone. Finally she said, “Well, I don't know if I'll survive, but I'll try. Right now, I feel the urge to write something down on paper. Questions at lunch?”

  He nodded and she moved away without another word. Michael looked at Stafford and was glad to see that he had caught all the implications. Stafford gave him half a bow and said, “Her Majesty's government appreciates the opportunity. I will do what I can to offer the best advice Her Majesty's government has to offer.”

  “Your willingness to do so is appreciated. Returning to our previous conversation, were there other questions you needed to bring forward?”

  “I think that some of the questions will need to be re-thought in light of your generous offer. I believe I will have to ask my government for further instructions before more lengthy conversations can take place. There are several questions I have, though, if you don't mind?” Seeing Michael's affirmative gesture, he continued, “What do you expect a British diplomatic mission to the Empire to look like in the future?”

  “Here?” Michael said, “only a small group whose main task may be more along the lines of coordination. Elsewhere? That will be for your government to decide.”

  “Elsewhere?” Stafford asked as if he had no idea what Michael was talking about.

  Michael smiled at him again. “I am sure that British radars are fully capable of determining where our daily flights are going, even if I didn't know that your government had received a full report last week on what the astronauts experienced.”

  Stafford smiled back. “It would be extremely impolite, especially this early in our relationship, to accuse you of directing intelligence activities against Her Majesty's government.”

  “Indeed, it would be extremely impolite to say we were doing anything of the sort.”

  “If my government should decide to set up some kind of office here, would you foresee any problem in doing so?”

  “No. In fact, since your government is the first to ask about such a thing, you would have first choice among the spaces available. I should also tell you that a hotel is now available, if you would care to stay here in Ostia. Regardless, since your credentials have been accepted by the Foreign Department, you are welcome to come and go as you desire.” Michael stood. “I hope that we have the opportunity to chat again in the future.”

  Stafford rose as well. “Thank you, Consul. I look forward to further discussions, and, of course, to Dr. Harrison's class.” He bowed and began to move away before turning back. “If you don't mind a personal question, how much did you pay for Amanda?”

  “The equivalent of almost five million dollars.”

  “Most interesting.” Stafford bowed one more time and left. Michael turned back to the next stack of paper.

  * * * * *

  Amanda wrote quickly and before lunch she had most of a rough draft of a story on the university, but it wasn't going to be finished for a while. She had to pour through the student handbook, look at the structure and curriculum before she'd be able to finish it. At least she had gotten down the atmosphere, the feeling, of that class. She looked at the list she had of stories, written and to be written. The story of her trial was first and already out. The second was her story on the farm, which was going to be released tomorrow – thankfully, the Foreign Department had found someone who could do a good job of editing the videos. Seeing the video, she thought, would make a big difference in publicity.

  The story about the trip to the moon would be very popular, she thought. Michael seemed to think that the rumors about the daily trips would really prime everyone to pay attention to her story. Next would be a story on 'clerks.' Then one on the 'incognito emperor.' Next she was going to do two stories about the Marines. One about a young marine, based on Beth, and what it took to become a Marine – and a new class of recruits would be starting soon, so she'd be able to check some things out. The other story would be about a veteran Marine, and she'd heard enough whispered stories about 'First' Tommy Mills to make it a good one. The University would be story seven. She had to come up with some other ideas for stories.

  Oh, well, she was hungry and it was time for lunch. She picked up her legal pad filled with questions, then
hesitated. She looked at the portfolio and remembered the exact words Michael had used. “Samuel, would you be able to take the questions written on this pad, organize them, and display them on the portfolio?”

  “Yes, Miss. Would you like me to do that?”

  “Yes, please do, Samuel, thank you.”

  She took the portfolio with her and headed for the kitchen. She saw Michael sitting with Tommy, as usual. The other praetorians respected him, but never got close. Having heard about his childhood, she could believe he probably had a few troubles with making connections with people. He even looked a little tired – she wondered if she should ask Tommy about that. Then she froze for just a moment – what on earth, or on the moon, for that matter, was she doing thinking about taking care of him? It had to be the Stockholm syndrome. She took a sandwich, some soup and a cup of coffee and went over to sit beside him. She did say 'hi' to First, who grunted in reply – oh, was she going to have fun writing the story about him. All she said out loud was “Question, what kinds of marriage are there in the empire? The information on Latin rights implied that there was more than one kind.”

  “Two kinds of marriage,” Michael said. “The first is conjugium. Informal, the 'let's live together for a while' kind of thing. Couples get into it by deciding to do it. If they want to register it at the urban praetor's office, they can, but it's not required. It's over when one of them moves out. No fussing allowed. If they registered with the praetor he may make decisions about what to do with shared property and kids. Otherwise the couple is on their own.”

  “The other kind is matrimonium. That's more like what most people think of when the word 'marriage' is said. Formal, legal, registered, and unbreakable – no divorce allowed. The empire doesn't grant a license for people to marry, although it's traditional and highly recommended to have a priest, pastor, rabbi, or religious leader, do counseling and witness the formal ceremony.”