A Season for Slaughter watc-4

by David Gerrold

  "You can yell at me like this, anytime," I said. Her back felt fine. Almost as nice as her front

  Gently, but firmly, she disengaged my hands. "I said later. Just do my back."

  Something about her tone stopped me. "Okay." I concentrated on the curve of her backbone and all those lovely little vertebrae climbing up her delicious pink skin. I began gently massaging each and every one in my very best shiatsu technique.

  "Mmm," she said. And then, "Mmmmmm!" After a while, she added softly, "Okay, here's the unofficial part. This is the part even I didn't hear. The President got on the phone to Prime Minister Dubois and read him the riot act. How dare he send a note of protest? His officer endangered American lives. His officer was unprepared and unqualified. His officer was about as useful as a plastic Jesus on the dashboard. If the Quebecois want to be a part of any more military operations, then they'd damned well better get their collective act together. Etcetera, etcetera."

  "She actually said that to him?" I was surprised.

  "And more. She really laid it on thick."

  "That doesn't sound very politic."

  "Oh, but it was. Ever since the secession, the Quebecois have been so full of themselves, they've been almost impossible to deal with. This'll put a pin in their pomposity. Dubois will probably lose the election, which won't displease the President at all. She hates him. And even if he wins, he's still lost a lot of face. No, sweetheart, even though the President is pissed as hell, she's also sharp enough to know how to turn this to her political advantage."

  "Now I know why they call her 'Teddy Roosevelt in drag."'

  "Roosevelt had a bushier mustache," Lizard said. She turned around to face me again. "The President also had a private message for you."

  "Really?"

  "She said, 'Thank him for me. That's the best laugh I've had since the Vice President called the Russian premier a bimbo.' Listen to me, sweetheart. I love you. Whatever's said in the news, you don't owe anybody any apologies, neither do I, and neither does the President." Lizard laughed and added, "You just can't say so in public. There's a limit even to the President's umbrella."

  Later that night, in the silence of our bedroom, I said, "I really do make an awful lot of trouble for you, don't I?"

  She didn't answer immediately; but finally, she agreed. "Yeah, you do. But it's good trouble."

  "Lizard-?" I asked.

  She rolled over on her side and looked at me directly, "I know that tone of voice," she said. "That little-boy tone. What's the matter?"

  "In all the time we've been together; I've never doubted that you love me. But… I've never understood why you love me."

  Lizard considered the question. At last, she said, "Because it's easier than not loving you."

  "No," I said. "No jokes."

  "That's not a joke, Jim. I tried not loving you, once. It didn't work. We were both miserable. This way, is easier." She looked at me. "That wasn't quite what you wanted to hear, was it?"

  "I don't know what I wanted to hear." I scratched my ear, thoughtfully. "I just wanted to know why we fit together the way we do."

  "Because we do," she said. "I like the way we fit together."

  "And?" I prompted.

  "Isn't that enough, Jim?" She looked at me so earnestly that all I could do was nod and agree.

  It wasn't enough, because I still didn't understand. And I really wanted to. But sometimes the best thing to do is just let it alone. Accept what you have and be grateful.

  I shut up and concentrated on being grateful.

  Not as readily apparent, even to a trained observer, is the aspect of relational stability within the infestation's own ecostructure. As noted on the first page of this document, Chtorran ecology, as we are seeing it today, is volatile and unstable.

  By that we mean that, whatever the ultimate ucture of an established Chtorran ecology, avaatever the pattern of interactions-the various checks and balances, the interrelated structures of symbioses and partnerships, of predator and prey, all the myriad relationships that allow the various member species to exist within their own distinct niches—none of those patterns fully exists today. Nor can we ake assumptions on what the ultimate form of these relationships may be, based on the evidence that we have collected so far.

  At best, we are seeing an embryonic and very desperate struggle to achieve a critical threshold; not simply a threshold of biomass, but more strategically, a threshold of relationships that transcends all other ecological concerns. The goal is not expansion for the sake of axpansion, but expansion for the sake of achieving a state of maintenance and stability-a state that will allow and ensure the ultimate sucess of the many relationships that make up the Chtorran ecology.

  This particular realization allows us to make this startling statement:

  What we have so far observed is not an ecology-not yet-it is not even the beachhead of an ecology. What we have documented to date is only the first wave of infestation of biological tools; these are the tools which will build the tools which will build the tools which will build the tools which will ultimately allow an adapted Chtorran ecology to establish itself permanently here on Earth. What we are seeing is the process of adaption and evolution accelerated a millionfold.

  The process is not accidental. It has been designed into the infestation so as to guarantee that the invading ecology will be able to overcome all biological obstacles, regardless of any conditions that may obtain or develop on the target world.

  What this may suggest for the shape of future containment and control proceduresassuming that containment and control are still possible or even desirable in the face of such an event-is unfortunately beyond the scope of this study. It may, in fact, considering the limited resources currently available, be even beyond the scope of any possible human investigation.

  The reader is directed to Appendix II, for time- and resource-weighted projections of the possible effectiveness of human resistance to the establishment of a stable Chtorran ecology.

  The reader is also directed to the supplementary minority report in Appendix IX, outlining possible patterns of future coexistence and maintenance. Additional investigations in this area are strongly recommended.

  —The Red Book,

  (Release 22.19A)

  Chapter 6

  Sisters

  "All insults are basic. They're variations on 'My orgasm is better than your orgasm. "

  -SOLOMON SHORT

  General Wainright had a few tricks of his own. You don't get to be a general without learning how to be a bastard too. I found that out at the mission briefing. The on-again, off-again Brazilian mission was on-again. Maybe. Well, anyway, we were back in the planning theater. I was hardly in the door when Dannenfelser, the general's aide (and official hemorrhoid sniffer), came trotting over to me. I was looking for Lizard. I hadn't seen her in two days. She'd had meetings. And then she'd had more meetings. I just wanted to tell her how much I'd missed her.

  "Your briefing book," Dannenfelser demanded snippily. He held out his hand. "I'll take it now, please."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Didn't they tell you? Your clearance has been suspended. You've been replaced." He snapped his fingers impatiently.

  I grabbed his thin, almost girlish wrist and twisted it upward. "Don't snap your fingers at me, you little twit."

  "How butch," he replied icily, but he relaxed his hand in my grip. I released him without breaking it. He pulled his wrist away and glared at me. "Are you done? May I have the book now?"

  "I think you should just turn around and walk away. General Tirelli is not going to be happy about this-"

  "You're not paid to think. You're paid to follow orders: The book… ?" he repeated.

  "I'll surrender this book only when I see a written authorization to do so. And I'll want a receipt."

  He was already leafing through the papers on his clipboard. "The orders"-he handed them across—and the receipt." While I stared at the papers, he plucked the book out from un
der my arm. He flipped quickly through it, as if counting the pages, then looked expectantly back to me. "Sign it-I get the original, you keep the copy."

  I started fumbling in my pockets for a pen, Dannenfelser offered his, I ignored him and pulled out my own-and then Lizard came in through the opposite door. She looked furious. I headed immediately toward her. Dannenfelser followed in my wake, sputtering angrily, "Sign the damn receipt, McCarthy!"

  "Do you know what's going on?" I accosted her. I jerked a thumb over my shoulder in the general direction of the slimeball. "This little creep says I've been replaced."

  She looked past my shoulder at Dannenfelser. "You couldn't wait to let me tell him, could you?" She glanced at the receipt in my hand. "Sign it, Jim." Her voice was no-nonsense grim. I signed the slip quickly and handed it nastily across. Dannenfelser pranced away; I turned back to Lizard.

  "Don't say a word, " she mouthed. In a more conversational tone, she added, "I want you to meet the new science officer, Dwan Grodin."

  For the first time I noticed that Lizard wasn't alone. The person behind her was-a thing. She was a lumpy blonde potato with bad skin and a vacuous grin. She had irregular wide-set blue eyes, blubbery thick lips, a lopsided scar on her upper lip showing where her cleft palate had been badly repaired, and a flat forehead distorting the already unnatural aspect of her thumb-shaped head. Her hair was so short, it was almost a buzz-cut; and surrounding her entire brain case, she wore a shining cage of wire, a framework of thick rods like a bicycle helmet. I'd seen pictures of cerebral augments; I'd never seen one in person. I realized I was staring.

  "Hi, Shim-" Dwan said. She waved a stumpy hand at me. Her voice was a thick whistle; her teeth were clumped unevenly, and she sprayed spittle when she spoke. She grabbed my hand and shook it for a painfully long moment. Her palms were warm and clammy. I wanted to pull my hand back and wipe it off. I looked to Lizard, askance.

  "Dwan is plugged into all six public data networks, three military nets, and both of the infestation colloquia," Lizard explained. "As good as you are, Jim, it was felt that Dwan had certain capabilities that made her more appropriate to this operation." From her tone of voice, I could tell that she was repeating someone else's arguments, General Wainright's probably-or Dannenfelser's. It didn't matter.

  "So I'm off the mission?"

  "If you request it, I'll sign your transfer. I'm hoping you'll stay." Her eyes were expressionless. Sometimes I couldn't tell what Lizard was thinking. This was one of those moments. I felt abandoned.

  "In what capacity?" I asked slowly.

  "As Dwan's assistant."

  I looked back to Dwan. She looked happy to be here. Hell, she was probably happy to be anywhere. Every Down's syndrome I'd ever met had been unfailingly good-natured. "I've n-never had an assistant b-b-before," she said thickly. She formed her words slowly, almost painfully. "If I m-make any m-m-mistakes, I hope you'll h-help me."

  Oh, great.

  My reaction must have shown. "I'm not's-stupid," she said. "You don't have to worry about that." She tapped the helmet of rods surrounding her head. "I've got a c-c-class-nine memory, and a f-full-spectrum m-m-multi-processor. I once p-p-played three grand m-masters blindfolded and beat them all. I can do the job. I know more about the Chtorran infestation than anybody else on the p-planet. Even you. I know all about you. You're James Edward M-McCarthy. I have all your reports in my head. You're very s-smart. I hope you'll work with me. Some people are uncomfortable w-working with m-m-me because I have Down's syndrome, and b-because I have these augments; they don't know whether to treat me as if I'm smarter or dumber, or both; b-but I don't think you have that kind of p-prejudice. I think you'll treat me just like a p-person, won't you?"

  "Uh-" I finally extracted my hand from her wet sausagey grip. "You'll have to excuse me. I-" Looked to Lizard; she was frowning. "I don't know what to say."

  "J-just say yes, you'll stay on the m-m-mission. P-please?"

  Lizard nodded almost imperceptibly. She wanted me to stay too. "I don't know. I'll have to think about it."

  I knew what I wanted to do; head for the door and not look back. This was a deliberately calculated embarrassment, a punishment.

  General Wainright must have laughed himself silly over this one; I could almost hear him saying, "We'll show that damn Yankee jewboy faggot. If he wants to stay on the mission, he can suck a retard's ass. Ha! He'll be too fucking proud to stay on. And if he tries to quit, his mama will come down on him like a ton of lizard-shit. Yeah, do it, Dannenfelser. McCarthy thinks he's an expert on revenge? Wait. I'll show him how vindictive I can be. He wants to play games? I'll give him games."

  And I already knew what Lizard would say. "I know it hurts, Jim, but I need you. The mission needs you. Show them you're bigger than this. Don't quit. That's exactly what they want you to do. It'll go on your record, and they'll use it to demonstrate that you're not a team player. Don't let your anger show-"

  Right. Put a cork in a volcano.

  Grodin was saying something. She giggled ernbarrassedly. "They d-d-didn't tell m-me you were so handsome." She was actually blushing.

  "Uh-" Oh God. Why me? "Look, um-it's not your fault, but I'm a little upset about something right now. Would you excuse me please?" I looked to Lizard and shook my head helplessly. It was time for a walk around the block. Only I didn't think I could find a block big enough to burn off this rage and confusion.

  Lizard followed me out into the corridor. A few secretaries and aides were visible, but none were within hearing distance. "Jim-" she began.

  I held up a hand. "Don't say it. I know. You did your best, but for political reasons, etcetera, etcetera, you had no choice. You could have won on this issue, you could have gone to the President, but then you would have used up all your favors and you wouldn't have any clout for the next thing where you might really need it. We have to know which battles are worth fighting for, right? Am I right?"

  Her expression told me I was. I felt betrayed. I could feel the rage rising inside me like a nascent upwelling of magma.

  I started slowly. "I busted my ass on those briefing books so that everybody involved will be fully prepared. I can't begin to tell you how badly it hurts to get kicked off like this. It really pisses me off. I want to hurt them back. I want to kill something. They have no right-"

  I stopped to catch my breath; I held up a finger to indicate I wasn't through yet. I started again, this time in an even quieter tone. "I suppose I could say that this is very petty of them, but you could just as easily say that what I did to Major Bellus was even more petty, so maybe this is fair. But it doesn't lessen the hurt. If what I did was right, you should have protected me-not played another round of politics as usual. Nothing you can say or do can take the sting out of that.

  "So, you know what I'm going to do? I'm going home and I'm going to thaw out one of those very expensive steaks we were saving for a special occasion; I'm going to sear it with a blowtorch till it's just the way I like it; raw on the inside, burned on the outside. I'm going to sit on the balcony with that steak and a tall cold beer and I'm going to watch the sun set. It'll be symbolic, watching the sun set on the planet Earth. I'm going to see how many beers I can drink and how long it takes to stop caring. If I have to, why I'll even let myself be pissed as hell. I'll be honestly angry for a while instead of 'processing it out.' And I'm going to do it alone. I'm going to enjoy being by myself with no one else around me to tell me what I should or shouldn't do or how I should do it or why. I'm through being used. I'm through being manipulated. I'm through. I've had it. I risk my butt out there in the field-do I get thanked? Do I get rewarded for being an expert? No, I get punished for being right.

  "I don't care how many megabytes and megahertz Ms. Grodin is packing upstairs; I've got something that she doesn't have; something that's a thousand times more valuable. I have field experience. I know the context of the infestation because I've lived it. I wish you luck in Brazil, sweetheart. You're going to need it. You're g
oing to need a lot more than luck, because I won't be there to protect you. I love you, but I don't think any of you are coming back. I think General Wainright's little stunt is a death sentence."

  Lizard had remained impassive throughout my entire monologue. Now, as my last angry words sank in, she looked stricken. "Jim, you can't mean that."

  "I can and I do. I think General Wainright is willing to have the whole mission go down in flames rather than let you and me go unpunished. Well, that's okay. I think I'm going to stay home, so if I'm right and you don't come back; I can kill him."

  She exhaled sharply, a sound of disgust. "I can see there's no talking to you when you're like this."

  "That's right. It's the pain talking. The real person checked out. You'll come back when I can be molded and manipulated again. Do me a favor. Don't. Either accept me as a mean sonofabitch once in a while, or don't accept me at all. I won't have it halfway."

  "Fair enough," she said with finality. She turned and walked back into the planning theater.

  Shit.

  It was going to take more than chocolate and roses to patch this up. And I couldn't afford either chocolate or roses anymore. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.

  I looked up. Dwan Grodin was standing in the doorway. Her eyes were full of tears. She'd heard the whole thing. "I-I thought you would b-be a n-nice m-man. G-general Tirelli's-said you w-were n-nice. B-but you're n-not. Y-you're a-a-a d-dirty,'s-stinky, d-d-dummy mat. Y-you c-can g-g-go f-f-fuck y-yourselfff." She turned away from me and stumped off after Lizard.

  Oh great. What else could go wrong?

  I turned around and there was Dannenfelser smirking at me. He began to applaud. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. The sound was slow and mocking.