"It's fairly flat on the other side of the rise—should be easier going for a while. Gets rockier farther on. Come have a look."

He inched his arms upward to find purchase on the rock behind, then braced them to thrust his weight forward over his legs. His knees trembled. His face contorted as he fought to concentrate his remaining strength into his protesting thighs. Already his heart was pumping again, his lungs heaving. The effort evaporated and he fell back against the rock. His labored breathing rasped over Koriel's radio.

"Finished . . . Can't move . . ."

The blue figure on the skyline turned.

"Aw, what kinda talk's that? This is the last stretch. We're there, buddy—we're there."

"No—no good . . . Had it . . ."

Koriel waited a few seconds.

"I'm coming back down."

"No—you go on. Someone's got to make it."

No response.

"Koriel . . . ?"

He looked back at where the figure had stood, but already it had disappeared below the intervening rocks and was out of the line of transmission. A minute or two later the figure emerged from behind the nearby boulders, covering the ground in long, effortless bounds. The bounds broke into a walk as Koriel approached the bunched form clad in red.

"C'mom, soldier, on your feet now. There's people back there depending on us."

He felt himself gripped below his arm and raised irresistibly, as if some of Koriel's limitless reserves of strength were pouring into him. For a while his head swam and he leaned with the top of his visor resting on the giant's shoulder insignia.

"Okay," he managed at last. "Let's go."

Hour after hour the thin snake of footprints, two pinpoints of color at its head, wound its way westward across the wilderness and steadily lengthening shadows. He marched as if in a trance, beyond feeling pain, beyond feeling exhaustion—beyond feeling anything. The skyline never seemed to change; soon he could no longer look at it. Instead, he began picking out the next prominent boulder or crag, and counting off the paces until they reached it. "Two hundred and thirteen less to go." And then he repeated it over again . . . and again . . . and again. The rocks marched by in slow, endless, indifferent procession. Every step became a separate triumph of will—a deliberate, conscious effort to drive one foot yet one more pace beyond the last. When he faltered, Koriel was there to catch his arm; when he fell, Koriel was always there to haul him up. Koriel never tired.