“In Capua,” the tribune said, with a bitter smile because he remembered little of the city save its name. Would he recognize his father’s face?
“In fuckin’ Capua, and that’s where we’re goin’ back,” said the centurion in what was more a soldier’s prayer than agreement.
“Let’s go take a look,” Vibulenus said, shrugging. Today neither he nor the pilus prior had donned equipment themselves, but he thought he might return later for some individual exercise. His mind alone could not burn off the nervous energy with which his plans filled him. “Quartilla’ll join us there.”
“I swear those dummies, they hit harder every time,” said Pompilius Niger, jogging drunkenly from the wall where he had dumped his gear. He was not gasping, but he drew in full breaths through his mouth in between phrases. “You guys willing t’ head for the baths with a fella been doin’ some work?”
Vibulenus briefly surveyed their surroundings. None of the hurrying legionaries showed any particular interest in the three of them. “We’re going to the Main Gallery, going to take a look. Wouldn’t mind another set of eyes if you’re up to it.”
“Sure, why not?” agreed the junior centurion. He put a hand on the shoulder of each of his companions and sagged there momentarily, miming total exhaustion. “Sure. You know,” Niger continued, setting the trio a brisk pace through the door, “if enough of us stare at it, maybe its teeth all fall out, hey?”
“That still leaves the claws, don’t it?” Clodius noted dourly.
“Guide to the Main Gallery,” said Vibulenus to the ceiling, and a red dot appeared.
“Thing is,” Niger went on, his breathing under control and a serious frown on his face, “we do need to. . . .” He touched his friends’ shoulders again, though without looking up from the floor. “Look, guys, if we don’t do something, there’s going to be trouble. Maybe not just now. But sure as shit, when we wake up after Transit and they issue real weapons — somebody’s going to put a javelin through the Commander.”
“Gonna try, anyway,” the pilus prior agreed.
“And then,” Niger concluded morosely, “I guess we can all figure out what’s going to happen. Might be wrong on details . . . but it won’t be a detail sort of job the guild does on us.”
“We’re going to do something,” Gaius Vibulenus said flatly. He spoke with the absolute certainty he felt, although he could not have explained why he was so certain. Not quite.
“You know,” said Clodius Afer, after a few moments of tramping forward during which all three men remembered laser blasts, “I didn’t know the girls were still loose on the ship. I mean —” Suddenly it didn’t seem to be a safe topic of conversation after all. “—you mentioned Quartilla, you know.”
“Ah, that’s right,” said the tribune. He corrected his mumble after he got out the first few syllables, but he fixed his eyes on the guide bead. “Ah, Quartilla’s status, that changed. And I was going to change it back, you understand, but she thought it was good just now that she could come and go. . . .”
“Sure, I understand,” said Clodius Afer. What the pilus prior did understand from the emotional loading in his friend’s voice was that they’d better talk about something else.
“Wonder if they close this place and steam it down like the little rooms,” said Pompilius Niger, turning into the Main Gallery and supplying the perfect change of subject. Vibulenus had continued to walk past the bead at which he had appeared to be staring.
“The way they move it around,” the tribune said in a subdued but reasonably normal voice, “they may be able to turn it inside out and shake it clean.”
The echoless nature of the Main Gallery expanded its great real size into the ambiance of a twilit plain. The floor was level, and for a moment nothing at all moved within the black volume.
The beast rose, haunches first, and stretched in silhouette against the forward bulkhead which was the only source of light.
“Good, I was feeling lonely,” said Clodius, but there was a grim tone overlaying the joke.