by Ted Mayes
“Do you think the 'guests' will be okay here?”
“Are you kidding? The village loves the whole idea of them being here. If the 'guests' aren't careful, they'll have the village offering to erect a manor house so they'll have a permanent residence here.”
Jon smiled and shrugged, “Who knows? They might even want that. Do you think there will be any problems here?”
“No, the propraetor has a warning system already in place and plans to get Marines here quickly if they'd ever be needed. The only thing the propraetor's worried about is what will happen if other … family members … should decide to show up.”
“A possibility,” Jon said, “but I'd guess the … family business … will keep most of them away. Well, if you've got everything covered, I guess we won't have any problem in catching the flight back to Ostia this afternoon.”
“Shouldn't have any trouble with that, but before you go, stop in at the Capitol and try eating at one of my favorite spots, the Bear's Den, right at the corner of Broadway and the Via Publica. It's my favorite restaurant with good food, good lunar beer and a great view. My boyfriend and I,” she wiggled her little finger with a dating ring on it, “really like it.”
“Thanks,” Beth said, smiling and hoping Jon wouldn't say anything, “it sounds great. We'll try it.”
The two boys ran up to inspect the horse and asked the constable to sit on her horse. She permitted Jon to boost them up and sit, but insisted that their mother had to give permission before anything else happened. She did manage to deflect their talk about horses to the village's discussions about including horse power into the village and they were suitably thrilled. The boys managed to maintain their excitement until their mother returned. She thanked Beth and Jon, reassured them that she was 'comfortable' and gave them a message for Sir Stafford, which Beth slid into her inner coat pocket. They said goodbye and headed for the station, hand in hand. Beth was at least glad that they had some free time to spend together.
* * * * *
Tuesday morning at breakfast, Amanda found herself asking a Michael a question she had never expected. “You're good at what and why questions,” she told Michael, “and absolutely terrible at how questions. How are you with what-if questions?”
Michael grinned at her. “My first guess is that I'd be pretty bad at it, but let's hear the question anyway.”
“Okay. The story that went out yesterday was about the Imperial Ecological Services. Feel free to mention to the emperor that that is a terrible name, and someone should come up with a better one. Now, there are three divisions in that 'company'. One is waste management, which handles, for an absurdly low fee, a significant amount of human and animal waste across the world. You told me that is the source for a lot of the organic 'stuff' in the soil for the new farms. Okay. The second is recycling, which handles everything that people want to get rid of, including toxic materials, right?” Michael nodded. “And the last division is reclamation, or the 'clean-up crew', which handles spills, accidents, contamination of all different sorts. Now, here's the question. What would have happened if these divisions hadn't been busy for the last 18 or so years?”
“Would you be satisfied with a simple 'the world would be a messier place'?” At her glare, he grinned and continued. “I didn't think so. I'm afraid that I can't think of any way to say what could have happened. Oh, you can make guesses, but that's about it.”
“Then guess,” she insisted.
“I would suppose that there would be more concern about the environment, for one thing. If oil spills were not quickly contained and the oil recovered, I would think there be more news reports condemning the spills than the current demands to know how it was done. The same thing with toxic chemical spills or radiation accidents. For instance, there was a nasty accident some years ago in the Ukraine that could have been very bad, but since it was contained quickly and no significant radiation escaped, few people know anything about it. I suppose the reverse is true when you think about recycling. If trash was just piling up everywhere, there might be some people very concerned about it, but since we take care of it, hardly anyone gives it a second thought.”
“And the Imperial Ecological Services gets paid for taking care of the problem and then gets paid again for recycling 'raw' materials back into the world's economy?”
“We only recycled the raw materials that we didn't use.”
“And charged a flat three million dollar fee for each major clean-up?”
“It's been estimated that each of our major clean-ups would have cost their respective governments or companies billions of dollars. And we never forced anyone to hire us. If a government or company wanted to do the clean-up themselves, we had no objection to them doing that.”
Amanda considered that for a moment. “Next question. The next article is about religion in the empire.”
“Fairly easy. Freedom of religion, but absolute separation of church and state. The chaplain would have more information about that.”
“Is the emperor a Christian?”
“Yes.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Doesn't that make the empire a Christian state?”
“No. A state can't be Christian, only individual people can be Christian.”
“But haven't some states claimed to be Christian states? And haven't some people claimed that the US is, or was originally, a Christian state?”
“True, but, in my opinion, those things have been said either to make it easier to do what you want and still claim to be a Christian, or to claim that someone has the right to force other people to do what they wanted. You know, it's a 'Christian nation' so you have to do what the preachers say, or, it's an 'atheist nation', so you have to do what the atheists say.”
“But doesn't the emperor's religion influence his politics?” At Michael's questioning look, she continued, “Okay, how about abortion? If I understand correctly, it's forbidden in the empire.”
“Yes, the emperor has promised to protect the lives of citizens, Latins and their children.”
“But a foetus isn't a child.”
“It isn't? By the time a woman knows she's pregnant, the foetus has a human form, human DNA, and functioning heart, lungs and brain. By what scientific standard is it not a human child?”
“But it isn't able to live independently, on its own.”
“Neither can children in neo-natal units. Are they non-human, eligible for extermination? Or an old person connected to a heart-lung machine. Or people undergoing cancer chemotherapy, or kidney dialysis. Or children in general, even into their teenage years. Are any of them really 'living independently'? If they aren't, does that mean they aren't human and can be killed?”
“You're exaggerating!”
“Am I? I had an interesting discussion once that went along the lines of, 'is any human being capable of living independently'? Are you living independently? Do you grow your own food, make your own clothes? Beyond that do you provide your own air? Do you provide your own energy, or do you rely on the sun?”
“Now, you're exaggerating way too much. Of course, I'm an independent person!”
“Indeed,” he said in an overly polite tone, and then Amanda noticed that he was looking directly at her collar. She was so used to it that she never thought about it anymore, but his look made her remember that she was officially a slave.
“Well, what about in cases of rape or incest?”
“What has the child done in those cases to deserve abortion? Doesn't it sound just a little strange to pick out someone who's innocent, who has no connection to the crime itself, and decide they're the ones who should die because of the crime? That's like saying your father is guilty of a crime, but we decide that you should be the one killed.”
“And you're saying,” she said with some heat, “that the empire really punishes rapists!”
He looked calmly at her for a moment or two. “Two things for you to do today. One is to go over to the le
gal office in the urban praetor's office and check the criminal records. I think you'll be able to answer your own question, then.” For some reason the slightly cold tone of voice that he used raised the hairs on the back of her neck. She thought briefly that she probably shouldn't have challenged him in quite that way, but she wasn't going to admit it.
“Second thing?” she said boldly.
He continued looking at her, and she started feeling a little worried. Then he said carefully, “Your father has asked to meet you for lunch. He'll meet you in front of Pietro's at noon.”
Her thinking processes shut down momentarily. Then she said with some bitterness, “Well, it only took him three months to discover I wasn't underfoot. I'm not sure I want to see him.”
“That's for you to decide, but you are the one who will inform him yes or no about the lunch.” Michael's tone was one of command and there was a look in his eye that warned her that this was not a time to argue.
“Okay, 1200 in front of Pietro's. Mind telling me why?”
“I have no experience with a father, so I can't imagine what having one is like, but at least you have a father. Perhaps you should appreciate that fact?” Michael got up and left, but she quietly stormed to her bedroom, grabbed her shoulder bag and left the residence quickly. If he wasn't being infuriatingly mysterious, he was somehow able to always finish with the last word and it was driving her crazy.
Hours later, she left the urban praetor's shivering, but not from cold. When she'd asked Samuel to help in the search of the imperial criminal records, she hadn't expected that he would 'force' her to watch all of them. However, Samuel wouldn't let her out of the viewing room and he simply paused the recording when she closed her eyes. She had to admit that the empire did take rape seriously. It seemed that every year there was at least one man who was convicted and executed for rape. It wasn't just Michael as the judge, other praetors, people she knew, had done their share. One time Samuel noted that the man whom Michael executed was one of Michael's codjits. Another time Mary Chen had imposed capital punishment on a woman who had elaborately tried to frame a man for rape.
Thinking about all this, she found that she'd gone topside and walked down to Pietro's, so she sat down on a bench in the middle of the street and tried to think calmly about her father. There was plenty of pain in their relationship. Her father's affair that had caused her mother to leave. Her mother's death in an accident soon after that. His habits as an editor carrying over at home as what she had perceived as continual correction. His attempts to pressure her into doing what he thought was proper. The raging fights that had eventually blossomed between the two of then.
She was still thinking all those things when 1200 rolled around, and she noticed her father coming toward her, accompanied by Special Agent Reynolds. She sighed softly. It was a little silly to think her father had changed that much – of course, he'd pull strings and get someone in DC to provide him with a special escort. As they drew closer, she stood. “Good afternoon, Agent Reynolds. It's good to see you again. Are you joining our lunch today? Or running errands?”
“Running errands, Miss Ochs, although I wouldn't mind dropping in to say 'hi' to the consul, if he's available?”
“Samuel, reply out loud. Is the consul free to see Special Agent Reynolds for a moment or two?”
“I'll ask, Miss Amanda.” A short time passed. “Master Michael says that he would be free to see the Special Agent. Does he need directions or a guide?”
When Reynolds shook his head, Amanda said, “No help is needed, Samuel. Thank you.” She smiled at Agent Reynolds, “I hope your errands go well.”
“And I hope you have a good afternoon as well, Miss Ochs.”
He turned away and Amanda turned to her father. “Hi, Dad.” Looking more closely at him, she was surprised that he seemed grayer and more tired than she remembered.
“Amanda,” he said, “I'm somewhat surprised that you agreed to see me, and that that Baxter allowed you to come.”
“As far as that goes, Dad, Michael told me I had to come, even if it was just to say I wouldn't have lunch with you. And I guess I'm just as surprised as you that I'm still here talking with you.”
Her father stood quietly for a bit, as if he were expecting her to say something. “Well, where would you like to eat?”
“Petro's, behind you, is good, and I know how much you like Italian, or at least used to like Italian food.” They entered the restaurant and were immediately shown to a quiet table in the corner of the room. They ordered wine and studied the menu, all in silence. After the waiter had poured their wine, they ordered – a salad for her and fettuccine Alfredo for him. “Is your cholesterol down, Dad? I thought the doctor had warned you away from rich foods?”
He gave her an astonished look. After a moment of confusion, he said “I allow myself a splurge every once in a while.” There was another silent pause. “I wanted to tell you that I was sorry for the miscalculation that got you into this situation. We never expected you to get into this place, let alone find out any information. I did arrange the offer for you, but I was told that the test for you was how you would handle the failure to get in. I don't think anyone thought you'd be able to get in when no one else had.”
“I know. Normally I wouldn't have gotten in, but Michael made a small mistake.” Her father looked at her curiously and she realized that he didn't know what had happened on that first day for her. “Right after Michael took up his position, there was an attack, on him I guess, and in the aftermath, he forgot that he was moved into an official residence. I was grazed by a bullet and when I was taken to his residence, I thought I was unobserved and took some of his official papers.”
Her father nodded, “That 'privacy' thing you wrote?” She nodded. “It all sounds so unbelievable,” he went on, “not that I doubt you, but the things you describe are so ...” He gave up, unable to find a word.
“I know. A British diplomat here keeps an informal list of 'mind-boggling scientific advances', as he calls it, that the empire has already demonstrated – I believe he's up to fifteen or twenty, last I heard – all of which the imperials refuse to talk about.” The waiter brought their food and they began to eat.
“They don't even give a hint? By the way, this fettuccine is really excellent!”
“Pietro's is very good. And, no, they don't even get close to hinting. The imperial attitude is summed up as 'often what, sometimes why, never how.'”
“And they're serious when they say that?”
“The day before my trial, Agent Reynolds told me that these were 'very serious' people. All that I've seen and heard since then tells me that was an understatement. I haven't encountered anything yet that the imperials haven't carefully thought through beforehand. They don't 'say' much, but they do mean it when they say something.” During the quiet that followed, Amanda realized that there was a lot more that she could say, but she was reluctant to do so. It wasn't so much concern about sharing information, but, she realized with some surprise, but more about not wanting to add to Michael's problems. Boy, did she need to think about that quietly!
They finished the meal in silence. “I assume that you're not allowed to leave,” her father said finally, “even though there don't seem to be any guards around.”
“Guards or not, doesn't make any difference. I tried to leave once, and I'm not going to try it again until someone tells me that I'm allowed to.”
“Everyone so far tells me that you haven't been … bothered.”
She smiled. “I don't remember you being quite so delicate in your questioning in years past. I've been continually frustrated because I can't get all my questions answered, but if your question is whether I've been sexually molested, the answer is no, I haven't.”
“Why? Is there something wrong with him?”
She broke out into peals of laughter. “I think that's the nicest compliment you've paid me in years, Dad. Is there something wrong with him because he's able to resist your attractive
daughter! No, Dad, there's nothing wrong with him. Michael is a widower whose wife was murdered just after they learned they were going to have a child. No, the problem, if that's what you want to call it, is that sexual harassment is an automatically impeaching offense and rape brings the death penalty. This place may be the safest place on the planet for women. The other part of the problem is that Michael is overflowing with strength of character.”
Her father looked intrigued and said, “Explain that last comment.”
“Among the stories I've been told about him when he wasn't around – he was one of the first imperials to walk on the moon and he spent an hour or so on his first walk trying to make his suit fail to make sure the suits were safe for his men. He was the general in charge of imperial troops during Desert Storm and he led from the front, literally leading the nightly raids and the final advance. He played a central, but very vague, role in eliminating an entire mafia family in New York. He came from a nothing background and family to be easily the most powerful individual in the empire after the emperor. And, after paying almost five million for me, he's treated me as a honored guest without a hint of anything improper.”
“You sound almost disappointed, Amanda.”
She answered him with a wry grin, “I will admit that I'm used to men falling at my feet, so it is a rather unusual situation to have to deal with an apparently incorruptible individual. But, then, I like to think he's probably in the same situation because I'm not falling at his feet.” Of course, she wouldn't admit to anyone that she'd at least thought about that falling at his feet thing.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” her father asked, surprising her because she couldn't remember the last time he'd said something like that.
“No, Dad, but thanks. I'm actually not in that bad of a situation.”
“I'd like to try and get you out of this.”
“Dad, understand this. Whatever influence you have outside, you have none here. You're only a foreign guest, no different from any other guest who's allowed in. Besides, I got myself into this mess, and there have been hints – not from Michael, from others – that I may be able to get myself out of this, so let me handle it, okay?”
