Death World(科幻战争)-第7部分

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birds　go　for　his　eye；　knowing　we　got　a　‘Patch’　already。”
“Yes；”　said　Storm；　nodding　with　mock　gravity；　“can’t　have　two　of　those。”
Landon　smiled；　but　the　smile　turned　into　a　wince。　Lorenzo　felt　ice　in　his　stomach。　He　knew
Myers　and　Storm　were　only　joking；　trying　to　keep　up　the　youngster’s　spirits—but　just　for　a　second
there　he’d　feared　Landon　would　get　his　earned　name　before　he　did。　He　chided　himself　for　that
thought。　A　comrade　was　hurt。　Would　he　rather　it　was　him　sprawled　in　the　dirt；　wondering　if　he
would　see　out　of　both　eyes　again？
Armstrong　sported　a　nasty　gash　on　his　arm；　where　it　glistened　amid　the　knotted　tissue　of　old
scars。　He　was　sewing　it　up　with　a　needle；　biting　on　a　stick　to　control　the　pain。　When　Greiss　gave　the
word；　however；　he—like　all　the　others—clambered　to　his　feet　and　hoisted　his　pack；　fresh　and　ready
to　go。
Mackenzie　didn’t　question　the　sergeant’s　decision。　He　knew　he　was　right。　But　Lorenzo　could
read　the　commissar’s　eyes。　He　resented　the　way　the　Catachans　deferred　so　readily　to　their　sergeant
over　him。　That　was　going　to　mean　trouble。
Ninety　minutes　later；　in　a　less　dense　part　of　the　jungle；　Greiss　came　to　a　halt　and　called　for　silence。
He　listened　for　a　moment；　then　declared　this　as　good　a　spot　as　any。　Braxton　shucked　off　his　pack
and　sank　to　the　ground　with　a　sigh—but　he　scrambled　guiltily　to　his　feet　and　joined　in　as　the
Catachans　got　straight　to　work。　They　identified　any　flora　that　could　be　classed　as　dangerous　and　cut
it　down。　Donovits　found　an　acid　spitter　behind　a　tree；　almost　as　if　it　had　been　deliberately　hiding
there。　They　thinned　out　the　undergrowth；　and　Myers　unearthed　a　jungle　lizard。　It　sprang　at　his
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crotch；　its　legs　propelling　it　higher　than　Lorenzo　would　have　thought　possible。　Myers　flashed　his
knife；　and　bisected　it　in　midair。
“I　think　we　should　light　a　fire；”　said　Donovits；　addressing　his　sergeant　rather　than　the
commissar。
Greiss　nodded　his　approval；　and　Mackenzie　opened　his　mouth　to　object。　“Worth　the　risk；　I’d
say。”　Greiss　interrupted　sharply。　“The　men　fight　better　with　a　hot　meal　inside　’em。　And　it’s　going　to
get　dark　around　these　parts　pretty　damn　soon。　Don’t　know　about　you；　but　I　like　to　be　able　to　see
what’s　creeping　up　on　me—and　in　the　jungle；　there’s　a　whole　new　menagerie　of　critters　come　out　at
night。”
“Apart　from　anything　else；　sir；”　said　Dougan　in　his　usual　polite　manner；　“it’s　always　good　to
know　which　of　those　creatures　are　afraid　of　fire。”
“And　which　ones　aren’t；”　added　Greiss　under　his　breath。
“Where’s　Sly　Marbo？”　asked　Braxton。　“Is　he　joining　us？”
Nobody　answered　him。　The　truth；　Lorenzo　knew；　was　that　none　of　them　had　a　clue　where　Marbo
was　now。　They　hadn’t　glimpsed　or　heard　him　in　hours。　He　might　have　been　present　for　the　bird
attack；　perhaps　firing　in　from　the　sidelines；　in　the　chaos；　Lorenzo　could　have　missed　him。　Or　he
might　have　gone　scouting　ahead；　maybe　encountered　orks　and　found　a　good　sniping　position　in
which　he　would　wait　for　hours　or　days—as　long　as　necessary。　One　thing；　Lorenzo　did　not　doubt：
wherever　Marbo　was；　he　could　look　after　himself。　He　would　be　back。
The　Jungle　Fighters　broke　into　their　standard　rations；　because　they　were　tired　and　because　none
of　them　had　the　spirit　to　go　hunting　or　gathering　anything　better。　Anyway；　their　trust　in　what　they
knew　about　this　jungle　had　been　shaken；　and　no　one　was　especially　keen　to　sample　its　wares　right
now。
The　night　brought　with　it　the　fluttering　of　leathern　bat…wings；　the　soft　chittering　of　a　new　type　of
ground…based　insect；　and—at　one　point—the　footfall　of　something　bigger　and　heavier；　which
nevertheless　slipped　away　before　it　could　be　seen。　The　fire　drew　curious　moth…like　creatures—and；
although　they　seemed　non…aggressive；　Armstrong　pointed　out　their　barbed　fangs　and　the　Jungle
Fighters　took　to　swatting　them　when　they　could；　just　in　case。
There　were　snakes；　too。　Storm　found　one；　about　a　metre　long；　slender　and　black；　coiled　around　a
tree　trunk；　slithering　its　way　down　towards　the　roots。　He　glared　into　its　slit　eyes；　challenging　it；　and
the　snake　glared　back。　It　hissed　and　struck；　and—having　ascertained　that　it　was　hostile；　as　if　there
had　been　much　doubt—Storm　caught　it　by　its　head；　squeezing　its　mouth　shut　with　his　fingers。　He
yanked　it　from　its　perch；　swung　it　over…arm　and　smacked　its　body　hard　into　the　ground　like　a　whip。
Lorenzo　glimpsed　a　distinctive　silver　triangular　pattern　on　the　snake’s　back。　Then　Storm　casually
tossed　its　lifeless　body　to　Donovits；　who　would　probably　spend　his　watch　teasing　venom　out　of　its
glands　for　analysis。
Lorenzo　was　loath　to　lie　down；　to　close　his　eyes　on　an　environment　about　which　he　still　knew　so
little。　But　he　had　no　choice；　and　he　trusted　his　comrades　to　protect　him。　So；　he　lay　down　on　the
damp　earth　and　slept。
He　was　woken　by　Trooper　Storm。
He　reached　for　his　fang；　and　started　to　push　himself　to　his　feet。　Storm　clapped　a　steadying　hand
on　his　shoulder；　and　a　bright　grin　broke　through　his　now　ragged…looking　black　beard。　“Easy
trooper；”　he　laughed。　“There’s　no　fire。　It’s　time　for　your　watch；　that’s　all。”
Lorenzo　nodded　and　relaxed。　He　glanced　at　the　small　patch　of　sky　immediately　above　him。　It
had　been　pitch　black　when　he’d　gone　to　sleep；　but　now　it　was　showing　just　the　earliest　signs　of
lightening。　If　Rogar　III　had　a　moon；　Lorenzo　hadn’t　seen　it　yet。　He　threw　on　his　jacket　and　his
bandolier；　and　checked　that　his　lasgun　was　locked　and　loaded。
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The　only　other　light　source　in　the　Catachan…made　clearing　was　the　embers　of　the　fire。　They
popped　and　cracked　as　Myers　poked　them　with　a　stick；　keeping　them　alive　but　torpid。　There　was　a
slight　chill　in　the　air；　and　Lorenzo　drew　closer　to　the　glowing　coals；　to　soak　up　their　scant　warmth。
“Steel　Toe　was　right；　by　the　way；”　said　Storm。　“The　lizards　really　don’t　like　fire。　Even　this　is
enough　to　keep　them　away；　though　we’ve　heard　them　hissing　out　there。　You　want　steak　for　breakfast
this　morning；　you’re　going　to　have　to　go　get　one。”
Dougan　greeted　Lorenzo　with　a　nod。　They　were　to　share　the　last　two…hour　watch。　Typical　of
Greiss；　thought　Lorenzo；　to　pair　him　up　with　a　veteran；　as　if　he　still　needed　watching　over。　The　rest
of　his　squad　were　shadowy　mounds　in　the　darkness—though　he　could　identify　the　sergeant　by　his
quiet　but　distinctive　snore；　like　a　grox　breaking　wind。　Presumably；　it　was　Braxton　who　was
twitching　in　his　sleep　and　sometimes　letting　out　a　quiet　whimper—while　Muldoon；　of　course；　was
the　one　tied　to　the　tree。　“Keep　an　eye　on　him；”　advised　Storm；　nodding　toward　their　unconscious
comrade。　“Woods　says　he　woke　during　his　watch；　muttered　all　kinds　of　gibberish　about　daemons
and　monsters。　Hotshot　had　to　slug　him　one　to　put　him　back　under。”
Lorenzo　was　disappointed　to　hear　it。　He’d　hoped　that　time；　or　maybe　one　of　the　herbal　remedies
Donovits　had　forced　down　Muldoon’s　throat；　may　have　dispelled　his　hallucinations。　For　all　that
Greiss　and　Woods　had　said　to　Mackenzie；　the　Catachans　knew　they　couldn’t　lug　Muldoon　around
with　them　indefinitely。　There　would　come　a　time　when　they’d　have　to　accept　that　he　was　lost。
Myers　and　Storm　lay　down；　and　soon　their　heavy　breaths　joined　the　sleeping　chorus　around
Lorenzo。　He　sat　on　a　tree　stump；　left　behind　after　Armstrong　had　unpacked　a　machete　and　made
firewood。　It　was　a　little　too　small　for　him；　and　he　was　uncomfortable—but　then　comfort　was　hardly
desirable　when　the　lives　of　your　comrades　depended　on　your　staying　alert。
Dougan　knew　that　too；　and　he　was　circling　the　camp　slowly。　His　soft　footsteps　were　barely
audible；　but　Lorenzo　could　tell　that　his　artificial　foot　fell　a　little　more　heavily　than　the　real　one。
Dougan　didn’t　like　to　sit　on　duty。　He　didn’t　like　to　take　the　risk　of　his　leg　seizing　up　at　a　critical
moment。
It　was　about　forty　minutes　later　that　Lorenzo　saw　the　light。
He　wasn’t　sure　what　it　was　at　first：　a　faint　blue　glow；　somewhere　between　the　trees；　lasting　just
an　instant。　He　couldn’t　pinpoint　its　location；　he　had　no　idea　how　far　away　it　had　been。　He　had　been
sharpening　his　Catachan　fang；　but　now　he　froze—and　Dougan；　though　he　was　somewhere　behind
Lorenzo　on　his　latest　circuit；　picked　up　on　his　body　language　and　did　likewise。
It　could　have　been　a　trick　of　the　approaching　dawn。　The　sky　was　now　a　deep　indigo。　But　no；
there　it　was　again。　Too　soft；　too　muted　to　be　a　torch；　it　wasn’t　the　kind　of　light　you　could　see　by。
And　yet　too　wide；　too　sustained　to　be　an　accidental　glint　off　a　weapon　or　a　suit　of　powered　armour。
Lorenzo　grabbed　for　a　stick；　and　brushed　it　across　the　embers　of　the　fire；　smothering　them　in
their　own　ashes。
The　blue　light　was　clearer　to　him　now；　but　still　maddeningly　undefined；　still　seeming　to　lurk　at
the　edge　of　his　vision；　never　quite　in　focus。　One　second；　it　was　at　ground　level；　the　next；　it
glimmered　through　the　branches　at　head　height；　and　every　time　he　moved　his　eyes　to　find　it；　it
slipped　away　from　him。　Some　sort　of　glowing　creature；　Lorenzo　wondered？　What　was　that　word
Brains　had　once　used？　“Bioluminescence”。　He　wondered　if　he　should　wake　the　others；　but　he
pictured　their　faces　if　he　did　and　they　found　he’d　been　spooked　by　a　swarm　of　fireflies。
Anyway；　the　light　was　coming　no　closer。
He　watched　it　a　moment　longer。
It　blinked　out。
A　second　ago；　there　had　been　a　wisp　of　smoke　coiling　up　from　the　ashes　of　the　campfire。　Now；　it
was　gone。　The　sky　was　a　little　lighter—wasn’t　it？　Lorenzo　frowned；　and　crouched　by　the　ashes。　He
touched　them　tentatively。　They　were　still　warm；　but　cooler　than　they　ought　to　have　been。　His　mind
was　straggling　to　catch　up　with　what　his　senses　were　telling　him：　that　some　minutes　had　passed
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without　him　knowing　it。　It　took　some　time　for　the　message　to　get　through—but　when　it　finally　did；
Lorenzo　stiffened　in　horror。
The　light　had　hypnotised　him；　dulled　his　mind。　Anything　could　have　happened　while　he’d　been
distracted。　Anything　could　have　crept　into　the　camp；　and　dragged　his　comrades　away　while　they
slept。
There　was　something。　A　shape　at　his　shoulder。　Lorenzo　whirled　around；　but　it　was　only　Dougan。
“It’s　alright；　son；”　the　veteran　assured　him　in　a　whisper。　“We　zoned　out　for　a　minute　or　two；　that’s
all。　Everyone’s　alright。”
“Old　Hardhead　said　something；”　Lorenzo　recalled；　“in　the　mess　hall　yesterday。”　Why　was　it　so
hard　to　remember？
“Something　about…　about　ghosts。　Lights　that　lured　Guardsmen　into…　ambushes；　I　guess。　I
didn’t　realise…　I　didn’t　feel　it；　but　that　thing　must　have　got　inside　my　head。”
Dougan　nodded　gravely。　“I’m　going　out　there；”　he　announced。
“But—”
“We　need　to　know　what　we’re　facing。　Don’t　worry。　We’ve　seen　what　it　does　now；　and　we’ve
shaken　it　off　once。　It　won’t　fool　me　again。　It’s　just　a　question　of　focus。　It　won’t　even　see　me
coming。”
“You’re　right。”　Of　course　he　was　right。　Lorenzo　wished　he　had　realised　it　sooner；　then　he　could
have　been　the　one　to　volunteer；　to　have　gone　out　there　alone。　To　have　made　a　name　for　himself；
perhaps。　“I’ll　come　with　you；”　he　offered。
Dougan　shook　his　head。　“You　need　to　stay　here；　watch　the　camp。　Could　be　this　light’s　meant　to
lure　us　away　while　something　worse　creeps　up　from　behind。”
“I　can　wake　one　of　the　others。”
“No　need　to　panic　them　just　yet。　It’s　best　I　go　alone。　You　could　be　right　about　there　being　an
ambush。　Any　trouble　out　there；　I’ll　shout　a　warning。　Then　you　can　wake　the　others；　and　point　them
in　my　direction。　I’m　counting　on　you；　Lorenzo。”
Lorenzo　shook　his　head。　“I’m　coming　with　you。”
Dougan　laid　a　hand　on　his　shoulder；　and　looked　him　right　in　the　eye　with　an　unnerving　intensity。
“Let　me　do　this；”　he　said。　“I　need　to　do　this！”
Lorenzo　was　left　in　no　doubt　that　he　did。　He　nodded　glumly；　and　Dougan　smiled　and　clapped
him　companionably　on　the　arm。　Then　he　slipped　away　into　the　jungle；　in　the　direction　in　which　the
blue　light　had　last　been　sighted。　After　only　a　few　seconds；　Lorenzo　could　neither　see　nor　hear　him。
Why　did　Dougan　need　to　do　this？
He’d　had　his　share　of　glory。　Why　couldn’t　he　have　let　someone　else　have　a　taste　of　it；　this　once？
Why　had　Lorenzo　accepted　what　he’d　said？　Why　hadn’t　he　spoken　up；　persuaded　Dougan　that　his
need　was　greater？
He　had　picked　up　a　stick—and　as　resentment　welled　in　his　chest　like　a　living　thing；　he　felt　the
wood　snapping　in　his　clenched　fist；　driving　a　splinter　into　his　palm。　How　could　he　ever　prove　his
worth？
He　pulled　himself　together；　horrified　by　what　he　had　been　thinking。　He　admired　these　men；
trusted　them　more　than　anyone　or　anything　else。　He　surveyed　the　sleeping　bodies　around　him；　tried
to　remind　himself　of　that—but　that　feeling　in　his　chest　was　back；　and　he　hated　them；　all　of　them；　for
keeping　him　here。　He　hated　Old　Hardhead　Greiss　and　Hotshot　Woods；　hated　Steel　Toe　Dougan　most
of　all。
The　light　was　back。　Lorenzo　noted　its　presence　with　a　numb　feeling　of　acceptance；　because
somehow　he　knew　it　had　been　there　all　along。　It　was　brighter　than　before—and　behind　him；　this
time。　In　the　opposite　direction　from　the　one　in　which　Dougan　had　gone。　And　closer。　Almost　close
enough　to　touch；　it　seemed。　For　a　second；　just　a　second；　Lorenzo’s　dulled　mind　grasped　the　idea　that
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the　blue　light　was　fooling　him；　playing　with　his　thoughts　and　feelings—but　then　that　revelation
slipped　away　and　was　forgotten。
It　might　not　have　seen　him；　he　thought。　It　didn’t　know　he　was　here。　It　probably　thought　he　had
gone　off　with　Dougan；　fallen　for　its　lure。　It　probably　thought　it　could　move　in　now；　for　the　kill—but
the　light　had　underestimated　him。
A　few　steps。　A　few　steps　into　the　dark；　that　was　all　it　would　take。　Lorenzo　could　be　the　hero　for
once；　the　man　who　had　captured　the　light　itself。
To　his　credit；　he　did　hesitate。　He　tore　his　eyes　away　from　the　light　and　shook　his　head　to　clear　it。
He　understood　that　the　light　had　been　clouding　his　thoughts；　though　he　certainly　didn’t　appreciate
the　extent　of　its　influence。　He　remembered　what　Dougan　had　said。　A　question　of　focus。　So　he
focused　on　what　he　knew；　his　comrades；　and　reassured　himself　with　the　knowledge　that　they　were
real　and　tangible。　He　tested　his　senses　one　by　one；　listening；　breathing；　feeling；　and　found　each　of
them　as　sharp　as　he　remembered。
Then　Lorenzo　turned　back　to　the　blue　light；　and　found　it　waiting。
He　should　have　called　out　to　Dougan；　but　he　didn’t　want　to　scare　the　light　away。　He　should　have
woken　the　others；　but　the　light　made　him　think　they　would　steal　his　glory。　He　shouldn’t　have
abandoned　them；　sleeping；　helpless；　relying　on　him　to　keep　them　safe；　but　it　was　only　a　few　steps
and　he　was　in　control。
Just　a　few　steps。
Then　a　few　steps　more。
The　jungle　closed　around　Lorenzo；　but　that　was　alright　because　he　hadn’t　come　far。　He　knew　he
hadn’t　come　far；　because　he　hadn’t　reached　the　light　yet；　and　he　knew　the　light　hadn’t　moved。　He
knew　that；　if　he　looked　back；　he　would　still　see　the　camp。　His　comrades　would　hear　him　if　he　called。
Not　that　he　was　likely　to　call。　He　didn’t　need　them。　In　his　mind；　Lorenzo　had　left　the　jungle　of
Rogar　III　for　a　different　jungle　altogether：　that　of　his　home　world。　He　was　leading　a　group　of
children—some　of　them　his　children；　probably—on　a　hunt；　and　they　were　hanging　on　his　every
word　of　advice；　looking　at　him　with　awe　in　their　eyes。　A　man　who　had　earned　his　name；　and　more。
One　of　Catachan’s　greatest　heroes；　and　yet　still　humble　enough　to　spend　time　with　them；　to　pass　on
his　wisdom。
Lorenzo　pointed　out　a　deadly　spiker　plant　lurking　in　the　foliage；　and　they　gave　it　a　wide　berth。
He　heard　snuffling　ahead；　and　he　held　up　his　hand　for　silence。　He　crept　forward；　pushing　aside　the
vegetation　with　his　las…gun。　There　it　was；　in　the　centre　of　a　small　clearing；　basking　in　the　sunlight：
The　most　fearsome　of　his　world’s　predators；　near　legendary　throughout　the　Imperium。　The　beast
after　which　his　own　regiment　had　been　named。　A　Catachan　Devil。
They　were　downwind　of　it；　and　it　hadn’t　scented　them。　Lorenzo　beckoned　to　the　children　to
come　forward；　to　take　a　look　at　the　beast。　They　obeyed；　and　let　out　hushed　gasps　of　fear　and　wonder。
Lorenzo　recalled　how；　at　their　age；　he　had　been　afraid　too；　and　he　resolved　to　prove　to　them　that
there　was　no　need；　that　Man　could　always　triumph　over　Nature。　If　he　was　the　right　man。
At　their　age…
He　laid　his　gun　aside。　This　would　be　a　fair　fight。　Lorenzo　drew　his　knife—a　devil　claw；　the
finest　of　all　Catachan　blades；　over　a　metre　in　length—and　he　pounced。　The　creature　reared　up　on　six
bristling　legs；　opened　its　mighty　claws；　and　whipped　its　spiny　tail　around　to　sting　him。　It　was　fast。
He　had　almost　forgotten　how　fast。　Or　perhaps　it　was　just　that　he　had　slowed　down　with　age。　How
old　was　he　now；　anyway？
He　could　still　take　it。
Lorenzo　landed　in　the　spot　where　the　creature　had　been；　his　knife　raised　to　strike。　But　the　Devil
was　no　longer　there。　He　whirled；　disoriented；　but　saw　no　trace　of　it。　How　could　it　have　escaped　from
him？　From…　from…　what　was　his　earned　name；　anyway？　He　felt　confused；　standing　in　that
clearing　alone。　Confused　and　humiliated。　He　thought　he　could　hear　the　children　laughing　at　him。
40
Then　Lorenzo　glimpsed　a　spiny　tail　a　short　distance　ahead　of　him；　and　he　knew　what　had
happened。　The　Catachan　Devil　had　simply　wandered　away；　in　search　of　a　better　light。　A　soft　blue
light。　He　could　see　it　through　the　trees；　and　though　he　didn’t　know　what　the　light　was；　he　didn’t
wonder。　The　light　was　safe。　Everything　made　sense　again。　Except…
How　had　he　got　so　old？
Lorenzo　knew　what　the　children　said　about　him　behind　his　back。　They　said　he　couldn’t　be　a　hero
as　he　claimed；　because　he　had　survived　the　war　when　all　the　real　heroes　had　died。　They　called　him　a
coward；　said　he’d　never　taken　a　risk；　never　distinguished　himself。　Never　earned　his　name　after　all。
He　could　hear　their　taunts　now。　He　tried　to　blot　them　out；　tried　to　focus　on　the　creature　in　the　blue
light　ahead　of　him。　He　couldn’t　see　it　anymore；　but　he　could　see　the　light；　and　he　approached　it　with
increasingly　urgent　steps。　In　that　light；　he　would　prove　them　all　wrong　about　him。　“I　don’t　know　but
I’ve　been　told；　Jungle　Fighters　don’t　grow　old…”
This　wasn’t　what　Lorenzo　wanted。
Even　if　it　had　been；　he　knew　it　was　an　impossible　dream。　Few　Jungle　Fighters　ended　their　days
like　this；　and　he　had　never　expected　to　be　one　of　them。
It　wasn’t　real。
It　wasn’t　real。
With　that　sudden　knowledge；　he　snapped　back　to　the　present；　to　Rogar　III。　It　hit　him　between　the
eyes　like　a　smack　of　cold　air；　and　he　was　on　the　bank　of　a　stagnant　lake；　one　foot　poised　over　its
surface。　He　pulled　back；　and　sent　loose　dirt　skittering　over　the　side。　As　it　hit；　it　evaporated　in　a　cloud
of　white　steam。　Acid。
The　blue　light　was　hovering　in　the　centre　of　the　lake—but　now；　as　if　it　knew　its　ploy　had　failed；
it　blinked　out　again　and　left　Lorenzo　in　the　dark。　Alone。　Without　his　lasgun。
In　a　part　of　the　jungle　he　had　not　seen　before。
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CHAPTER　SEVEN
Lorenzo　was　afraid。
It　was　a　feeling　to　which　he　wasn’t　accustomed。　But　then；　nor　was　he　used　to　being　alone；
separated　from　his　squad—to　having　abandoned　them。　It　was　their　lives　he　was　afraid　for；　not　his
own。
He　didn’t　know　where　he　was；　nor　where　Dougan　had　got　to。　He　didn’t　know　how　far　he　had
walked；　mesmerised　by　the　blue　light。　He　just　knew　he　had　to　get　back　to　the　campsite。　He　crashed
through　the　jungle；　foll