March Upcountry

"Okay," Pahner said. "What's next?"

"Food," Lieutenant Jasco said. "We don't have the rations for the trip, and we can't forage and carry the armor and keep the Prince safe all at once." His tone was respectfully challenging.

"Correct," Pahner acknowledged calmly. "And what is the answer to this dilemma?"

"Trade," O'Casey said definitively. "We trade high-tech items for whatever the Mardukans use for portable wealth. That might not be metals, by the way. The ancient North Africans traded salt. But whatever they use here, we trade the largest mass of advanced technology at the first city-state for our basic needs and a 'nest egg,' and then portion the rest out slowly as we go."

"Exactly." Pahner's nod was firm. "So, what do we have that would make good trade goods?"

"Firestarters," Jasco said promptly. "I saw a case of them in the supply room last week." He consulted his pad. "I've got an inventory here—let me cross load."

He set his pad down on the table to transmit the inventory data, and the other lieutenants and O'Casey captured the data and began perusing it while Roger was still pulling out his own pad. By the time he had it opened and configured to receive, Jasco had cut the transmission and was back to looking at the data.

"Lieutenant," the prince said in a lofty tone, "if you don't mind?"

Jasco looked up from the lists in surprise. "Oh, sorry, Your Highness," he said, and set the list to transmit again.

Roger nodded as his pad picked up the data.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. And, again, it's 'Colonel' under these circumstances."

"Yes, of course... Colonel," Jasco said, going back to his data.

"What do we see?" Pahner asked, apparently ignoring the byplay. He didn't have a pad out, nor had he received a download.

Roger transferred the data to his toot and put his own pad away. He would've taken the data straight into the toot from Jasco's pad, but the implant had so many security protocols that filtering through the pad had been easier and faster. As Roger was going through these circumlocutions, the officers and O'Casey were studying the inventory.

"Virtually anything in here would be tradable," and O'Casey said, her eyes bugging out at the thought. "Space blankets, chameleon liners, water carriers... not boots... ."

"We'll be space and mass-limited," Pahner noted. "The ship's going to have to drop us fairly far out, and we'll have to come down in a long, slow spiral to avoid detection. That means internal add-on tanks of hydrogen, and those will take up volume and mass. So the higher the potential profit, the better."

"Well," O'Casey continued, "not uniforms. Rucksacks. There are five spares; that might be good. Spare issue intel-pads? No. What are 'multitools'?"

"They're memory plastic tools," Lieutenant Sawato said with a nod. "They come with four 'standard' configurations: shovel, ax, pick-mattock, and boma-knife. And you can add two configurations."

"We've got fifteen spares," Jasco said, flipping through the data. "And each Marine in the Company has one."

"Of course," Gulyas observed with a chuckle, "some of those have some... odd secondary settings."

"What?" Sawato smiled. "Like Sergeant Julian's 'out of tune lute' setting?"

"I was actually thinking of Poertena's 'pig pocking pag' setting," Gulyas snorted.

"I beg your pardon?" O'Casey blinked, and looked back and forth between the two lieutenants.

"The armorer controls the machine that resets the adjustable configurations," Pahner told her in a resigned tone. "Julian used to be Bravo's armorer before Poertena. Both of them are jokers."

"Oh." The prince's ex-tutor considered for several seconds, then snorted as she finally completed the translation of "pig pocking pag" in her head. "Well, in this case the setting makes sense. We're going to need lots of... large bags to carry equipment."

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Hey, Julian, old puddy!" Poertena yelled across the shuttle bay. "Gimme a hand what t'is pag!"

"Jesus Christ, Poertena!" Julian hefted the carry handles on the outside of the quivering memory plastic sack. "What the pock... I mean, what the heck do you have in here?"

"Every pocking ting I could pocking pack," the armorer answered. "Tee pocking suits don' run on t'eir pocking own. You know t'at!"

"What the hell is in here?" Julian asked, reaching for the mouth of the sack. It was heavy as hell.

"Get chore pocking hands out o' my pocking pag!" Poertena snarled, slapping at the offending member.

"Look, if I'm go

"Hey!" the little Pinopan shouted, practically hopping up and down in fury. "You got your pocking way of doin' it, an' I got my pocking way! You never can get people out, they power goes off? Huh? Have to blow tee pocking seals! Only ting holding t'em seals is tee pocking secondary latches! You get tee secondary latches loose, you got tee armor open, and tee seals not damaged! Bot no! Big time billy badass soldier always gotta blow tee pocking bolts!"

"That's what it says to do in the manual," Julian said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Not bang on 'em until they come apart!"

"Hey!" Sergeant Major Kosutic shouted from the entrance to the bay as she strode across to break up the incipient fight. "Am I go

"No, Sergeant Major," he said. "Everything's under control." He should have known she'd show up. She popped up like a damned Dji

"Well, keep it strack! We've got a hard, cold mission to perform, and we don't need any sand in the gears. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, Sergeant Major!"

"And, Poertena," the sergeant major said, rounding on the braced Pinopan. "One, you'd better learn not to tell any more sergeants 'pock you' in public, or I will have your ass. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sergeant Major," Poertena said, looking for a convenient rock to melt away under.

"Two, you'd better learn a new word to replace 'pock,' because if you say it one more time in my hearing, I will personally tear off your stripes and feed them to you—raw. You are in The Empress' Own now, not whatever rag-bag line outfit you came from. We do not say 'pock' or 'rap' or any of those other words. We especially do not say them while rigging the pocking Prince. Do I make myself pocking clear?" she finished, pounding a rock-hard index finger into the lance corporal's chest.

Poertena's eyes flickered for a moment in panic. "Clear, Sergeant Major," he answered, finally, obviously unsure if he could get along without his verbal comma.

"Now what's in the Santa bag?" she snarled.

"My pock... my tools, Sergeant Major," Poertena answered. "I gotta have my po... my tools, Sergeant Major. Tee armor don' run by itself!"

"Sergeant Julian?" the sergeant major said, turning to the sergeant who'd started to drop out of his braced position as Poertena seemed to be getting the worst of the chewing out.

"Yes, Sergeant Major?" Julian snapped back to attention.

"What was your objection? You seemed to have one."

"We have mass limitations, Sergeant Major!" the NCO barked. "I objected to certain of Lance Corporal Poertena's tools that I didn't believe were strictly necessary, Sergeant Major!"

"Poertena?"

"He doesn't like my po... my wrench, Sergeant Major," the lance corporal answered somewhat sullenly. He was fairly sure he was going to lose the tool.

The SMaj nodded and opened the bulging sack. She glanced at the packrat's nest inside, and nodded again. Then she turned to the armorer and fixed him with a glare.