Free The Price of Peace by Mike Moscoe

But you saw how we handled the Unity problem. We'll handle this one our way, too." Seth paused, studying Joe out of the corner of his eye. "Unless you and your family are ready to leave the stations. Go out on your own."
    Joe knew how long he'd last without the community when he and his needed more than the hands they had. He had no answer for that. Seth and he did not exchange another word. It was a long, silent drive back to the stations.
    As a kid, Ruth loved trips to the forest to gather fungus. The family was smaller then, and Ma and Pa had time for her. The drug company money from fungus helped make the payments on the station in those early years. Today was horribly different.
    The boss set a fast pace. Comfortably mounted on a sure-footed mule, he paid no price for hills and gullies, brambles and jutting roots that dragged, tore, and ripped at the walkers. Ruth was a big sister again, helping those who couldn't keep up. Lots of folks had worn dancing shoes last night... wrong gear for today. Others just were not up to the effort. Ruth did what she could, giving one an arm to lean on, finding a stick for someone else, carrying coats and sweaters a few people were ready to toss away in the heat of the day; they would want them tonight. Helping made her rub elbows with the spacers. The lieutenant, Trouble, told them to help, and they did what he said without question. Of course, he was helping, too. He spent as much time at the tail end of the column as Ruth did. Clem and three uglies like him rode mules back there, laughing at the half-crippled stragglers, offering to shoot them if they fell farther behind.
    Trouble saw to it that his spacers took breaks, balancing caring for others with caring for themselves. His break time usually was spent near the head of the column, eyeing the boss when the boss wasn't looking. He'd said the Navy looked after its own. Did he really think help was coming? After the fiasco at the Abdoes place, Ruth didn't expect anything from her own people. The slim chance that the marine knew what he was talking about kept hopelessness from eating her alive.
    At the crest of a hill, the boss rested his mule. Turning in the saddle, he smiled at the four big fellows who had kept up with him, then shook his head dolefully at the rest trailing far behind. He pulled the red box from his belt, raised it into view, and pushed the button. Ruth's belt went from generating gnawing discomfort to shooting pains. Around her, women and men screamed. Even the marine doubled over. Up ahead, the same reaction came from those who had kept up.
    "Boss's leadership style needs improvement," the lieutenant observed dryly through gritted teeth. "Stinging those doing what he wants along with the rest of us is no way to get promoted in my Navy." Two of the spacers laughed; a grin escaped even Ruth. What kind of people laughed at times like this?
    That didn't keep Ruth's anger from surfacing. "You have four legs moving you along," she called. "We have just two. And some of these folks ain't used to using either one of them. You have to slow down."
    "I got a schedule to keep. You just got to keep up. If that means walking all day and all night, I guess you'll just do it. Me, I'd like to get some sleep tonight." "Some of us could use some chow," Jagowski pointed out.
    "You'll eat when you reach tonight's camp, and not before. So, folks, you've had your rest. Let's get a move on." He kicked his mule into movement. As he dropped over the ridge, the pain in Ruth's gut grew. They plodded on.
    But now Ruth and the spacers weren't the only ones helping. The better off pitched in to help the worse. But that did little to ease the misery as the day grew hot and humid. Now parched lips gnawed more than empty bellies. She followed Trouble's lead as he edged his spacers upstream at water crossings. That way, she drank less mud. Balancing the need to move with growing exhaustion and the inevitable pain in the gut from being behind left