Empire Of Man 3 - March to the Stars (38 page)

“I'll go get the head of supply,” the mayor said.

* * *

“God, I love good subordinates!” Roger said as he looked around with a sigh of pleasure.

“They are a treasure, aren't they?” Pahner agreed with a laugh.

A long column of turom carts was lined up beside the road. Some of them were still being loaded, but most were already piled high with sacks of barleyrice and other less identifiable merchandise. On the other side of the road there was a large tree-park, apparently a source of firewood for the town, and scattered amongst the trees was a mess line. Several cauldrons of barleyrice steamed over fires, and two turom were turning on a spit just beyond several long tables covered with fruit and fresh vegetables. The meat was going to be a little rare, but . . .

“Tremendous, Rastar,” Roger said as he trotted his civan up to the Vashin prince, who was gnawing on a basik leg. “I'm surprised you were able to do all this so easily.”

“Oh, it was tough,” Rastar assured him, then belched and tossed the leg bone over his shoulder. “The local mayor was a tough negotiator.”

“What's it going to cost us?” Pahner asked as he walked up to them, still pointedly refusing to ride one of the civan.

“Oh, as to that,” Rastar said airily, “it seems the locals were so impressed with our riding form that—”

“Rastar,” Roger growled, “you were supposed to pay for the supplies.”

“I tried to press payment upon them,” the Therdan said. “But they absolutely refused. It was truly amazing.”

“What did you threaten them with?” Pahner asked.

“Me? Threaten?” Rastar demanded with a Mardukan hand gesture eloquent of shock. “I can't believe you could accuse me of such a thing, when we Vashin are so universally known for our humility and boundless respect for life!”

“Hah!” Roger laughed.

“Well, I will admit that the reputation of humans for boundless cruelty and wanton slaughter had, unfortunately, preceded you.”

“Oh, you bastard,” Roger said with another laugh. “I'm going to have to govern these people some day, you know.”

“As well they sense the iron hand inside the glove, then, Your Highness,” Pahner said. “Until their society is stable and they themselves are educated enough for democracy to take hold, a certain rational degree of fear is a vital necessity.”

“I know that, Captain,” Roger said sadly. “I don't have to like it.”

“As long as you follow it,” Pahner said. “The difference between the MacClintock Doctrine and the fall of the ISU was a lack of respect for the ISU and its thinking that it could 'nation-build' on the cheap, which left the cupboard bare when it came up short on credit and couldn't pay cash with its military.”

“I'm aware of that, Captain,” Roger sighed. “Have you ever noticed me trying to use 'minimal force'?”

The Marine looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I haven't. Point taken.”

“I've become more comfortable than I ever wanted to be with calling for a bigger hammer,” Roger said. “I don't have to like it, but the past few months have provided all the object lessons anyone could ever want about what happens when you're afraid to use force at need.”

He started to say something more, then closed his mouth, and Pahner saw him look across to where Nimashet Despreaux rode her own civan beside the line of ambulances. For just a moment, the prince's eyes were very dark, but then he gave himself a shake and returned his attention to the Bronze Barbarians' commander.

“Since you—and Rastar—seem to have everything thoroughly under control, I'm going to go check on Cord and the other casualties. Ask somebody to bring me a plate, would you?”

* * *

Roger dipped his head under the leather awning and looked across the litter at Pedi.

“How is he?”

Most of the wounded were being transported in the leather-covered turom carts that looked not much different from Conestoga wagons. Roger had spent some time in similar conditions on the march, so he knew what it was like to be bounced and bumped over the poorly maintained roads while regrowing an arm or a hand. Unpleasant didn't begin to describe it. But until they got back to “civilization,” and convinced civilization that there was the hard way, and then there was Roger's way, there wasn't a great deal of option.

What option there was, though, had been extended to Cord. His litter was suspended between two turom, which had to be at least marginally better. At least he wasn't being shaken by every bump in the road, although whether or not the side-to-side motion was actually all that superior was probably a matter of opinion. At the moment, however, it was the best Roger could offer his asi.

He had seldom felt so inadequate when he offered someone his “best.”

“He still won't wake up,” Pedi said softly. “And he's hot; his skin is dry.”

“Afternoon, Your Highness,” Dobrescu said. The medic climbed down from one of the carts to stand beside the litter and gestured at Cord. “I heard you were checking on the wounded and figured I'd find you here.”

“How is he?” Roger repeated.

“He's not coming out of the anesthesia,” the medic admitted. “Which isn't good. And as Blondie here noted, he's running a fever. That isn't anything I've run into before; they're cold-blooded by nature, so a fever isn't normal with them. It's not all that high a fever, but he's about three degrees above where I think he should be, based on the ambient temperature.”

“He's . . .” Roger paused, trying to decide how to put it. “He's sort of a . . . warrior monk. Is it possible that he's unconsciously . . . ?”

“Using dinshon to increase his body temperature?” Dobrescu finished for him. “Possible. I've seen him use dinshon a couple of times to control his metabolism. And the fever might be whatever metabolic remnant lets him do it reacting to the infection. There's a reason people develop fevers; the higher temperature improves the immune response. So fever, under certain circumstances, might be normal in Mardukans. But he's still in a bad way.”

“Is there anything else to be done?” Roger asked. “I hate seeing him like this.”

“Well, as far as I know, I'm the expert on Mardukan physiology,” the medic said dryly, “and I'm afraid I can't think of a thing. I'm sorry to put it this way, Sir, but he's either going to pull through, or he isn't. I've given him the one antibiotic I know is usable in Mardukans, and we're pumping him with fluids. Other than that, there's not much we can do.”

“Got it,” Roger said. “I'll get out of your hair. Pedi?”

“Yes, Your Highness?” the Shin said miserably.

“Wearing yourself down caring for him isn't going to bring him back any sooner,” the prince said pointedly. “I want you to rotate with those other slaves we 'rescued' and get some rest when you can. I'm going to need you up and ready to deal with the tribes as we're moving. If we get overrun because you're too tired to wrap your tongue around the words to get us through, it's going to kill him deader than dead. Understand?”

“Yes, Your Highness. I'll make sure I'm available. And capable.”

“Good,” Roger said, then sighed. “This is going to be a long trip.”

“What?” Dobrescu said darkly. “On Marduk? Really?”

* * *

“Rastar, we also need intelligence on what we're heading into,” Pahner said, after the prince had left. “Pedi has never used this route herself.”

“I've talked with the locals,” Rastar replied. “The language problem is pretty bad, but I got Macek to use his toot to check the translation for me. According to the locals, the road to the pass is steep and apparently of poor quality. It's maintained for turom carts from here to the pass itself, but past the keep, it's nothing more than a track. I don't think we can use the carts after that. Or, at least not very far after that.”

“Well, if your Vashin are rested, head up the road, slowly.” The captain shook his head. “I never thought I'd be back to the days when my idea of good intel was some vague descriptions of the road and cavalry a couple of hours out ahead of me.”

* * *

Roger's civan balked at what passed for a crossroads. The road through Sran had been steep enough, but just the other side of the town, it went nearly vertical. It was paved with flat stones and had obviously been maintained, but a fresh Mardukan gullywasher had just opened up, and the roadbed had turned instantly into a shallow river of racing brown water laced with yellow foam.

“This is insane, Captain! You know that, right?” Roger practically had to scream over the thunder of the rain and the bellowing of panicky turom. After the caravan had passed, the roadbed would be awash with more than rain.

“It is, indeed, Your Highness!” Pahner shouted back. He'd been in conversation with the Vashin cavalry scout who'd been left at the intersection, but now he turned and crossed the road to look over the far side. There was a sheer drop to the white water fifty meters below. “Unfortunately, it's the only route. If you have any other suggestions, I'd be happy to hear them!”

“How about we click our heels together three times and say 'there's no place like home, there's no place like home'?” Roger suggested, and the captain laughed.

Theres a wheel on the Horns 'o the Morning,

An' a wheel on the edge of the pit,

An' a drop into nothing beneath you,

As straight as a beggar can spit . . .

“Kipling again?” Roger said with a lift of an eyebrow.

“ 'Screw Guns,' ” Pahner informed him.

Roger grinned through the pounding rain, then kneed his mount back into motion once more, ascending into the storm. After another hundred meters or so, the road flattened out a little, going from a twelve- or fifteen-degree slope to one of a mere six or seven. The prince began to relax just a bit . . . only to have the civan's foot slip. Roger threw his weight against the saddle as the civan skittered on the slick paving stones, searching for footing. After a moment, it recovered, and he kicked it in the side.

“Come on, you bastard! Onward and upward!”

* * *

Krindi Fain grunted and heaved at the wheel of the turom cart. For a moment, nothing happened, and then someone else shouldered in beside him. Erkum Pol's massive muscles flexed, and the cart lurched upward, lifting out of the crevice hiding under the knee-deep water roaring down the roadbed. Fain straightened his aching back and watched the cart move farther up the hill, then turned as someone tapped him on the shoulder.

“Captains don't, by and large, push carts up mountains, Captain,” Armand Pahner observed.

The line of carts was barely moving—not too surprising, perhaps, given the steep slopes they'd encountered since leaving Sran. The first three had been bad enough, but the fourth was the worst so far, nearly two hundred meters long, and climbing at a constant fifteen-degree angle. Virtually everyone, human and Mardukan, had a shoulder into the carts, and the turom had been unhitched from the rearmost carts and doubled up on the lead ones to make the ascent.

As Fain turned towards the human, a ripple of lightning struck, jumping from one side of the gorge to the other with a sound like an artillery barrage. It started a small landslide, and the turom went berserk—or tried to, straining at their harnesses and slipping on the stones of the road as boulders careened about their feet.

“Well, I'm not a commander at the moment, Sir!” Fain shouted over the tumult, jumping forward to throw his shoulder back into the cart beside Erkum's as it started to slide backwards. “And I don't have any significant duties. So it seemed to be the best use of my time.”

Pahner grabbed a chock and threw it under the right wheel as one of the turom slipped to its knees.

“Just don't get yourself killed, okay?”

“Not a problem,” the former quarryman panted. “What is it you humans say? 'Caution is my middle name.' ”

“To the winds,” the Marine laughed. “ 'Captain Krindi Caution-to-the-Winds Fain.' ”

“Maybe so,” the Mardukan captain grunted as the cart slipped again. “But at least 'caution' is in there somewhere!”

* * *

“This isn't going well,” Roger said, “but at least we don't have company.”

The reason the road was so little used had become only too evident. The column had made less than twenty kilometers since leaving Sran, and the long Mardukan day was well into its equally lengthy afternoon. It was hard to estimate how fast the Kirsti forces could react, but all of them were surprised that nothing had come up the road after them already.

“It's possible that the High Priest's death has kicked off an outright civil war,” O'Casey pointed out. “Unlikely, but possible. In which case the lack of reaction is because everyone is consolidating their positions and they don't have any forces to spare for something as unimportant as chasing us down.”

“It's more likely that they're simply taking their time,” Pahner said. “I'd guess that the raiders really are out of it, though. They probably could've reacted before this, unless there was some specific reason not to. Like, for example, if Sor Teb was in enough trouble to possibly get a personal introduction to the Fire.”

“We can always hope,” Roger said sourly.

“But hope is all,” O'Casey pointed out. “And even if he is dead—or, at least, in serious disfavor—someone should be chasing after us by now, unless something is distracting them closer to home.”

“Don't rely too much on the delay,” Pahner cautioned. “I'm sure the Scourge could move quickly enough to have overtaken us by now, but a conventional unit is going to want all its logistics in place before it moves. And speaking of logistics—”

“—we've got too much, for once,” Roger finished.

“Not precisely, Your Highness. What we have is too few carts, or too few turom, for the stuff we've got. We need to reduce the load. Probably to about half of what we're pulling now.”

“If we do t'at we won't have 'nough to make it to t'e port,” Poertena pointed out.

“And if we try to drag it all with us, we won't live to get there, anyway,” Pahner said. “If we can't trade with the tribes for what we need, we'll never make it through, period. Dump it.”

“Aye, aye.”

“The Vashin say that there's another forty or fifty kilometers of this,” Pahner continued. “They're at the pass, though, or close enough to see it. We need to be to their position by tomorrow evening, or we're going to be in deep trouble.”