A person less inclined to stick with their teammates might suggest that they split up. There are two of them, and there are two paths that appear well-used; the option is an obvious one. But the idea doesn't so much as flit through Maine's mind. Brigitte is his ally. Right now, she's his partner on this mission. He's not leaving her side.

The big Freelancer nods in response to her suggestion. Steps to the point where the paths diverge and tilts his head, listening. He can hear himself breathing. He can hear Brigitte breathing. He can hear water dripping; the footsteps of other search parties; a bird chirping back at the entrance. He closes his eyes, furrows his brow in concentration, and tries to focus on the paths ahead.

And then something hits him. It's not a sound; it's a smell. Something that Maine — who has lived in close quarters of one kind of another for his entire life — immediately recognizes: body odor.

The space marine grunts and wrinkles his nose. Turns to Brigitte and points, without a hint of hesitation, to the path leading down.

That way to unwashed people.