by Ted Mayes
Beth was surprised by that, getting to finish high school with all her friends, but she could tell her parents were astounded by the free college. The cost of her college had been part of the discussion when her parents had been trying to figure how to help pay for Becky's medical bills. Her mom seemed a little bit dazed as she asked, “How safe would it be for Beth?”
“There are two parts to that question. First, I have a report back at headquarters that lays out all the injuries Imperial forces have suffered over the last 19 years. I can have the relevant parts delivered to your older daughter's hospital room, if you want. However, the interesting part is that, statistically, the young lady would be safer with us than driving to a party with some of her friends.”
“The second part of her safety, or at least your concern about her safety, is this.” Centurion Jackson pulled a box, something like an extra-large cell phone, from one of his pockets. “It's called a pedagogus, but in English we call it a 'clerk'. It is, for lack of a better explanation, sort of a combined semi-sentient personal computer and communicator.” He looked at Jon. “The name for yours?”
Jon smiled briefly. “George, sir.”
“Billy, activate the unit in my hand.” There was a slight buzz, then the centurion tossed it to Jon. “Billy, the unit's name is George. Synchronize it to the young man holding it.” There were two more soft buzzes, and Jon put it in the pocket of his uniform jacket. “In order to show the Jordans what is possible … ,” his voice didn't get louder, but it got a lot harder, “soldier, stand at parade rest on the front porch.” This last was directed at Jon. He was up and out of the room before anyone could say anything else.
When the front door closed, Centurion Jackson put his own clerk on the coffee table in front of the Jordans. “Billy, display what that young man is doing right now.” A small holographic display of Jon, standing at parade rest on her front porch, appeared in the air in front of Beth's face. Beth gasped. “It's almost like Star Wars!”
“Miss Jordan, would you join your friend on the porch, please.” Beth rose and left the room. Soon after the front door closed again, a small figure of Beth appeared in the hologram, and took up a position of parade rest next to Jon. “Whenever she is free, you will be able to communicate with your daughter in this way. When she is not available, your daughter's clerk will inform you what she is doing, and will later inform her that you tried to communicate. Regardless of whether she's free or not, with some exceptions you'll be able to see what she's doing whenever you want.”
“Now, to show you how it works for communication … Billy, open a channel to young Master Harrison.” Another soft buzz. “Soldier, explain to the young lady's parents, why you are here.”
The image in the holograph spoke, “Sir, Ma'am, I met Miss Jordan last summer when we were camp counselors at the same church camp. When I happened to see her earlier today, she informed me of her concern for her sister and her desire to find someone to help her. Claiming her as a client, I was able to bring her to meet the chaplain. His efforts led us to the situation we're now in.”
“And because of your good deed in claiming this very nebulous position of responsibility as the patron of Miss Jordan, if her parents decide to grant their permission for her enlistment, they will be granted the same access to your actions and words that they have to hers.”
The only response was a simple “Sir.”
“Will the two of you come back in?” It wasn't really a question, but rather a very polite command. When the two had come back in and returned to the seats they had been in before, the centurion turned to Beth's parents and asked, “Did you have any other questions?”
They looked at each other and at Beth without saying anything. She finally put her hands on theirs before saying, “This is something I can do that will help Becky! Please let me do this!”
“Well, we hadn't planned on any of this at all. Are you really okay with all this, Bethany?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I never imagined … some of this stuff and I hadn't planned on any of it. But we hadn't planned on Becky's cancer, either. All in all, it seems to me that we're going to have more good come from this than any alternative I can think of. After all, the alternatives we have include losing Becky. If it means saving Becky, I'm ready to sign up.”
Beth's father looked at his wife, and when she nodded, he looked at Centurion Jackson and said quietly, “Alright, we give our permission for Bethany to enlist.”
Centurion Jackson nodded, withdrawing another clerk from a pocket and setting it up as 'Molly' for Bethany. Then he withdrew another one and activated it for the Jordans to communicate with the two young people. When he finished he ordered his clerk to transfer a copy of the recording to the Jordans' unit so that they would have a record of what had been said.
As he stood to leave, Beth's mother said, “Excuse me, sir, but do events in your life, will the events in Bethany's life, always move this fast?”
The centurion gave a short laugh. “Not at all. It's just that your daughter was able to talk to the imperial chaplain,” here he gave Jon a quick glance, “and when that gentleman wants to, he can wield … shall we say, an amazing amount of influence. Now, Miss Jordan, if you would keep your goodbyes brief, I have a lot to get back to.” Gathering up Jon with a glance, they left. Pastor left too, assuring all the Jordans that he would keep in touch with the chaplain about Beth's welfare.
Then there was nothing left to do but give her parents a hug and kiss, promise to be in touch, and then follow everyone else back to the van.
* * * * *
It was late, almost 2300, before Beth had any time to think about the whirlwind she'd been caught up in that day. They'd gotten back to Ostia before lunch and the centurion had disappeared. Jon had quietly mentioned that it was very unusual that they'd had anything to do with such a high ranking officer as a centurion. They'd gone into the basement of the building across the street from the one the chaplain had been in and had gotten an … interesting … lunch. Jon had quietly encouraged her to eat all of it, no matter how it tasted, because they were going to need the energy.
Then it seemed like it was non-stop running with brief intervals – blessed relief – of standing at parade rest. She'd had her hair cut, and picked up an armful of clothing, but was able to bypass the issuing of a clerk because the centurion had already given her one. She was given a diminutive headset with which to communicate with Molly. She was pushed out the back door of the building into a grassy area filled hundreds of other recruits, all of whom were also carrying clothing. Soon names were being called out and groups of ten were collecting by the door, only to disappear back into the building.
When her name was called, she was happy to see Jon appear in her group as well. They were marched into the building and up stairs to the seventh floor and down one of the three wide corridors on that floor. They stopped as a group and were ushered into a cramped barracks room. She and Jon were sent to the left 'bay' along with three others, while the others were sent to the right. They were assigned bunks, shown the drawers to use for their clothing, and were given ten minutes to get into uniform and put their equipment away. She and the other girl in the group each dived into one of the two restrooms to change, while the guys changed by the bunks.
Putting their equipment away quickly, they gathered out in the hallway and were told to remember the number over their door, '633' – 6th cohort, 3rd century, 3rd decury – told that that was who they were and how they were identified. Then an afternoon of exhausting effort began. Down the stairs to stores to draw bed linen, pillow and blankets – up the stairs to make their beds. Down to draw helmet, goggles and armor vests – up to store them away. Down to draw extra clothing – up to put them away. Down to draw a rifle, sword and dagger – up to store them in the armory under the bunk closest to the hallway. Down to draw two pistols and a baton – up to put them in the armory as well. Down to the store to get toiletries and personal items – up to put them away. By th
at time Beth, as well as others, was having problems getting up the stairs and she appreciated that Jon almost dragged her up the last few flights.
She was almost too tired to eat supper, but she had no trouble devouring everything on her tray. She couldn't remember offhand when she'd been hungrier. What followed supper was literally hours of practicing marching together, turning in the proper way, coming to attention, saluting, going to parade rest, and then marching again. All this while what seemed like a swarm of men and women with three stripes on their sleeves found fault with everything they did except breathing (and some people were apparently doing that wrong as well). Finally they were marched back upstairs and told to get some sleep. She got into bed, vaguely heard Molly say that her mother had called to say her sister had started treatment, and was asleep before she could think another thought.
The next day came way too early. When the decurion started screaming “Wake up, clean up, get dressed, fall out in the hallway at attention, fifteen minutes” she felt Jon roll out of his bunk above her, hit the floor and enter a bathroom almost before she could move. It was crazy and confused, especially with five people in such a restricted space, but their group of five actually made it out to the hallway on time, mainly because Jon seemed to have a pretty good idea of how to do things – the two girls to share one restroom, the three guys the other restroom – how to take a very quick wash, what to do with dirty clothes. That didn't mean the decurions didn't yell at them – just that they didn't yell at them quite as much. Apparently perfection was required of them, and the commentary on their shortcomings and defects was as loud as the demand for them to hurry.
“Right face. Move out for exercise, double-time.” As the group moved out, ahead of most other groups that were still gathering – a fact which was noted loudly by the decurion of every group that wasn't moving yet – Beth happened to notice the clock on the wall by the stairs – 0445! Then they were going down the stairs so quickly that she didn't have the time to think about how early it was. As they stepped out of the back door into the cool blackness of early morning, she muttered to herself that she didn't think she'd ever been up that early. Then, as they were led in morning exercises, she was positive she'd never been that active that early.
Finally they had the chance to have breakfast and Beth ate a much bigger meal than she normally did. She even sipped on a cup of coffee. She didn't like the taste, but, hey, anything to help her really wake up. It must have helped, because something finally drifted up to the top of her consciousness. She turned her head to look at Jon who was sitting next to her. “The decurion's been giving his commands in Latin all morning, hasn't he?”
Jon shrugged, “So?”
“Jon, I don't know Latin!” Suddenly the attention of the whole platoon was quietly focused on the two of them. The others had apparently come to the same realization, and objection, that Beth had.
Jon just looked at the others in the two squads. “That's unfortunate. I imagine that you're going to have a hard time following orders if the commands are given in Latin and you don't understand what they're saying.”
“That's not fair, though, if we can't ...” Beth clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide in surprise.
Kevin, one of the other guys in the squad, cleared his throat. “You don't sound very surprised, friend.”
Jon shrugged again. “Since the powers that be seem to want to use Latin to communicate, I'm just relieved that we seem to be able to use it also.” Little was said after that, not only because meal time was over, but also because they all had a lot to think about. It was a little chilling to Beth that the very next thing on the schedule was for all of them to be sworn in, in Latin, taking an oath to obey the emperor.
One thing followed another, hour after hour, day after day. They marched, they exercised, they trained – close combat; rifle and pistol training. And they got barely enough food and not nearly enough sleep. Late one night, before sleep hit, a voice softly rose out of the darkness of the barracks, “Is it still 1993? I think I lost track of how long we've been here.”
Another voice responded, “I think it still is, but I'm not sure the rest of the world exists anymore.”
A third voice mentioned reflectively, “You know, I talked with a guy once who told me that there was a unique kind of timelessness to basic training – of course, he was of the opinion it was the timelessness of eternal agony in the bowels of hell.” Nothing else was said. Nothing else could be said.
2 – June 1993
After what seemed like an unending passage of time, right before running off to lunch one day, something unusual happened. The decurion put them at attention and then gave them a very thorough inspection accompanied by a loud and exhausting recital of their deficiencies. Then for a few moments he glared at them as if he were mortally offended by their mere existence. Finally he put them at ease and his expression softened, but only a little. “Since it's Saturday, something new is going to be added. You will eat your lunch. Then, after lunch, you will be drawing your pay for the past week. You will only receive 6 pennies, the other 6 going into savings. Then you will call your family so that they can be sure you're really alive.”
Beth heard someone whisper very softly, “Now if we could only be sure we're alive.”
The decurion gave them an evil grin and everyone was sure that he'd heard the whisper. “If your muscles aren't shrieking with pain to tell you you're alive, I must have been too easy on you this week. I'll see if I can do a better job of making you hurt next week.” There were several soft groans at that, and Beth was pretty sure that one was hers.
“After you are done talking with your family, you will put on a clean uniform. You will then be at liberty until 1700. You will not leave Ostia. Wherever you go, you will travel with your decury – you will not wander around by yourself. Supper is at 1700. After supper you will be listening to the centurion and he may allow you to ask some questions.”
“Tomorrow, Sunday, we will not wake you up. You may attend worship if you so desire – ask your pedagogue for more information. Lunch will be at 1200 tomorrow. After lunch we will start next week, and I'll make sure you know you're alive – maybe in pain, but alive. Finally, so that there will be someone in charge for liberty – and someone to blame if anything goes wrong – two of you are getting temporary promotions to optio, Ari Levi in the right squad and Jon Harrison in the left squad – Harrison will be the senior optio. And if you cause me any trouble while on liberty, any trouble at all – well, just assume I will make you all suffer for it. Questions?” Not surprisingly, no one wanted to upset the decurion in any way, even if they still had questions. “Dismissed.”
Before any one could do anything, Jon quickly whispered, “Don't move.” All around them, decurions were dismissing their platoons, and disorganized groups were starting to drift toward the door and the promise of food. “Ari, make sure everyone keeps up. We're going to go in fast and get to the food fast.” Then, raising his voice, he bellowed “Left face. Double-time, march.” Hearing the commands, other soldiers closer to the door got out of the way of a platoon still under orders. While there were a few who had gotten inside before the platoon got to the door, Jon, Beth and the others made it to the head of the food line easily, sharing grins as if they'd pulled off a major accomplishment.
They ate, as usual, at one of the ten-person tables, all talking somewhat excitedly about what they could do while on liberty. Jon was sitting next to Ari and the two were talking quietly. Beth was talking with Maria, the other girl in her left squad, and Shawna, the girl in the right squad. Jon and Ari finished their conversation, and urged the others to hurry finish eating. The sooner they were done, the sooner they could draw pay, make their calls and start liberty. They left the dining hall, still in platoon order, and as they were going up the stairs, Ari mentioned that other platoons were trying to form up and move out, trying to imitate what they had been doing.
In the commons, Jon led them directly to the tab
le beneath the sign saying 'III' and reported the third decury was present for pay muster. Each member of the platoon did what Jon did – stepped forward, spoke their name, gave their thumb print, collected their coins, put them in their pocket, and fell back into ranks by the stairs, at parade rest, next to Jon. The members of the platoon exchanged small, brief, smiles, pleased that they had carried out the assignment efficiently, professionally, and most important, quickly. When Ari, the last one, joined the group, Jon quietly brought everyone to attention and marched them up the steps as other soldiers were starting to straggle into the commons.
They marched up one flight of stairs, then halted at parade rest in front of some elevator doors. When an elevator arrived, the right squad entered and about-faced, then the left squad. As Jon pushed the button to take them up to the 7th floor, everyone was broadly grinning. Jon said, to no one in particular, “I don't remember that the decurion said we had to take the stairs up to change uniforms.”
When the door open, Jon called “Dismissed”, and everyone ran for the barracks, laughing at the joy of not using the stairs.
By mutual agreement, Beth and Maria grabbed their new uniforms and dived into one bathroom to change, get a quick wash and run a quick brush through their too short hair. Beth went to sit on her bunk to put on her boots while she had Molly make a connection. “Mom, great news! They finally gave us some time off and told us to call you! How are you and Dad? How's Becky? ...”
Her Mom broke in on her rush of words, “Sweetheart, we're at the hospital now – Becky's almost ready to go home. You're free? Now? Can we meet?”
“Wait a sec, I'll check.” She leaned out of the bunk enough to bang on the side of the upper bunk, “Hey, Jon, my folks are at the hospital. Can we meet them?”