Death World(科幻战争)-第10章

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number　of　strangers　present　and　by　the　fact　that　none　of　them　were　immobilised。
“Now；”　said　Greiss。　He　flipped　the　flower　head　onto　the　insect　nest；　and　withdrew　to　safety
again。　This　time；　there　was　a　distressed　quality　to　the　displaced　insects’　humming—and　a　definite
direction　to　their　flight。　Within　a　minute；　they　were　all　gone；　deeper　into　the　jungle。
Donovits　nodded。　“They　didn’t　like　that。　The　flower　probably　preys　on　the　insects；　so　they’ve
learned　to　detect　its　scent　and　avoid　it。”
“All　right；”　rapped　Greiss；　“everyone　spread　out；　look　for　more　of　these　flowers。”
Mackenzie’s　nostrils　flared。　“I　think　you’re　forgetting　who’s　giving　the　orders　here；　sergeant。”
“If　you’ve　got　a　better　idea；　commissar。”　Greiss　shot　back。　“Now’s　the　time　to　speak　up。”
“Sergeant；”　protested　Hotshot　Woods；　“you　expect　us　to　wear　flowers　in　our　hair　now？”
“In　your　hair；　in　your　lapel；　down　your　trousers；”　growled　Greiss；　“I　don’t　care　what　you　do　with
’em；　Hotshot；　just　as　long　as　you　wind　up　smelling　right。”
As　he　joined　the　search；　Lorenzo　noticed　that　Muldoon　was　looking　a　bit　woozy。　The　trooper
pulled　himself　together　when　he　saw　he　was　being　observed；　and　he　smiled　grimly。　“Dizzy　spell；”
he　said；　apologetically。　“I　think　those　damn　bugs　sucked　a　few　pints　of　blood　out　of　me。　I　just　need　a
minute…”
Lorenzo　kept　an　eye　on　Muldoon　after　that；　and　realised　he　wasn’t　the　only　member　of　the　squad　to
be　doing　so。　He　was　usually　more　zealous　than　any　of　them；　with　the　possible　exception　of
Woods—always　scouting　ahead　with　a　gleam　in　his　eye；　a　feral　smile　on　his　face　and　his　night
reaper　in　his　hand。　Now；　however；　he　lagged　behind；　finding　the　going　tough。　They　all　had　plant
tendrils　grasping　and　tearing　at　their　heels；　of　course—but　Muldoon　was　the　only　man　particularly
troubled　by　them。　He　lost　his　footing　a　number　of　times；　and　almost　fell；　but　Lorenzo　knew　better
than　to　offer　assistance　where　it　wasn’t　requested。
Muldoon　was　swigging　too　freely　from　his　bottle；　too；　the　other　Catachans　were　taking　it　steady；
not　knowing　when　they　might　find　fresh　water。
“You’re　worried　about　him；　aren’t　you？”　said　a　low　voice　beside　Lorenzo。　It　was　Braxton。
He　shrugged。　“What　do　you　think？　You　ever　come　across　bugs　like　that　before　on　Rogar？　Seen　a
man　bitten　by　one？”
“A　few　times；　yes。　Didn’t　seem　to　do　any　lasting　harm。　I’ve　never　seen　a　swarm　attack　like　that；
though。”
Lorenzo　nodded。　“Bugs　carry　diseases；”　he　said　knowledgeably。　“Sharkbait　might　get　lucky—or
he　might　get　sick。　Real　sick；　real　soon。　Or　real　dead。　That’s　why　Old　Hardhead　had　us　take
precautions。”　They　had　all　teased　sap　from　the　stems　of　the　red　flowers；　rubbed　it　into　their　faces
and　hands。　“New　world；　new　rules—and　there’s　only　one　way　to　learn　what　they　are。　Sharkbait
knows　that　as　well　as　the　rest　of　us　do。”
“Why　do　you　call　him　Sharkbait？”
“Before　my　time；”　said　Lorenzo。
Dougan　fell　into　step　beside　them。　“Poseidon　Delta；”　he　grunted。　“We　had　to　cross　a　swamp；　but
there　was　a　catch。　The　mother　of　all　marsh　sharks。　It　hunted　by　radar；　could　detect　a　ripple　on　the
surface　from　ten　kilometres。　The　span　of　its　jaws　was　wider　than　you　are　tall。　Sharkbait—he　was
just　Trooper　Muldoon　then—took　a　Sentinel　in。　You　saw　them　at　the　camp：　armoured　hunter…killer
machines。　Chainsaws；　flamers…　We　use　them　when　we　don’t　exactly　care　about　being　subtle。　But
this　Sentinel　got　its　leg　jammed　in　the　mud；　came　crashing　right　down。　And　the　marsh　shark　was
there；　of　course；　peeling　back　the　outsides　of　the　crew　compartment　like　a　tin　opener。　It　got　Reed；
swallowed　him　whole。　But　Muldoon…
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We　were　firing　our　lasguns　from　the　bank。　The　shots　just　glanced　off　this　monster；　gave　it　no
more　than　a　bad　case　of　sunburn。　Muldoon　was　lying　there；　pinned　by　the　wreckage；　going　under；
and　this　shark　was　rearing　over　him；　coming　in　for　the　kill。　We　thought　he　was　a　goner。　Then；　calm
as　you　like；　he　just　reached　into　its　mouth；　slung　a　whole　pack　of　frag　grenades　down　its　throat。
We　didn’t　even　hear　the　explosion；　the　damn　thing’s　hide　was　so　thick。　But　suddenly；　it　was
thrashing　and　groaning　like　it　had　the　worst　case　of　bellyache　in　history。　Then　it　went　down。　Greiss
and　me；　we　went　in　and　pulled　Muldoon　out　of　the　mud。　He　was　lucky　not　to　have　lost　an　arm—or　a
head。　If　that　shark　had　snapped　its　teeth　shut　just　a　fraction　of　a　second　sooner…　I　don’t　recall　a
discussion。　We　all　knew　‘Sharkbait’　Muldoon　had　earned　his　name；　that　day。”
“That’s　important　to　you　people；　isn’t　it？”　said　Braxton。　“Earning　your　name。　I’ve　heard
Hotshot；　Old　Hardhead—and　they　call　you　Steel　Toe；　right？”
“Another　story；”　said　Dougan；　“for　another　day。”
“And　‘Sly’　Marbo？”
“Never　been　quite　sure　about　that　one；”　Dougan　confessed；　“if　it’s　an　earned　name　or　a　given
name　or　just　something　he’s　picked　up　along　the　way。　Seems　to　suit　him　fine；　though。　What’s　with
all　the　questions；　son？”
“Eagle　&　Bolter；”　said　Braxton。　“Just　wanted　a　bit　of　background　info　for　my　piece。　Everyone
knows　what　you　Jungle　Fighters　do；　but　no　one　really　knows　all　that　much　about　you。　I　thought；　if　I
could　tell　them　what　life’s　like　where　you　come　from—Catachan；　right？—there　might　be　a　few　less；
uh；　misunderstandings。”
Dougan　nodded。　“A　word　of　advice；　son。　Not　everyone　likes　to　talk。　Oh；　stick　around　long
enough　and　you’ll　hear　all　the　old　war　stories；　all　right—but　you　start　probing　someone　like　Old
Hardhead　about　his　past；　and　he’s　liable　to　probe　you　in　return。　With　his　bayonet；　in　your　guts。”
Braxton　fell　silent　for　a　time；　after　that。　But　it　wasn’t　long　before　he　turned　to　Lorenzo；　and
asked　the　question　the　Catachan　had　been　dreading。
“So；　what’s　your　earned　name；　Lorenzo？”
“Don’t　have　one。”　Lorenzo　said。　Not　that　he　had　anything　to　be　ashamed　of。　“Not　yet。”
Armstrong　was　the　first　to　hear　them。　He　froze；　listening；　and　the　others　did　the　same　one　by　one。
Footsteps；　crashing　through　the　undergrowth。　A　guttural　grunt　that　could　only　have　been　formed
by　a　larynx。　There　was　somebody　nearby。　Several　somebodies—and　not　bothering　to　hide　their
presence。　Braxton　turned　to　Lorenzo；　and　mouthed　silently；　“Marbo？”　Lorenzo　shook　his　head。
A　second　later；　the　Catachans　had　melted　into　their　background—and　Lorenzo　saw　the
confusion　in　Braxton’s　face　as　he　turned　to　find　himself　standing　alone。　Lorenzo　himself　had　slipped
behind　a　tree　trunk　and　was　hugging　its　contours。　Muldoon　had　chosen　the　same　hiding　place；　and
was　crouched　down　beside　him。　From　close　up；　Lorenzo　could　see　that　Muldoon　was　running　a
fever。　His　bandana　was　soaked　with　sweat；　and　his　breathing　was　hoarse　and　ragged。
Storm　lay　flat　on　the　ground　nearby。　He　had　arranged　a　few　creepers　across　himself；　breaking　up
the　lines　of　his　body　so　that　its　patterns　blended　perfectly　with　those　of　the　foliage。　From　any　further
away；　and　most　other　angles；　he　would　have　been　invisible。　Indeed；　to　Lorenzo；　the　rest　of　the
Catachans　were　invisible。　He　could　make　out　only　one　other　outline—that　of　Commissar
Mackenzie；　trying　to　conceal　himself　behind　a　blossoming　nettle　plant。
Guardsman　Braxton　caught　on；　and　ducked　under　cover　himself。
More　footsteps；　and　the　rustling　of　leaves。　Whatever　was　out　there；　they　were　coming　closer。
Eight　or　nine　of　them；　Lorenzo　now　estimated。　Too　small；　too　nimble；　to　be　the　muscular；　lumbering
orks。　Gretchin；　most　likely。　Genetic　cousins　to　the　orks—smaller；　weaker；　subservient；　but　far　more
cunning。　If　they　realised　they　were　outnumbered；　they　were　likely　to　scatter　and　run；　take　word　to
their　masters。
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There　was　no　urgency　to　their　movements。　Chances　were；　they　didn’t　know　they　had　enemies
nearby。　The　gretchin　were　probably　just　out　foraging—but　they　might　get　lucky。　Thick　as　the　jungle
was；　they　wouldn’t　see　the　Catachans’　trail　of　severed　tendrils　and　uprooted　plants　unless　they
stumbled　right　onto　it。　It　sounded　to　Lorenzo；　though；　like　they　were　within　a　bloodwasp’s　length　of
doing　just　that。
Suddenly；　somebody　slammed　into　him　from　behind。
Lorenzo　was　taken　by　surprise；　winded。　No　mean　feat—but　then　this　attack　had　come　from　the
last　direction　he’d　expected。　From　a　comrade；　a　man　he’d　entrusted　with　his　life　countless　times；　and
who　was　now　bearing　him　down　into　the　dirt；　eyes　ablaze　with　madness；　a　black　knife　raised　to
strike　at　Lorenzo’s　throat。
Muldoon　was　trying　his　best　to　kill　him。
And　he　was　screaming　with　incoherent　fury　as　he　did　so—a　sound　that　could　hardly　have　failed
to　reach　the　gretchin’s　ears。
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CHAPTER　FIVE
Muldoon　was　bigger　and　stronger　than　Lorenzo；　and　certainly　heavier。　Lorenzo　was　pinned　to　the
ground　by　his　weight；　the　jungle　grass　now　growing　above　his　head；　rough　against　his　neck　and　his
cheeks。　His　right　arm；　and　his　Catachan　fang　in　its　sheath；　were　trapped　under　Muldoon’s　knees。　All
he　could　do　was　strike　out　with　his　left　elbow；　knocking　his　attacker’s　knife　hand　aside。
Muldoon’s　night　reaper　was　smaller　than　Lorenzo’s　fang；　but　just　as　deadly。　Its　blade　was
triangular；　shaped　to　leave　a　large　entrance　wound　that　wouldn’t　clot—and　knowing　Muldoon　it　was
almost　certainly　poisoned。　Probably　with　the　venom　of