But the hum of the insects, as up-close and personal as it was, was overwhelmed by the rest of the bedlam.
The air rang with strange cries—here a shrill whistle, there a grunting roar, in the distance a banshee howl as some beast celebrated a victory or defended its territory, or perhaps simply called longingly for a mate.
Besides the sounds, the atmosphere was suffused with weird smells. The odor of rot was a near universal on oxygen-nitrogen planets, and overpowering in any jungle, but here there were thousands, millions, of other scents.
Nor was vision left unassaulted. The entire jungle was a riot of bright colors in the oppressing gloom. The combination of the double layer of cloud cover and triple-canopy jungle made the understory tenebrous to a degree rarely found on Earth, but the depths of that overarching gloom offered beauty of its own.
A dangling liana near O'Casey's head was decorated with tiny carmine blossoms. The blossoms released a heavy perfume that had attracted dozens of similarly colored butterflies. That was the tag which came to the sociologist's mind, at least. The insectoids' covering was smooth, instead of the furry look of terrestrial butterflies, but they were just as brightly patterned. As she watched the swarm of fluttering beauties, a purple spider/beetle dropped from a branch into their midst and snagged one of their number. The flock of nectar eaters took off in a crimson cloud that briefly surrounded the chief of staff in a fall of gorgeous red, then dispersed.
O'Casey took a deep whiff of the glorious blossoms' perfume as the tiny predator finished off its tiny prey, then pried herself back off the tree. A good part of the company had stumbled past as she rested, and now she would have to hurry to catch up to her assigned position.
Pahner had put the "hangers-on," as he phrased it, just behind the command group. Beside Eleanora and Kostas, that included the pilots of the four shuttles. If they could retake the port, those pilots would be their only hope of capturing an interstellar ship and escaping the system, so it was nearly as important to keep them alive as it was to keep Roger that way.
Eleanora had realized, however, that neither she nor Matsugae were as high on Pahner's list. The Marine captain was determined to reach the port with as few casualties as possible, but if he had to lose the odd academic or valet along the way, then so be it.
She couldn't fault his logic, for there was no margin to spare on this operation, but she didn't have to like it. And she doubted that Roger had made the connection, for the prince would probably object if it ever came down to losing either member of his "staff."
The conclusion that the man responsible for keeping all of them alive had earmarked her as, regrettably, expendable was disturbing. Throughout her entire life, she'd always functioned under conditions where she could move at her own pace. Academically, that pace had been quite fast, and she remembered looking down on those who fell by the educational wayside, but even those unfortunates had simply found less satisfying and successful positions.
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.