'Do you think that Captain Nepetine may have persuaded the others to leave while you were comatose?' the Colonel asks, absent-mindedly tapping a finger on his knee.
'It's unlikely, sir/ Hopkins says with a doubtful look. They were both in vehement agreement with me the last time we spoke about it/
The Colonel gestures to Sergeant Broker, who pulls one of the empty pod things from a sack under his chair and passes it to Hopkins.
'What is this?' the Colonel asks, pointing towards the object in Hopkins's hands.
'I haven't seen anything like it before/ the lieutenant says. 'I'm no bio-magus, but it looks similar to the seed pods that some of the trees around here use for reproducing. I'm afraid that Lieutenant Paximan was liaison to our Adeptus Mechanicus comrades, I had little to do with the study itself. It's a lot bigger than anything I've seen though, I'm sure I would remember a specimen of this size. If it really is a seed pod, the tree or bush it came from must be enormous. Even the pods from trees over thirty metres tall are only the size of my hand, a quarter of the size of this one/
'Could it be offworld in origin?' the Colonel asks, his face as neutral as ever. I look at him sharply, realising that he thinks it might be some kind of tyranid organism. I feel the urge to glance over my shoulder, wondering what else is lurking in the jungles out there, as well as all the native killers of False Hope.
'I suppose it could be, but I can't say for sure one way or the other/ Hopkins tells us with a sorrowful look. 'I'm not a specialist in plants or anything, I just run, I mean ran, the camp/
'Can you take us to the Heart of the Jungle?' Schaeffer asks, finally standing up and beginning to pace back and forth. I wondered how long it would take him before being confined to a chair made him too fidgety. He's obviously concocting some kind of plan, otherwise he'd be content just to sit and ask questions.
'I could lead the way/ Hopkins admits with a shallow nod of the head.
'But?' the Colonel adds.
'All the heavy-duty exploration equipment has gone/ he says with a grimace. 'I checked before, thinking the same thing you do, that I could go after them. But without that sort of gear, one man on his own won't last the first night out in the trees/
Well/ the Colonel says, looking at each of us in turn. My heart sinks, knowing what he's going to say next. We are more than one man, so I am sure we will survive/
'Sir?' I interject. What about the wounded? They won't be able to make another trip into the jungle/
'If they can march by tomorrow morning, they come with us/ he says meeting my anxious gaze without a hint of compassion in his eyes. 'If not, we leave them here/
I've been asleep only a short while when sounds of footsteps padding across the rockcrete floor wake me up. Someone's coughing violently from the furthest beds, near the chamber where we found Hopkins. I'm bedded down in the control room with Kronin and a couple of the sergeants, ready to act if any communication comes down from our transport in orbit. In the pale glimmer of the moonlight streaming through the narrow windows of the infirmary I can see a shadow gingerly stepping towards me. Thinking it may be Rollis out for some revenge, I put my hand under the pillow, my fingers closing around the grip of my knife. As the figure gets closer, I can see it's too tall to be Rollis and I relax. 'Kage!' I hear Gappo's terse whisper. 'Franx has woken up/ I sling my blanket to one side and get up. I see Gappo, barefoot and wearing only his fatigues, leaning on the doorframe and peering into the gloom of the control centre. It's sultry inside the command centre, the rockcrete trapping the humidity and heat of the False Hope day, and I'm covered in a light sheen of sweat. I follow Gappo along the row of beds, towards the intense coughing.
'Kill 'im now/ I hear someone murmur from the darkness. That coughin's kept me awake for ages/
'Drop dead yourself!' I snap back, wishing I could identify the culprit, but it's too dark.
Franx looks a state, his face doused in perspiration, his curls plastered across the tight skin of his forehead, his cheeks hollow. Even the gleam of the moonlight cannot hide the yellowish tinge to his features. His breathing comes in wheezes through his cracked lips. Every few seconds he erupts into a spasm of coughing, blood flecks appearing on his lips. But his eyes are brighter than before, with an intelligent look in them that I haven't seen during the past day.
'You look rougher than a flatulent ork's arse/ I tell him, sitting on the end of the bed. He grins at me, and I can see the reddish stains on his teeth from the blood he's been coughing up.
'Nobody's going to paint portraits of you either, scarface!' he manages to retort before his body convulses with more racking coughs.
'Do you think you'll be able to walk, come the morning?' Gappo asks, concern on his face.
'Fresh air will do me good. Hate infirmaries; always full of sick people/ the sergeant jokes.
Gappo looks at me, his expression one of worry. He's a caring soul at heart, I'm amazed he's managed to survive this long, but in battle he's just as steady as the next man.
'Course you can march in the morning/ I say to Franx. 'And if you need a little help, there are those who'll give you a hand/
He nods without saying anything and settles back into the bed, closing his eyes, his breathing still ragged.
'What about the other two?' I ask Gappo, who appointed himself chief medico as soon as he heard about the Colonel's decree to leave behind anyone who couldn't make the march.
'Oklar's got one leg left. How do you think he's doing?' the former preacher snaps bitterly. 'Jereminus will be fine, he's just badly concussed/
'Can we pump Oklar full of stimms before we leave, set him up on some kind of crutch?' I ask, trying to figure a way to deny the Colonel another corpse.
'It might work, providing we can take a bagful of stimm-nee-dles with us to keep him and Jereminus going/ Gappo agrees, looking slightly dubious.
ЛУе11, sort it out/ I tell him. 'I'm going back to bed/
