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.”
“Ayee!” Delkra repeated. “Asi debt, indeed!”
The Mardukan, who was a bit taller than the shaman, turned to the prince, who’d doffed his helmet. The armor was more comfortable than the steamy heat of the jungle, but Roger felt it was more diplomatic to face this Delkra, who was presumably senior in the local hierarchy, without the obscuring head gear.
“I thank you for my brother’s life,” Delkra said. “But I cannot be happy for either his enslavement or the failure of his quest.”
“Whoa!” Roger said sharply. “What’s this ‘enslavement’ thing? All I did was shoot a . . . a flar beast!”
“Asi bond is the tightest of all bonds,” the chief explained. “To save another’s life, without fear or favor, binds him to you through this life and beyond.”
“What?” Roger was trying to get over the “slave” concept. “You guys never help each other out?”
“Of course we do,” Cord said, “but we are members of the same clan. To help another is to aid the clan, and the clan, in turn, aids us. But you had no such reason to kill the flar beast. For the life of me, I’m not sure that you should have.”
“It could have attacked the Company,” Roger pointed out. “That was the real reason I shot. I didn’t even see you.”
“Fate, then,” Delkra said with a hand clap. “It wasn’t threatening you or your . . .” he glanced over the Marines scattered down the hillside “ . . . clan?”
“No,” Roger admitted. “Not at the time. But I could tell it was dangerous.”
“Karma,” Cord said with a double hand clap. “We will complete the binding tonight,” he continued with another gesture. “Delkra, I request shelter for the night. And shelter for my asi’s clan.”
“Oh, granted,” the chief said, stepping out of the palisade opening and waving into the jungle. “Granted. Come in out of the rain!”
“We’re getting sensor ghosts all along the perimeter,” Lieutenant Sawato had just taken a tour of the company while Captain Pahner kept an eye on the negotiations of the top of the hill. Now she looked around at the curtaining rain and shook her head. “I’ve got that funny feeling. . . .”
“We’re surrounded by the warriors of this tribe,” Pahner said in a distant tone. “They’re good. They move slow, so the motion sensors aren’t sure if they’re really there, and they’re isothermal, so the heat sensors can’t pick anything up. No power sources, no metal except a knife or spearhead, and we don’t have the sensors dialed in for scummy nervous systems.” He pulled out a pack of gum and absentmindedly extracted a stick and popped it into his mouth. He shook the pack a couple of times to get the water out, and put it away, all without looking. “Take a glance over to the left. There’s a big tree with spreading roots. Halfway up, there’s a limb covered in . . . stuff. Go out the limb five meters, just before a red patch. About a half a meter to the right of the red patch. Spear.”
“Damn,” Sawato said softly. The scummy was as hard to spot as any professional sniper she’d ever seen. He appeared to be covered with a blanket that broke up his outline. “So, what do we do about it, long-term?”
“Dial in the nervous system sensors. We’ll have enough data after tonight to do that. After that, any scummy comes within fifty meters of us, we’ll be able to detect them. And warn everybody that they’re out there. We don’t want any accidents.”
“I’ll pass that on then, shall I?” Sawato asked. Pahner seemed awfully detached about the whole thing, she thought.
“Yeah. Might as well. Looks like the negotiations are going all right after all. I was waiting to see if it dropped in the pot.”
“You know,” Julian said, “I’ve been shot, blown up, deep frozen, and vacuum dried. But this is the first time I ever worried about being washed away.”
The rain had yet to let up, and the position the squad leader occupied—a slight depression behind a fallen and rotting tree—was rapidly filling. The combination of rising water and the weight of his combat armor meant he was slowly sinking in quickmud.
“Or drowned,” he added.
“Ah, come on,” Moseyev said as he gently moved aside a bit of fern with the barrel of his bead rifle, “it’s just a little rain.” He was sure there was something watching them, but he wasn’t sure what it was.
“‘A little rain,’ he says.” Julian shook his head. “That’s like saying Sirius is ‘a little hot,’ or that New Bangkok is ‘a little decadent.’”
“It’s not like it’s gonna kill you,” Moseyev said. “The armor has air for nearly two days.” The fire team leader jerked his head to the side as his helmet highlighted another possible contact. But then it faded again. “Damn. I wonder what’s causing that?”
“I’d say it was the wet,” Julian said, lowering his own rifle. “But since we’re all getting the same ghosts, I’d say it’s something in the jungle.”
“All hands.” The radio crackled with Lieutenant Sawato’s calm soprano. “Those sensor ghosts are the local tribesmen. Be calm, though; the natives are friendly. We’re going to be going into the village soon, so they’ll probably make themselves evident. No firing. I say again, no firing.”
“Everybody get that?” Julian called, standing up to make sure he could see all the members of the squad. “Check fire for partisans.”
“Got it, Sarge,” Macek replied from the far end. “‘The natives are friendly.’ Riiight.”
The private’s position was the edge of the squad’s area of responsibility, and Macek was the member with the least time in the unit. If he’d gotten the word, everyone else probably had, but Julian wasn’t in The Empress’ Own because he settled for “probably.”
“Yeah, and ‘The transfer’s in the system,’” the sergeant responded with a laugh. “Give me a thumbs up on that check fire,” he added more seriously, and made sure he saw a thumb from everyone before he resumed his position in the puddle. He might bitch about it, but the depression was still the best location for him. Even if it was turning into a lake.
“‘I’m from the Imperium,’” Moseyev continued with a litany as old as government, “‘I’m here to help you.’” He gave a thumbs up.
“‘Don’t worry, it’s a cold landing zone,’” Cathcart added from behind his plasma gun. Thumbs up.
“‘We’re getting air-trucked to the barracks,’” Mutabi said in an evil tone. Middle finger up.
“Oh, man, you would have to say that one!” Julian chuckled. “My aching feet.”
“Modderpocker,” Poertena said. “Chus what we need. Surrounded by tee cannibals.”
“Chill, Poertena,” Sergeant Despreaux advised. “They’re friendly.”
“Sure they are,” Poertena replied. “Why fight tee roc if you can get it to fly into tee pot.”
Even as he spoke, his helmet registered another contact. Then another. It began popping up icons everywhere, and an entire line of Mardukans materialized magically out of the rain.
“Modderpocker,” Poertena said again, quietly. “Neat trick.”