March Upcountry

command right at the start.

“Woo, hoo, hoo,” Julian whispered on his suit mike. “I think the Prince just caught himself a nuke.”

“I bet Pahner didn’t even ask why he took the shot,” Despreaux said.

“He knows why Princy took the shot,” Julian shot back. “Big, bad big-game hunter saw the biggest game in town. Time to try out the rifle.”

“Maybe,” Despreaux admitted. “But he is a big-game hunter. He’s dealt with big nasty animals a lot. Heck, he does it as a hobby. Maybe he knew something Pahner didn’t.”

“The day you find out something the Old Man doesn’t know,” Julian commented, “you come look me up. But bring some CarStim; I’ll need it for the heart attack.”

“I t’ink he just like to kill stuff,” Poertena said soberly. They’d reached the carcass of the giant herbivore, and he examined more closely. It would have made a fair trophy for any hunter.

Despreaux glanced over at the armorer. Despite the huge rucksack that made him look like an ant under a rock, he’d come up behind them so quietly she hadn’t noticed his presence.

“You really think so?”

“Sure. I hear about his trophy room,” Poertena said, sipping water out of his tube. “There are all sorts of t’ings in there. He likes to kill stuff,” he repeated.

“Maybe,” Despreaux repeated, then sighed. “If so, I hope he can learn some control.”

“Well, I guess we’ll see the next time we have a contact,” Julian said.

“Contact!” the point guard called.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Kosutic tapped a bead rifle outward.

“There are three people covering one scummy,” she commented to the trooper as she stepped past him. “Watch your own Satan-Be-Damned sector.”

“ . . . just appeared out of nowhere,” the point guard was saying as the sergeant major walked up. The PFC waved the sensor wand at the scummy. “Look, there’s hardly any readout!”

“That’s what your eyes are for!” Gunnery Sergeant Jin snapped. He looked at the scummy standing quietly just outside the perimeter, and shuddered. He hadn’t seen the being until the point yelled, either.

The Mardukan stood two and a half meters tall. He—it was clearly and almost embarrassingly a “he”— carried a figure-eight shield nearly as tall as he was. A lance that was even taller was cast over one shoulder, and he had a large, leather covering thrown over his head. It was obviously an attempt at a parasol, and his need for something like it was clear. Given the fact that Mardukans were covered in a water-based mucus, the fact that he could have survived all the way to the edge of the salt flats was amazing. He should have been dead of dehydration long before he got this far.

Kosutic tossed her bead rifle over one shoulder in a manner similar to the way the Mardukan carried his spear, stepped past the three troopers covering the stranger, and held out one hand, palm forward. It wasn’t a universal sign of peace, but humans had found it to be close.

The Mardukan gabbled at her, and she nodded. The gesture meant no more to him than his handwaving at the horned beast did to her. He could be angry that they’d killed his pet, or happy that they’d saved his life. Her toot took a stab at the language, but returned a null code. The local dialect had very little similarity to the five- hundred-word “kernel” they’d loaded into the toots.

“I need O’Casey up here quick,” she subvocalized into her throat mike.

“We’re on our way,” Pahner responded. “With His Highness.”

Kosutic held up one hand again, and turned to look over her shoulder. As she did, she noticed the two bead rifles and the plasma gun still leveled at the apparently benign visitor.

“Go ahead and lower them, Marines. But keep them to hand.”

She half-turned at the crunch of gravel, and smiled at the group approaching from the center of the company’s perimeter. The diminutive chief of staff was virtually invisible behind the bulk of Pahner and Roger’s armor. And surrounding Roger was a squad from Second Platoon that looked ready to level the world. All in all, it looked like a good time to fade, and she bowed to the visitor and drifted backwards, wondering how it would go.

Eleanora O’Casey wasn’t a professional linguist. Such people not only had specially designed implants, they usually also had a flair for language that interacted with their toots so that the final translation was synergistically enhanced. She, on the other hand, was dependent on an off-the-shelf software package and a general knowledge of sentient species to carry her through. There were quite a few “ifs” in that equation.

The regions around the spaceport used a four-armed bow as a sign of parley. Unfortunately, there were a variety of nuances to it—none of which had been very clear in the explanation—and she had only two arms.

Here went nothing.

D’Nal Cord examined the small being before him. All of the beings in this tribe—they looked like basik, with their two arms and waggling way of walking—were small and apparently weak. However, most of them blended into the background as if they were part of it. It was probably an effect of their strange coverings, but it was also disconcerting. And some weapon or magic among them had killed the flar beast. Both features bespoke great power. And since the flar beast had nearly had him, it also spoke of an asi debt. At his age.

The being bowed in a nearly proper fashion and gabbled at him in a strange guttural tongue. It was different from the words which had been spoken between the beings.

“I seek the one who killed the flar beast,” he answered, gesturing at the aggressive herbivore. The beasts burrowed during the day in the dry hills, and he’d been blinded by the light of Artac shining off the sands, beaten down by the heat and dryness and, truth to tell, feeling his age. He hadn’t noticed the depression around the snorkel at the surface, and he’d survived only because it had been a rogue bull with no herd mates to help it kill him. And because of the altruistic act of a stranger.

Damn him.

The slight one at the fore spoke again.

“ . . . kill . . . flor . . .”

Cord spoke very slowly this time.

“I . . . seek . . . the . . . one . . . who . . . killed . . . the . . . flar . . . beast. That rogue bull over there, you ignorant little basik.”

“I need the second person, damn it,” Eleanora gritted through her teeth. She touched her chest. “I . . . Eleanora.” She pointed at the Mardukan, hoping it would understand.

The scummy gobbled and clacked at her again. It seemed to be becoming agitated. As well it should, for it was terribly hot and dry out here for it. Which brought up an idea.

“Captain Pahner,” she turned to the CO. “This is going to take a while. Could we set up some sort of shelter from the sun?”

Pahner looked up at the height of the sun and consulted his toot.

“We’ve got three more hours of daylight. We shouldn’t stop for the night.”

Eleanora started to protest, but Roger held up a hand at her, and turned to Pahner.

“We need to communicate with these people,” he said, gesturing at the scummy with his chin. “We can’t do that if this guy dies of heatstroke.”

Pahner took a breath and looked around as he suddenly realized that the comment was coming in on the command frequency. Apparently the prince had listened to the previous lecture about debating in front of the