Free Freedom's Landing by Anne McCaffrey

her. “I’m Jay Greene, and I’m just going to lift you to Kris’ back. Save her a bit. Is that okay?”
    â€œJust do it, Jay,” Kris said and was nearly strangled by Patti, who almost sprang from Jay’s hands to Kris’ back.
    â€œWow!” Greene said softly. “Rough.”
    Kris shifted the girl to a more comfortable position, feeling bones grind in the slender body. “Let’s get back in line. We’ll be the tail that wags the dog pretty soon.”
    â€œDon’t fret, ma’am. I won’t leave your sight.”
    â€œNot while you have my rations, you won’t.”
    The last part of that heroic march was uphill, scrambling on a rock-strewn surface where Greene often had to grab Kris to keep her balanced. She was concentrating so hard on not falling that Kris didn’t really see where they were going until they got there. A wide ridge with—when she had a moment to look—a fantastic view of the patchwork of fields and hedging that seemed to stretch out for miles and miles into the twilight. The column also stretched in front of her, and there weren’t that many behind, they’d dropped back so far. All along the way, marchers were sitting down where they stood, too tired to move much farther or worry about the hardness of this night’s accommodation.
    â€œI don’t think much of this as a campsite,” Greene said, looking about him. He pushed a spot clear of rocks and pebbles and pointed it out to Kris. “This is as good as any.”
    This time Patti was too exhausted to even whimper when Greene very gently lifted her off Kris’ back. Kris gave a loud sigh of relief. Scuffed a second patch clear for herself and sat down with a “whoof” of relief. Greenehanded her the blankets and the food as he swept a place clean.
    â€œGimme the cups and I’ll get us all some water,” he said and she handed them over, realizing that she was done! She hadn’t the energy to get her own water.
    When he came back, they managed to prop Patti Sue to a sitting position while Kris fed her again, and used some of the water to wash her face and then her own.
    â€œHey, we got a Prometheus in this ragtaggle group,” Greene said, pointing toward the front of the column.
    Kris cried out in surprise and relief. Somehow the torches bobbing along the ridge in their direction reassured her as nothing else could have. Tears came to her eyes and she bit her lip and averted her face from Greene. She didn’t want to spoil the impression that she was a survivor type.
    It was a long time, and darkness had fallen, before the torchbearers made it to the rear where she was. Patti was asleep, her head pillowed on Kris’ thighs. A few people seemed to have enough energy to talk, or complain: the Deskis were emitting their odd susurruses from the tight little circle they had created. The Rugarians had curled up in hairy balls, blankets hauled over their faces. Kris was too tired to sleep, her back muscles aching from the day’s strain and her neck taut. She rotated her shoulders and waggled her shoulder blades, trying to ease things. Then she felt Greene’s hands begin a massage for which she was intensely grateful.
    She was drowsing when light roused her to attention. Mitford, Zainal, Taglioni, and two others she didn’t know were checking on the column.
    â€œYou okay, Bjornsen?” Mitford asked, one hand lightly resting on her shoulder.
    â€œShe carried her buddy here half the afternoon,” Greene spoke up.
    â€œShut up,” Kris said in protest. “She doesn’t weigh much.”
    â€œAnd she’s your buddy,” Mitford said, nodding. “Know this is a lousy campsite.…” Beyond him, Zainal was talking to the Deski that had been awakened by the torch. It was a male, his eyes wide with an anxiety which abated whenZainal had finished speaking. “Best we can do. Zainal and a