"Yeah. They're almost unkillable. We have to burn them."
She nodded. "As far as the rest of the world is concerned, you killed this thing. They even paid you for it. But the truth is, you only stopped it. So don't you ever come into my lab again, throwing your weight around and acting like an expert! You got that?"
I didn't answer. I was looking at the Chtorran. I took a step toward it and reached out and touched its skin. The creature was warm. Its fur was silky. Oddly alive. It felt electric! My hand tingled as I stroked it.
"Static electricity?" I asked.
"No," she said.
I took another step forward, almost leaning on the warm side of the Chtorran, almost pressing my face into it. Some of the strands of fur brushed softly against my cheek. They felt like feathers. I sniffed deeply. The creature smelled warm and minty. It was oddly inviting. Like a big friendly fur rug you wanted to curl up in. I continued stroking it.
"That isn't fur," she said.
I kept petting. "It isn't? What is it?"
"Those are nerve endings," she said. "Each individual strand is a living nerve-appropriately sheathed and protected, of course-and each one has its own particular sensory function. Some can sense heat and cold, others light and darkness, or pressure. Some can smell. Most-well, while you're busy petting it, it's quietly tasting you."
I stopped petting it.
I pulled my hand back. I looked at her. She nodded yes. I looked at the Chtorran fur again. Every strand was a different color. Some were thick and black. Others were fine and silvery. Most were various shades of red-a whole spectrum of red, shading all the way from deep purple to bright gold, and touching all the bases in between: magenta, pink, violet, crimson, orange, scarlet, salmon and even a few flashes of bright yellow. The effect was dazzling.
I brushed my hand against the fur again, parting it gently. Beneath, the Chtorran skin was dark and purple, almost black. It was hot. I thought of the skin on a dog's soft underbelly.
I realized the Chtorran was trembling. Every time I touched it, the intensity of the shivers increased. Huh-?
"You're making it nervous," Lucrezia said.
Nervous-? A Chtorran? Without thinking, I slapped the creature's flank. It twitched as if stung.
"Don't," she said. "Look-"
A shudder of reaction was rippling up and down the Chtorran's body. There were two technicians on a platform hanging just above the Chtorran's back. They were trying to secure a set of monitor probes. They had to pull back and wait until the Chtorran stopped shuddering. One of the technicians glared at me. When the creature's flesh stopped rippling, she bent back to her work.
"Sorry," I said.
"The creature is incredibly sensitive. It can hear everything that goes on in here. It reacts to the tone of your voice. See? It's trembling. It knows you're hostile. And it's afraid of you. It's probably more afraid of you than you are of it."
I looked at the Chtorran with new eyes. It was afraid of me-!
"Remember, it's just a baby."
It took a moment for me to grasp the implications of thatnot just for here in the lab, but for outside as well, out there, where the wild ones were.
If this was a baby-if all of those out there were babies-then where were the adults? The fourth Chtorran-?
"Wait a minute-this can't be a baby!"
"Oh?"
"It's too big-I brought in eggs! A baby Chtorran should only be . . ." I spread my hands as if to hold a puppy. ". . . oh, about yay big...... "
"Have you ever seen one?"
"Uh-"
"What's the smallest Chtorran you've ever seen?"
"Uh-" I pointed. "This one."
"Right. Have you ever heard of heavy metal accumulation?"
"What about it?"
"It's a way of measuring the age of an animal. The body doesn't pass heavy metals, like lead or mercury; they accumulate in the cells. No matter how clean a life you live, it's inevitable that you'll pick up traces just from the atmosphere. We've tested this creature extensively. Its cells are remarkably earthlike. Did you know that? It could almost have evolved on this planet. Maybe someday it will. But here's the thing: it doesn't have enough trace metals in its system to be more than three years old. And my guess is that it's actually a lot less. Maybe eighteen months." She held up a hand to forestall my objection. "Trust me-we've tested it. We've deliberately introduced trace metals into its system to see if perhaps it doesn't have some way of passing them. And yes, it does--our estimate of its age is based on that equation. And that's no anomaly, buster. All of our supplementary evidence supports the hypothesis. Eighteen months. Maybe two years at the most. It's got an incredible growth rate."
I was shaking my head. "But what about my eggs-?"
"Oh, that's right. Your eggs. Your Chtorran eggs. Come with me." I followed her back to the room we had just left. She brought me up to the row of cages. "Here are your eggs," she pointed. "See all the baby Chtorrans?"
I stepped close to the cage and peered.
Inside were two small millipedes. They were sleek and wetlooking. They were busily chewing on some pieces of shredded wood. A third baby millipede was just now chewing a hole in the shell of its egg. It paused abruptly and looked straight out at me. I felt a cold chill.
"The only thing interesting about these babies," she said, "is the color of their bellies. See? Bright red."
"What does that mean?"
She shrugged. "Means they're from Rhode Island. I don't know. Probably it doesn't mean anything. We've found all kinds of color bandings on these creatures' bellies."
"When did they hatch?" I asked.
"Early this morning. Cute, don't you think?"
"I don't get it," I said. "Why would the Chtorrans keep millipede eggs in their dome?"
"Why do you keep chicken eggs in your refrigerator?" Dr. Borgia asked. "What you've found is the ubiquitous Chtorran version of the chicken, that's all. These things eat the stuff that's too low on the food chain for the worms to bother with. They're convenient little mechanisms to gather up food and store it till the worms are hungry."
"I'm confused. Those eggs looked too big to have been laid by a millipede."
"Do you know how big millipedes get?" I shook my head.
"Look down here."
"Jesus!" I yelped. The thing in the cage was as big around as a large python. It was over a meter long. "Wow!" I said, "I didn't know that."
"Now you do." She looked at me, and her green eyes flashed smugly. "Any more questions?"
I stepped back and turned to her. I said, "I apologize. I've been a jerk. Please forgive me."
"We're used to dealing with unpleasant creatures." She smiled innocently. "You were no problem at all."
"Ouch. I deserved that. Listen, it's obvious that you know what you're doing here. And that just hasn't been my experience elsewhere in the Center. I didn't even know this section existed until this morning."
"Neither did anybody else until we took custody of junior in there-" She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the other room.
"I'm really sorry," I said.
She swung to face me. "I got that. Now listen up and listen good. I don't give a damn how sorry you are. I really don't. It's over. Now, let it be something you can learn from."
"Uh, yeah."
"You're an officer now. So I'll give you the bad news. Every damn schmuck who sees those bars on your arm wants you to succeed, you know that? He wants to know that he can trust you totally when his life is on the line. That's how you want to feel about your superiors, don't you? Well, that's how your men want to feel about you. You act like a jerk and you blow it-not just for yourself, but for every other person who wears the same bars. So get yourself tuned in to what this is about. Those stripes are not a privilege! They're a responsibility."
I was feeling a little sick.
I guess it showed. She took me by the elbow and turned me to the wall. She lowered her voice. "Listen, I know this hurts. And here's w
hat you need to know about that: criticism is an acknowledgment of your ability to produce results. I wouldn't be giving you correction if I didn't think you could take it. I know who you are. I know how you got those stripes. That's fine; you deserve 'em. I've heard a lot of good things about you. Believe it or not, I don't want to see you screwing up. You got that?"
"Uh, yeah. I got it."
"Is there anything you want to say to me?"
"Uh . . . thanks-I think." I added, "I'll know when the bleeding stops. Uh, I'm awfully embarrassed."
"Listen, all new officers make the same mistake. You're lucky you made it here instead of someplace serious. You think the bars change you somehow. They don't. So don't let them get in the way. You're not your rank-you're just a person being trusted with that amount of responsibility. So I'll let you in on the secret. Your job isn't to order people-it's to inspire them. Remember that and you'll be very successful."
"Thank you," I said again. There was something about the way she spoke. "Are you related to Fromkin?"
She grinned. "I trained with him. Nine years ago." She stuck out her hand. "My name's Fletcher. Call me Fletch."
I shook hands gently. My wrist was still sore.
She said, "If you still want the bugs, take them."
I glanced back at the cage. The third baby millipede had finally gotten out of its shell. It was trying to crawl up the surface of the glass. Its belly was bright red. It stopped and stared at me. Its eyes were large and black and unnerving.
I shrugged. "I don't know now. I only wanted them back because I thought nobody around here cared. Now, I see that's not so. If you can do a better job . . ."
Fletcher grinned again. "Yes, we can."
I made a decision. "Well, then-keep 'em here. I just want to know what there is to know about them."
"I'll put your name in the computer," she said. "You can plug into the files any time you want. Our job here is to disseminate information, not hide it." Then her eyes twinkled and she added, "Visiting hours are every day from noon to five. Next time, bring flowers."
"I will," I said. I dropped my gaze away from her eyes. For some reason, they were suddenly too beautiful to look at. I made a show of looking at my watch. I was embarrassed again, but this time for a totally different reason. "Well-" I said "-I guess I'd better get going. I have a plane to catch. Thanks again. For everything."
I turned awkwardly toward the door. She stepped in front of me. "Just one thing. That was a pretty fair piece of shooting. I was there. My compliments." And she stretched upward and kissed me warmly on the lips.
I could feel myself blushing all the way to the jeep.
FORTY-ONE
WE WERE on a high hill overlooking a shadowed valley, almost a canyon. At the bottom, a glittering stream sluiced down between the two sheer slopes, zig-zagging from north to south and forming a wide, shallow pond where the canyon opened up. The surface of the water reflected back the sky; it looked like blue glass. At the far end of the pond, the water poured gently over the edge of a low earth-and-wood dam.
A long shelf of land bordered the little lake. Near the dam was a rounded dome, almost unnoticeable against the black earth of the hill behind it. I studied it through the binoculars for a long time. The dome seemed darker than usual. It looked as if mud had been smeared all over its surface. Not a bad camouflage, but still not good enough to fool the computers. Satellite reconnaissance was monitored, processed and analyzed on a twenty-four hour basis for telltale changes in local terrain. The particular rounded bump of the worm hut, the dam, the local harvesting of trees-any of these things alone could have triggered an investigation; all of them together had put this valley on the ImmediateAttention list. It had taken us three weeks to get to it.
I passed the binoculars over to Duke. He peered through and grunted.
"They're getting smarter," I said.
He nodded. "Yeah. This one is just plain inaccessible. There's no way we can get down there unnoticed."
Larry was studying the canyon upstream. "Can't raft in," he said.
Duke nodded in agreement. "Didn't think we could." He turned to Larry. "Call the blimp. We're dropping the team in." Larry nodded and thumbed his radio to life. Duke looked toward me. "What are you thinking?"
I said, "It puts it all on the shoulders of the first man. He's got to hold the position until the others are safely down." I closed my eyes for a second and visualized what it might be like. "I'll do it," I said.
"You don't have to," Duke said.
"Yes, I do."
"All right," said Duke. "Fine. Do you have any problems with the plan?"
"No," I said. And then I shrugged and grinned. "I hate it-but I have no problems with it."
Duke eyed me steadily. "What's that about?"
"I hate blimps. I have this thought the worms will hear us coming. Or see the shadow."
"Anything else?"
"Yeah. I hate heights."
"Is that it?"
"Yeah."
Duke looked at Larry. "You?"
"I'm fine."
"I don't get that from you-what's going on?" Larry shook his head.
"You still obsessing about Louis' death?"
Larry shook his head. Louis had died two weeks after his finger had been bitten. He'd started shivering one afternoon, then collapsed. He sank into a coma that evening and was dead the following morning. The autopsy showed that almost every red blood cell in his body had been exploded-from the inside. The killer was a virus that behaved like malaria. There were now thirty-four viral or bacteriological agents that had been identified as active agents in the Chtorran infestation. Louis had been lucky. His death had been quick, and relatively painless.
Duke said, "Larry, are you going for revenge?" Larry didn't answer.
"-Because if you are, you'll stay behind. It'll get in the way."
"I'll be fine!"
Duke looked at Larry. "You fuck up, I'll put a stake through your heart. I promise you."
Larry grinned, "I got it, boss."
"All right." Duke included me again. "Let's get moving. Be sure your teams are clear. We'll have a final briefing just before we go." Duke looked at me. "Jim, you and I will go over the attack plan with the pilot. You're right about the shadow-we have to keep it off the dome-and the engine noise, so let's see what the wind is doing. If it's light enough, we'll float across the valley."
We slid back down the hill. We'd left our jeep a quarter-mile away, on a fire road. It took us another half-hour to get to the landing site where the blimp was waiting. Our three attack teams were going through a last check of their equipment as we pulled up. Larry hopped out even before the jeep had finished rolling to a stop. "Only three torches-" he called. "There's too much fire danger. We'll use the bazookas-"
Duke poked me. "Let's talk to Ginny."
I followed him to the command tent, where a 3-D map of the valley was displayed across the situation table. He nodded perfunctory greetings to the watch officers and tossed his pack to one side. "All right, let's get to work." He stepped up to the table and picked up a light pen. He drew a red target circle in the large clearing next to the dome. "That's where I want to put the team."
Captain MacDonald stepped up to the table opposite Duke and frowned. Her white hair was pulled back into a crisp military bun. She wore a tight jacket, trousers, a sidearm and a stern expression. She pointed. "I've got fifteen knots of wind coming from the southeast. It's going to be tight."
Duke dialed down the magnification. The image shrank as if it were dropping away. The tabletop now included several square miles of surrounding mountains. "I got that. And we need thirty seconds over the landing site." He pointed at the now reduced red target circle. "Can we do it with the engines off?"
Ginny closed her eyes and thought a moment. She said, "Tricky. . ." She typed something into the keyboard and studied the monitor. "Looks like a split-second drop. Your men are going to have to take their cues from the box-"
She
stopped and looked at us. "I can't promise to do it with the engines off. I can promise to give you forty-five seconds over the target site-and I'll keep the engines off as long as possible."
Duke didn't look happy. "There's a real potential for disaster here." He turned to me. "Jim, I don't want anyone dropping in the water. And I don't want anyone dropping too near the dome. Can we trust your team?"
"We'll hit our marks."
"Can I count on it?"
"I'm the one taking the biggest risk." I met his eyes. "You can count on me."
"All right." Duke turned back to the display. He dialed the image up to maximum and centered it on the dome. "What does that look like to you?"
I checked the scale indicator at the edge of the table. "It's too big. How old is this picture?"
Ginny looked at the monitor on her side of the table. "Eighteen hours. This is yesterday afternoon."
"Thank you." I picked up the light pen. "Here-this is where to look. Around the perimeter of the dome. Look for purple coleus or wormberry plants. Every time we find evidence of cultivation, we also find a fourth Chtorran. There's none of that here yet. Nor is there a totem pole in front-that would also be evidence. But" -I shook my head-"this dome is too big. I want an extra watch at the back of it."
Duke looked at me sharply. "Reason?"
"I don't have one. Just a feeling something's weird here. Maybe it's the location of the dome, maybe it's the mud camouflage. But I get a sense there's some intelligence here."
Duke nodded. He studied the terrain again. "I'll buy it. Ginny?"
Captain MacDonald nodded too. She touched the keyboard in front of her and wind lines appeared across the map. She studied the monitor screen for a second, then said, "There's your course, the red line. If the wind holds, you'll have fifty seconds over the target area. I'll come across the valley from the southeast." She pointed with the light pen. "Now, look, we're coming down a very narrow track. I've got mountains on one side and water on the other. The shadow will be north and west of us. And so will the dome. I can't promise I'll miss it, not without the risk of dropping men in the water, unless you want to wait till later in the day." Duke shook his head.
A Matter for Men watc-1 Page 36
