That wouldn't be the case here. Now she faced a physical challenge that was, literally, life or death, and she knew instinctively that if she asked for some respite, it would be denied. She was unimportant to the mission, and the safety of the entire company couldn't be jeopardized for her sake. So for her and Matsugae, it was "march or die."
She was fairly certain it was going to be both for her, but Matsugae seemed to be taking to the change in conditions fairly well. The fussy little valet carried a pack nearly as large as the armorer's, but he was keeping up with the company without complaint, and had helped her along the way several times. She was, frankly, astounded.
She straightened up and started along the muddy track which had been smashed through the undergrowth by the passage of most of the company. The Marines around her were paying as much attention to the back trail as to the sides, so she knew she was dangerously close to the tail of the company. As she picked up the pace to catch back up to the center of the force, she glanced up at the valet, still doggedly tailing her.
"You don't seem to be having any troubles with this march at all, Matsugae," she said quietly.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Ma'am," the valet answered, adjusting the straps of the internal frame rucksack which, along with the chameleon suits they both wore, had come out of the company's spare stores. He idly slapped a "skeeter" and winked at the academic. "I'm afraid I've spent rather a lot of time following Roger through places almost this bad on safari, although, to be fair, never under conditions quite so... resource-limited and extreme. But I think this is hard on everyone, even the Marines, whether they show it or not."
"At least you don't have any trouble keeping up," she said bitterly. The backs of her legs felt as if someone were sticking hot knives into them, and they'd just gotten to the bottom of the hillside. That meant crossing a shallow stream and climbing another hill that looked even taller. Slipping and sliding in the sweltering muck, not being able to hold onto the trees for fear of something eating you, constantly tired and constantly afraid.
"You just have to put one foot in front of the other, Ma'am," the valet said reasonably. He planted a foot on the worn path up the hill and offered the chief of staff his hand. "Alley-oop, Ma'am!"
O'Casey shook her head and took the offered hand.
"Thank you, Kostas."
"Not much further, Ma'am," the valet said with a smile. "Not much further at all."
CHAPTER TWENTY
The village nestled on a hilltop, surrounded by a log and thorn wall.
The hill itself sat in an angle where a large stream intersected the river the company had been paralleling. Just upstream from the junction, the river thundered over a cataract, and downstream from the hill, the combined flows created a deep, wide river that was probably navigable by barges. As they'd gotten lower and lower in elevation, however, the signs of frequent floods had become obvious. Clearly, the village was situated atop its hill to avoid this recurring phenomenon, and it was likely that frequent flooding would also interfere with navigation.
It began to rain as they approached the hill. Not a slight, steady rain as a cloud parked itself and motheringly watered the parched soil. Not even the hard, firm rain of a powerful weather front. This was the pounding, drowning rain of a tropical thunderstorm—rain like a waterfall, hitting so hard that weaker members of the party were actually knocked off their feet by its first rush.
"Is this normal?" Roger yelled to Cord as the company struggled up the hill.
"What?" Cord asked, hitching his general-purpose cape up a little higher.
"This rain!" Roger yelled, gesturing at the sky.
"Oh," Cord said. "Of course. Several times a day. Why?"
"Joy," Pahner muttered, having monitored the conversation. Roger had fed the language kernel he'd collected during the day's walk to all of the party's toots, and the company's members were now capable of translating the local language on their own. It was expected that they would be able to pick up each dialect quickly as they progressed from area to area, now that they had a local kernel.
"I should go to the head of your group," Cord pointed out. "I'm sure I have been watched as we approached, but I should go to the head so that they're sure I'm not a prisoner or a kractan."
"Yeah," Roger said, and turned to look at Pahner. "Are you coming, Captain?"
"No," the Marine said, and triggered his communicator. "Company, hold up. Our local is going up to pass us through."
"I'll stay here," he continued to Roger, and raised one hand in a beckoning gesture. "Despreaux!"
"Yes, Sir!" the NCO snapped. She'd been scanning the bushes with a hand-held scanner, and she didn't like the fact that she'd kept getting twitches but hadn't been able to lock them down.
"Take your squad up front with the Prince and Cord."
"Roger, Sir." She gestured at the squad and pointed to the front. "Up and at 'em, Marines."
She put the scanner away and glanced off to the north one more time. There was something out there, she was sure, but what it was eluded her.
Cord and Roger moved up to the front of the company, surrounded by Despreaux's squad. The company had spread out in a standard cigar-shaped perimeter, and now most of the Marines were down in the prone, covering against any attack. There was no such thing as "safety" in a combat zone, but a unit temporarily at rest like this was in the worst possible situation. Unless an enemy has had time to prepare an ambush, a moving unit is a hard target to hit. Similarly, a unit which has had time to prepare defenses is a tough nut to crack, but a company which has just stopped can be hit at any moment and isn't prepared for the attack.
It makes soldiers who are well trained—like those of The Empress' Own—very nervous.
Cord followed a beaten track up to the single opening in the palisade. As he approached, another Mardukan of the same height and general demeanor appeared in the opening. At the sight of Cord, followed by the humans but clearly not threatened by them, the second Mardukan waved his upper arms in welcome.
"Cord," he called, "you bring unexpected guests!"
"Delkra!" the shaman shouted back, waving his spear. "As if you hadn't been shadowing us these last few hours!"
"Of course," the greeter agreed imperturbably as Cord and Roger's party reached the top of the hill.
The last portion of the path was so steep that steps had been cut and reinforced with logs and rocks. The top of the hill had been roughly leveled, and now Roger could glimpse the village through the palisade opening. It looked much like other villages on other planets. A large communal fire pit was at its center, surrounded by an open area which was currently deserted. Immediately inside the walls were rude, thatch and wattle huts, open to the inside of the palisaded area. The similarity to villages once found in the Amazon basin and other tropical areas on Earth would have amazed Roger if he hadn't spent enough time hunting on primitive planets to realize that there was only so much that could be done with mud and sticks.
"D'Net Delkra, my brother," Cord said, clapping the greeter on his upper shoulder, "I must introduce you to my new asi-agun." He turned to Roger. "Roger, Prince of the Empire, this is my brother, D'Net Delkra, Chief of The People."
The greeter, Delkra, hissed and clapped all four hands together in agitation.
"Ayee! Asi-agun? And at your age? Foul news, brother—foul news, indeed! And your quest?"
Cord clapped right true-hand to left false-hand in a gesture of negation.
"We met on the way. He saved my life from a flar beast without clear need, without threat to his life, and being not of my tribe."