by Ted Mayes
Until that retirement, he’d talk with Amanda to see if she had any suggestions based on her short time working as a waitress. Michael was out of the residence with his praetorians before he realized how much his life had already changed. Here he was, looking forward to asking for Amanda's advice about the restaurant.
* * * * *
It had been a brutally busy week, Amanda decided. Well, not all of it, she had to admit to herself. Michael had come asking her advice and he’d listened closely to what she had to say. And they seemed to be drawing closer to each other. And she thought that she might not be as worried about the future as she had been.
Of course, part of that was because of the empress. She’d been given a second card to put on her lanyard along with her Imperial id. It was a ‘soft’ silver card with her name and a thumbprint square, but nothing else on it. Then she had put her thumb on the square. Her name had lit up, which she expected, but other words stood out and she was nearly frightened out of her wits. The phrases ‘Agens in rebus Imperatricis – Age quicquid ea dicet’ had lit up on the card. The meaning, ‘Special agent of the Empress – Do whatever the bearer says” was stunning to say the least. She’d protested, but the empress had paid no attention.
Instead, she’d started Amanda on a salary and then asked her to inspect the schools in Ostia and Capitol. It had been an eye-opening experience for her. First of all, she was surprised by so many things. The children all seemed to be happy, the teachers were excited about teaching (and surprisingly well-compensated), and the schools seemed to be doing an excellent job. Each school was different, though, some with remedial programs, others with gifted programs, but all of them seemed to expect, and demand, a lot of parental involvement.
One thing she was surprised at was the teachers’ contentment with their salaries. She’d asked one ‘principal’ of an elementary school about it and found out that teaching in the empire could be surprisingly rewarding. A class’s size was limited to no more than 20 students, but the school charged a denarius a week per student. Teachers paid for lunches, a secretary, supplies and miscellaneous items out of that income, but even with all the deductions, a teacher could earn 15-16 denarii, which placed them among the top income brackets. Even a new teacher with a small class could easily earn 4-5 denarii a week.
She’d wondered how such a system could actually work, and had been informed that there were a number of things that were vital to success. First, and most important, was that the children had to learn. That was encouraged by the prevailing philosophy that the Imperial University impressed on the teachers they trained – children were always to be encouraged to learn as much as they could, regardless of their talents. “Take them as far as they can go – and beyond” was the motto. Second, parents were very involved in the education of their children – all parents had access at any time, through their clerks, to what was happening in school, and it was the rare teacher who did not message parents almost every day about what had happened to their child in school.
The third vital ingredient, she found, was the empress's approval of the school. Some schools never got such approval and they never lasted long. Some schools had lost their approval and soon thereafter lost their students. Along with that approval came scholarships for those too poor to pay for the education of their children. In fact, Amanda was surprised that the one principal she had talked to had presented her with the case of a family, single mother with three kids, who needed such help. Amanda was thinking about putting off that decision until she talked with the empress, but the principal insisted the silver card gave her all the authority she needed to give approval for the scholarship.
Thankfully it was near time for supper when she had been asked to approve the scholarship. Somehow she had made it to the restaurant where she and Michael were eating before the panic attack started. Even more thankfully, Michael and his guard was already there, and the symptoms eased as he held her. Michael was nowhere near as frightened as she had been, and reminded her that the silver card was to be used when on missions for the empress, but not in everyday life. That was all well and good, but Amanda took the silver card off her lanyard and buried it in her wallet. She’d rather find out information as a free-lance reporter than as a special agent of the empress.
When two days later, the empress sent her to check on a half-way house for battered women in Ostia, she investigated as a reporter, not as an agens in rebus. It was literally a half-way house, because the women had fled to Ostia and were hoping to continue on to Capitol. Funded by the empress, it was focused on training and educating the women, and, after an investigation into their background, placed them into jobs and the probationary track for receiving Latin rights. She felt much more comfortable rooting around for the facts of a story than watching the expressions and behaviors change when that silver card came out.
Her most important problem was Michael, but that seemed to be slowly resolving itself, and she had a sneaking suspicion – well, actually she was almost certain – that the empress had been manipulating her. After the school inspections, she’d had brief moments when she could very easily picture herself taking a child to school, a little girl that looked a lot like her early pictures, or a little boy, who would no doubt be as adorable, and frustrating, as Michael. At the shelter, she’d heard stories that had shown how sheltered her life had been, and how unusual Michael was.
Then, too, her conversations with the chaplain had helped her answer some of her own questions about herself and her worries about ‘permanence.’ His answers to her questions about the church had been ‘surprising.’ She had assumed that religion was irrational and nonsensical, but all the chaplain’s answers had been very logical and reasonable – the assumptions and the viewpoint were different, but she couldn't see that it was nonsense. Frankly, she was even more surprised that the chaplain made no attempt to ‘pressure’ her into joining a church – if anything, he seemed to be intent on pointing out reasons why she shouldn’t join. After all, persecution of Christians?! In this day and age?!
If Michael was her most important problem, her biggest problem was trying to structure some kind of independent imperial news service. She’d talked to Michael about it often, and he’d listened carefully. She found even more advice when she’d met an old friend again. Henry Gallagher was an older print reporter whom she met wandering around the Via Emporia one day. There had been ‘creative differences’ with his publisher that he refused to talk about and he’d been fired. He’d come to stay in Ostia because he’d been fascinated by what he’d seen so far.
Amanda had brainstormed with him about an imperial press, but she’d never even hinted that it was an assignment from the empress. They’d gradually hammered out some basic principles. First, it should be an association of writers, not publishers. Second, the writers should be Latins, but not citizens – protected, but not a product of the Imperial Marines or Fleet. Third, the association would pay writers a basic salary, funded by half the income from sales of news articles, the other half to go to the writers directly. Fourth, the writer was to be a recorder of fact, not an advocate for a point of view – any bias or falsehood was to be cause for instant dismissal. Last, any and all decisions for the association were to be made by reporters active in their writing profession.
As far as Amanda was concerned, the project seemed hopeless. She’d reported to the empress what she’d done so far, but also suggested that she wasn’t the one to get this thing going. She just wasn’t sure something like what the empress wanted could actually be constructed. The empress had listened carefully and then told Amanda that she’d look at the whole report and get back to her.
Today, before meeting Michael for supper at the chosen restaurant, she’d stopped in at Morton’s, to look at the newest ‘one-of-a-kind’ that he had on display. Once again, there were scores of people, mostly women, who came in to look at the beautiful necklace. Again, offers were made to purchase it, and, again, Morton said he would pass the offers on
to the owner, but offered no hope that it would ever be sold. At least there were replicas of both necklaces for sale, and Morton’s was doing a fairly brisk business with them.
She was able to direct some questions to Greg Morton, even though the answers weren’t as full as she would have hoped. The ‘stone’ was left over from an experiment on Venus. Yes, technically it was a diamond, but it was man-made, not natural. Yes, only two were made and the first has already been given as a gift. No, it’s very doubtful that the owner will sell this one. She talked with him a little longer, but she decided that she wasn’t going to write an article about this necklace.
Eventually she found herself looking down at rings – wedding sets – something she had never expected to be doing. She was even more surprised when Morton came over again to see if she needed any help. “Not really,” she said, “just looking.”
“Well, if you and the consul were here looking, which set would you be looking at?” She’d looked up at him in surprise. “Miss Ochs, don’t forget it was I who sold you your dating rings, and it was easy to see what the consul was thinking by the way he looked at you.”
She had to admit that he had a point. “If I were looking, I think I’d pick this one, but I have to tell you there’s something wrong with the set.”
As she described the problem, Morton gave a little start of surprise, and then a huge grin of delight spread over his face. “If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, Miss Ochs, I’ll see if I can do something about that problem.” Then he headed quickly for the back of the store.
Amanda just stood there, looking at the rings and wondering why she wasn’t feeling reluctance or revulsion. Was she really getting used to the idea of marriage, marriage to Michael? She stood there, wondering about her emotions, and then she became aware of two women talking behind her.
“Some of those Marines out there look positively yummy.”
“Oh, they’re alright, I guess.”
“Don’t tell me that you wouldn’t mind grabbing one of them!”
“My sights are set higher than just ‘one of them’.”
“Oh, so you have picked one of them out?”
“Yes. Have you seen the one they call the consul?” Amanda jerked, just a little, in surprise and listened more intently.
“Which one is he?”
“He’s the one that always has that bodyguard around him.”
“I’ve only seen him from a distance. Why have you decided on him?”
“Why? You mean besides the fact that he’s tall and handsome, with big brown eyes, and absolutely dripping with power and money? And that he can give me everything I want?”
“Well, how do you plan on snaring him?”
“That’s the problem. If I could get him into bed, I’m sure I could trap him, at least for a little while, but that bodyguard is too effective at keeping people away. I haven’t figured out how to get close to him yet. But I’m working on it. One of the reasons we’re here, besides enjoying the view of all these goodies, is because he usually goes past this store about this time. Maybe you can help me figure out a way to get close to him.”
The first emotion Amanda was aware of after listening to the two was vast amusement. The two women had no idea what they were talking about, especially about Michael – and to find two people more ignorant than she had been was truly amazing. Running beneath that amusement, however was a vast reservoir of anger. Her self-control was severely tried. She really wanted to turn around and tell those women off, but instead she concentrated on standing perfectly still.
Morton returned and showed her the item that she felt had been lacking, and she had to admit that now the ring set looked right. For some reason, that word, ‘right’, exploded inside her head. Things between her and Michael were ‘right’ and what was she doing in putting things off? More importantly, what was she doing by not claiming Michael as her own?
She saw a praetorian procession start down the street and she vaguely heard one of the women say, “Here he comes.” She paid no attention, however, because she’d pushed her way past them, out into the street. She stood directly in the procession’s path while others were getting out of the way. As she expected, the praetorians moved around her and in a second, Michael had stopped in front of her.
Michael smiled, “I thought we were going to meet at the Mexican place at the other end of the street?”
“No, … yes, we were, but I just realized that everything was right!”
He looked at her curiously. “Everything’s right?”
“Michael, you’ve been very patient with me, and I especially want Samuel and Samantha to record that you haven’t pressured me in any way. But, it’s a good thing we’re here outside Morton’s, because I think we should trade in our dating rings for the next step up.”
He looked solemnly at her for a moment. “Matrimonium?”
“Yes, matrimonium.”
A moment of silence went by. “You have forgotten one thing.” Then, Michael went down on one knee in the middle of the street. Amanda felt a moment of panic, not because of what he’d said, but what he was doing. The second most powerful man in the empire – heck, the second most powerful man in the solar system was kneeling to her. She was on the point of telling him to stand up when he spoke again. “Amanda Elaine Ochs, will you marry me, and be the heart of my life?”
Amidst her embarrassment of having Michael kneeling before her, and the surprise that she had actually arrived at this point in her life, a huge sense of joy came over her. She happily said “Yes” and was swept up by Michael into an engulfing embrace and a searing kiss. She was so overcome with emotion that she was only partly aware of Michael steering her into Morton’s, although she did not miss the outraged and astonished looks on the face of the two women who had been discussing Michael behind her back.
Greg Morton had already pulled out the ring set she’d been looking at. Michael asked her if that was the ring that she wanted, and, when she nodded, he took the engagement ring and put it on her finger. He seemed to think the engagement had begun, but she had news for him. “I love the ring, Michael, but if you think I’m going to let you get out of here without a mark on you that you belong to me, you’re crazy.” She grabbed his left hand and slipped on his ring finger the man’s engagement ring that Morton had created just a short time earlier.
Michael smiled. “You know, Tommy is just going to say this is another example of a grizzly marking its territory.”
Amanda smiled in return. “As long as everyone knows the territory is mine. Now, are you ready for lunch? For some reason, I believe that I’m starving.”
17 – April 1994
Amanda had thought the week before she got engaged was busy. The week after was worse. She was wearing Michael’s ring and she was busier than ever. Part of it was her fault, because she found that she really wanted to be with Michael, to live with him, to sleep beside him. So when he asked her when she wanted to be married, she’d said as soon as possible. Because of problems outside, she’d agreed that the wedding would take place at the Imperial chapel. Talking with the chaplain, they’d found out that, with pre-marriage counseling, the earliest the wedding could be was in a month and a half.
That wasn’t as much of a problem as getting the planning done for the wedding. Part of the solution to that problem was Mrs. Harrison showing up, with a number of the wives of Michael’s officers. Amanda was informed that the empress had directed the ladies to help her with the planning. Even so, it would take several weeks just to look at all the things that needed to be decided. Then, the question was who should Amanda get for bridesmaids. Although she had lost contact with most of her college friends, she had a couple of good friends in the media who, she knew, would be more than eager to get a closer acquaintance with imperial officials. In addition, she decided to ask Beth to be her last bridesmaid – who knows, it might give Beth something to ponder.
Then there was the problem of guests to invite. She was told to ma
ke up a list of names and the ladies would get invitations out. Where could they have the wedding reception? She was told that it would be held at the residence. A wedding meal? It would be taken care of once the guest list was finalized. A wedding dress? Not a problem – any number of boutiques in Ostia were clamoring to present design suggestions, and it looked like there was going to be a competition to see which boutique would come up with a dress that Amanda liked most. Finally, the empress herself told Amanda to relax and make use of all the help that was being offered to her.
That was something that she had to do, because other events overtook her. She had been writing a series of articles on the arts in the empire – concerts, art galleries, and a story on how Capitol had been affecting music. It seemed that some of the professional jazz musicians who had been ‘imported’ to perform at the Jordan’s at Capitol had professed to being very affected by being on the moon. Some were even making the claim that they could discern a new ‘style’ of jazz developing, affectionately referred to as ‘lunatic jazz.’
Various new arts organizations of all different kinds were coming into existence – and looking for ways to publicize their upcoming events. There was, of course, the new imperial symphony, a couple of theater companies, and there was talk of a ballet group and an opera company. Looking at the University, there were chamber groups and several rock bands that were trying to get started. The first rock concert was coming up, and it was rumored that Paul McCartney was the performer. If it wasn’t for Samantha, Amanda wondered whether she’d be able to keep up with everything.
