I checked my watch. "Not for a couple of hours anyway. It's time to remind me."
After a while, we broke apart and looked at each other again, both of us bubbling with renewed amazement and delight. We giggled like children. "How come kissing you just gets better and better?" she asked giddily.
It was an interesting question. I had to give it my full attention. After we broke apart the second time, I said, "I think it's the constant practicing-which reminds me, that was some pretty enthusiastic practicing you did with Danny Anderson."
"What can I say? He's a general." She laughed and ran her fingers through my hair. "Don't be jealous."
"I'm not. Well… not a lot. He kissed you, but he only shook my hand. I think I should be insulted. He's a pretty good kisser, huh?"
"You'll have to find that out for yourself."
"I just might do that," I said with mock petulance.
"Hey, sweetheart-if you ever get the opportunity to find out how Danny Anderson kisses, go ahead. I won't mind. Just don't make a habit of it."
"You don't have a thing to worry about, not as long as girls are softer than boys."
"Mmm," she said. "What I like is the fact that boys get harder than girls-"
"Is that information theoretical or based on actual experience?"
"Yes," she said, without explaining. Her fingers were expertly undoing my zipper.
Something underfoot went bump, and I felt a momentary sensation of weightlessness. The Hieronymus Bosch was airborne again. "Whoops, here we go again. Wanna go back to the cabin?"
Lizard looked disappointed. "I wish. Unfortunately, both you and I have work to do." Sadly, she pulled my zipper back up.
"Me? I thought I'd been retired without prejudice." I pulled my zipper back down again.
"Don't get your hopes up-" She slapped my fingers aside and pulled my zipper up again, this time to stay. "-About the retiring, I mean. There's been a little restructuring, but you're still very important-not only to me, but to this job. You're the only person in the world who knows how to think like a worm."
"I'm not sure if I've just been complimented or insulted."
"Complimented." She leaned in very close and whispered, "I'd rather have you eat me any day." And then she slid her tongue delicately into my ear, causing me to shriek, giggle, and leap back as far as I could-which wasn't very, I was still backed up against the stanchion-wiping my ear and shuddering in delight, all at the same time.
"Don't do that! You know how ticklish I am."
"That's why I do it." Lizard straightened her jacket and shifted into her General Tireili mode. "I have a meeting with Captain Harbaugh. You have a briefing too."
"I do?"
"It's another surprise," she admitted. "You're attached to a special operations team. You'll be the senior advisor."
"Huh-?"
"Close your mouth, dear. They snuck aboard in Amapa too."
"Along with the Cleveland Philharmonic, the Bolshoi Ballet, the Stanford Marching Band, and the original cast of last year's Doo Dah Parade too, right?"
"The Doo Dah Parade couldn't make it, but the rest are waiting in the aft lounge." She kissed me again, this time only a quick peck. "Follow this catwalk all the way back. It leads to an auxiliary bay that doesn't even exist on the blueprints. Great for smuggling."
"Secrets-everybody's got secrets. Eesh!" I grabbed her abruptly and kissed her again. "I want more than just a quick peck from you, sweetheart."
When I released her, she said breathlessly, "Wow! That is not a quick pecker. If you keep that up, that's another secret that's going to get blown."
"Don't start with me, General. At least, not unless you're planning to finish with me." Shaking my head in disbelief, I zipped myself up again. "Hey-I just realized. If I'm a civilian, I don't have to salute you anymore, do I?"
She glanced at the bulge in my pants and grinned. "It's too late. You already did." And then she added, "Don't worry about it, that's the kind of salute I like." She blew me a kiss and headed forward.
I sighed to myself. "A dirty mind is a joy forever."
"I heard that-" Her voice came singing back to me. I smiled all the way aft.
Manna threads will continue to cluster into larger and larger aggregations the longer they stay in the air. The largest aggregates will eventually lose their buoyancy, and instead of floating through the air, will bounce and roll across the ground like Russian tumbleweeds until they come to a barrier or obstacle they cannot get past.
This is the mechanism for the great pinkstorms that regularly blanket parts of the western United States. Clusters as large as houses have been regularly observed. The great Alameda fluffball was actually a gigantic herd of house-sized aggregations that all dried out and came to rest at the same time.
When clusters of manna threads dry out, they shatter into dust, hanging in the air or settling across the ground in soft sticky drifts. It is the biological equivalent of polymer-aerogels, and the resultant damage to the environment, especially to Terran plants and animals caught in the cotton-candy blanket, is every bit as severe.
—The Red Book,
(Release 22.19A)
Chapter 41
Brownian Motion
"Nothing exceeds like excess."
-SOLOMON SHORT
It was a long walk.
Halfway there, I started singing to myself. And dancing. A silly old song. I felt so good, I couldn't hold it in.
"Oh, I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy. Yankee Doodle is my name. A real live nephew of my Uncle Sam, born on the Fourth of July. I've got a Yankee Doodle sweetheart. She's my Yankee pride and joy-oh, Yankee Doodle went to town, a-riding on a pony-I arr that Yankee Doodle boy-"
I tap-danced my way happily along the metal catwalk. I was delirious with giddy abandon and totally oblivious to-
Two heavyset men in yellow jumpsuits were lounging at an intersection of two walkways. They were leaning against two stanchions, arms folded, and apparently not doing anything at all. They were nearly identical, stamped from the same beefy mold. I came to an out-of-breath and very embarrassed halt almost directly in front of them. They looked at me curiously. I had the distinct feeling that it was no accident that they were chatting idly in this exact location. There was a narrowness of expression in their eyes.
"Uh-" There was no way to recover my dignity. I wasn't even sure I wanted to. I put on my best foolish grin, took a breath, and made as if to continue.
Both of the men straightened. The taller of the two took a single step sideways, blocking my way. "Sorry, sir. Passengers aren't allowed up here." He spoke with quiet courtesy. "I'll be happy to show you the way back." It was the kind of courtesy that left no room for disagreement.
The other man had the preoccupied look of someone listening to a faraway voice. Abruptly, he said, "Wait a minute. May I see your ID, please?"
I thumbed the updated card out of the transparent pocket on my shirt and passed it across. He glanced at it, glanced at me, then read off the validation number. The voice in his ear must have responded affirmatively, because he nodded and handed the card back to me.
"Thank you, sir. Sorry to have troubled you."
"No trouble at all." I slipped the card back into its pocket.
"Just keep on heading aft," he pointed. "The catwalk ends at a big staging platform. There'll be someone waiting for you there."
"Thanks," I said. "Uh-" There was no nametag on his jumpsuit. He followed my stare. When I met his eyes again, he just smiled and shook his head. "Well, thanks anyway." I headed aft, wondering. More blue fairies?
I had to laugh and shake my head. Why can't people just tell the truth? It'd make all of our lives a whole lot easier. Foreman had said something about this once. In the Training. He'd said, "The ultimate cause of every single problem in the world is a breakdown in communication. A breakdown in communication." And then he'd grinned at us impishly with a delicious sense of anticipation; it was that look of his that we'd learned always portended a t
ruly evil punch line. He paused for effect, looking slowly around the room, until he was satisfied that we were all hanging impatiently on his every word; then at last, finally, he dropped the other shoe. "Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you. Godot called. He'll be late."
Some people never got the joke. Those who did never stopped laughing.
And then I had to laugh again. Because the joke was on me. It was always on me. The smile slid easily across my face. Yesterday at this time, I'd been threatening to throw myself out the window of this airship. And then… I had just given up and let the universe do whatever it wanted to do. What it wanted, surprisingly enough, was almost exactly the same thing I wanted.
That was the joke. It's amazing how well things can work out for you if you just stop fighting them
There was a thought.
If you just stop fighting them
I hadn't considered that idea in a while. Dr. Fletcher had thought it might be possible. Jason Delandro knew it was. I still didn't believe it. The price was too high. But I wondered-maybe the nagging voices were right. Maybe the only way the human race was going to survive was by carving itself a niche in the Chtorran ecology. I didn't like the idea, but the alternatives were extinction or a continual state of warfare. There was no fourth alternative. Well… no, there was. Abandon the planet. Move to Luna. Move to Mars. Move to the asteroid belt. Maybe someday scourge the Earth and start again? But no-if we did that, we'd always be in a state of retreat; we'd have admitted our vulnerability to the Chtorran infestation, and no matter where we went or what we built, we would always know that we could only stay there until the Chtorrans showed up and decided they wanted that world too.
There had to be a way for humanity to-to what? What did we really want?
If we could figure that out, then we could begin to draw a line from here to there. We could try to follow that line. We couldWe couldn't do anything. We were working in the dark. It wasn't that we didn't have the wisdom. We didn't have the light. We didn't know what we could do because we didn't know what was possible. That's what this mission was supposed to resolve. "Oh, I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy-
The song kept running through my head. My brain was trying to do two things at once. Three, if you counted walking. Sing. Think. Walk. Dance. The catwalk stretched for days in front of me. Behind me.
Sink. Thing. Want.
Echos.
Resonance.
Something.
Songs.
What was that other thought? Who said it? I didn't remember. But I remembered the words. "What we need is someone who can think like a worm." No, not worms. The intelligence behind them. We need something that can think like the Chtorr. An Intelligence Engine? Maybe. But how do you program it? What's the model? Before you can think like a Chtorr, you have to be a Chtorr. Bingo.
Something that isn't a Chtorr has to be a Chtorr. Long enough so that it can think like one. And then it has to stop being a Chtorr so it can report back and tell humanity what we were really up against. But how do you become a Chtorr-and how do you unbecome a Chtorr?
No. That wasn't quite it. Something about identity
"Oh, I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy; Yankee Doodle is my name-"
The thought eluded me. My mind kept stumbling into inappropriate questions.
"-I am that Yankee Doodle boy!"
What kind of a song would a Chtorran sing? We already knew the answer to that question. It was a long, low purring vibration, the kind of sound a three-ton kitten on LSD might make. A weird . sound. Oddly tranquilizing, but very unmusical.
You had to ask yourself, why do Chtorrans sing? For that matter, why do humans sing? Something about identity…
The songs let us know who we are? Hmm. That was a thought.
But it was wrong.
I knew who I was. I had a name, I had an identity card, I had a job, I had a problem to solve. I even had a mate. My identity was resolved without songs. I could be stone-deaf and still have the same identity. No. The songs were something else.
"Yankee Doodle went to London, riding on a pony… '
And then I arrived. All my questions were going to have to go unanswered a little while longer.
The walkway came to a platform large enough to hold a small housing tract. Part of the platform had slid aside to reveal… the distant ground sliding silently beneath us. The access was large enough to lower or raise an airplane; indeed, there was a Batwing-9 light-armament recon flyer hanging from the loading crane. Several more men in yellow jumpsuits were just raising the plane into position. They barely glanced at me.
As soon as the hatch slid shut beneath the plane, the foreman of the team came striding over to me. He was another one with coiled danger in his eyes. "McCarthy?"
I nodded.
"This way, please." He led me toward the far end of the platform, underneath the tail of the flyer, to a floor panel that looked just like every other floor panel. He didn't do anything that I could see, but the panel slid aside to reveal a narrow stair leading down. He stepped aside, out of my way; obviously, I was expected to descend. I thought about making a joke about the airship's wine cellar being very inconvenient, then thought better of it and just shrugged and stepped down into the darkness. The floor panel slid quickly shut above me.
The fluffballs also provide transportation for the seeds and spores of other species; mostly Chtorran, of course.
The mechanism is simple. As the cottoncandy tumbleweeds go bouncing across the landscape, they brush against many other plants and animals. Many of the smallest are picked up by the gossamer tumbleweeds and carried along.
In this way, the manna plants not only spread themselves throughout the environment, they spread much of the micro-level of the Chtorran ecology as well.
—The Red Book,
(Release 22.19A)
Chapter 42
Scout's Honor
"Old soldiers never die. Young ones do. "
-SOLOMON SHORT
A moment later the lights came on. I looked around"Ten-hut!" Siegel, Marano, Lopez, Valada, Nawrocki, and seven other combat-ready veterans snapped to instant attention. By military standards, this lounge was lavish. By the standards of the Bosch, it was… adequate. The twelve soldiers hulking here nearly filled it.
"At ease," I said automatically. I glanced around the room. This was the team I had originally picked for this missionmostly. Reilly, Willig, and Locke were gone; I was going to miss them. A lot. I didn't recognize the new faces, but I recognized the hardened expressions they wore; that was good enough.
Siegel stepped forward proudly and saluted. "Lieutenant Kurt C. Siegel reporting, sir."
"Knock off the sir crap-did you say 'Lieutenant?"
"Would you please return my salute, sir?" He was standing ramrod stiff.
"Congratulations on the promotion? Good job, Kurt. But, uh-oh, hell." I returned his salute and he relaxed. "-But I'm not your captain anymore. I just resigned from the Army."
The look on his face was almost worth it. "You what-?" The rest of them broke ranks and crowded around us, echoing his incredulity.
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm gonna kill that sonofabitch, Dannenfelser-"
"You're in charge of the team now." I clapped Kurt heartily on the shoulder. "I've been relieved of all responsibility-"
"We'll fight it!"
"No, you won't. I've never felt happier. And I'm getting married."
"Married-!" Valada shrieked.
Nawrocki grinned. "Awright!" Lopez planted a big wet kiss on my lips.
"Lopez! You surprise me!"
"You surprise me, you scrawny gringo!"
"But what about us-?" Siegel's proud expression was collapsing in upon itself. I'd spoiled his grand surprise. "We were depending on you!"
"All right, all right," I said. I was starting to feel guilty. Emotionally, they were responding like children who'd just been told that Daddy is divorcing them. "Listen up. I'm now a civilian attached specialist. I'm you
r official Indian scout."
"Huh? What does that mean?" The others fell silent around him.
"It means, congratulations!" shouted Lopez. "You're finally being paid to think."
"It means I can't give orders," I explained. "Only advice." I looked directly at Siegel as I said it.
He frowned. "That means I outrank you now?"
"That's right," I agreed. "You all do. I'm completely out of the chain of command. And more grateful than you can believe."
"Um." Siegel looked profoundly uncomfortable. "Listen, Captain-I don't feel right about this. You know more about all this stuff than anybody. I mean, if we have to get into it with the worms, I'd really prefer it if you gave the orders."
"Sorry, Lieutenant. I couldn't do that even if I wanted to. And you'd be court-martialed if you let me. Dereliction of duty: Trust me, Kurt. You can handle it. I wouldn't have recommended you for the promotion if I didn't think you could."
"You recommended me?"
"Yes, I did," I said. "Two months ago, after that business in Marin with the BART."
"Huh? That was nothing."
"I didn't think so," I said. "And it was my opinion that counted." A family of jelly-pigs had taken up residence in the Sausalito station; they were threatening to undermine a whole city block with their burrowing. We couldn't use torches or oil, too many important buildings overhead, and the reproductive habits of jelly-pigs precluded the use of any type of explosives, even cold-bombs. Finally, we sent in prowlers armed with tanks of liquid nitrogen. The idea was Siegel's; his team handled the programming, and later on, the logistics of the operation as well.
Afterward I wrote up bounty recommendations for everybody on the team, but I also turned in a separate report commending Siegel's leadership abilities. I'd written commendations for Willig and Reilly too
Siegel shook his head in mild disbelief. "Weld, I guess I should thank you then-" He offered his hand.
A Season for Slaughter watc-4 Page 37
