March Upcountry

She blasted the scummy on the other side of the doorway before she realized it was one of the females. Not only were they entirely untrained for combat, but this society sequestered them. This might have been the first time in this one’s life that anything more exciting than sex had occurred. And it had been brief.

The sergeant gazed at the pathetic, shredded body, then inhaled sharply and looked around.

“Stairs,” she called sharply. “Ground floor clear.”

She stepped back out into the hallway, wiping at a line of blood from a flying splinter, and looked around. She pointed down the corridor.

“Kyrou, Kane,” she said, then gestured at the stairs. “Beck, Lizzie.” The team leader lead the way, and Despreaux followed. She carefully didn’t look back at the pitiful shape sprawled in the shadows of the stairs.

Later for that. Later.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“Clear,” Pahner said, nodding his head at the report over the helmet radio. It had nearly killed him to let Lieutenant Sawato take point on managing the company, but he’d had to be at the dinner. And better him on the line than anyone else in the company when that particular bucket of shit hit the rotary air impeller. Except, maybe, Roger. Which still had him floored.

Pahner was not the type to judge anyone by his ability to shoot. He’d known too many consummate bastards who happened to be good combat shooters to do that. But between Roger’s surprising ability with weapons and the occasional depths he revealed, the captain was feeling distinctly whipsawed. Ninety percent of the time, he wanted to throttle the spoiled brat, but, lately, there’d been times when he was almost impressed. Almost.

He checked the maps and grunted at the report from Jin.

“Okay, I’ll take it up with His Majesty. Make sure you hold the treasury, but don’t get involved otherwise.”

He looked over to where Xyia Kan was sitting. Most of the blood had been washed off, but the king was still a sight. Bits of dried blood clung to the decorations on his horns and on his face, but he looked up alertly at Pahner’s motion.

“Yes? It goes well?”

It had, in fact, gone perfectly in the castle. The ring leaders had been seized, and their crimes had been detailed to the other house-leaders. Those leaders had then been instructed to send orders to their own Houses to stand down their guards on pain of the same sort of assault. Pending the delivery of proof of their crimes, the leaders of N’Jaa, Kesselotte, and C’Rtena had been separated and imprisoned. Those who apparently hadn’t had any knowledge of the plot had been released to return to their homes; the others were still being held in the dining room, surrounded by the now rotting blood of the dead guards. The psychological effect was salutary.

“It goes okay,” Pahner said. “We took casualties at C’Rtena, which I didn’t expect. No one got hurt bad, though, and other than that, we got off clean. But we have fires at C’Rtena and Kesselotte, and the troops need somebody to come put out the flames. And your guards are looting. My people can’t get them under control.”

“They will,” Grak said with a resigned handclap. “How do you stop soldiers from looting?”

Well, you can, for example, kill them until the survivors figure out it’s not permitted, Pahner thought with a mental snarl.

“I don’t suppose you can,” he said aloud, calmly. That shrug-your-shoulders, what-the-hell attitude was the sort of thing he had to ensure didn’t happen with Roger, he told himself. There was a fine line between ruthless and evil . . . and another between sloppy and barbaric. At the back of his mind, though, the song called. “I suppose that’s what makes the boys get up and shoot.”

“I’ll send servants to put the fires out,” the king said. “And soldiers whose job it will be to make sure they do so,” he said pointedly to Grak. “And to prevent them from looting. Is that clear?”

“I’ll go myself.” Grak hoisted his broad-headed spear and grunted in laughter. “Maybe I can pick up a few pretties myself.”

After the general left, Pahner found himself alone with the king. Roger had gone to wash, and the various guards had been dismissed. The situation was irregular, but the captain ignored that as he followed the movement and condition of the company on his pad.

The monarch, for his part, watched the human officer. So somber and serious. So precise.

“You see no difference between us and the barbarians of Cord’s tribe, do you?” he asked, wondering what answer he would hear.

Pahner looked up at the king, then tapped a command, sending half the reserve to reinforce First Platoon while he considered the remark.

“Well, Sir, I wouldn’t say that. Overall, I think it’s better to support civilization. Barbarism’s just barbarism. At its best, it’s pretty awful. At its worst, it’s truly awful. Eventually, civilizations have the ability to pull themselves up to a condition which is better for everyone.”

“Would you have assisted me if you didn’t need supplies for your journey?” the monarch asked, fingering the decorations on his horns and flicking off a bit of dried blood.

“No, Your Majesty,” Pahner shook his head, “we wouldn’t have. We have a mission: get Roger to the port. If this operation hadn’t advanced that, we wouldn’t have done it.”

“So,” the monarch observed with a grunt of laughter. “Your support for civilization isn’t so deep as all that.”

“Your Majesty,” Pahner said, pulling at a stick of gum and carefully unwrapping it. “I have a mission to complete. I will continue trying to perform that mission, whatever it takes. And so will my Marines. That mission has damned little to do with our individual survival and everything to do with maintaining a degree of continuity in our political environment.” Pahner popped in the gum and smiled grimly. “Your Majesty, that is civilization.”

Roger watched the Mardukan mahout securing his armor on the giant pack beast. The creature looked very much like the one which had been chasing Cord, but the native insisted they were different. Roger thought Cord was probably right. The Cape buffalo looked very much like the docile water buffalo, and there was no more dangerous beast on Earth. Of course, these looked like giant horned toads, not buffalo. Capetoad. He wondered if he could get the translation system to start substituting the term.

He also wondered, not without some trepidation, if he could master the local mahouts’ skills himself. He’d always had a way with animals, and he’d been in the saddle of his first pony almost literally before he could talk and his first polo pony before he was ten, so it seemed possible. Despite that, he found the elephant-sized flar-ta daunting, and he didn’t even want to consider how the rest of the company felt about them.

Still, they’d best get over it and learn. They’d been far luckier than they deserved when Portena and Julian turned up with D’Len Pah in tow, and Roger knew it even if the Marines as a whole seemed unaware of their good fortune. Of course, for all their survival training, they were much less accustomed to using animal transport in inhospitable regions than Roger was thanks to his taste for safaris, but the prince had been shocked by Pahner’s apparent blithe assumption that they could simply buy their own animals and handle the beasts themselves.

Fortunately, D’Len Pah had made the company a better offer. Flar-ta were scarce in Q’Nkok, and even with the king’s strong support, the prices being demanded had been astronomical. Just buying the necessary pack beasts would have come close to bankrupting the humans, despite the hefty slice of Xyia Kan’s fines and confiscations which had come their way. They certainly wouldn’t have had enough left for the other supplies they needed.

But D’Len Pah had turned up in the nick of time. He and his clan were something like a cross between Old