Before they spoke to the nearest flunkie, the hum scaled up through bat-high frequencies into inaudibility and the barrier began to glow.
Vibulenus had been mentally alone ever since he slid between Niger and an unmeant threat. The barrier’s amber radiance brought the tribune back from that internal world in which he had been staying because much of him did not believe that he was really alive. The barrier was always a presence in the memory of the legionaries, but the only previous time that it was visible was when it snarled and converted Rufus into smeared color.
This soft light was monochrome and not immediately threatening — though, like a sleeping lion, it did not seem harmless either. The flunkies and the two officers were outside the amber curtain, but the score of bodyguards with their backs against the wall appeared to have been washed with bronze.
“I will now hand you over to my successor for a few words,” said the Commander, returning to his audience with the false pleasantry — not so much oily as adamantine, unscarred by any vestige of real emotion — that always marked his contacts with the Romans he commanded. Had commanded.
The tall officer’s head hung forward on his neck like that of a horse. He was not an ugly man. He was not a man at all, any more than the bodyguards were men, but it was in the voice of the Commander that he said, “Fellow warriors, I was pleased to be appointed to the direction of as exceptional a group as you. I will continue to follow the example of my able predecessor.”
He nodded sideward at the smaller officer. The gesture was unexpectedly quick for a skull so large; it increased his resemblance to a horse.
But he was now the Commander.
The color of the barrier had shifted imperceptibly to a soft green, an ugly color that reminded Vibulenus of scum on the pond that caught the runoff from the sheep byres at home . . . at home.
“Now that the key to the barrier has been changed,” the voice said as the tall officer’s lips moved in a different rhythm, “we are free to depart on our next assignment. Because some of you sustained severe injuries during the course of the assignment just completed, we will remain in normal space longer than usual to ensure proper healing. This is only one more sign of the care which my guild shows for you.”
There was a tiny pop in the ears of the assembly. The barrier faded the way iron loses its color as it cools — swiftly and without perceptible stages. The flunkies relaxed and began to slide their paraphernalia away from the bulkhead.
“That means,” the tall officer concluded, “that you have all the more time to enjoy the comforts provided for you, including the females. You are therefore dismissed to your pleasures. I look forward to our association.”
He stepped backward, through the barrier. Lights twinkled as the bulkhead door opened behind him.
To Vibulenus’ surprise, the flunkies and the old commander did not exit through the barrier. Instead, they fell in behind pairs of shambling guards to return through the door that formed itself in the side of the gallery. The rear doors were already open and streaming with soldiers, more than willing to obey an order to enjoy themselves.
“They really changed the lock,” said Clodius Afer, who had moved up to the tribune’s side unnoticed at some point during the address. “He couldn’t go through it himself now.”
The old commander was noticeably careful to keep the armored bulk of a guard between him and even sight of the men who had been under his direction. When Vibulenus caught his eye, the slim figure ducked his head to ignore the contact. They were no more than a pace apart when the blue-clad officer skipped out of the room. The guard who had shielded him followed impassively.
“Bet his bosses don’t need a sponge to wipe their ass so long as he’s around,” Clodius muttered.
“What do ye figure we do now, boss?” Helvius asked the centurion. The four of them were almost alone now at the front of the Main Gallery while the remainder of the legion shuffled out the rear.