Annales Imperii - I. Ostiia

by Ted Mayes

  “Well, that solves everything, doesn't it,” Michael said with false jollity, “since those things are impossible, the actions and events that you gentlemen thought you were concerned with simply could not have happened.” He rose from his chair and bowed to them, “No doubt you're all eager to be back in your cozy offices where you won't be disturbed by such things, and I have other things to do. I hope you gentlemen have a very restful future. First, would you see the scientific gentlemen out. Thank you for coming.” First and the praetorians escorted most of them outside, but some of the diplomats remained behind.

  When the rest were finally gone, Stafford said, “You were rather rough on them, Michael.”

  “They got what they deserved, Robert. Your queen only reigns and does not rule, but what would your reaction be if one of them tried to tell the queen what she should or shouldn't do. And you, Sergei, how would the Kremlin feel in similar circumstances?” He motioned to the praetorians to provide seats, and they pulled benches out from the wall for the diplomats who were there.

  “If we might ask more substantive questions now,” Sergei Korilov, the Russian envoy asked. When Michael nodded, he continued, “may we ask what future imperial plans are for the moon?”

  “First, the emperor has ordered monuments to be placed at the places where Earth explorations have previously touched down. Russia and the United States will be asked to design the monuments for their respective locations and we will provide all the lunar rock you could want to construct the monuments. Second, non-functioning orbital craft will be retrieved and returned to the countries that launched them. If there aren't too many of them, the empire will place in orbit around the moon any scientific orbiters that the nations of earth wish to provide.”

  “Third, the emperor intends, at this time, to claim only the Copernicus crater as imperial territory. He expects that other nations may wish to set up colonies at other points on the Moon. The same thing may happen at other places in the Solar system, but at the present the future is too hazy to make definite plans too far out.”

  There was some silence while the diplomats considered what had been said. “Other places?” inquired Herr Tillich.

  “I believe you heard me correctly.”

  Li Xiaoping, China's envoy, went next. “What would the empire's relation to such colonies be?”

  “I would assume that the empire would be a good neighbor. However, when such colonies would seek their independence, as colonies always do, the emperor would respond favorably to such independence movements.”

  Li raised another question. “How does the emperor view independence movements on Earth?”

  “I don't believe the emperor has paid any attention to such movements, but I'll ask him for clarification in the matter.”

  “And you say that other nations may set up colonies?” Monsieur Daladier asked.

  “Of course. In fact, the nations of the world have been free to set up colonies on the Moon since 1972, I believe.”

  The diplomats looked at each other. Then the envoy from Japan, Sato Ichiro, said quietly, “Such colonies are very expensive, which is, of course, why they do not exist. The empire seems to be very proficient in creating the lunar dwellings. Could the imperial expertise be shared, or perhaps hired?”

  “In principle, I suppose it would be possible to hire imperial engineers to create such colonies. I'm sure there would need to be quite a bit of discussion about cost, layout and design, the desirability of communication networks, the availability of imperial transportation of supplies, and so forth.” The diplomats seemed to be thinking furiously, so Michael continued, “Perhaps you might wish to discuss these possibilities with your governments, so I thank you for your conversation this morning.” He rose and bowed, and the diplomats took the hint and left, talking over 'possibilities.'

  All the diplomats left except Stafford, who was chatting with Amanda. Once the others were gone, he came back to the desk and smiled, “Really, Michael, you pretend to be a simple soldier, but you are certainly one of the more skilled and devious diplomats I've had the pleasure of meeting.”

  He returned the smile. “You know, Robert, I should be insulted by such a statement although you obviously mean it as a compliment.”

  “I'm only glad, after reading Amanda's article on privacy, that you have the same lack of it that you inflict on me.”

  “Did you have something special you wanted to ask, Robert, or did you just want to gloat a little more?”

  “A comment, first. I noticed that you didn't want to discuss imperial technology, but I just wanted to let you know that not only have I noticed the 'control of gravity', 'faster than light communications' and enough power to excavate Capitol, run it, move asteroids around in the system, and travel at what I am told are ‘ridiculous’ speeds, but, after inspecting New Hope, I'm aware that the empire is able to, what did you call it, 'transplant' centuries old buildings to the lunar underground in an impossibly short time. On the other hand, you have the kindness to move an entire English village when their way of life was threatened.” Michael nodded, but waited silently.

  “I have an … acquaintance … who was much taken with Amanda's lyrical praise of New Hope and would like the opportunity to visit. This individual has been through quite a bit recently and would like to visit with as little publicity as possible.” Michael still said nothing. “Would a private visit be possible for ...” he searched Michael's face carefully, “... for Mrs. Wales and her two sons?”

  Amanda took a very quick, and audible, breath and stared at Stafford. Michael looked calmly at Stafford for a moment. “I'm sure it might be possible, but I suppose it would depend on whether the … family … would agree to it. I doubt that the emperor would allow anything except imperial security at Capitol. If the … family … had no objections to that, I suppose that I could guarantee an anonymous entrance to Ostia, and seats on a military flight to Capitol.” He thought for a moment. “In fact, I think I would probably be able to find a couple of volunteers to escort Mrs. Wales and her children to New Hope. In fact, I'm thinking of the two volunteers who so graciously offered to help Amanda with her last party.”

  A broad smile lit Stafford's face. “I will pass on your most generous offer to the … family … and Mrs. Wales.”

  “If you're not able to contact me privately, please feel free to pass on arrival information to Mary Chen or Amanda.” He turned to Amanda. “Is there anything else that should be said?”

  She smiled, but far too sweetly for Amanda. “Only that Sir Robert is guilty of typical British understatement. It shouldn't be 'devious', Sir, but 'diabolically devious.'”

  * * * * *

  On a Thursday afternoon, Beth had just picked up her coffee from Jordan's before strolling to work with Jon. Before they had gone very far, the both of them received an order to report to the consul as quickly as they could. They looked at each other, then Beth took a big swallow of coffee, dropped what was left in the nearest trash can, and began jogging to the residence. When they got there First was standing outside and waved them in. They slowed down to a fast walk across the atrium and came to attention at the desk. First came up behind them, Amanda sat at one end of the desk with sort of a rueful grin on her face, and Beth was left wondering just what was going on.

  “At ease,” the consul said, and then added, “a couple of benches so everyone can sit down.” Now Beth was really worried, and she could tell from a quick glance at Jon that he was, too. Benches were brought forward, and the consul gave First a glare as well, “One for you, too, Tommy.” Everyone waited for First, who reluctantly sat down at the other end of the desk from Amanda.

  “Good news and bad news situation, people,” the consul said. “The good news is that you two,”

  he nodded at Beth and Jon, “have tomorrow off from classes. Your Mom has called the high school, Miss Jordan, and you are excused, while your teachers, Master Harrison, have been informed that you will not be there. You won't be there because you
will be escorting some people to the Moon, in particular to New Hope. Tomorrow morning, ETA 0900, at the undergate, Sir Stafford will introduce you to Mrs. Wales. You will escort her and her two sons, as inconspicuously as possible, to Fleet Harbor, where you will all board a military flight to Capitol, where, once again, you will escort her to New Hope, as inconspicuously as possible. You will remain with her until she is comfortable there. Understood?”

  “Mrs. Wales?” Jon asked.

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “Is this some kind of policy statement, sir?” Jon continued.

  “No, the emperor views this simply as a matter of a courtesy extended at the request of Sir Stafford. Now, to the bad news.” He looked at Beth for a minute. “I'm glad that we're keeping you so busy, Miss Jordan, otherwise you would have found out that you've become something of a role model in the outside world.”

  “A what?” she exclaimed, tossing in a glare at Amanda.

  “My story was a responsible and accurate assessment, Beth, even if you disagree with it. But I released it with a short video showing you, from a distance, going over part of the obstacle course with your codjits. The video does not show enough of your face to identify you, so there you're safe.”

  “But,” the consul continued, “some other 'journalists' seem to have decided that you were the perfect example of what a young woman should be, and, without knowing your name or anything about you, a figure vaguely similar to the young Marine Amanda wrote about seems to have become very influential in certain parts of the world. Thankfully for you, not around here, and we're trying to discourage further use of the figure Amanda described. Unfortunately, that's the good part of the bad news.”

  Beth was astounded. There was something worse?

  “The bad part of the bad news is, two young men related to a Middle Eastern dictator have decided they are interested in you, the young Marine Amanda wrote about. The older one is a violent thug, who seems to have convinced himself that he's in love with you and that you will immediately fall for him as soon as you meet – which he is trying to bring about. The younger one is actually the most dangerous, and he would like to … eliminate … someone he feels is a bad role model for the young women of his country.”

  Beth was past astounded, all the way to totally speechless. Jon spoke up, though, with a hard edge to his voice that she had never heard before, “And what is the plan for dealing with the situation, Sir?”

  “First, the emperor directs that the praetorians be expanded by at least two more decurys.” The consul handed a paper to First. “Anybody on that roster you disagree with, Tommy, or anyone you want on it?”

  First studied the list and smiled a very unpleasant smile. “Some pretty mean sob's on that list, Mike, but I can think of a couple more, I'd like to have.”

  “Give me their names, and decide on the organization of your squads. Who do you want for your optio, and who to replace you as principales here?”

  “High Eagle for optio, and James Radebe for principales. I'll keep an eye on High Eagle and James can do a great job of scaring the youngsters with his Zulu warrior stories.” First's head bobbed up suddenly. “Replace, Mike?”

  “Sorry, bro, but orders from the emperor directly – you are now primipilus, First Centurion of the Praetorians. Get the men organized and set up a routine to shadow Beth on her way to and from school. If they attempt to strike, ... well, if they do, the emperor wants this threat eliminated.” The last was said in such a cold tone that Beth nearly shivered. “Miss Jordan, you will simply continue doing your ordinary activities, and we will make sure that nothing happens to you.”

  “Sir, may I volunteer to be included in this, at least in the planning portions?” Jon asked.

  The consul considered him carefully before saying, “Yes, you may, Master Harrison, and your part will be to keep Miss Jordan informed of what is going on, and to inform her parents likewise, if she thinks it appropriate. And now, Miss Jordan, we'll let you go to your job, and I'm sure Amanda will provide you with copies of some of the more sensational examples of praise for you.”

  “If you don't mind, Sir, I'll escort Beth over there, and try and explain my way out of this, if I can.” The consul nodded, and Amanda got up and accompanied Beth out of the residence. Outside, she shivered and said said, “Sorry, I just had to get out of there. I know they're talking about degenerates who want to cause you trouble, but I can't help but feel I just heard a death sentence passed.”

  Beth considered things for a moment. “I guess it really proves that I'm not really Wonder Woman, but I'm not at all interested in getting into some kind of battle. If someone really wants to try and hurt me, I think I'd like to have First handle things and I'll just keep my head down.” Beth shivered herself and shook her head. “This is just so weird, and what's this about other stories about me?”

  “I'll have Samuel send copies and translations to Molly, but it's simple. You may think I included exaggerations in my article, but other people seem to have taken your figure and put all of their hopes and desires into building a picture that is as much Supergirl as Wonder Woman. In the latest incarnations you defeat every male, right the wrongs of every female and make the world into a wondrous place for all the oppressed.”

  “What an incredible load of crap!”

  “Does that mean you aren't interested in follow-up interviews? I've already had a couple dozen requests.”

  “Absolutely not! Listen, Amanda, I don't mind a little grief from my codjits, but I'm not about to put up with being some kind of invented superhero role model. You got me into this, what are you going to do to get me out of this situation?”

  They'd reached the Foreign Department by now and Amanda came inside with her. “I plan on telling everyone that you are pissed by the publicity and want to be left alone. If someone keeps pushing, I'm going to suggest they make sure that their will is in order. If they keep on pushing it, I'll ask Michael to permanently ban them from the empire.”

  “Well, do your best to discourage this stuff!”

  “I will,” Amanda said, “but, full disclosure, the last of those articles seems to imply that you're an imperial princess, daughter to the emperor and the future empress.”

  Work that evening was interesting. Irritation at the articles Amanda had collected, frustration at being much more in the public eye than she wanted, and a little bit of fear at being some kind of target did not lead to calm and peaceful evening. At closing time, Jon came in to walk her home and she was really glad to see him. He filled her in on what was happening so far. There had been a report that Israeli intelligence had passed along. That had led to the empire using their own resources. Another female marine was going to drive to her high school on Friday, while Beth was on escort duty. They would identify whoever was supposedly keeping her under surveillance, and then quickly uncover the whole group that was involved. It was all good to hear, and it was very nice to hang on to Jon on the way home, but even nicer to remember she was deep in Ostia, surrounded by her codjits. Her prayers that night were a little longer and more fervent.

  The next morning they met the special guests at the undergate and escorted them by little-used tunnels to the Fleet harbor. She could tell that the other passengers had received some orders about the guests, because although there were polite nods, no one gave any indication of recognition. She relaxed into her seat, sitting next to the younger boy, then began laughing as the plane moved out to takeoff. She half turned to Jon and said “Raiders of the Lost Ark!” Then she explained to the guests that each pilot seemed to pick their own 'take-off' music. That had distracted the guests enough that there was no apparent 'concern' over the flight into space, although she supposed part of that could be the famous British 'stiff upper lip.'

  The flight seemed like it went by quickly. The rest of the trip to New Hope went quietly and without a hitch. Getting off at the subway station, Beth had the feeling that their guests finally relaxed and began enjoying themselves. They strolled d
own to the village and Beth was certainly enchanted by its charm. When they reached the center of the village, Jon mentioned that Sir Stafford had said Mrs. Wales should talk with the Mayor first. Since he had younger brothers, he offered to watch the two boys as they explored the village, while Beth accompanied the boys' mother to the mayor.

  So that's what happened. The mayor, who obviously knew what was going on, had welcomed 'M'lady' and said that she could stay at the new bed-n-breakfast near the station, but that Sir Stafford had suggested she might like to use a vacant cottage at the other end of the village. Mrs. Wales had graciously accepted the offer of the cottage, saying she was looking forward to some peace and quiet. The mayor had then turned to Beth and asked how long she would be staying. She had told him that their orders were to stay until the guests were comfortable, and with that the mayor conducted them to the cottage.

  The rest of the morning seemed to go by fairly quickly. The two boys seemed to fall in love with the village and dragged their mother around to see everything. The neighbors were polite and welcoming but gave the visitors plenty of space to relax. Around noon the 'constable' arrived, a young female Marine optio riding, of all things, a horse. The constable reported that all reporters had left Capitol and it would be easy to notify New Hope if any were expected up. When Mrs. Wales asked to send a note to Sir Stafford, the 'constable' pointed out that Jon and Beth could hand deliver it, and Mrs. Wales disappeared into the cottage to write one.

  Beth looked at the 'constable' while they were waiting and asked, “Does it strike you as a little strange to be riding a horse, here, for your duty?”

  “You bet,” she said, “but the villages out this way tend to be interested in being as low tech as possible – some of these old English and Irish villages, quite a few Old Amish, and so forth. It actually makes them more comfortable with the empire if I show up on a horse, and, besides, it's quite a kick to ride from village to village. I show up, chat with people, and deliver special packages. It's the best duty I ever expected to have.”