by David Weber
The Commander's ears quivered in a gesture of irritation as he noted the beast's restiveness. Then, as his eyes swept the assembly again before resuming the thread of his discourse, he saw Quartilla in the front row.
For a moment, the face of the guild officer contorted. He turned and shot an unheard order to the Pilot which brought that subordinate erect in a terrified brace, the ready laser slapping down alongside his thigh. Even after the Commander turned back in apparent calm to the waiting Romans, the Pilot held himself stiffly and continued to swallow hard.
"Because of matters which cannot properly be blamed on you," the Commander said to the assembly, "there has been some temporary disorganization in the operations of this vessel. Let me reassure you that this will not affect you warriors in the least. Because of my experience and the success with which I moulded you into one of my guild's most valued assets, I have been requested to take over again as an interim measure."
His ears twitched. "Even though my rank would normally put me well beyond such duties."
"We were supposed to be recalled to our own quarters as usual," whispered Quartilla from the tribune's left side. "Somebody forgot."
Simultaneously, Clodius snickered on the other side, and said, "Bastard was handy and got stuck into the slot with no more ado than I'd make on latrine detail. And he ain't half pissed, is 'e?"
The squad of technicians from the trading vessel had stepped between the Commander and the door behind him. Two of them were lifting from the cart a U-shaped staple that seemed to be a fair weight for them. The bodyguard with the tethered carnivore waited nearby. The beast seemed willing to squat on its haunches, but it was making rumbling complaints in the back of its throat.
"I have called you to this extraordinary address," the Commander said, "to assure you that nothing else about the circumstances is extraordinary. Your privileges and duties as assets of my guild remain the same, and the discipline which I will enforce will be as harsh as is required for your own long-term good."
The technicians had set the staple legs-down on the floor. After fussing with it for a moment, they stepped back. The Commander glanced aside with an ear-twitch that showed he resented the way his subordinates drew attention away from his rhetorical periods.
The staple ejected angry green sparks and a hiss that could have come from a snake big enough to swallow the Main Gallery whole. The technicians winced, but only in reflex. The Commander leaped forward with a startled cry, and when the carnivore leaped upright it pulled its handler flat on the floor with a crash.
"Well…" said Clodius Afer, who-like most of the Romans near the front of the assembly-had jumped slightly at the fireworks. They had been close enough to other things to which the crew had subjected the legionaries that they did not panic, just start reflexively the way the techs did.
The Commander, who did not expect to be surprised, had just shown as little control as the animal, slavering with its hackles up as two more guards grabbed its lead line.
The staple was cool and silent, now that it had tacked itself to the floor. The techs were packing up their tools in seeming innocence, oblivious to the glare the Commander threw them as soon as he recovered his balance. It was just possible that the team of workmen did not realize how startling the flash and hiss had been to their superior.
Vibulenus began to laugh. Quartilla pressed a palm firmly over his lips.
The Commander spoke to the guards, the ship directing his words so that only echoes of angry grunting reached the tribune. The group on the tether led-even three of them together lacked the strength and weight to drag-the carnivore close enough to the staple to loop the line through.
One of the yellow-clad technicians clamped the end of the line back against itself. The fellow was being very careful to keep the guards between him and the carnivore.
"There will be another brief display," said the Commander, facing the assembly as if he had not lost his composure after all. The communications system accurately reproduced the breathiness that accompanied the way the guild officer's chest heaved. "Do not be alarmed."
The pop and sparkling as the line welded itself was so minor that only the comment made it remarkable. The technicians quickstepped out through the bulkhead door, trying to ignore the laser in the hands of the Pilot as they moved past him.
"Some of your comrades are undergoing emergency medical treatment," said the Commander in a return to his planned speech. "It is up to you to convince them that the rules which have always applied continue in force during my interim appointment. While the ship remains in normal space, the forward portion of the Main Gallery will be kept off limits by our friend here."
The Commander's arm made a coy gesture that filled Vibulenus with revulsion. Did he think they were children? Or mincing aristocrats maundering to one another while slaves pampered their bodies? He should spit out his instructions, treating them as soldiers and pretending himself to be a man!
The trio of guards still held the tether. Their armored bodies were interposed between the beast and the Commander, though the guild officer could scarcely be at risk from an animal whose like he had ridden to battle many times in the past.
"Our friend," continued the Commander in the oily manner that was as much a part of his position as the shimmer that filtered the air he breathed, "has been treated to react in a certain way to any assets of your race who come within his reach. Lest you-"
The Pilot stepped from the doorway with a set expression, gripping his weapon so fiercely that tendons stood out on the backs of his hands.
"Your Worship!" shouted Gaius Vibulenus as his soul froze and his body stepped forward into the cleared area where he had no friends or fellows. The acoustics of the big room drank his voice, but not so fully that the dainty figure in yellow could not hear him.
The tribune's hands were raised and open, a sign of supplication and in any culture proof of peaceful intent. A guard lurched forward, holding his mace out in bar.
"You have wisely chosen a creature whose savagery and power were demonstrated to us all today," Vibulenus said, still shouting. His mind considered the risk that other Romans who could not hear him would take this as some suicidal call to mutiny-and obey it.
That risk was the lesser one.
"Who could not have been amazed," the tribune continued, gesturing rhetorically as his chest halted at the mace shaft, "at the way these terrible creatures wreaked havoc among heavily armed opponents whose skill and courage threatened to overwhelm us? Not even the bravest of us would dare approach such a creature as this."
The carnivore snarled and gave a tentative pull on its line as it peered past its handlers toward the Roman. Vibulenus wondered whether he had halted inside or outside the arc the beast could lunge on its tether.
That risk, too, had to be disregarded.
For a moment, the Pilot leveled his weapon at the tribune. Then he pointed the laser at the deck and hopped backward, into the doorway again. The crewman had been drafted into duties beyond his normal competence. Now that the script had gone awry, the Pilot had either to improvise or to withdraw.
The Commander's duties did not permit him the option of withdrawing. He glanced behind him, nervously aware that if the carnivore lunged toward this nearest Roman, the cable would slice across those standing in the way.
"This assembly is dismissed," the Commander said sharply, driven to decision by the personal risk which grew if he should vacillate. "Leave at once and report to the Sick Bay for normal processing."
There was immediate movement toward the rear of the gallery. The sudden dismissal was just one more circumstance in a disorganized day.
The Commander's lips moved, and the voice in Vibulenus's ears said, "Not you, Gaius Vibulenus Caper."
Two guards advanced in response to orders grunted to them alone. They forced Vibulenus back a step as if he were a spiderlet ballooning before the wind. Rather than resist their effortless advance, he skipped ahead of them, keeping one outstretched
hand on the mace helve to show that he was not trying to escape.
"Slow down, fish-face," snarled Clodius Afer as he and Niger-Niger blanching yellow beneath the wind-burn on his skin-stepped toward the guards on the balls of their feet.
"It's all right!" the tribune cried, sliding between the creatures in armor and the friends who would rescue him. "We're just getting away from the, the hyena!"
Maybe. Existing on the ship like fighting a war. Unless you intended to plunge in and slog forward, come what may, you needed to anticipate what everyone else would be doing long before they decided. And you could assume that not only would communications break down, but that everyone would put the worst possible face on whatever anyone else did.
Vibulenus didn't think his anticipation was very good. But he'd have bet his hopes of homecoming that he was the only one aboard who tried.
Quartilla touched an arm of each centurion though she did not try to hold them. "They're getting him away from the beast," the woman was saying throatily. "Careful or you'll put him in danger."
Maybe the tribune wasn't the only one on board who tried to think things through.
The Commander strode beyond the arc of his-watchdog's-tether, permitting the bodyguards to release it. When they exerted themselves, the toad-things exuded a sweetish odor with a tinge of ammonia behind it.
Freed, the carnivore immediately relaxed. It strolled across the front bulkhead at the limit of its cable, sniffing at the deck which clicked beneath its claws.
"I want to-" the guild officer began. He glanced at the centurions and Quartilla, then beyond at other soldiers staying to watch the show in the knowledge that the mob ahead of them would not clear for some time. The Commander's ears twitched; he turned toward his expectant bodyguards.
Quartilla opened her mouth, but neither Clodius nor Niger would be ruled by a woman in this.
"I would appreciate it," called Vibulenus in a tone of icy command, "if you men would go about your business while I confer with my superior."
The face of the pilus prior went professionally blank. Niger, more boyish in spirit as well as appearance, blinked like a dog who has been kicked for jumping up to greet its master. Then both minds reasserted themselves and the men stepped away, still held by Quartilla. Clodius Afer was wearing a grim smile.
"As you were saying, Your Worship?" Vibulenus prompted with an expression as supercilious as that of one campaigning politician meeting another.
Close up, the Commander's face seemed to be tinged with jaundice. Whether that was true, or an accident of reflection from the yellow bodysuit-or possibly just something within the tribune's mind-was beyond Vibulenus' reckoning. His lips, which were more nearly circular at rest than a human's should have been, pursed and paused. At last the guild officer decided to say, "We have noted with approval your actions on the field today, military tribune. My guild was very pleased with the loyalty and dedication you showed, as well as a level of initiative unexpected in an asset."
Even without the hinted motion of the Commander's ears, Vibulenus would have known that "initiative" was an attribute with risk when it appeared this far down the chain of command.
"My guild seeks to reward proper behavior," the Commander continued. He was absurdly slight when viewed from so nearby. The strength and technique which Vibulenus had gained from untold battles and drills would permit him to snap the childsized neck before either of the guards, slowed by their armor, could intervene.
"Is there some particular reward you would like to receive?" said the voice that did not come directly from the Commander's lips.
"Your Worship," said Vibulenus as his mind took over before his body began to tremble at the risk he was accepting, "I would like to lead my fellows home and arrange the recruitment of new legions of full strength for you."
That was ridiculous-Romans enlisting as mercenaries for foreign traders! But if the guild let them march home, then the aftermath could be dealt with somehow, some way…
"That's ridiculous," snapped the Commander. "If you can't-" He started to step back between the bodyguards who flanked him.
"Then, sir," the tribune continued without hesitation or evidence that he understood his rebuke, "perhaps you could arrange that one of the females be withdrawn from-" he licked the lips that had just gone dry "-general duties and place her at my service. The woman Quartilla."
He did not dare to look behind him to see whether she was in the room or even within possible earshot.
"You want one of your own?" the guild officer said with amusement, shifting his weight back onto his leading foot. "Very interesting."
His dainty fingers made an uncertain gesture at the tight legs of his garment. "If I were to be abandoned to this wretched duty for any length of time, I'd make a study of your behavioral patterns for my own amusement."
Vibulenus' tight smile was a mask that waited for an, answer that he dared not anticipate.
"Yes, of course," said the Commander. "We grant your petition. Now, go on and carry out your duties, remembering that the eyes of my guild are on even the least of its assets."
The slim figure turned and strode through the bulkhead door, giving a wary glance at the carnivore who paced before it in guard. The toad-things followed their master by pairs, without audible summons.
Only after the last of the armored monsters disappeared into the forward section of the vessel did the Pilot leave the doorway. The portal closed, sparkling like lightstruck dew.
Gaius Vibulenus Caper turned, feeling disoriented by the complex of emotions which eddied through him.
It takes time to clear a structure of four thousand men, even when the entire back wall gapes open. Quartilla and the two centurions had obeyed Vibulenus' order, but they were still within fifty feet of the tribune when he turned around.
The three smiled when Vibulenus' head-to-head discussion ended without sudden violence. Niger waved at his old friend and Clodius Afer called a comment which could be heard only in its cheerfulness.
The woman stiffened while her ears received a message which others did not. She looked at Vibulenus, returning to them at the slow pace which his stiffening wounds required. Then, unexpectedly, Quartilla began to run across the front of the Main Gallery, away from the tribune.
"Quartilla!" Vibulenus called. Niger put out a hand, but neither of her immediate companions made a real attempt to stop her. The woman was even fleshier than his Roman ideal of feminine beauty, but her bulk was more muscle than fat-and unlike the men, she had not just fought a grueling hand-to-hand battle. "Quartilla!" What would have been a wall in the far corner, if a soldier ran against it, dissolved into a doorway in time to pass Quartilla. An instant later it was again gray metal, or at least what passed for metal on the ship. The tribune carefully joined his companions. "What got into her, Gaius?" asked Pompilius Niger as he gripped hands with his childhood friend.
"Better question'd be why all the good-time girls were loose't' begin with," said the pilus prior. "Not that I care." He patted the tribune's shoulder gently with an iron-hard palm. "Sir, you… Aw, fukkit, I'm glad to serve with you, that's the size of it."
Vibulenus' height made it easy for him to drape his arms over the shoulders of both other men. "Good to serve with you guys, too. Hercules, with all of us." He nodded toward the back of the gallery, still crowded with legionaries, and started his own companions moving in that direction toward the Medic and the baths.
"But you know?" the tribune added in a voice whose mildness deceived neither of his hearers, "Sometimes I don't think a great deal of the folks we're serving for."
They were nearing the head of the line to the Medic's booths when they heard the shout from down the hall, "Does anybody see the tribune? Gaius Caper?"
"Oh, fuck off," mumbled Clodius Afer, but he was grumbling at the situation more than he was the searching legionary. A blow turned by the mail covering his right biceps had gone unnoticed during the battle, but the muscle had begun to swell into purple agony a
s soon as the pilus prior sheathed his sword.
"It can wait," Vibulenus muttered; but maybe it couldn't, and he stepped aside to look in the direction of the summons.
There was less of a crush awaiting the Medic than the Tribune had expected. Given the option of obeying the Commander's injunction or not, many of the men with lesser injuries had gone to the baths, the bars, or the women instead.
Even Clodius Afer and his companions had detoured to a hall of sleeping rooms which the pilus prior designated the Tenth Cohort's barracks area. The Tenth had been doing that after the past dozen or so battles, and the rest of the legion had followed suit immediately.
There was no lack of space within the vessel, and the trading guild obviously did not care whether or not accommodations were organized; but it was good for the men to have something they could treat as home, and it was good for a unit that fought together to keep its cohesion out of battle as well.
Among other things, it gave the troops a place to stash their loot under guard for the days or weeks until the vessel "entered Transit space"-and all the soldiers awakened together to be marched against a new enemy.
"Has anybody seen-sir, there you are! We need to talk to you, I'm sorry."
"Of course, Marcus Rusticanus," said the tribune. It wasn't one man searching him out, it was the first centurion with an entourage of at least twenty other soldiers. The latter began babbling excitedly to friends and acquaintances waiting in line while Julius Rusticanus approached the tribune-with a salute.
The Medic called something nervous but unclear in the clutter of other sound. The two bodyguards became restive also, if not actively hostile. They stepped toward the gathering which completely blocked the aisle, brushing Romans aside with their iron shoulders. Swearing softly, Clodius Afer turned to face the new threat.
"Outside," Vibulenus ordered in instant decision. He wished he felt better-and his physical condition was less a burden than the way his stomach dropped in black spirals whenever he thought of Quartilla.