March Upcountry

Earth’s gypsies and professional caravaneers—semi-nomadic freight carriers who owned and managed their own string of flar-ta. Roger had been astounded when he arrived at the citadel with Julian and Portena to offer his clan’s services to the humans, since no one else in Q’Nkok had wanted to go anywhere near the lunatics who thought they could actually get through to Voitan. But D’Len Pah had gone by the Houses the Marines had taken down to make a personal examination of the wreckage, and he’d also talked to survivors who’d seen the humans’ weapons in action. Clearly, he calculated that if anyone could get through and reopen the long-closed (and highly profitable) trading routes through Voitan, Bravo Company was that anyone.

Roger had come to suspect that there were other factors at work, as well. For one thing, he was pretty certain Xiya Kan had strongly “suggested” to D’Len Pah that it would be in his best interests to make the offer. For another, the chief mahout clearly hoped to pick up some of the offworlders’ marvelous devices and knowledge for himself. And, finally, the scummy had insisted on receiving two-thirds of his payment up front, before leaving Q’Nkok . . . and extracted a promise that he would not be required to hand it back over if—or when—the humans actually encountered the Kranolta and realized they had no choice but to turn back or die.

For all that, though, D’Len Pah and his clansmen looked like tough customers in their own right. They were well armed, by Mardukan standards, and clearly accustomed to looking after themselves. No doubt they had to be, since their entire families, including women and children, traveled with them. They were likely to prove a worthwhile addition to the humans’ forces in a great many ways . . . and whatever else, they would at least keep Pahner from losing a dozen or so of his Marines finding out that driving a flar-ta was just a bit more complicated than handling an air lorry!

Roger grinned at the thought and looked around as the company made its final preparations to leave. It was early, barely past dawn, and the heat wasn’t really on the day yet. It would be soon—turning the humidity up into the customary steam bath—but for now, it seemed relatively cool.

Everyone was checking his personal gear, making sure that it was just right. A strap out of place would make for a sore day, so it made sense to check ahead of time. Weapons were being serviced, and ports sealed against the conditions. They were down another plasma rifle, and the Old Man had indicated that they might have to put them all away in sealable bags. Roger intended to have a few choice words with whoever had approved the weapons for deployment; they’d only been on the planet for a couple of weeks, and the complicated weapons were failing left and right.

He saw the captain coming up the line of pack beasts, checking the gear. Since the flar- ta were carrying so many items that were absolutely vital, not to mention valuable, the Marine officer had placed a small explosive charge on each of them . . . and demonstrated the devices to the mahouts. If one of the beasts tried, for whatever reason, to run away with the company’s gear it wasn’t going to get far.

Pahner hadn’t even bothered to mention the tracker planted on each of them.

Nor was that the only “precaution” the human castaways had taken. Somewhat against his own better judgment, Pahner had given in to O’Casey’s argument and agreed that the chief of staff could brief both Xyia Kan and D’Net Delkra on the true reason for their visit to Marduk. The captain was unhappy at the thought of telling anyone anything he didn’t have to, but he’d had to admit that O’Casey had logic on her side when she pointed out that both The People and Q’Nkok already knew they were effectively shipwrecked. Telling their leaders and rulers how and why couldn’t increase the risk that one or both of them might have designs upon them, but—like Pahner’s radio listening watch—alerting people with reason to wish them well to the fact that their trail might need covering couldn’t hurt.

“Your Highness,” the captain said as he reached the pack beast Roger was examining. He looked up at the prince’s armor, then back at the prince himself, and smiled. “Try not to get yourself killed, Your Highness.”

Roger smiled back and hefted his rifle.

“I’ll try, Captain. But it’s going to be a long march.”

“It will that, Your Highness.” Pahner fingered his breast pocket, but decided to forego a stick. “A long march.” He raised an eyebrow at the item at Roger’s feet. “That looks . . .”

“Fairly full?” Roger hefted the rucksack and swung it into place. “Well, I couldn’t let Matsugae carry it all, could I?”

“No, I suppose not,” and Pahner said, then looked up as Kosutic caught his eye and made the circular hand motion that signaled everything was in order. In the years they’d been together, he’d never had reason to doubt her, and he didn’t this time.

“Well, Your Highness, it looks like it’s time,” he said, looking up and down the line of pack beasts and the last-minute goings-on. O’Casey, still spouting Machiavellianisms from the top of her pack beast as the king said goodbye. Cord, having a last word with the delegation from The People which had arrived to negotiate the mining arrangements. Julian, making motions of kicking down doors to one of the female privates in First Platoon. Poertena, bickering with one last merchant. But, really, they were ready to go.

“Agreed, Captain,” the prince said, looking at the hills across the river and shifting a strap of his bulging pack. The bridge had been lowered to let their caravan cross, now all they had to do was find a way through trackless jungles filled with vicious enemies to a fabled lost city. And from there, on into the true unknown. He looked to the northwest and tied the braid dangling from under his helmet into a knot.

“Time to head upcountry,” he said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Roger leaned over the big kettle and sniffed.

“Is that what I think it is?”

The company had waged an exhausting battle against nature across the brutal hills. Whatever paths had once existed had been erased over the years, and they were forced to create new ones. Driving a way through the choking undergrowth for the big pack beasts would have been bad enough under any circumstances, but the hills’ vicious carnivores had made it nightmarish.

They had lost Sergeant Koberda to the carnivore Cord called an atul and the company just called a damnbeast. It was low, fast, and hungry. About two hundred kilos, it had a triangular head filled with sharklike teeth, and a rubbery, mucus-covered skin similar to that of the Mardukans.

A burst of bead fire had torn the beast apart, but not before it had savaged the sergeant. The tough old NCO had held on for a day, riding on one of the flar-ta, but he’d finally succumbed. Even the nanites and Doc Dobrescu’s Magic Black Bag hadn’t been able to heal all the damage, so they’d bagged the popular squad leader and fired him up. Captain Pahner had said a few words, and they’d moved on. Marching upcountry.

Along the way, they’d become accustomed to the constant danger. Roger saw it all around him, and even in himself. Everyone was getting better at reading the jungle, at anticipating the dangers. The Marines on the perimeter now made a game of spotting the killerpillars in the trees, and the ones that were on the path were harvested. The fangs of the horrible worms contained two poisons, both of which were considered valuable by the Mardukans.

The whole company was changing, getting a little wilder, a little wilier. They were learning about “waste not, want not,” and that if something is attacking you, it’s probably edible itself. Which brought Roger back to the stewpot.

Matsugae smiled, stirred, and shrugged.

“Damnbeast, Your Highness. The one you killed. Clean shot as well, which I appreciated. Not too torn up but well bled by the time I got it.”

“I can’t believe we’re having damnbeast for supper,” Roger said, and brushed a recalcitrant strand of hair out of his eyes.

“Well, the troops are having damnbeast stew,” Matsugae said with another grin. “Just wait until you see what the officers are having.”

“I still can’t believe that was damnbeast,” Roger said, leaning back and setting down his fork.