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breathed. “Rather stilted, formal Latin.”
    Quintus growled, “If they could speak Latin all the while, why address us in German?”
    â€œPerhaps they could not speak it,” Gnaeus said, puzzling it out. “Perhaps it is those nodules in their ears that speak it for them. For I think I hear a trace of the German behind the louder Latin words . . . Or perhaps it is the little fellow they carry in the pack on the man’s back who knows the Latin.”
    â€œAnd who belly-speaks for the other two, I suppose? Your imagination runs away with you,
optio
.”
    â€œThis is a strange situation, sir. Perhaps imagination is what we need.”
    â€œLet’s get down to reality.” Quintus put his weapon back into its loop at his belt and stepped forward, bunched fists on hips. “What is your mission here?”
    The strangers exchanged glances. “We have no mission. We are,” and here the speaker stumbled, as if searching for a precise term, “we are scouts.” The two of them pulled the white pods away from their ears and spoke in their own tongue, briefly.
    â€œScouts? For what army? Are you Brikanti or Xin or Roman? To which emperor do you pay your taxes?”
    Gnaeus murmured, “The Brikanti don’t have an emperor, sir.”
    â€œShut up.”
    The woman said now, “Our speaker has not the right word. We are,” another hesitation, “philosophers. We came through the, the door—”
    â€œThe Hatch,” said Gnaeus.
    â€œYes, very well, the Hatch. We came to discover what is here, on this world. Not as part of a military force.”
    â€œThey’re saying they’re explorers, sir.”
    Quintus grunted. “They’re lying, then. Romans don’t explore, any more than Alexander did—not for any abstract purpose. Romans discover, survey, conquer.”
    â€œBut they aren’t Romans, sir.”
    Quintus repeated, “What emperor do you serve?”
    The strangers exchanged a glance. “We serve no emperor. Our province is unconquered.” Again they looked uncertain at the translation.
    Quintus scoffed. “Nowhere on Terra is ‘unconquered’ save for the icy wastes of the south. Flags fly everywhere—somebody’s flag at least, and more than one if there’s a war in progress.”
    The woman tried again. “We recognize none of the names you mentioned. None of the polities.”
    Gnaeus said, “Then you can’t come from Terra.”
    The woman looked at him frankly. “Not from your Terra.”
    Gnaeus’s eyes widened.
    Quintus was baffled, and frustrated. “What do you mean by that? Perhaps your country has vanished under conquest, like the kingdom of the Jews. Perhaps your people are slaves.”
    â€œNo,” the woman said firmly. “We are not slaves.” She seemed to listen for a moment. “Very well, ColU. I’ll emphasize that. We are freeborn.”
    Gnaeus asked, “Who are you speaking to? Who is . . . Collu? Collius?”
    â€œWe are freeborn,” the woman said again. “Strangers to you, strangers in this place, but freeborn. We ask for your protection.”
    â€œProtection?” Quintus rapped his breastplate. “What do you think I am, a
vicarius
, a Bible scholar? So you don’t have nations. You don’t have owners. Do you have names? You?” He jabbed a finger at the woman.
    â€œMy name is Stephanie Karen Kalinski.”
    â€œAnd you?”
    The man grinned, almost insolently. “Yuri Eden.”
    Quintus glanced at Gnaeus. “What do you make of that? ‘Stephanie’ sounds Greek—respectable enough. But ‘Yu-ri”—Scythian? Hun?”
    â€œTheir names are as exotic as their appearance, sir,” Gnaeus murmured.
    â€œOh, I’ve had enough of this. We’ve a lot to get done before the
Malleus Jesu
can leave this desolate place—the