"I get the point-but still, isn't there something-?"
"Young man, if there were something, we would be doing it. We are doing it. Whatever we can. The point is, that even with our best efforts we are still going to lose that half-billion people. It's as unavoidable as sunrise. We might as well acknowledge it because, like it or not, that's what's so."
"I don't like it," I said.
"You don't have to." Fromkin shrugged. "The universe doesn't care. God doesn't take public opinion polls. The fact is, what you like, what I like, what anyone likes-it's all irrelevant." His expression was deceptively cordial. He seemed almost deliberately hostile. "If you really want to make a difference, then you need to ask yourself this question about everything you do: will this contribute to the survival of the species?" He looked around the gathering. "Most of us here are breeders. Would you have us compromise that breeding potential in favor of some altruistic gesture of ultimately questionable value? Or let me put that another way: you can spend the rest of your life raising and teaching the next generation of human beings, or you can spend it nursing a few dozen of the walking wounded, catatonics, autistics and retards who will never be able to contribute, who will only continue to use up resources-not the least of which is your valuable time."
"I hear you, sir. But to sit calmly and eat caviar and strawberries and bagels and lox while talking about global death and benevolent genocide-"
He put down his plate. "Would it be more moral if I starved while I talked about global death and benevolent genocide? Would starving make me care more? Would it increase my ability to do something-other than hurt?"
"You shouldn't be talking about it so dispassionately at all," I said. "It's unthinkable."
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face, but his voice remained steady. "It is not unthinkable." He said it very deliberately-was he angry? "In fact, if we do not think about it, we will be risking the consequences of being caught by surprise. One of the basic fallacies of sophomoric intelligence-don't take it personal, son; I insult everybody equally-is moral self-righteousness. Merely being able to perceive the difference between right and wrong does not make you a moral person; it only gives you some guidelines in which to operate." He leaned forward in his chair. "Now, here's the bad news. Most of the time those guidelines are irrelevant-because the pictures we hold in our heads about the way things should be usually have very little relation to the way things actually are. And holding the position that things should be some way other than what they are will only keep you stuck. You'll spend so much time arguing with the physical universe that you won't produce any result at all. You'll have some great excuses, but you won't have a result. The fact that we can do nothing about the circumstances that are sending us into a long recede is unpleasant, yes-now let's stop arguing about the situation and start handling it. There is still much we can do to minimize the unpleasantness-"
"One half billion human deaths is more than just an unpleasantness-"
"Four and a half billion human deaths is more than just an unpleasantness too." He looked at me calmly. "And please, lower your voice-I'm sitting right here."
"Sorry. My point is, this whole discussion seems inhumane."
He nodded. "Yes, I have to grant that. It does seem inhumane." He changed his tone suddenly. "You know any crazy people?"
"Damaged," I corrected. "Crazy is a negative connotation."
"Sorry," he amended. "I grew up in a different time. Old habits are hard to break. I still hadn't gotten used to women having the vote when the next thing even lawyers wanted to ride in the front of the streetcars. Do you know any mentally dysfunctional human beings? Any damaged people?"
"A few."
"Did you ever stop to consider why they were that way?"
"They were irrational, I suppose."
"Were they? Sometimes irrationality is the only rational response to an irrational situation. It's a very human thing-and it's not limited to humans alone." He said softly, "That's what we're doing here-the only rational response to an irrational and very frightening situation. Quite possibly-no, quite probably-of the people in this room"-and he gestured to include the whole reception, spread out across several acres of hotel-"less than half of us may be alive next year at this time. Or even next week." He shrugged. "Who knows?"
The sweet young thing, whose knee he was resting his hand on, went pale at that. He patted her gently, but otherwise ignored her. He continued looking at me. "All of a sudden, there are a lot of things out there that can kill human beings. And there isn't a lot left to stop them. You know, we've had our way on this planet far too long. Nature is always willing to take advantage of our weaknesses. Remember, Mom's a bitch. We've spent centuries building a technology to isolate us from the real world. That isolation has left most of us survival-illiterate and vulnerable. But the machine has stopped-is stopping now-and most people are going to be at the mercy of the contents of their stomachs. Nature doesn't care; she'll finish the job the plagues started and never miss us. Humans weren't always the hunter at the top of the food chain-we were just a passing fad. Now we're going to be prey again, like in the old days. Ever seen a wolf pack?"
"No...."
"We've got them running loose in the streets of Denver. They're called poodles, terriers, retrievers, Dobermans, shepherds, collies, St. Bernards and mutts-but they're still wolf packs. They're hungry and they can kill. We could lose another thirty million people to animals, formerly domestic and otherwise, right there. Probably more. I'm talking about worldwide, of course. And I'm including people packs in that estimate toothose are animals of another sort. We'll probably lose a hundred million people who would not have died otherwise, but there's no longer the medical care to take care of the injuries and illnesses that they'll incur in the next twelve months. Did you know that appendicitis can be fatal? And so on-" He stopped, looked at me and smiled. I was beginning to understand his charm. He never intended anything personally. "So, my young friend-much as I respect your indignation and the emotions on which it is based-what we are doing here tonight is quite probably the most rational thing we can be doing. I notice you haven't tried to excuse your presence here; perhaps you're quite rational too. In fact, there is only one thing more rational for a person to do that I can think of."
"What's that?"
He went soft for a moment, gentle. "Make love to someone you care about. You're not immortal, you know. If you don't take the opportunity to tell someone you love them tonight, you may never get another chance."
He was right. I thought about a whole bunch of someones. Fromkin stood up and offered his arm to the girl. She and another woman both tried to take it. Fromkin smiled and offered his other arm. He smiled at me again, knowingly, and then the three of them moved off and away.
Yes, just like Whitlaw. He got the last word too.
EIGHTEEN
I TURNED to go and almost bumped into a dream. "Oops, excuse me-" I caught her to keep from stumbling, then forgot to let go.
"Hello!" she said, laughing.
"Uh-" I flustered, unable to speak. I was mesmerized-her eyes were soft and shiny gray, and I was lost in them. Her skin was fair, with just the faintest hint of freckling. Her face was framed by auburn curls that fell in silk cascades down to her shoulders. Her mouth was moist and red.
I wanted to kiss her. Who wouldn't?
She laughed again. "Before you ask," she said, "the answer is yes."
"Huh?"
"You are going to proposition me, aren't you?" Her voice was dusky velvet, with just the slightest hint of Alabama in it.
"Uhh . . ." I took a step back. My feet stayed where they were, but I took a step back.
"Are you shy?" Yes, Alabama. Definitely. She spoke each word so slowly I could taste it. And she smelled of honeysuckle and lilac -and musk.
I found my voice. "Um, I used to be......
"I'm glad to see you got over it," she said, laughing. She put her arm through mine and started walking me toward the ele
vators to the garage levels. "What's your name?"
"Jim. Uh, what's yours?"
"Jillanna. Everyone calls me Jilly."
I felt suddenly embarrassed. I started to speak-"Um . . " and then shut up.
She looked at me, her head slightly tilted. "Yes?"
"Nothing."
"No, tell me."
"Well, I ... uh, I guess I'm just a little startled."
"Why?"
"I've never been picked up like this before."
"Oh. How do you usually get picked up?"
"Um. I don't," I admitted.
"Goodness. You are shy!"
"Um. Only around women."
"Oh, I see," she said. "Are you gay?"
"I don't think so. I mean, I never tried."
She patted my arm. Did she mean that as reassurance? I didn't ask.
"Uh, I'm here on research," I offered. "I mean, I'm with the army. That is, I'm doing research for them."
"Everyone is," she said. "Everyone in Denver is working on Chtorrans."
"Yeah," I thought about it. "I guess so."
"Have you ever seen one?" She said it casually.
"I ... burned one ... once."
"Burned?"
"With a flamethrower."
She looked at me with new respect. "Were you scared?"
"No, not at the time. It just happened so fast.... I don't know-it was kind of sad, in a way. I mean, if the Chtorrans weren't so hostile, they could be beautiful. . . ."
"You're sorry you burned it?"
"It was awfully big. And dangerous."
"Go on," she said. Her hand tightened around mine.
I shrugged. "There isn't much to tell. It came out of the but and I burned it." I didn't want to tell her about Shorty, I don't know why. I said, "It all happened so fast. I wish I'd seen it better. It was just a big pink blur."
"They have one here, you know." Her grip was very intense.
"I know. I heard from the Lizard."
"You. Know. Her?"
"No, not really. She was just the pilot who flew us in. Me and Ted."
"Oh." Her grip relaxed.
"She told us about the Chtorran they have. She flew it in too." We took the elevator down to the third level of the garage where she had a custom floater waiting in one of the private pads. I was impressed, but I didn't say anything. I climbed in silently beside her.
The drive whined to life, cycled up into the inaudible range, and we eased out onto the road. The light bar on the front spread a yellow-pink swath ahead. The bars of the incoming traffic were dim behind the polarized windshield.
"I didn't know any of these had actually hit the market," I said.
"Oh, none of them did. Not really. But several hundred of them did come off the assembly line before Detroit folded up."
"How did you get this one?"
"I pulled strings. Well, Daddy did."
"Daddy?"
"Well ... he's like a daddy."
"Oh."
Abruptly she said, "Do you want to see the Chtorran?"
I sputtered. "Huh? Yes!" Then, "-But it's locked up. Isn't it?"
"I have a key." She said it without taking her eyes off the road. As if she were telling me what time it was. "It's in a special lab. One that used to be a sterile room. If we hurry, we can watch them feeding it."
"Feeding? It?"
She didn't notice the way I'd said it. "Oh, yes. Sometimes it's pigs or lambs. Mostly it's heifers. Once they fed it a pony, but I didn't see that."
"Oh."
She went on babbling. "They're trying to duplicate what it eats in the wild. They're hunters, you know."
"I'd ... heard something like that."
"They don't kill their prey-that's what I find interesting. They just bring it down and start eating. Dr. Mm'bele thinks there's a kill reflex involved. This one won't eat dead meat unless it's very, very hungry, and even then only when it's being moved around so he can attack it."
"That's interesting."
"They say that sometimes they eat human beings. Do you think that's true? I mean, doesn't that seem atypical to you?"
"Well-"
She wasn't waiting to hear. "Dr. Mm'bele doesn't believe it. There aren't any reported cases. At least, none that have been verified. That's what the U.N. Bureau says. Did you know that?"
"No, I didn't." Show Low, Arizona. "Um-"
"There was supposed to be one once," she said, "but-well, it turned out to be just another hoax. They even had pictures, I heard."
"A hoax, huh?"
"Yep. You didn't know that, did you?"
"Uh, how did you hear about it?" I don't think she noticed, but I was riding at least three lanes away from her.
"I work here. I'm permanently stationed. Didn't you know?"
"Oh. What do you do, exactly?"
"Executive Vice-Chairperson, Extraterrestrial Genetic Research Coordination Center."
"Oh," I said. Then, "Oh!" Then I shut up.
We turned off the main highway onto the approach road. There had been very little traffic going either way.
"Is there anything interesting about the Chtorrans? I mean, genetically?"
"Oh, lots. Most of it is beyond the lay person, but there is a lot to know. They have fifty-six chromosomes. Isn't that odd? Why so many? I mean, what is all that genetic information for? Most of the genes we've analyzed seem to be inactive anyway. So far, we've been unable to synthesize a computer model of the way the whole system works, but we're working on it. It's just a matter of time, but it would help if we had some of their eggs."
"I-uh, never mind. I'm just amazed that they, have chromosomes and genes."
"Oh, well, that's universal. Dr. Hackley proved it almost twenty years ago-carbon-based life will always be built on DNA. Something about the basic molecular structure. DNA is the most likely form of organic chain-almost to the point of inevitability. Because it's so efficient. DNA is almost always there first-and if other types of organic chains are possible, DNA will not only outgrow them, it'll use them as food. It's really quite voracious."
"Um," I said. "How appropriate."
She burbled on. "It's really amazing, isn't it? How much we have in common with the Chtorrans?"
"Um, yeah. Amazing."
"I mean sociobiologically. We both represent different answers to the same question-how can life know itself? What forms give rise to intelligence? And what ... structures do these forms have in common? That would tell us what intelligence is a response to, or a product of. That's what Dr. Mm'bele says."
"I've, uh, heard good things about him."
"Anyway, we're trying to put together a program to extrapolate the physiology of the Chtorran animal from its genes, but we don't have anyone who can write a program for it yet. You're not a programmer, are you? The lack of a good hacker will probably add anywhere from two to three years to our research schedule. And it's a very important problem-and a double-edged one. We don't know what the genes are supposed to do because we don't know the creature, at least not very well. And we can't figure out the creature because we don't understand the genes. Some really peculiar things." She took a breath. "Like, for instance, half the chromosomes seem to be duplicates of each other. Like a premitosis condition. Why is that? We have more questions than answers."
"I'm sure," I said, trying to assimilate what she was telling me. "What about the millipedes? Didn't they give you any clues?"
"You mean the insectoids? They're another whole puzzle. For one thing, they all seem to be the same sex-did you know that? No sex at all."
"Huh?"
"We haven't found any evidence-nobody has-that there's any sexuality in them at all. Not physically, not genetically; no sex organs, no sexual differentiation, no secondary sex characteristics, no markings and not even any way to reproduce."
"Well, they must-"
"Of course they must, but the best we've found are some immature structures that might-just might, mind you-be undeveloped ovaries or testes-w
e're not sure which-and a vestigial reproductive tract, but they've been inoperative in every specimen we've dissected. Maybe they're just growth glands. But even if they were sexual structures, why are they buried so high up in the abdomen with no apparent connection to any outlet?"
She stopped at the main gate just long enough to flash her clearance at the scanner, then zoomed forward, turning sharply right and cutting across a lot toward a distant L-shaped building. "The Chtorrans have some sexuality, don't they?"
"Oh, yes. Quite a bit. We're just not sure how it works. The one we have-we thought it was a female. Now we're not sure. Now we're guessing it's a male. At least, I think it is, but ... we don't have anything to compare it with. We've been able to dissect some dead ones in the past couple months-two we think were females, one pretty definite male and two we're still not sure of. The big one was definitely male," she repeated. Her voice went funny then. "I wish I could have seen that one alive. He must have been magnificent. Two and a half meters thick, maybe five meters long. We only got the front half. The back half was ... lost. But he must have been magnificent. What a warrior he must have been. I'll bet he ate full-sized cattle."
"Um," I said. I didn't know what else to say. I was beginning to wonder-was this part of getting laid? Or what? I wasn't sure I wanted to any more.
The floater slid to a stop before the building. It wasn't Lshaped, but X-shaped. We had parked in one of the corners. Bright lights illuminated the whole area. As I got out, I paused to look up at the poles. Just as I thought, there were snoops on every tower; that's what the lights were for. Security. Nothing was going to get in-or out-without being recorded.
I wondered if anyone was looking at the recordings. And then I wondered if it mattered.
There were eleven other people already in the room. It was long and narrow and dimly lit. Two rows of chairs ran the length of the room, facing a wall of glass. I could make out five women, six men. The men all seemed to be civilian types, but I couldn't be sure. I didn't know if the women were their colleagues or their companions for the evening. If the latter, I couldn't help but wonder at their choice of entertainment. The men waved to Jillanna and looked curiously at me. I waved back, halfheartedly.
A Matter for Men watc-1 Page 16
