swarm had risen。 Then the Catachans surrounded Muldoon where he lay on his back。 He blinked up
at them； flushed and chagrined； his face pimply with insect bites。
25
“What the hell do you think you’re doing； Muldoon？” barked Greiss without sympathy。 “You
know better than to disturb an insect nest。 You didn’t see it？”
“I saw it； sergeant；” said Muldoon。 “I was giving it a wide berth； but the bugs came out fighting
all the same。”
“They must be sensitive to vibrations in the ground；” guessed Donovits。 “Or to body heat—
though that’s less likely in this climate。 But why would they attack if their nest wasn’t directly
threatened？”
“Just antisocial； I guess；” said Greiss； reaching down to help Muldoon to his feet。 “You feeling
alright； Sharkbait？”
“Like a walking； talking colander；” said Muldoon ruefully。 “They took chunks out of me all
over。 I got them in my boots； under my backpack； in my collar…”
“Show me；” rapped Greiss。
The sergeant spent the next few minutes examining Muldoon’s bites。 Lorenzo knew why。 On
Catachan； there was a creature known as the vein worm； which burrowed into its victim’s flesh and
laid its eggs in his bloodstream。 Greiss intended to make sure these alien insects had left no similar
surprises in his trooper。 When he’d satisfied himself on that count； he asked Muldoon to tell him
how many fingers he was holding up； checking for toxins that may have begun to cloud his senses。
Muldoon answered correctly； and Greiss rewarded him with a grim smile； and clapped him on the
arm。 “You’ll live；” he concluded。 “Probably。”
“Do you think we can get on now？” asked Mackenzie； impatiently。
They proceeded more cautiously after that； with Woods and Donovits taking over cutting duty up
front。 As soon as Woods sighted a second nest in among the creepers； they all fell back； and Myers
and Storm readied the flamer。 “What are you waiting for？” cried Mackenzie。 “Just torch the damn
thing！” But the troopers turned to Greiss for confirmation of that order； and the grizzled sergeant
shook his head and reached for a stick。
He flung it at the hive； and once again a cloud of black insects darkened the air。 Myers’ finger
twitched on his trigger； ready to unleash a stream of fire should any man be threatened。 The insects；
however； didn’t seem to have detected the watching Catachans。 They buzzed around for a while；
finding no one upon whom to expend their wrath； and then settled resentfully back into their
disturbed home。
“What the hell was the point of that？” demanded Mackenzie。 “You just wanted to provoke those
things？”
“To observe ’em。” Greiss corrected him。 “Anyone else see what I saw？”
“The red flower over there；” spoke up Donovits。 “The insects were giving it a wide berth。”
Greiss nodded。 “Let’s find out； shall we？”
He followed Donovits’ pointing finger to a delicate red flower sprouting from the trunk of a tree。
It had eight perfectly formed petals； and it ost beautiful thing Lorenzo had seen on
this world so far。 That left him in no doubt that it was dangerous。
Greiss found another stick； and poked the head of the flower with it。 Immediately； its petals
snapped shut like a vice； gripping the stick so strongly that he couldn’t pull it free。 He tried to uproot
the flower with a yank； but its hold on the tree behind it was just as tenacious。 It was crying； letting
out a shrill wailing sound that； after a few seconds； bored into Lorenzo’s ears like a drill。
Greiss whipped out his fang； and sliced the head of the flower from its stem。 Immediately； the
wailing ceased and the red petals flopped open。 Greiss turned； and displayed the decapitated head to
the others。 “Doesn’t seem too dangerous on its own；” he commented； “but watch one of these things
doesn’t grab your ankle。 It might just hold you still long enough for something bigger to come
along。”
26
A flutter of wings drew everyone’s attention upwards。 A shadow flitted between the trees； and
was gone。 A bird of prey； Lorenzo surmised； answering the flower’s alarm call； put off by the
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…
27
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 Br