"What was that?"
"The yell. I imitated a jade falcon yell."
"Not even close."
"And you would know?"
"Yes. I have heard several."
"Perhaps you were lying too close to my mouth, and the sound was distorted."
"A possibility. Why are we talking about bird calls when we are in such jeopardy?"
"Do you have a way out of this?"
"Not for the moment. Perhaps when daylight comes ..."
"Then it does not matter what we talk about, quineg?"
"I suppose you are right."
"That is it. Avoid the contractions. This time. I can only hear your voice, and only your voice. Do not torture me all night. I think I will try to sleep."
"No!"
She was surprised by the vociferousness of his response.
"Are you the Star Captain here, Nomad? Do you give the orders now?"
"For the moment, yes. I can move a little bit. Apparently you cannot. We do not know what is wrong with you. It may be a concussion or something worse. You must not sleep."
"How will you stop me, idiot?"
"I will tell you stories, Star Captain. It will keep my mind off my own . . . troubles."
"I am too sleepy for stories."
"I know some pretty lively ones, Star Captain. Listen."
Joanna was startled by how bawdy were the tech's stories. It was her first glimpse ever at life below her caste, at least that part of it that warriors never saw. Many of Nomad's yarns, in fact, illustrated lower-caste customs. She was fascinated in spite of herself.
It seemed not long before some light gradually forced its way to them through the canopy of jungle. It was not bright light, but at least they could divide up the world around them into shapes and shadows. Most of the shapes were clearly flora, while most of the shadows hinted at hidden fauna.
"Curious," Joanna said. "This place is very still. I wish I could hold my head up higher. I cannot see much."
"Neither can I. Over there, though, a piece of metal."
"Metal? Part of the DropShip, do you think?"
"Possibly."
"We crashed. But where are the others? Where is the ship? Should it not be nearby? Should we not hear something?"
"I am afraid I do not know, Joanna."
"Please ..."
"Star Captain."
"That is better. I will excuse last night as the offshoot of pain."
"If you wish. To consider your questions, I think we may have been thrown clear. And that is a larger piece of the ship that is holding you down,' I believe. I cannot see well from this angle, but it looks metallic. And charred."
"Can you get it off me?"
"Well, not with my left arm. But maybe. I feel better. Let me see if I can do something about my legs. At least I can look back and see that it is only a couple of rocks obstructing them. It is hard, but I think I can . . . yes, that's it. Excuse me. That is it."
"What have you done?"
"Do not ask. My leg is more maneuverable now. If I can just lift it up here. Yes. Good. Now, this is going to take an effort. Do not say anything humorous for a moment."
"I never speak in a humorous fashion."
"I have noticed that. Okay, now. Here goes." Then came much grunting, along with a couple of screams of pain and a movement Joanna could not see well. Finally, after what seemed like an agonizingly long time, Nomad seemed to rise above her.
"All right. You may speak now, Star Captain. I am, for your information, on my knees. My right arm is better, but it looks like my wrist was smashed. Otherwise, it is quite movable."
"Does it hurt when you move it? The wrist, I mean."
"Well, yes, it does. Severely. But I am to serve, quiaff?"
"Was that sarcasm, Nomad?"
"In this situation, I cannot be sure. Here, let me see what I can do. It will take some time regardless."
There was a shuffling sound as Nomad came forward in a kneeling position. It took him a long while to close the very short distance between them. The act was punctuated by almost-whispered groans. Joanna could tell he was in great pain, but trying not to reveal it in his voice.
"What do you see, Nomad?"
"Well, I have found another part of the DropShip. It is across your torso and upper legs. It is not large, but it is pressing down on you at an angle and that is why you cannot move. I know what I will do."
"What?"
"If I lean in from your left side, I can get my shoulder under part of the piece. I am going to try to lift it. If I can, you can scramble out. Maybe. That is, if you are not hurt too much, and no body part is severely damaged."
"Do not try to cheer me up, Nomad."
Nomad made an odd sound in his throat, but said little during his laborious shuffling moves to her left side. Unable to turn her head that way, all she could do was listen to his labors.
"All right now," he said finally. "I am in position. When you hear a scream that will put your own jade falcon yelp to shame, you begin to crawl uphill as well as you can. Your other arm should be freed first. Get both arms pulling you up the hillside if that is the only way. You are ready, quiaff?"
"Aff. Do it."
He was right about the scream. It was loud, piercing, frightening. It was completely filled with pain.
She began to squirm forward as soon as he began. Her free arm, as he had suggested, was the key. She grabbed a rock and pulled herself a long way along the ground. Then she put both hands underneath her torso, raised her body, and brought her legs up beneath her. Scrambling forward like some sea animal along the edge of shore, she got completely free and yelled back to Nomad to stop lifting.
"I have," he said. "Long ago. You extricated yourself with the first couple of moves. Thank you. I could not have stood much more pain than I did."
"You thanked me. I suppose I have to thank you in a formal way, too."
"Do not bother. Your gratitude might be too disturbing. I might have a seizure or something like it. Are you all right?"
His left arm dangled like a branch that had been hit by lightning. His face was white with illness and pain. Sweat poured off his forehead. He seemed to waver on his knees, looking as if he would pitch forward any minute.
"Here, Nomad. Let me help you."
"It is a shock, but one I will have to accept from you."
"Abandon the sarcasm, Nomad. It is undesirable for a tech, as I have told you often enough."
"Yes, you have."
His eyes were closing. He was obviously going to fall. Joanna, on her knees herself, sprang forward and caught him in her arms. The act started her shoulder and wrist pains going again. But, she realized, what she felt was nothing compared with the pain of Nomad's injuries.
She eased him to the ground, turning his body so that he could lie on his back. He lay prone, his eyes closed.
"I remember now," she said, talking out loud to herself. "Nomad fell on top of me. He must have been protecting me. I wonder why."
"So do I," Nomad said, without opening his eyes.
"Do not talk." After a moment, she said to him, "I will have to give you somecredit. Since sometime last night, you have managed to speak without contractions."
"Yes," he said, then seemed to wait for the proper time before saying, "Didn't I? Wasn't that something?"
8
There was a legend peculiar to the planet Glory. It described the origin of the odors at the heart of Blood Swamp. The story told of a demigod or demon named Cadix who had traveled through the universe collecting bad smells, stuffing them into hermetically sealed sacks and taking them to Blood Swamp. Hovering over the swamp, Cadix released each odor from each sack. Settling to the ground, the smells intermixed, mingling with one another and with the mist that clung to the swamp's surface. A traveler in the swamp could choke on a different smell with each intake of breath. Criminals who fled to the swamp later came out of their own accord to give themselves up. Lovers who slipped into the swamp darkness for illicit liaisons claimed to detect peculiar odors on each other's bodies for weeks afterward. Cadix himself, after releasing the reeking fragrances, dove into the swamp. In one version, he was never heard from again; in another, he was transformed into an unpleasant aroma.