Death World(科幻战争)-第35部分

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And；　impulsively；　he　laid　a　restraining　hand　on　his　shoulder　and　he　said；　“Let　me。”
“What’s　wrong　with　you；　trooper？”　snapped　Greiss。　“That’s　ty　orders；
and　I’m　telling　you；　I　don’t　like　it！”
“You’ve　taken　worse　hits　than　this；　sergeant。　I　know　you　have。　You　aren’t　going　to　let　some
dumb　ork　get　the　better　of　you；　are　you？”
“Too　damn　old；”　grumbled　Greiss。　“This　was　always　going　to　be　my　last　outing。　And　you；
Lorenzo；　you　got　a　job　to　do。　You’re　the　only　one　who　can　tell　Patch’s　story。　I’m　only　sorry　I　won’t
be　around　to　hear　it。”
“I…　I’m　dying　too；　sergeant。　Poisoned。”
Greiss　looked　Lorenzo　up　and　down；　and　said　curtly；　“You　look　alright　to　me。”　Lorenzo　couldn’t
argue；　because　Greiss　was　right—because；　exhausted　and　hurt　though　he　was；　he　realised　only　now
that　the　effects　of　the　effigy’s　venom；　the　nausea　and　the　dizziness；　had　receded。
Then　Greiss　clapped　him　on　the　arm　and　smiled　grimly。　“Live　for　me。　Tell　everyone　I　did　it；　got
my　blaze　of　glory。　And　don’t　be　so　damn　impatient　for　yours。　Way　I　see　it；　you　got　a　lot　of　stories　in
you　yet；　you　only　just　earned　your　name。”
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He　turned　and；　before　Lorenzo　could　say　anything　else—before　he　could　think　what　to　say—he
was　charging　at　the　front　rank　of　zombies　with　a　bloodcurdling　scream。　As　he　reached　them；　as　they
grabbed　and　clawed　at　him；　he　smashed　his　pickaxe　into　the　wall　beside　them；　again　and　again；　until
the　first　crack　began　to　show…　and　to　widen…　and　explode。
A　deluge　of　lava　crashed　into　the　passageway；　and　surged　downhill。　It　subsumed　Sergeant　Greiss
and　the　zombies；　swept　them　away；　and　Lorenzo　knew　that　this　time　there　wouldn’t　be　enough　left
of　any　of　them　for　Rogar　to　reanimate。　He　turned　away；　couldn’t　watch；　concentrated　on　the
blockage　in　front　of　him；　swinging　his　pickaxe　in　time　with　Braxton’s；　driving　himself　on；　ignoring
the　pain　in　his　fractured　wrist；　not　letting　himself　think　about　anything　but　the　task　at　hand　because
if　he　did　think　about　it；　what　had　happened　to　Greiss　and　Armstrong　and　Myers　and　Storm　and　all
the　others；　if　he　really　thought　about　it；　he　might　have　been　overwhelmed　by　the　unfairness　of　it　all。
Why　them？　Why　them　and　not　him？
Lorenzo　thought　about　their　sacrifices；　and　his　greatest　fear　was　that　they　would　all　be　for
nothing。
His　pickaxe　rose　and　fell；　and　he　could　feel　the　heat　from　the　lava　at　his　back　and　the　rock　walls
closed　in　around　him；　and　his　pickaxe　rose　and　fell；　and　there　were　tears　in　his　eyes　but　that　might
have　been　the　dirt。　He　remembered　the　ship；　out　in　warp　space；　so　long　ago　now；　and　that　feeling　of
being　trapped；　surrounded　by　hostile　forces；　helpless　to　influence　his　own　fate；　and　he　longed　for　the
open　air　but　feared　he　would　never　breathe　it　again。
Lorenzo’s　pickaxe　rose　and　fell；　and　he　felt　as　if　he　had　been　doing　this　forever；　getting
nowhere。　He　could　sense　the　planet；　his　enemy；　a　living　presence　in　his　thoughts；　and　he　knew　it　had
won；　defeated　him；　that　he　would　never　find　his　way　out　from　inside　it—that　Rogar　III　would　bury
him　as　it　had　buried　the　rest　of　his　squad。　Just　swallowed　them　up；　left　no　trace　of　them。　No　one　to
tell　their　stories。
No　one　to　remember…
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CHAPTER　EIGHTEEN
Daylight。
Lorenzo　hardly　registered　it　at　first；　couldn’t　bring　himself　to　believe　in　what　might　have　been　a
cruel　trick　on　the　planet’s　part。　It　was　only　a　pinprick；　after　all；　not　enough　to　make　out　any　details
of　what　might　be　out　there。　But　it　was　daylight；　nonetheless；　and　its　touch　invigorated　him。
His　right　wrist　was　bruise…blackened；　stiffening；　and　he　couldn’t　wield　the　pickaxe　anymore
without　suffering　a　lance　of　pain　up　his　arm。　But　he　and　Braxton　had　chipped　most　of　the　bigger
pieces　of　rock　away；　and　Lorenzo’s　knife　was　now　sufficient　to　whittle　at　the　packed　soil　that
remained。　To　make　that　pinprick　wider。
Finally；　thankfully；　after　what　seemed　like　an　age　in　the　dark；　they　pushed　their　way　through　a
curtain　of　loose　earth　and　emerged；　stumbling　and　choking；　into　the　dew…pregnant　morning。　Only　a
few　hours；　Lorenzo　calculated　from　the　height　of　the　sun；　since　they　had　entered　the　ork　mine—but
what　a　difference　those　few　hours　had　made。
The　earth　had　stopped　shaking；　Lorenzo　didn’t　know　when。　Maybe　Rogar　III　had　expended　its
energy—or　maybe　it　was　just　content　with　its　fresh　kills；　for　now。　Nothing　stirred　in　the　jungle—
and；　after　so　much　noise；　the　silence　felt　eerie。　It　heightened　Lorenzo’s　creeping　sense　of　loneliness。
There　was　a　shape　in　the　undergrowth。　An　ork；　lying　face…down。　He　thought　it　was　sleeping　at
first；　but　on　closer　inspection　it　proved　to　be　dead。　He　recognised　the　multiple　scorched　entrance
wounds　of　las…rounds　on　its　green　skin。　A　short　way　from　it；　he　discovered　another　two　greenskin
corpses；　and　a　gretchin　that　had　evidently　tried　to　run　and　had　been　cut　down　from　behind。　They
must　have　escaped　the　mine　before　the　tunnel　collapse；　he　thought；　to　find　a　greater　peril　waiting
outside。　He　was　grateful。　In　his　current　condition；　even　a　trio　of　orks；　if　they　had　taken　him　by
surprise；　might　have　proved　too　much。
Lorenzo　sensed；　rather　than　heard；　movement　behind　him；　and　he　knew　it　could　only　be　one
man。　He　turned　to　greet　Sly　Marbo　with　a　cool　nod。
The　legendary　Catachan　stood　just　a　few　metres　away；　but　Lorenzo　could　hardly　make　him　out
against　the　greens　and　browns　of　his　background。　He　recognised　his　dead；　white　eyes；　though；　and
his　deep　voice；　empty　of　emotion。
“Did　you　get　him？”　asked　Sly　Marbo。
“Big　Green？”　said　Lorenzo。　“Yes；　yes；　we　got　him。”
Marbo　nodded。　He　had　heard　what　he　needed　to　know。　He　left　without　a　footstep　or　a　rustle；
seeming　to　melt　into　the　jungle　without　moving　at　all。　For　a　moment；　Lorenzo　fought　the
discomfiting　feeling　that　he　hadn’t　moved；　that　he　was　still　there；　watching　with　his　white　eyes。　But
that　was　just　paranoia；　he　knew。　Marbo　was　gone—and　it　was　unlikely　Lorenzo　would　see　him
again。
Braxton；　meanwhile；　had　sagged　to　the　ground；　and　was　sitting　with　his　back　to　a　tree；　knees　up
to　his　chest。　“I　could　sleep　for　a　week；”　he　moaned。
“Go　ahead；”　said　Lorenzo；　checking　for　jungle　lizards　in　the　grass　before　he　sat　down　beside
him。　“For　an　hour　or　two；　anyway。　I’ll　keep　watch—but　I　think　it’s　safe。　I　think　it’ll　take　Rogar　a
while　to　gather　its　strength；　to　be　ready　for　its　next　move。”
“How　can　you　know　that？”　asked　Braxton。
109
Lorenzo　shrugged。　“I　just　do。　It’s　like　I　can　feel　it　in　the　back　of　my　brain。　Like　I　could　feel；
underground；　when　the　earth　was　going　to　move；　where　the　lava　was　flowing…　I’ve　been　feeling　it
ever　since　the　effigy　poisoned　me。”
“You　told　Sergeant　Greiss　you　were　dying。”
“I　thought　I　was。　But　this　was　something　different。　A　part　of　the　planet　in　me。　I　think　it　was
trying　to…　In　some　weird　way；　I　think　it　wanted　to…　communicate。”
“Didn’t　stop　it　trying　to　kill　you；”　remarked　Braxton。　“Or　any　of　us。”
“No；”　agreed　Lorenzo。　“I　think—I　feel—it　didn’t　have　much　choice　in　that。”
“And　I　expect　it’ll　try　again。”
“I　expect　it　will。”　It　felt　strange　to　say　the　words；　to　accept　something　that　a　few　days　earlier
he’d　have　sworn　was　impossible。　If　Brains　had　been　here；　he　reflected；　he’d　probably　have　been　able
to　make　it　all　sound　rational。　As　it　was；　there　was　only　one　way　Lorenzo　could　make　sense　of　all
he’d　been　through。　“Remember；”　he　said；　“when　the　zombies　were　stalking　us；　you　said　something
about　the　planet　itself　being　intelligent。”
“It　seemed　that　way；　at　the　time。”
“Yes；　it　did。　To　all　of　us。　But　I’m　not　sure　that　was　quite　right。　No；　I　don’t　think　Rogar　III　is
intelligent　as　such—not　in　a　calculating　way。　It’s　more　like…　like　it’s　just　been　reacting。　To　what’s
been　happening　on　its　surface。　To　the　orks。　To　us。　To　the　fighting。　Like　it　can’t　help　it。”
“Like　some　kind　of　an　allergy；”　suggested　Braxton。　“The　more　we　fight；　the　more　we　harm　the
planet；　the　more　deadly　the　defences　it　evolves。　New　plants　and　animals；　springing　up　on　its　skin
like　rashes。　Or　antibodies。”
“Yes。　Like　that。　And　whatever　it　is；　whatever’s　caused　this；　I　doubt　it’s　something　that　can　be
mined。　The　orks　are　wasting　their　time。”
“That’s　what　Rogar　wanted　you—wanted　all　of　us—to　understand；”　said　Braxton。　“We’re　all
wasting　our　time。”
Lorenzo　looked　at　the　Validian；　and　he　remembered　the　nervous；　apologetic　adjutant　who　had
joined　their　squad　four　days　ago；　the　stranger　whose　intrusion　he　and　the　other　Catachans　had　so
resented。　“You　did　well；”　he　said。　“I　mean；　really　well。　All　the　men；　good　men；　who　died　trying　to
see　this　mission　through　to　the　end—but　you’re　the　one　who　finished　it。　You　struck　the　killing
blow。”
Braxton　waved　aside　the　compliment。　“I　did　nothing。　It　was　a　team　effort。　You　took　on　the　ork
leader　by　yourself；　and　crippled　him。　And　Sergeant　Greiss—if　it　hadn’t　been　for　him；　we’d　both　be
dead。　I　just　blundered　along　at　the　right　moment。”
“You　made　it　this　far；”　said　Lorenzo；　“when　most　didn’t。　I　guess　that　makes　you　one　of　us；　after
all。”
“It　isn’t　over　yet；”　said　Braxton。　“We’ve　got　a　four…day　trek　ahead　of　us；　if　we’re　to　make　it　back
to　the　encampment。”
“Even　if　we　don’t；”　said　Lorenzo；　“Marbo　will。　They’ll　know　we　did　our　job。　They’ll　know　Big
Green　is　dead。”
“Maybe；”　said　Braxton；　“but　they　ought　to　know　more　than　that。　They　ought　to　know　about　Old
Hardhead　and　the　others；　what　they　did　for　us—what　they　did　for　everyone。　Don’t　suppose　I’ll　get　to
write　that　story；　though。”
Lorenzo　grinned。　“You　could　always　try。　You　get　drummed　out　of　the　Imperial　Guard；　I’m　sure
the　Jungle　Fighters　would　have　you。”
They　sat　there；　side　by　side；　for　a　long　time；　warmed　by　the　sun；　exchanging　no　words　but
sharing　a　deep　bond　of　comradeship　forged　in　the　fires　of　their　mutual　experience。　Eventually；
Braxton　got　up　and　searched　the　dead　orks；　finding　a　water　bottle　and　taking　a　long　swig　from　it
before　he　passed　it　to　Lorenzo。　The　Catachan　hadn’t　realised　how　thirsty　he　was；　and　the　cold　liquid
felt　blissful　against　his　parched　throat。
110
“So；　what　do　I　call　you　now？”　asked　Braxton；　sitting　beside　him　again。
“I　don’t　know　what　you　mean；”　he　lied。
“Now　you’ve　earned　your　name。　I　heard　what　Greiss　said。”
“He　didn’t　want　me　sacrificing　myself　instead　of　him。　He　wanted　his　blaze　of　glory。　He　was　just
telling　me　what　I　wanted　to　hear。”
“You　really　think？”　Braxton　raised　an　eyebrow。　“Maybe　I　didn’t　know　Old　Hardhead　as　well　as
you　did—but　tell　me　this：　in　all　the　time　he　led　your　squad；　did　he　ever　once　just　tell　anyone　what
they　wanted　to　hear？”
Lorenzo　let　out　a　bark　of　a　laugh；　and　conceded；　“Suppose　not。”
“So；　what　do　I　call　you？”
He　sighed。　“Lorenzo；　still。　Just　Trooper　Lorenzo。　A　Catachan’s　earned　name—it’s　given　to　him
by　his　comrades。　It’s　like　a　mark　of　their　respect；　a　sign　that　they　accept　him。　And　I’ve　got　no
comrades　left。”
“Maybe；　when　the　other　platoons　hear—”
“Maybe。　But　hearing　about　it　isn’t　the　same　as　being　there。　I’ll　probably　be　assigned　to　another
squad；　with　men　who　don’t　know　me；　and　they　won’t　care　that　my　old　sergeant　meant　to　give　me
my　name　if　he’d　been　able　to　think　of　one；　if　he　hadn’t　been　too　b