March Upcountry

The being bowed in a nearly proper fashion and gabbled at him in a strange guttural tongue. It was different from the words which had been spoken between the beings.

"I seek the one who killed the flar beast," he answered, gesturing at the aggressive herbivore. The beasts burrowed during the day in the dry hills, and he'd been blinded by the light of Artac shining off the sands, beaten down by the heat and dryness and, truth to tell, feeling his age. He hadn't noticed the depression around the snorkel at the surface, and he'd survived only because it had been a rogue bull with no herd mates to help it kill him. And because of the altruistic act of a stranger.

Damn him.

The slight one at the fore spoke again.

"... kill... flor..."

Cord spoke very slowly this time.

"I... seek... the... one... who... killed... the... flar... beast. That rogue bull over there, you ignorant little basik."

"I need the second person, damn it," Eleanora gritted through her teeth. She touched her chest. "I... Eleanora." She pointed at the Mardukan, hoping it would understand.

The scummy gobbled and clacked at her again. It seemed to be becoming agitated. As well it should, for it was terribly hot and dry out here for it. Which brought up an idea.

"Captain Pahner," she turned to the CO. "This is going to take a while. Could we set up some sort of shelter from the sun?"

Pahner looked up at the height of the sun and consulted his toot.

"We've got three more hours of daylight. We shouldn't stop for the night."

Eleanora started to protest, but Roger held up a hand at her, and turned to Pahner.

"We need to communicate with these people," he said, gesturing at the scummy with his chin. "We can't do that if this guy dies of heatstroke."

Pahner took a breath and looked around as he suddenly realized that the comment was coming in on the command frequency. Apparently the prince had listened to the previous lecture about debating in front of the troops. But he was still wrong.

"If we take too long, we'll run out of water. We only have so much supply. We need to get into the lowlands where there's resupply."

"We need to communicate," Roger said definitely. "We take as much time for that as Eleanora needs."

"Is that an order, Your Highness?" Pahner asked.

"No, it's a strong suggestion."

"Excuse me." Eleanora couldn't hear them, but she could tell that they were debating and thought she ought to make a point. "I'm not talking about all night. If I can get this guy into some shade and get him a little water and humidity, this will probably go fairly fast."

Roger and Pahner turned to glance at her, then turned featureless faceshield to featureless faceshield and debated some more. Finally, Pahner turned back to her.

"Okay."

A couple of privates, impossible to tell apart in identical uniforms and camouflage helmets, came forward and rapidly erected a large tent. The temperature inside wasn't going to be all that wonderful, but they sprayed a few milliliters of water around on the inside of the walls, and the evaporation both cooled it a bit and raised the humidity. The relief would be brief, but it would help the Mardukan.

Cord stepped inside the structure and sighed. It was not only cooler, it was not so dry. His dinshon exercises had prevented complete desiccation, but the experience had been anything but pleasant. This was still far too arid for permanent survival, but it was a welcome respite. He nodded to the small interpreter (such as he was) and the two slightly larger beings in their strange hard coats like stang beetles.

"My thanks. This is much better."

He also noted the two additional beings in the background. Their strange weapons weren't pointed at him, but he'd seen bodyguards enough among the city magnates to recognize them for what they were. He wondered which of them was the leader.

"I'm Eleanora," O'Casey said, gesturing at herself. Then she pointed, carefully, at the Mardukan. Pointing in some cultures was an insult.

"D'Nal Cord..." The rest was a senseless gabble.

"Flar beast?" she asked, hoping to get more context.

"I... knowledge... flar beast... kill."

"You want to know how the beast was killed?" she said in the best approximation of the local dialect her toot could create. The known words were increasing, and she felt that the toot would soon have a full kernel. But understanding was still elusive.

"No," the Mardukan said. "... killed the flar beast? You?"

"Oh," Eleanora said. "No," she answered, gesturing at Roger. "It was Roger." She stopped as she realized that she'd just pointed out the prince for retribution if the act was considered hostile.

Roger tapped a control and cleared his visor of its concealing distortion.

"It was I," he said. His toot had been loaded with the same program, and he'd been following Eleanora's progress. For that matter, his toot had considerably more processor capability than hers, and he suspected that his own program might have made more progress than hers. He was pretty sure, for example, that he was further along on the Mardukan's body language. The individual seemed at least partially unhappy, but not really angry. More like resigned.

The Mardukan, Cord, stepped toward Roger, but paused as the two Marines in the background hefted their weapons. He reached out, carefully, and placed his hand on Roger's shoulder. There was a gabble of syllables.

"... brother... life... owe... debt..."

"Oh, shit," Eleanora said.

"What?" Roger asked.

"I think," she said with a snort, "that he just said the something like you saved his life and that makes you his blood-brother."

"Oh, hell," Pahner said.

"What?" Roger repeated. "What's wrong with that?"

"Maybe nothing, Your Highness," Pahner said sourly. "But in most cultures like this, those things are taken seriously. And sometimes it means the brother has to join the tribe. On pain of pain."

"Well, we're probably heading in the direction of his tribe," Roger pointed out. "I'll drink the deer's blood, or whatever, and then we'll pass on through. Nice story to tell at the club, and all that."

Eleanora shook her head.

"And what happens if you have to stay with the tribe or it's going to be a big problem?"

"Oh," Roger said. Then, "Oh."

"This is why you don't shoot until you have to," Pahner told him on the side circuit.

"Let me see if I can talk our way out of this," O'Casey said.

"Fat chance," Pahner muttered.

"... Chief Roger... regrets... honor. Travel... way... pass..."

Cord laughed.

"Well, I'm not all that happy about it, either. I was on a very important spirit quest when he had the temerity to save my life. Don't you people have any couth? Never mind. That doesn't matter a rid fly's fart. I still have to follow him around like a demon-spawned nex for the rest of my life. Oh well. Maybe it will be short."

He watched the little spokesman working through the translation, and finally gestured impatiently.

"This tent is nice, but if we hurry we can reach my village before the yaden arise. Unless you have skin like a flar beast, we'd best be under cover. I suppose you can cut up the flar and use it for cover, but it would take time. Time we might not have."

"I think he said—"

"Tough noogies," Roger finished with a laugh. "He said we're just going to have to live with it. And something about hurrying."

"I didn't get that full a translation," Eleanora said with a shake of her head. "And there was more than the basic cultural background. There's something definitely sticky about this translation. I got a real gender malfunction, at first. It's settled down to male though."