But... when we get to a place where that channel of mind-noise is missing, the silence is suddenly deafening. She told me that most people don't even notice that the signs are there, but they notice that something is wrong when they're not. Like you did, she said, they experience it as quietude.
"I like it," I said. The herd is quietude.
Until you've experienced quiet, you can't know how loud the noise is. It's all the mind-noise in the world that keeps us crazy. All that constant mind-chatter is so distracting that it keeps us from seeing the sky, the stars, and the souls of our lovers. It keeps us from touching the face of God.
In the herd, you detach from all that noise-it floats apart from you-and all that's left is a joyous feeling of emptiness and light. It's so peaceful.
I think that's why people go to the herd. For the peace. That's why I did. That's why I want to go back.
FORTY-SEVEN
I REMEMBER the screaming.
All that screaming. Everyone. And running too. I remember the running. All of us. Why? Melted canyons. Broken pavements. Scattering. Gunshots, Sirens. Roaring sounds. Purple sounds.
I remember hiding.
I remember a dirty place, bad smelling. Brackish water, gathered in pools. I remember hunger. Wandering. Searching. Looking for the herd again.
I remember someone screaming at me. Making loud sounds in my ear. Slapping my face. Hurts! Piled-on hurts! Don't slap me! I remember crying--
And slaps-more slaps--
Until finally, I screamed- "Goddammit! Stop that!"
"Oh, thank God! He's coming back."
I remember
"Jim! Look at me!" Someone grabbed my chin, tilted my face up. A--female. Dark hair. Grim face.
"Jim! Say my name!"
"Wha-? Wha-?" Make sounds. Drown out meaning. "Wah-?"
Slap! Tears in my eyes.
"Wah-?" I try again.
"Wah-?" Another slap!
I remember screaming.
She holds my face and screams right back at me.
If I can only find the right scream-I had it once- "Goddammit, Fletcher! Stop it already! You're hurting me!"
"Who am I?"
"You're--Fletcher! Now leave me alone!" I want to climb back under and pull the covers over my head again.
"And who are you-?"
"Uh-"
"Come on, James! Who are you?"
"I-I... name?"
"Come on, you're doing fine! Who are you?"
"I was ... Jame-"
"Who?"
"Jame-no, James. Edward."
"James Edward who ... ?"
"Who?"
"That's right. Who?"
"Who? Who?" It's soft and warm down here. "Hoo? Hoo. Hooo-"
Slap! My face rings, stings-
"Who are you?"
"James Edward McCarthy, Lieutenant United States Army, Special Forces Warrant Agency, on special assignment! Sir!" Maybe that will satisfy her. Maybe now she'll leave me alone.
"Good! Come on back, Jim. Keep coming back!"
"No, goddammit! I don't want to come back! I want to finish my dream!"
"It's over, Jim! You're awake! You can't go back to sleep!"
"Why-?"
"Because it's Saturday."
"Saturday?!! You were supposed to pick me up on Thursday."
"We couldn't find you!"
"But the collar-?" I looked at her. Confused.
"Yes, the collar. Where is it, Jim? Do you remember?"
I reach for my neck. The collar is gone. I'm naked. Shivering. Cold. "Um-" More confused now.
Fletcher is wrapping a blanket around me. I'm starting to fade again. I have to say something, quickly. "I-uh-how did ... you find me?"
"We've been watching the herd. We've been hoping you'd find your way back. Luckily, you did."
"Find ... my way back?"
"Some yahoos from down the coast came in looking for some cheap and dirty sex. They ended up stampeding the whole herd. We've had deaths and injuries. It's the worst. Are you following this?"
"Yes!" I say quickly.
She lowers her hand. Lowered her hand. My time sense is-was-coming back.
Somebody put a mug in my hand. It was hot. I drank automatically. Bitter. Coffee? No. I made a face. "What is this shit?"
"It's ersatz."
"Ersatz what?"
"Ersatz shit. We couldn't afford the real stuff."
"This is offal," I said. And grinned suddenly, "Hey-I'm alive again. I made a pun. This is offal. Get it? O-F-F-A-L?"
Somebody behind me groaned. Fletcher grinned. She said, "I never thought I'd be happy to hear someone make a pun that bad. It's a good sign. You're coming back into the language again."
I looked into Fletcher's eyes. As if I'd never seen her before. They were bright and deep. I spoke directly to her. I said, "Fletch. I understand what's going on here. I don't know if you can understand it without experiencing it, but I know what it is now because I've been through it. It's terrifying-and it's wonderful-and I want to go back-and I want you to keep me from going back. It-" I pointed at the milling bodies behind us. "That-could be the end of the human race. That could get out of control. Very easily. It's got to be broken up, Fletcher. I don't know how, but it's got to be broken up."
"What is it? Can you explain it?"
I took a breath, I looked at the herd, then looked back to Fletcher. "No. I can't. I can make some guesses. I can describe what happened to me. But-any explanation would only be a tiny slice of the truth, not even a cross section of it. But-somehow, when you're in the herd, you know that words don't have any meaning any more. They're just sounds. All the meaning falls away. It gets detached. You can find the meanings if you have to, but-no-" I shook my head and waved my hand as if to erase everything I'd said. I took another drink of the terrible ersatz. "That's not right either."
I looked back up into her eyes. She was beautiful. I could mate with her. Now why did that thought come up? "It's-it's a kind of primal humanity, out there. Listen-there's a ... space that's been created and defined over there. And in that space, you stop being a human being like we know human beings and start being a human being like they know human beings. Over there, the apes have the agreement.
"It's like-humanity has decided that thinking doesn't work and has abandoned it. To try something else instead. It's like a kind of telepathy, Fletcher-it envelops you. The closer you go, the easier it is to escape from the language. It's like letting go of a particular madness. Like language is a mental disease that we all agreed to share. Over there, they've created a new agreement-that they can be a species without thinking, without language, without concept. They exist totally in a moment-to-moment state. It's-I'm explaining it again, aren't I? We keep getting trapped in our explanations. That's our minds."
She stopped me with a finger on my lips. "Shh," she said. "Catch your breath. Take your time."
I ran a hand through my hair. It was matted. God knew what I looked like.
"What did it feel like, Jim?"
"It felt like... this is weird. . . ." I looked at her and I could feel the tears coming into my eyes. "It felt like ... freedom. As if my mind were a parasite in my body, somehow. And for a while, I'd gotten free of it. And now, that it's recaptured me, I have this ... terrible grief, this ... profound sadness." I looked back to the herd again. "They're so... happy over there." The tears burst from my eyes again.
She hugged me to her. I was oblivious to everything else except the warmth and the smell of her. She smelled like flowers. There were men standing around us. I didn't care. I let the tears flow. I buried my head against her breasts and sobbed. Why? Why the tears?
She stroked my hair. I could feel how greasy I was, but she didn't seem to mind. She said, "You want the official explanation?"
"What's the official explanation?" I asked.
She wrapped her arms around me and said, "The official explanation is that we haven't finished grieving for the world we've lost. The pre-plague
years. How do you deal with the death of a whole planet?" She left the question echoing in the silence.
I found the mug again. The ersatz was cool enough to drink now, cool enough to taste. I could almost get used to the taste of it. In another hundred years or so. I pulled the blanket around me.
"How are you feeling now?" Fletcher asked.
"Fine," I said. "Really." I looked at the sky, I looked at the herd. They were starting to head into what was left of Brooks Hall, their stable for the night. "I should be going to bed too...... " I looked to Fletcher, hopefully.
"Yes," she agreed. "But not with them. Not any more."
She nodded to someone and they helped me into the ambulance and we headed back to Oakland.
FORTY-EIGHT
THEY KEPT me up the whole night, talking.
They filled me full of coffee-someone found some of the real stuff-I threatened to clam up if they handed me another cup of the ersatz-and they kept me talking.
I kept begging Fletcher to let me go to sleep, but she kept saying, "Not yet. Just a little while longer."
"Why-what are you waiting for?" I could hear the whining in my voice. I hadn't whined since I was five.
Finally, she admitted, "We want to make sure that you'll wake up human. We need to see that your brain is responding to language again. When you sleep, you let go of language. In the morning, we want to make sure you pick it up again."
"I'll be-all right," I said. "I think you can trust me now."
"Would you bet your life on it?"
"Huh?"
"If you don't wake up human tomorrow, can we kill you?"
"Say again?"
"I said, `If you don't wake up human tomorrow, can we kill you?' Are you that certain?"
"Uh-" I held out my cup. "Can I have some more coffee?"
Fletcher grinned and took the cup from me. "You're fine." But she refilled the mug anyway. "We were thinking about leaving a radio on for you, low-level-but there're two schools of thought on that. One is that it will help keep you tuned to language. The other is that it will be just another babbling voice in the background and will encourage you to start tuning out again." She sighed. "Ultimately, it comes down to this-it's up to you. At some level, James, it's going to be your choice."
She turned my face to hers. "Do you understand? I know that you want to go back. You're going to have to resist the pull. Can you? Will you?"
I lowered my eyes. Her gaze was too intense to look at. I wanted to hide from it. "I think I can," I said. I looked back up at her.
"I'll try."
"Don't try. Do it." She took my chin and turned my face to hers. "I am not going to lose you, do you understand?"
I nodded. All the words seemed so feeble somehow, but it was words she wanted most from me. I felt trapped.
"Do you want some help?" she asked.
"What kind?"
"Just a trick. Use your name as a mantra. Do it as you're falling asleep. Chant your name over and over again. I am James Edward McCarthy. I am James Edward McCarthy. And so on."
"Why? What will that do?"
"It'll set some instructions running that will help you tune back in tomorrow. Every day it'll get a little easier. Will you do it?"
"Yeah," I said. "I'll feel silly, but I'll do it."
"Good." She leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. "I'll let you sleep now."
As I drifted off, I found my body curling familiarly around a pillow. I wondered who I was missing. Who had curled up with me in the herd? I remembered the curve of a spine. The feel of skin. Liquid eyes. I missed--
I drifted back into wakefulness, missing my mate. Finding myself in a strange white place. Wearing a stiff white cloth. And--
"James Edward McCarthy!" I said. "My name is James Edward McCarthy!" And started laughing. It worked.
I found a jumpsuit in the closet. The ubiquitous army jumpsuit. And a pair of slip-ons. Good enough for what I had to do.
First thing, I had to let Fletcher know I was back. Second. I had a dance to plan.
FORTY-NINE
BUT BEFORE I could do anything, General Poole summoned me to his office. I felt embarrassed wearing just the jumpsuit. General Poole didn't get up from his desk; he just pointed to a chair and asked, "Whose idea was it for you to go into the herd?"
"Mine," I said.
He shook his head. "In mah day, Lieutenant, that little stunt would have bought you a Section Eight discharge. Ah expect better behavior than that from mah officers."
"Yes, sir," I said. I resisted the temptation to tell him his day was past.
"However..." he continued, "this particular operation comes from the Science Section, so perhaps you feel that the opinions of your superior officers in the military aren't applicable. Is that correct?"
"No sir." I wondered what he was getting at. "It was my understanding that I'd been authorized by the mission commander, Colonel Tirelli."
The general didn't respond to that. He adjusted his glasses on his nose and peered at the file on the desk in front of him. "You are a science officer, is that right?"
"Yes, sir."
"You have your degree?"
"No, sir. Not yet."
"Do you have a target date?"
"Three years, sir. I've been averaging one course every six to eight weeks. Three hours a day at a terminal, six days a week, I think I'm making pretty good progress. I'm a little behind right now, but I intend to get caught up right after this mission."
"Mm hm. The mission." General Poole closed the folder and raised his face to mine again; his glasses made his eyes look small and mean. "Let me be candid, Lieutenant. Ah wouldn't start any trilogies if Ah were you."
"Sir?"
"This mission tomorrow-it looks like suicide on a shingle to me."
"With all due respect, sir-I don't agree."
"Of course not. But the fact remains, this mission is ... of dubious military value. Do you understand what that means? That's why Ah let you volunteer."
"Huh?"
He tapped the folder with one forefinger. "You've got an asterisk."
"Yeah," I agreed. "I'm sitting on it."
I regretted the pun instantly. General Poole looked annoyed. "An asterisk is a little star-shaped mark. In this case, it means that you can be put in life-threatenin' situations."
"Terrific," I said. "How did I earn that?"
"Couple of ways." He ticked them off on his fingers. "One-you could be a telepath-are you?"
"Not that I know of. Not unless someone snuck up behind me when my back was turned and gave me a secret implant."
"Hmp. Not bloody likely. Two-you got someone pissed off at you. Have you done that?"
"That I've done," I admitted.
"Or ... three, you've demonstrated that you're a survivor. And--that you can be trusted to produce results. Unfortunately, not all the asterisks are annotated. We'll have to find out which kind you are by sending you north."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"Not so fast, Lieutenant. The purpose of this meetin' is a little old-fashioned fine tunin'. Call it an... attitude adjustment." The general picked up a pencil and held it delicately between his two hands.
"An ... attitude adjustment?"
"That's right. How well do you think you can do your job if your loyalties are divided?"
"Sir? I'm afraid I don't understand."
General Poole looked across his desk at me. "Ah'll say it in English, son. I appreciate your scientific contributions, but-Ah want you to remember also that you are still a soldier in the army of the United States of America."
"I don't see the conflict, sir," I said hesitantly. "It seems to me that both the Science Section and the Military are committed to the same thing-" The general looked skeptical. "-aren't they?"
"You tell me, Lieutenant. What's the purpose of this mission?" I quoted from the briefing book: "`. . . to establish a contact relationship with the bunnydogs and/or the gastropedes with the eventual goal of opening a ch
annel for communication.' Sir." I added.
"Mm hm," he said thoughtfully. "And what's the usual purpose of a military mission."
"Uh-" I suddenly realized what he was getting at. "The destruction of the Chtorran ecology."
"That's right." He looked at me calmly. "Some people want to talk to these creatures-and some people want to kill them. Ah'd like to know, Lieutenant, what your feelin's are on the matter."
I was staring down the barrel of a 45-caliber loaded question. "I-I'm on the side of humanity, sir."
"And what does that mean? Are you committed to killin' worms or not?"
"It means, I want to do what will save the most lives."
"And you think that talkin' to the worms or the bunnies might do that?"
"I don't know. That's what we want to find out-"
"But you do think there might be an alternative to killin' them? Isn't that so?"
I swallowed hard and met his gaze. "Yes sir-I'm willing to try."
"Ah see. Well, let me tell you somethin', Lieutenant. The trouble with that kind of thinkin' is that it diverts precious resources of time and materiel. `If we can just talk to the agency that's behind the Chtorran infestation, p'haps we can work out some kind of negotiation.' Ah've even heard some people talkin' about sharing the planet with them."
"Sir-?" I started to say.
"Share!" he continued over my protestations. "Why the hell should they? They're already winnin' the whole ball game! Why should they stop to negotiate a draw?"
"Maybe they don't know we're here!" I flustered. "Maybe they made a mistake. Maybe-"
"You don't kill four billion human beings by mistake."
"We don't know that-"
The general looked astounded. "You don't think we're at war?"
"I know we're at war, sir! I just-"
"And you want to talk to the enemy?" Was he deliberately baiting me?
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