INCEPTIO (Roma Nova)

by Alison Morton

  I thought he was trying too hard to cheer me up, but I did feel less like I’d made a huge mistake.

  ‘Come and sit with me in the mess bar.’ He took my arm and we walked back to the military office. Inside, past the scanners, opposite the entrance to the dormitories, was a small room to the left with groups of easy chairs, low tables and a counter with bottles and bar machinery behind. Photographs and military insignia relieved the plain cream decor. About half a dozen uniformed women and men sat around talking quietly. As they started to rise, Conrad waved them back down. A uniformed steward took our order for drinks. The rest of them went straight back to their own conversations.

  ‘They’ll be looking, but they won’t stare,’ he said.

  He was right. I caught a few covert glances but they didn’t inspect me like the prize exhibit on show. I saw a movement at the door. A tall woman with black hair, uniformed and with the same type of gold badge as Conrad glanced at us, nodded to others and made her way to the bar counter. She ordered a beer, walked over to us with a confident air and sat down.

  ‘Hello, Tellus.’

  ‘Dexia. Finished?’

  ‘Yes, thank the gods! Sanitas bona.’ She took a good swallow. ‘I needed that.’ She put her hand out. ‘Antonia Dexia.’

  I took it gladly. ‘Carina Mitela.’

  ‘I thought so. Have you retreated here for some peace and quiet?’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘I expect you’re tired of the politicos crawling all over you.’ She took another sip of her beer. ‘We don’t allow them in the mess, so if you want to escape, feel free to come here for a bit.’

  ‘Thanks. I might take you up on that.’ I grinned at her.

  ‘Dexia is the mess president, so she can give her gracious permission,’ Conrad said in a dry tone. He took my wrist, tapped some keys and invited Dexia to enter her code.

  ‘There, now you can come in when you want and run up a bar bill like the rest of us.’

  What a refreshing change. She wore an olive-green tee under her uniform, unlike Conrad’s black one.

  She saw my gaze and laughed. ‘I’m bog standard infantry, not like Tellus who’s one of the glamorous PGSF lot.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Hasn’t he told you?’ She threw a mischievous glance at Conrad. ‘They’re the Praetorian Guard Special Forces. The easiest way to describe them is special forces and FBI rolled up in one with a touch of CIA.’

  ‘You mean Praetorian Guard, like in Gladiator?’

  Dexia cracked up.

  ‘Enough, Dexia.’ Conrad frowned. ‘A little more advanced than that.’

  ‘I liked the film – they were tough but cool,’ I said.

  ‘I apologise,’ said Dexia. ‘I meant no disrespect. I couldn’t help myself.’ She turned to me. ‘They’re an elite unit, they inspire fear in the enemy and not much less in the rest of us. But they protect the imperatrix and, ultimately, the existence of the state, so we have to cut them some slack, I suppose.’

  Conrad said nothing further. She changed topics. ‘So how are you settling in?’

  ‘To be honest, it’s disorientating. I thought I was an average person living a normal life. Now I’m some kind of elite being, but I don’t know the rules.’ I smiled from one to the other. ‘Shades of The Princess Diaries.’

  They both looked at me with blank stares.

  I played with the coffee cup handle to cover my embarrassment. ‘Anyway, Memmia is drawing up a schedule for me, so I’ll have plenty to do.’

  ‘Do you train?’

  ‘When I have time, I try to run each day. I play some squash and do circuit training at the gym. Or I did.’

  ‘If you feel like it, you could join in with us,’ she said, a little too casually. She radiated fitness and health on a nuclear scale. Her idea of training was probably light years ahead of mine and twice as punishing.

  ‘I think I’ll catch up first, but I might take you up on that if I get fit enough.’

  ‘If you’ve got any energy left after Tellus has finished with you,’ she said, smirking.

  Oh God! She thought Conrad and I were lovers. The red heat crept up my neck into my face. I looked down at the table.

  ‘Sorry, that was a bit crude,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I forgot you were brought up as an American.’

  Were they always going to throw that in my face? Perhaps we were a bit prissy on sexual matters here, or was it only me?

  ‘Okay, Dexia, I think Carina’s had enough exposure to the rude soldiery for one day.’ Conrad stood up. He held his hand out and I automatically put mine in it.

  ‘Thank you, Dexia.’ I turned back to her. ‘I really value your welcome – it’s like a breath of fresh air.’

  ‘Go carefully, Mitela,’ she said and grinned. ‘Watch out for the sharks.’

  XXV

  Still smarting from his supervisor’s reprimand, Renschman trudged back to his office. Another disciplinary warning was neither here nor there. What mattered most was that his assignment was still open.

  He shook with fury at the memory of the raid. His hand had tightened around the baseball bat when they’d stormed into the girl’s building. Contemptuous of the elevator, he’d run up the fire stairs with two others, his heart pumping, his nerves on edge, ready for the challenge.

  She’d escaped.

  Five of their goons stared grimly back at him. Even numbers. Plus that smarmy little lawyer. Renschman calculated he could take two, maybe three, down within minutes. O’Keefe was babbling about everybody staying calm, doing that lowering voice psych crap.

  The lawyer spoke the same way, asking them to leave, like some pansy at a tennis club dance. Frustrated, Renschman launched himself on him. He clamped his hand round the lawyer’s throat and jerked him back and forward, demanding to know where they’d taken her, choking the answer out of him if necessary. He would take Steven Smith apart inch by inch, starting with his eyes.

  O’Keefe shouted at him to let the lawyer go, reached into her holster, swung her service pistol up to face level and threatened to take Renschman out. Her eyes blazed as Renschman tried to stare her down. After a few tense breaths, he let go of Steven Smith’s neck. O’Keefe’s ineffectives were so hamstrung by their respect for pieces of legal paper.

  As they left, the little shit had told them he’d made a recording. Only O’Keefe’s baboons restraining him had stopped him splitting the lawyer’s head open.

  Renschman grunted as he read the mail from his supervisor back at the office. Clyde had compelled the External Affairs Department to cooperate on national security grounds and refuse exit documentation. But that was only a temporary holding measure. Renschman had designed a permanent solution. He reached for his keyboard and sent an email to an old friend at the ECPC. He called in to the local supermarket on his way home, adding some disposable gloves and stationery to his regular shopping.

  XXVI

  That evening in the apartment, I experimented with the internal mail system. I used the translation software to wring the gist out of it, but it could only go so far. I figured out Plica, Editio, Promere for File, Edit, View and Mittere for Send, but had to give up after that. I jabbed at the screen to log out. It was ridiculous; I couldn’t do the simplest thing without the language.

  The next morning, right on half past eight, Gaia collected me and delivered me to Grattius Duso. He would drive and inspire me, infuriate me and make me weep with fatigue, but he would make me literate.

  Gaia told me that Grattius had been an academic and teacher all his career, and had only accepted this cultural post in Washington on condition he could carry on with his research. Apparently, he was well regarded by the faculty at William & Mary, giving lectures as a visiting professor. Frankly, I was as scared as hell when I heard that.

  He welcomed me gravely and gestured for me to sit at his polished table which was piled with books. He was medium height, his mousey hair swept back to form littl
e curls at the base of his skull.

  He fixed his grey eyes on me. ‘Now, we’re going to be working together for a little while. I’m perfectly happy to teach you; in fact, I’m looking forward to the challenge, but I expect total commitment from you.’ His mild voice took some of the condescension out of his words.

  After an hour, he made me get up and walk around the room five times and drink a large glass of water. Then we did it again. At the end of the third hour, I had mastered the declensions and simple verbs. I was relieved that I remembered some of it from Latin class as a kid. When my stomach rumbled audibly, Grattius looked up, surprised.

  ‘Time for food, I see,’ he said. He handed me a small book. ‘Try to learn these for tomorrow. I suggest after your lunch you rest and do something different for an hour before tackling your homework.’

  My brain was reduced to mush so I merely nodded.

  He stood up, held out his hand and said, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning at eight thirty.’ Then he went back to his own world.

  I arrived at the dining room without remembering how I got there.

  Gaia came and sat down opposite me. ‘Has Grattius worn you out?’

  ‘My brain will never recover. He’s given me homework as well.’

  ‘It’s hard, I know. I had to learn English before I came here. I’d only done it at school.’

  ‘Really? But you speak so well.’ She hardly had any accent, either. I didn’t know whether to be impressed at her ability or depressed about my own.

  ‘You’ve only done one session. This time next week, you’ll have made good progress.’

  I looked at her in complete disbelief, but she proved to be right. Within seven days, I could speak like a four year-old and I started writing. A week after that, I’d gained enough confidence to try it out on Conrad.

  ‘Macte!’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It means “well done”.’

  ‘You’re not patronising me?’

  ‘Of course not. I wouldn’t dare.’

  Steven Smith came to see me again three weeks after my arrival at the legation. He’d had a reply from the External Affairs Department about my application to renounce. Once we had satisfied their conditions, they would issue a Certificate of Loss of Nationality. But they were objecting at present as they considered my application had been made under duress.

  How ironic was that?

  ‘We have to prove you’ve made your application of your free will. Americans can’t effectively renounce their citizenship while still in the Eastern United States. Roma Nova has generally had friendly but distanced relations with the EUS. Each quietly despises the other for different reasons.’ He consulted a sheet of paper he pulled out of his folder. ‘Currently, the American administration is upset that Roma Nova has sided with other European countries to protest about their Middle East policies. Your grandmother’s friend Senator Calavia’s open letter in the American media to the president, giving her the benefit of a two thousand year perspective on handling the Middle East, didn’t go down well here. They suggest we make an appointment to come along to their office to discuss the matter.’ He looked at me gravely.

  I was so angry, I couldn’t reply. My fingers curled into claws. As soon as I noticed, I straightened them out, but Steven Smith had seen.

  ‘There is no way I am stepping out the front door of this building until this is settled. I can’t bear the thought of facing Renschman or O’Keefe again.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of suggesting it. I have the recording of Mr Renschman’s conversation. The threat is unambiguous.’

  His hand touched the base of his neck, but so briefly I wondered if I’d seen it correctly.

  ‘So what do we do?’ I said.

  ‘I’m going to suggest they come here, but with three international and neutral witnesses. Although the legation is not in the strictest sense foreign soil, the US authorities can’t enter without the ambassador’s permission, so there’s some notion of extraterritoriality.’

  I knew he was paid well by my grandmother, but I think he genuinely empathised with me in my predicament.

  I was getting there with my new culture – I guessed it was being surrounded by it all day, every day. I stopped feeling awkward with the way people treated me. In turn, they stopped staring at me. When Conrad was on duty, and I didn’t have a class, I often retreated to the mess bar and talked to Dexia or some of the others. They were tough-talking but natural. When I tried out my Latin on them, they laughed sometimes, but weren’t too rude about my mistakes. But I couldn’t always follow the flow of the conversation, the inferences or the profanities. I needed to get beyond Grattius’s formal teaching.

  I was in the garden one afternoon, struggling with a homework assignment on the crucial role of Roma Nova’s legions in helping defend Vienna in the 1600s – Grattius was a little too enthusiastic about history – when I heard sobbing behind me. Behind a tall shrub sat a young girl, about fifteen or sixteen, crying her insides out.

  ‘Hey, are you all right?’

  She gave me a blank look, coated with hostility.

  I tried in Latin. She said something but I couldn’t understand it. I tried again but she looked at me like I was an idiot.

  ‘Look, I don’t speak very well and can’t understand much more, but maybe I can help or listen?’

  ‘Go away.’

  Triumph. I understood.

  ‘No, not until you tell me what’s troubling you.’

  ‘I hate this place,’ she said after a while. ‘Everything. All the people.’ Her green eyes boiled with anger and hurt.

  I remembered when I was that age. I resented Nebraska, the small-town life, my cousins, their stupidity.

  ‘So is your family making you unhappy?’

  ‘Them!’ She flicked her black hair back with such force that I had the impression she’d like to throw them all the same way. ‘My mother’s married again, and I’ve been parked here with my father. I didn’t want to come abroad. All my friends are at home.’

  After a while, she stopped crying and wiped her nose. ‘Thanks for listening to me. You’re the only one who’s really bothered.’

  ‘Yes? I believe there are several young people here around your age,’ I said. I ground my teeth at hearing myself say the words awkwardly.

  ‘Them! Nobody wants to know. It’s my father. I wish I was dead.’

  Of course, the black hair and green eyes. Her father had to be Favonius Cotta.

  ‘What’s your first name?’ I said.

  ‘Aelia.’

  ‘Very well, Aelia, I’m trying to learn Latin – I was born here in America. I need a friend who’ll teach me everyday Latin words, normal life words. If you want, I can talk to you about America, teach you some English.’

  At first, she hesitated. Maybe she thought I was joking, or mocking her. She had to know exactly who I was.

  ‘Of course, you have to teach me the bad words as well.’

  She grinned. ‘Oh, I know a lot of those.’

  XXVII

  I watched PBS to keep up with EUS news, and sometimes dramas and talk shows, but a little less each day. Some days, I pressed the off button and threw the remote down on the table; much of it seemed irrelevant.

  I mastered the Latin email system and contacted my boss at Bornes & Black. He was very understanding about what had happened and sent me his best wishes. Amanda and I kept to phone and text. God only knew how she’d react if she saw the Latin header to an email – probably figure I’d been kidnapped by foreign terrorists.

  A letter arrived for me one morning, a regular pre-stamped envelope. It was from the IRS about undisclosed income. What the hell was that about? I had filed everything on time. I only had my regular pay cheque and the Brown Industries’ quarterly payment. And did it matter now?

  I was fighting my way through the bureaucratic slush, trying to work out exactly what it meant, when the words started to lose their places on the page. I creased my eyes up t
o concentrate but couldn’t anchor the letters down to the paper. I looked up to see the walls shifting in waves around me. Nausea welled up. Pain gathered fast and stabbed my head. I dropped the letter and my legs collapsed at the same time. I sweated as I crawled to the bathroom. Overcome by the sourness rising in my throat, I threw up in the pan. Impossible to stand – my legs had turned to Jell-O. I opened my mouth to shout for help. Jaw too stiff to move. Only a throat gurgle. Nobody to hear me. Falling. Gone.

  My head. Oh, my head hurt. Parched, I swallowed. Nettle burns in my throat. I was so cold. I gasped for breath. Tears slid out of the sides of my eyes. My hand ached so hard it was all pain. I heard a pouring noise. Someone tipped my head up, a firm hand supporting my neck. I drank a few sips of a cool, lemony fluid and went back to sleep.

  When I woke later, I opened my eyes to see Faleria sitting by my bed, Sergia and Conrad standing behind her. His eyes looked enormous. A drip line was attached to my arm, and something beeped. I was in a hospital room. With a uniformed, and armed, guard at the door.

  ‘Slowly,’ Faleria said and took my hand. She wore disposable gloves. ‘Don’t try and talk. Just move your head, if you can.’

  I nodded. The mush in my head wobbled in a big, slack bubble. My neck was made of concrete.

  ‘You’ve been poisoned, but you’re going to be all right. Gaia Memmia found you unconscious in your bathroom. She called the medics immediately.’ She paused, looking for my reaction, I guessed. ‘I need to ask you some questions. Are you up to it?’

  I moved my head infinitesimally up and down. Everything swam in front of me. I ached from head to foot.

  ‘If you want to stop, close your eyes and we’ll go.’

  I peered around and found Conrad again. My eyes refocused as he came over. His hand caressed my forehead, his thumb along my hairline. The dry plastic glove on his hand pulled on my skin, but I was so comforted by his touch.

  ‘The letter you received was impregnated with a chemical agent. It’s nearly always lethal. Any idea who would send you this?’ Faleria said.