March Upcountry im-1

by David Weber

  The hostility seemed to be directed more towards Cord and Delkra’s sons than at the humans, although the strangers came in for some heaped abuse, as well, and as the crowd grew larger, its mood got uglier. By the time they neared the city walls, a large mob had gathered, and more people flowed out from inside the walls to join it. Shouts and the local equivalent of catcalls grew louder and bolder, and Pahner recognized a building riot with the Marines as its object.

  “Company, pull in. I want a coil perimeter around Roger. Standard riot procedure. Armor to the front, link arms. Second layer, fix bayonets and prepare to repel rioters.”

  The Marines responded with automatic precision, folding the spread-out formation in which they’d been moving into a circle around the command group. Julian’s armored squad moved to the section of road facing the city and passed their weapons back. The ChromSten-clad powered armor was capable of lifting five times its own weight, and no known Mardukan weapon could damage it, so mere weapons would only have been in the way for riot work.

  The poorly graded road was about ten meters wide and bordered by high dikes, which allowed the coil formation to block it like a cork. The group at the Marines’ back was relatively small—no more than fifty or sixty individuals. For it to join with the larger group spilling from the city, it would have to trample the growing crops to either side of the road. That balked them, since farmers tended to care about such things. A few of them rushed the rear ranks instead, trying to break through, and they went over the line from crowding to attacking. The bayonets protruding over the wall of Marines in the rearmost rank drove them back despite their large size. One Marine was badly injured by a threshing flail that cracked his clavicle, but his companions beat the Mardukans back without being forced to open fire.

  At the front, the armored squad stymied the movement of the mob from the city. The newcomers obviously weren’t farmers, for they were far more ready to spread out over the fields, but they were also less aggressive than the group at the rear. They threw a few stones, but their main weapon was lumps of fecal matter. The armored Marines quickly learned to dodge the stinking projectiles after one of the first hit Poertena. His sulphurous comments were a clear violation of his orders from the sergeant major, but she forbore to point that out, and some of them were so accidentally accurate it was hilarious.

  Unfortunately, the situation was a stalemate. The town-dwellers couldn’t get past Julian’s squad, but neither could the Marines get past them without employing a level of force guaranteed to cause serious Mardukan casualties. Pahner was tempted to do just that as the rain of stones and other matter became denser, but killing or crippling several dozen members of the local citizenry, whatever the provocation, would scarcely endear them to the Q’Nkokans with whom they’d come to trade.

  On the other hand, the rioters or protesters or whatever the hell they were were creating sufficient bedlam that whoever was responsible for maintaining what passed for civil order in the city could hardly fail to figure out something was going on outside his front door. Which ought to mean that any minute now—

  A group of Mardukan guards suddenly emerged from the city. They were the first Mardukans the Marines had seen wearing any clothing, and even Roger recognized it as armor.

  The leather armor was worn like a long apron, open at the back, and doubled in critical spots over the chest and at the shoulders. It stretched from shoulder to knee, painted with a complex heraldic device, and each guard also carried a large, round shield with an iron boss.

  Their weapons were long clubs, apparently designed for riot work, not swords or spears, and they waded in with abandon. They didn’t maintain any sort of formation. Each simply found a rioter to attack and charged, and the mob scattered away from them like pigeons from hawks, running out into the fields and back around the knot of soldiers into the town.

  The guards paid no attention to those who ran away, concentrating instead on any who stood and fought or didn’t run away fast enough. Those laggards were brutally beaten down with the long, heavy-headed clubs, and the guards seemed to have no compunction about the use of deadly force. Their weapons might not be edged, but when they were done, at least one of the rioters was obviously dead. His head had been split like a melon, but the guards showed no particular concern as they dragged the corpse—and several other inert bodies, most of which were probably simply unconscious—off the road before they gathered back together between the Marines and the city gate.

  Cord passed through the cordon of Marines to approach the regrouped guards, trailed by Roger and a couple of nephews. Pahner rolled his eyes as the prince followed the shaman, then signaled Despreaux to take a group with him. She snapped her fingers at Alpha Team, and the six Marines chased after the prince as Cord approached the apparent leader of the group of guards—or the one who had been shouting the most, at least—and nodded.

  “I am D’Nal Cord of the Tribe. I come to speak to your king on matters of treaty.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” the guard answered surlily. “We greet you and all that.” He looked at the Marines following Cord and snorted. “Where’d you find the basik? You could feed a family on one of these!”

  At those words, Roger stopped abruptly. It hadn’t occurred to him that although the Mardukans were no more cannibalistic than humans, they might not put humans in the same category as “people.” He’d intended to make his own announcement along with Cord, but the guard’s suggestion made that seem . . . less attractive, somehow.

  “I am asi to their leader,” Cord said definitively. “Thus they are bonded to my tribe and should be accorded the same privileges as The People.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” the guard leader argued. “They seem like regular visitors, so they should fall under trader’s rules. Besides, no more than ten of you barbs are permitted in the city at the same time.”

  “Hey,” another guard put in, “let’s not be hasty, Banalk! If you consider them traders, does that mean we don’t get to eat them after all?”

  He meant it as a joke—probably—Roger thought, but Pahner had been monitoring the conversation through a feed off of Sergeant Despreaux and decided that it was time to nip this particular discussion in the bud. He looked around for something relatively useless and found it quickly. The hills that supported the town were igneous basoliths, ancient granite extrusions from a deep magma rift. Their surroundings had slowly worn away until the erosion reached the stony outcrops, but although the refractory granite was much more weather resistant than the soil around, it still tended to crack and fissure over time. That had produced large boulders that congregated at the base of the hill, which the locals had dragged away from the town’s wooden palisade when it was erected. One such boulder was no more than a hundred meters from the road, in easy sight of the guards and the few bystanders who’d remained outside the walls.

  “Despreaux.” Pahner placed a targeting dot on the boulder. “Plasma rifle.”

  “Roger,” the squad leader responded, spotting the dot in her own visor HUD, then waved her arms to get the attention of the arguing group.

  “Excuse me,” she said in a pleasant soprano. “We think this conversation has gone far enough.”

  She’d already relayed the targeting dot to Lance Corporal Kane, and now the slight blonde hefted her plasma rifle and triggered a single round.

  The plasma bloom left a scorched track through the green corn of the field, but that was nothing compared to what it did to the boulder. It struck with an explosive whipcrack of sound, and the transmitted heat caused diffusive expansion through the meter and a half boulder that shattered it like an egg. Pieces flew in every direction, from head-sized lumps down to relatively fine gravel, some of which reached clear back to the roadway before it pattered to the ground.

  As the last echo faded, the last bit of gravel plunked into silence, and Sergeant Nimashet Despreaux, Third Platoon, Bravo Company, turned back to a suddenly frozen and speechless group of guards and smiled.

 
“We don’t care if you treat us as The People or as traders, but they won’t find enough to bury of the next one who suggests eating us.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The front hall of the king’s castle was a vaulted arch in a gate bastion of the outer curtain wall. Unlike most of the city, the king’s citadel was built of a combination of the local granite and limestone. The lower portions of the walls were the dark gray of the granite, but they were surmounted by the limestone in a pleasing duotone pattern. Although it was obviously intended for greeting and ceremony as much as for defense, the hall was unornamented aside from the pattern, and it was floored with simple paving stones. The far wall sported large, open windows, which revealed gardens in the bailey and an inner line of defenses.

  The local ruler, along with a sizeable bodyguard of his own, greeted Roger’s party in this public arena. Their passage uphill through the town had been much more muted than their reception, and Pahner had become increasingly suspicious that the mob scene had been staged.

  “Welcome to Q’Nkok.” The king, accompanied by a much younger son, greeted them with grave courtesy and glanced at the humans curiously and a bit warily. Pahner smiled behind his flickering visor; clearly, the king had already been apprised of their demonstration at his gates.

  “I am Xyia Kan, ruler of this place,” the king continued, and gestured to the youth at his side. “This is Xyia Tam, my son and heir.”

  Roger nodded calmly in response. He had taken off his armor’s helmet, both so that his face would be clear and as a gesture of respect. The ruler appeared old. He had the slightly flabby skin and patchy mucus that Roger had noted on Cord, although it was worse in Xyia Kan’s case.

  “I am Prince Roger Ramius Sergei Alexander Chiang MacClintock, of the House MacClintock, and Heir Tertiary to the Throne of Man,” he said formally. “I greet you in the name of the Empire of Man and as the representative of my mother, Empress Alexandra.”

  He really hoped that the toot was getting these terms right. He was becoming increasingly convinced that the translation software was screwing up something major. Little glitches were appearing in translation left and right and this was too important a meeting to get things wrong.

  The “repeat” of his translation which the software played back to him had his mother momentarily as a male, which was a hoot. It had actually formed an image of her as a guy, and she really wasn’t all that bad looking. His lips twitched, fighting to smile as he visualized her response to the image, but then, in response to another repeat query, he got an image of himself dressed as a fairy-tale princess, which quashed all humor. This software was definitely buggy as hell.

  “We are travelers from a far land who have been stranded in this one,” he continued with the story which had been decided upon as easier than trying to explain the truth. “We are passing through your kingdom on our way to a place where we can obtain passage to our home.

  “We bring you these gifts,” he continued, and turned to O’Casey, who deftly handed him one of the Marine multitools.

  “This device can change its form into any of several useful objects,” Roger said. It wasn’t the sort of thing one commonly gave to a ruler, but they didn’t have anything else that was better, and Roger quickly demonstrated the settings to Xyia Kan. The king watched closely, then nodded gravely, accepted the gift, and handed it to his son. The younger Mardukan was no more than a child, judging from what Roger had seen in Cord’s village, and looked much more interested in the multitool, but restrained his curiosity admirably.

  “Estimable gifts,” the king said diplomatically. “I offer you the hospitality of the visitors’ quarters of my home.” He looked at the line of Marines and clasped his hands together. “You should be able to fit your force in there.”

  Roger nodded his head again in thanks.

  “We appreciate that kindness,” he said, and the king nodded in return and gestured to a hovering guard.

  “D’Nok Tay will lead you to the quarters, and we shall meet more formally in the morning. For now, take your rest. I will have food and servants sent to your quarters.”

  “Thank you again,” Roger said.

  “Until then,” the king responded, and walked out of the bastion, trailed by his son. The younger Mardukan, unlike his father, kept looking over his shoulder at the Marines until they were out of sight.

  Roger waited until the king was decently gone, and then turned to the guard.

  “Lead on.”

  D’Nok Tay turned without a word and walked out of the far door, but whereas the king had turned to the left on exiting, the guard turned to the right.

  They proceeded across an open bailey and up a steep ramp. The ramp ran between the outer curtain wall and the base of the citadel proper, and the fairly narrow way was dark and dank. As they started to ascend it, the skies opened up in another monsoon-quality rainstorm and filled the narrow track with vertical water. The sound of pouring water and flying spray in the slotlike space was like the underside of a waterfall, but D’Nok Tay paid it no more attention than Cord or his nephews, and the humans did their best to emulate the natives. Fortunately, the ramp turned out to be well designed for the storms, and a slight outward slope carried the water to regular openings in the outer wall and thus out of the castle.

  The whole town had obviously been designed to take advantage of the regular rains. The main road up which they’d traveled from the city gate had switched back and forth with very little rhyme or reason, but it, too, had been well designed to handle the water. Both sides had been lined with gutters which linked with others to carry the water around to the river side of the hill, where, presumably, it was dumped into the river.

  The efficient storm water system also reduced, but did not eliminate, the problem of hygiene in the city. Clearly, the Mardukans had never heard of the concept, for the road had been strewn with feces from the Mardukans and their pack beasts. According to O’Casey, this was normal in lower technology cultures, but at least with the rains the majority would get washed away.

  And it certainly explained The People’s epithet for the townspeople.

  The narrow ramp finally opened out to the level of the curtain wall’s battlements, and the company was afforded a spectacular view of the surrounding countryside. The clouds had broken momentarily, the rain had stopped as abruptly as it had begun, and the larger moon, Hanish, was rising over the mountains to the east. They were about a hundred meters above the floodplain, and the valley of Q’Nkok spread out below them in the moonlight. The city was surprisingly dark to humans who were used to the streetlighting found in even small towns on the meanest worlds of the Empire, but the valley was a fairy-tale place under the primary moon.

  The river glittered a silver tracery across the plain and the shimmer of water through the fields and irrigation ditches echoed it. The evening fires of farmers dotted the plain here and there, and the coughing roar of some beast from the jungle across the river could be heard even at their height.

  Roger paused to take in the vista and found Despreaux beside him. Her squad had never been taken off “close protection,” and she was still following him doggedly.

  “You can probably drop back into the Company now,” he said quietly, and raised one arm of his armor with a smile. “I don’t think anything local is coming through this.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said. “You’re probably right, but we haven’t been relieved by our CO.”

  Roger started to open his mouth to object, but decided not to for two reasons. One was that scathing ass-chewing from Captain Pahner about interfering with the chain of command. The other was, frankly, that it was a pretty night and Despreaux was a pretty young woman, and he would be a fool to trade her for a random choice replacement. He looked back over the valley as the company passed, and smiled in the gathering darkness.

  “When it’s not awful, this can be a pretty place.”

  Despreaux sensed that the prince wanted more than a simple “yes, Sir; no, Si
r,” and nodded her head.

  “I’ve seen worse, Your Highness.” She thought about one assignment, in particular. The planet Diablo had the highest tectonic instability rating of any inhabited planet in the Empire, with air quality so low children were routinely kept inside until they were old enough to wear a breath pack properly. “Much worse,” she said.

  Roger nodded, and sensed that the tail of the company was catching up with them in the darkness of the ramp. He didn’t want to break the spell, but it was time to move on again.

  “We need to get moving, Your Highness,” Despreaux said, as if she’d read his mind.

  “Right,” he said with a sigh. “Time to find out what new joy awaits us.”

  The “guest quarters” of the castle were odd. To reach them, the company passed through a doglegged tunnel sealed with two gates. At the far end, the tunnel led into a small open area, a bailey, and a single door into the building which was, effectively, a separate keep. The entryway was very low for a Mardukan—low enough that D’Nok Tay had to bend nearly double to lead the way—but about right for the humans.

  The building beyond had three levels. There were no interior partitions on the first two levels, and no windows on the lowest one. The second level had small windows and a simple wooden floor that was accessible through a single trapdoor. The third level was also accessed through a single trapdoor, but was separated into six wooden-walled rooms grouped along a common corridor. All six of the rooms had large windows, with wooden shutters to seal them. On the ground floor was a simple latrine kept “flushed” by rainwater from the roof.

  Roger stood in the largest of the rooms, looking out over the vista of the valley once again, with his hands on his hips.

  “This is the strangest building I’ve ever seen,” he commented to Pahner.