With these lines, I, Praetor Benjamin Celsius, declare Roman Imp-
erial District 784 closed. Formally, that's it, but I plan to unburden my-
self further at the expense of this lovely white paper.
	From our office here on the Rue Auguste we have presided over a
great revival in the area's cultural life. Arts both secred and profane
have thrived as the second millennium came to a close; I leave the final
assignment of credit to posterity, but I expect to figure prominently in
it. French Senators, during my tenure, have done little and expected less.
The Empire rose on the backs of men and women whose service came cheap: a
good name was enough for them.
	Among my colleagues I must single out Shannon of Cologne, Not mere-
ly a sluggard and a Philistine, she first brokered the deal which admitted
the Septinians to Imperial France. We now see the folly of welcoming giant
insects into our homes writ large on every street corner; at the time, no
way was found to couch the disgust we felt, and so Shannon enriched herself
without substantial argument.
	In the matter of the Six Years' War, so-called, I have attached a
list of those who fought fiercely under my informal supervision. Myself and
my staff commend each of them; recommendations for specific Imperial honors
appear as marginalia due to the paper shortage. If I may address myself
specifically to whichever Consul should read this, I ask that you consider
closely the case of Sophia N'Gabo, who amassed more carapaces as trophies
than even she could carry on the journey east. No doubt we have overlooked
several in closing down the building. Please give her a few honors beyond
those the printed record supports. In fact, make her Emperor.
	I apologize. Recent events have wearied me, and with weariness
comes giddiness. I shall continue.
	This district served largely as a refuge once formal hostilities
were declared. My stewardship in that period was mentioned early in this
letter and requires no additional comment. Militarily, I suppose little was
different from the six years previous, though, not needing to carry on a
war with only the resources of five small northern districts anymore, I
imagine successes were easier to come by.
	I mean to recall one incident which occurred around the first time
Emperor Anthony (m.&b.e.) suggested the closing and abandonment of 784. I
was annotating a few of the ancients for a coming literary festival and, un-
pleasantly struck by a lengthy passage on insects that Heraclitus wrote
late in life, I decided to take the air. As I passed a patisserie, I saw
the proprietor ministering to a 7ien who looked near death. I drew closer,
not so much because of the alien, who clearly posed no threat anymore, but
because the shopkeeper opened and closed his mouth as if speaking to the
thing. Traitors were not unheard of in those days, or else we had not yet
stopped thinking they were.
	He must have instantly understood my suspicions, because he showed
me the gory rolling pin he'd cracked his guest's head with and explained:
"Decades ago, I won a foot race against a well-known sprinter. In the eff-
ort of competing against me, he sickened himself and later died. Look at
all these feet! I want this shiny bastard to ask my forgiveness for beat-
ing us in this race, and I'll give him the same absolution that I got."
	All things rest by changing, it is said, but not I. They send us
tomorrow to the starting line of our dash for Russia; I won't be able to
rest until I get there.
	The Emperor's citizens are no longer protected in this place, sic
dictus est manu P. Celsius 18/4/2028.

written for glenn in my living room 10/18/01

Well, I got to use my pompous voice again. I liked the image of a Roman Praetor (who's a bit of a whiner, you'll notice) being run out of his home by giant bugs and still not having much to say other than that he was pretty good at his job while it lasted. However, people who take a lot of time to say very little do not make the most exciting narrators.

My knowledge of Rome is extremely fuzzy, so while things would have changed over time, I also must have made some stupid errors that can't be written off so easily. Maybe one more of these and I'll learn not to get in over my head with speculative stuff. Most embarrassing: the date at the end is wrong. Wrong! It's supposed to be just before the turn of the millennium (which, of course, would be happening a few hundred years earlier in this imaginary Empire than it would in a Jesus-based calendar). Also, even if I got the Latin at the end right, it would probably be "thus it is written", not "thus it is said". Because, you know, he's writing.

NOT an error: the real Heraclitus only wrote one book in his life, and I don't think any long passages from it survived.

The alien insects are from Uranus, the seventh planet. I'm a little proud of that.

- everything is by Aaron Mandel; please ask first if you're about to steal something -

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