“And fourth,” Booly continued, “is the need to conserve lives, options, and supplies. Our resources are limited. Use them wisely. Any questions? No? Then it’s time to hear from the sergeant. He has orders to treat us the same way he would treat raw recruits, so the next few days will be a bit rough, but it will teach us to work as a team. Listen to what he says—it could save your life. Sergeant? We’re all yours.”
Mondulo nodded. “Sir! Yes, sir.” He took three paces forward, performed a crisp rightface, and stood at parade rest. The voice was the same one perfected on parade grounds at a dozen forts. “You pukes want know what my claim to fraxing fame is? Well, I’ll tell you what my claim to fraxing fame is... I’ve been on this pus ball for two years, and I’m still alive. That’s my claim to fame, and there ain’t a fraxing one of you who can say the same thing. That makes me numero uno, the big dog, and the main enchilada.”
Booly watched his officers out of the comers of his eyes and fought to restrain a smile. With the possible exception of Seebo; none of them had ever run into a noncom like Mondulo before.
“Now,” the sergeant said, gesturing to the verdant foliage. “That’s the jungle ... My fraxing jungle, and it’s full of nasty-assed shit. Take a look around. See those trees? Tall suckers ain’t they? Tall enough and thick enough to block out the sun. That means a low tight level down on the ground, damned little undergrowth, and relatively easy walking. The frogs aren’t very comfortable on land so you’re relatively safe from them.
“You gotta watch for reptiles, though, includin’ the dappled Drang adder, the vine viper, and a nasty piece ‘o work called the stick snake, cause that’s what the bastard looks like, till you grab his ass and he kills you.”
Mondulo looked from one face to the next. “You got any questions? No? Okay, then. Once we leave the jungle, we’re gonna travel through some suckass swamps. The fraxing frogs love the swamps so they’ll be waitin’ for us.”
Mondulo glared at them from under a craggy brow. “That ain’t the only problem—not by a long shot. I don’t how many of you have dicks, you bein’ XTs an all, but take my word for it, don’t pee when you’re wadin’ through the water. Not unless you want a tiny wormlike critter to swim up your uretha and lay eggs in your bladder. The medics tell me that the young ‘uns eat their way out.”
The noncom shrugged. “Course we got water snakes, blood suckin’ plants, and some nasty-assed parasites all waitin’ to take a bite out of your ignorant butts as well. . . That’s why you’re gonna do what I say, do it fast, and do it right. You got any questions? No? Then saddle up. Booly, you take the point. MorlaKa, Hebo, and I will follow. Seebo has drag. Practice those hand signals—you’re gonna need
‘em.”
Booly experienced a strange sense of deja vu as he eyed the jungle, spotted a break in the foliage, and headed that way. A heavily camouflaged human peered out of the undergrowth, offered a thumbs up, and faded from view.
Then, some fifteen or twenty steps later, the friendly forces were behind them, the lake was little more than a memory, and the jungle wrapped the interlopers in its warmwet embrace. Booly—worried lest he miss something and lead the team into a disaster—focused on the environment around him. Memories came flooding back. Memories and knowledge. The kind gained the hard way. The trail had been used many times before. That made for some easy walking. But Booly, mindful of similar patrols twenty years earlier, knew that easy things were dangerous. Once the enemy knew where you were likely to go, it was easy to lay traps, set mines, or establish ambushes. None of which would be good for their health.
That being the case. the officer checked the patrol’s position on his wrist term, glanced at the waterproof map strapped to his left forearm, and stepped off the trail. It would have been different if he’d been looking for the enemy, rather than trying to avoid them, but such was not the case. Staff Sergeant Mondulo observed Booly’s decision and gave the officer some mental points. At least one of his charges knew a thing or two . .. which increased the odds of survival. Theirs—and his. Hebo had removed the special contact lenses that converted hundreds of images into one and felt very much at home. The Jungle reminded him of Hive, his youth, and good times past. He relished the warmth, the slight odor of decay, and the well-filtered light. The Ramanthian held his weapon at the ready, watched to ensure there was sufficient space between his body and the black-skinned human, and felt a steadily growing sense of superiority. This was his world, or should be, by right of adaptation. No matter what happened to the others he would survive
MorlaKa fought to control a rising sense of panic. Not in regard to the jungle, which he felt competent to deal with, but from prolonged contact with non-Hudathans. Contact—bad enough in and of itself—was made worse by forced interdependency. To rely on aliens, to place his life in their hands, went against his most basic instincts. Yet that was his duty to the Hudathan race, since without the alliance, and the strength it would provide, his kind would almost certainly perish. The knowledge brought small comfort. The fact that a heavily armed human was following along behind added to the officer’s discomfort. Seebo watched the Hudathan’s back, thought about how easy it would be to put a few rounds into it, and made a silent vow: If anything went wrong, if it looked like he was about to die, the geek was going first. The thought brought a smile to his lips.
Conscious of his role, the clone turned, and walked backwards for awhile. How long had it been since he had taken part in an honest-to-god patrol, rather than the endless staff meetings, review cycles, and readiness reports that claimed most of his time? Too long that was for sure ... Truth was that it felt good. Seebo turned, hurried to close the gap, and was glad to be alive.
Eyes watched, vanished behind nictitating membranes, and reappeared. Their owner hissed softly, slithered upwards, and sampled the air. Breakfast was waiting.
The morning passed without incident. Each individual rotated through point and drag. Hand signals were perfected. Their surroundings became more familiar. Nobody blew a foot off. Not bad for a bunch of greenies.
Mondulo called for a break, ordered Hebo and Seebo to stand guard, and allowed the others to eat. The human rations included built-in heat tabs, but the noncom liked his cold. He peeled the top off something that claimed to be
