A Season for Slaughter watc-4

by David Gerrold

  The pilots were all volunteers.

  Oh hell. Everyone aboard this thing was a volunteer. The same orders that applied to the pilots applied to all of us. And we all knew it. At the time we'd been briefed, I don't think anyone had really believed in the possibility that the order would actually be applied. Other than the scouting flights, nobody was leaving the airship. The entire mission would be carried out by remotes. The only direct contact we would have with the mandala nest would be our observation posts set up in the cargo bays.

  But now, with one pilot missing and presumed down, and the blighted Amazon rumpled beneath us; the reality of it all was starting to come home. I watched as three more spybirds were uncrated and mounted in the launching racks. Silently, I wished them godspeed and luck. I'd never met the pilot, I didn't even know her name. I just wanted her home safe. I hoped she had someone to welcome her return. And I wondered how I would be feeling if it were Lizard out there in the fast-fading twilight.

  I shuddered and headed aft, toward the number-two cargo bay where the primary observation team would be readying for the Coari flyover.

  The bay had been especially refitted for this mission. A railing had been installed around the huge open access, so we could lean out over it and look straight down into the nightmare below. Captain Harbaugh was letting the airship descend as low as she could. She was going to bring us down to twenty meters, then if it appeared that nothing in the camp was going to reach up and grab us, we'd ease our way down to fifteen, and maybe even ten. We wanted to get as close as safely possible. This was going to be very intense.

  As I entered, somebody gave an order, and the lights in the cargo bay were muted. Throughout the airship, the lights were going down. The plan was not to show any illuminated windows at all; just an enormous pink sky-whale. It was especially important that the observation and launch bays be dark. We didn't want to reveal a great open hatch in the belly of the vessel, blazing away like glory into the night and attracting the Chtorran equivalent of moths and God only knew what else.

  I stopped at the railing and leaned over to peer down at the ground below. It slid by, looking exactly like one of the endless displays in the simulation tank. Here, closer to the actual mandala, the dark folded land was feathered with scarlet growths and near-luminous patches of blue iceplant that sprawled across the slopes of the hills like unmelted snowdrifts.

  The airship was barely creeping along. We were slowing as we approached our target. By the time we reached the center of the mandala, it would be evening.

  We passed slowly over tendrils of the settlement. The domes looked more and more like cancerous growths. Shapeless and unidentifiable things moved darkly in one of the corrals. I had no idea what they were. Three gastropedes came pouring out of the undergrowth, twisting and turning as they tried to comprehend the giant shape sliding across their sky. It was almost too dark to see now, but the gastropedes had better eyes than we did. They knew we were here.

  I lifted my head and looked across the railing toward the other observers. They were all dark shapes in the gloom. Only a few people were gathered here; the rest were clustered around the video tables, watching the views that were starting to come back from the probes. As each data-channel was established, it was linked through to one of three ganglion-repeaters, and from there to the satellite-net. Later, after all the channels were up and running, we'd drop the ganglion-repeaters somewhere in the jungle, probably on some convenient hill, and Houston, Atlanta, Denver, Oakland, Detroit, Montreal, Orlando, Honolulu, and all the other stations would then be able to maintain real-time monitoring of this nest directly.

  I noticed Dwan Grodin at the largest of the video tables; it was the brightest light-in the room, and it illuminated her face from below, giving her a ghastly Frankenstein's-monster look. I came around the corner of the railing and strolled as casually as I could over to the glowing display. A clump of technicians was listening to Dwan as she explained an obscure technical detail of night photography image enhancement-something about narrow-frequency coherent nano-pulses. The eye couldn't see them, but the specialized sensors in our cameras could collate the assorted pulses into full-color stereo displays.

  The video table was showing a collage of today's scanning overlaid across the most recent satellite maps. It looked like a ragged and rumpled quilt had been spread unevenly across the table and illuminated from below. The height values in the stereo image had been doubled to accentuate the terrain, and the displayed landscape was creeping steadily past to mirror the progress of the airship. Even though the terrain below us was starting to flatten out as we approached the center of the mandala, the land still had a northward slope. The brighter zones of the display indicated areas where real-time updates from the probes were continually adding new information to the image.

  Two of the technicians looked up as I approached; they returned their attention to the display without acknowledging my existence. Dwan glanced up, frowned, hesitated, then continued her painfully spoken explanation. I didn't know the doctor she was talking to. but I recognized the name on her tag: Shreiber, Marietta. Good-looking lady. Serious attitude problem. She looked over, didn't recognize me in the dark, then turned her attention back to Dwan. Maybe I'd talk to her later, maybe I wouldn't. Her actions of last week didn't seem quite so important anymore. I focused instead on Grodin.

  Dwan's speech was slow and excruciating to listen to, but what she said was literate and to the point. "-including the ordnance overmap from the m-military n-network. The humans in the Coari infestation seem to have only a f-few weapons. All of the w-weapons have been d-disabled. Starting's-six m-months ago, Operation Nightmare b-began triggering random f-failures throughout the Amazon b-basin. As of three weeks ago, there were no working m-military devices in any of the three m-mandala nests on our primary site-selection list. The information g,-gathered in't-today's f-f-flyovers indicates that no replacements for any of the d-disabled weapons have been b-brought into the C'oari camp. So we d-don't have to worry about anyone b-below shooting at us."

  "Unless they have handmade weaponry," I suggested. Shreiber looked up, annoyed. She thought she was the expert. Dwan was slower to react, but more intense. She looked across the table at me, angry at my interruption and uncertain whether or not she should even admit that I was there. Her face froze, and then reanimated in a fluster of confusion. Her features looked like they were all arguing with each other while her emotional processes churned. Her eyes fluttered, her mouth worked, her hands clenched on the table edge. Finally, her professionalism outvoted her annoyance. "I d-don't think so," she said with painful precision. "It isn't just that the c-capability for the't-technology is not c-commonly available; the d-desire for it also seems to be lacking. Apparently, the Amazon g-gastropedes d-do not f-feel particularly threatened by a human p-presence-and vice versa, thc humans in the b-basin seem to have reached an accommodation with the infestation." She glared at me. "P-part of our job is to find out how humans can exist unm-molested within a Chchtorran society."

  "You don't exist unmolested inside a Chtorran society," I corrected. "You exist unmolested inside a Chtorran."

  "I w-would expect you to say's-something like that," Dwan replied coldly. "All you w-want to d-do is's-slash and b-burn."

  "That's the military mind-set," said Shreiber. "Don't worry about it. This isn't their mission. It's ours." She still hadn't twigged.

  "It's not a 'mind-set,' ' I said quietly. "It's the result of direct observation-"

  "You l-lived with r-renegades," Dwan stuttered. "You, of all p-p-people, should know- b-better."

  "They fed their children to the worms!" I snapped right back. "There isn't any cooperation. It's a delusion."

  "Listen, McCarthy-'' interrupted one of the technicians. I recognized him, Clayton Johns; big and beefy, he'd been a college football star or something. He was always grinning and slapping people on the back, and fucking anything that moved or even looked like it was capable of movement or had maybe
thought about moving once. Right now, his expression was tight and his voice was low and controlled. He looked like he was about to get physical. He straightened where he stood.

  I'd already decided, if he moved on me, I was going to break his kneecap. I was still thinking about the missing pilot, and I wasn't in a terrific mood. Clayton Johns apparently thought he was defending something; he spoke with ill-concealed arrogance. "You're not welcome here," he drawled. "So, why don't you just pack up your unwanted opinions and go take a flying-"

  "Excuse me-?" A new voice. We all turned as one. General Tirelli and Captain Harbaugh had come quietly up to the video table. In the darkness, none of us had noticed. They were two grim silhouettes.

  "If there is any flying," General Tirelli said politely, "Captain Harbaugh will order it. If there is any fucking, I will order that. As for Captain McCarthy's opinions, he's doing exactly what he was hired to do." She fixed Clayton Johns with a penetrating stare. "He is very welcome here. He is aboard this vessel to give us the benefit of his considerable expertise. He knows more about the worms than anybody else on this ship." She included Shreiber now. "He even knows more about the worms than you do. So I suggest that you make every effort to work with him."

  Johns lowered his gaze so General Tirelli wouldn't see his expression. A mistake. General Tireili wasn't stupid.

  She looked right through him with a penetrating stare and added, "If you don't like it, I'll be happy to reassign you anywhere you want. I believe there's an opening for a kitchen orderly."

  Johns went rigid. He straightened up immediately. "No, ma'am," he said. "I have no problem."

  "Hm. We'll see." Tirelli gave him a skeptical look. She'd dealt with this type before. She started to turn away

  Dr. Shreiber wasn't as quick. She gazed across the video table, looking directly at me with a meaningful smirk. "I thought this was supposed to be a scientific mission, but ah, now I see otherwise. The priorities have shifted, haven't they… ?"

  Tirelli turned back around slowly. I wanted to shout, ''Incoming-!"

  "You stupid little bitch," the general said sadly. "You couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you? So blind and stupid and mean-spirited. What a deadly combination. Who needs the worms when we have you and your attitude problem aboard? I wasn't going to say this in public, but you've given me no choice. You-specifically you, Dr. Marietta Shreiber-are a very large part of this problem. Last week, you disregarded the formal chain of operational command established by the joint military and scientific network. You deliberately endangered the lives of this man and his on-site reconnaissance team. As a direct result of your reckless action, three lives were lost, and valuable information has been denied to the scientific community. Justifiably, I might add. You gave Captain McCarthy absolutely no choice but to respond as he did. And if Dr. Zymph hasn't already chewed you a new asshole for your arrogance, let me make up for that oversight now. By the time I found out you were on board, it was too late to. send you back-but if I'd known last week that you were going to be a part of the auxiliary on-site scientific team, I'd have canceled your ticket immediately. There is no place in this operation for someone who puts her personal goals above the goals of this mission."

  "You're a fine one to talk," Shreiber snorted. "I know about your… relationship!" She made it sound like something dirty.

  "He's not my relationship," Lizard said quietly. "He's my Ilusband. And he's here because my commanding officer assigned him here-over my objections-and not because I asked for him. Cuptain Harbaugh will confirm that. She was there."

  Shreiber shrugged. Logic was irrelevant in this argument. "So what? You don't scare me. You have no jurisdiction over me. I work for Dr. Zymph."

  General Tirelli grinned abruptly. Her grin widened. Uh-oh. She snapped her fingers at Corrigan, one of her aides. The man stepped forward. "Call Dr. Zymph. Tell her I've just relieved Dr. Shreiber of all her duties and placed her under house arrest. She's no longer a part of this mission." To Dr. Shreiber, "If I had a spare flyer, I'd send you back to Rio tonight. Unfortunately, we have a missing pilot to search for, and she's more important than you are." To Corrigan, "Now get her out of here. She's interrupting the real work."

  He took her arm firmly. Shreiber looked like she wanted to say something else, but Corrigan shook his head at her and said softly, but firmly, "Don't make it worse." He escorted her off the observation deck, amid shocked stares.

  The general waited until the door whooshed shut behind them.

  Because increased observation has made it possible to begin cataloging the various Chtorran life forms, we are now starting to see a wider variance in individual species than previously observed. Bunnydogs, for example, are demonstrating a much greater range of development than originally thought.

  The average bunnydog-if such a creature as an average can be said to exist-will not be taller than one meter. The creature will mass between twenty and thirty kilograms. He will have very thick legs, a stubby frame, and heavily muscled limbs. His feet will probably be oversized, and his entire body will be covered with a thick coat of red, pink, or light brown fur. The redder the fur, the more neural symbionts the creature is carrying.

  —The Red Book,

  (Release 22.19A)

  Chapter 51

  Serenade

  "Heisenberg was not only right. He was absolutely right."

  -SOLOMON SHORT

  Then she exploded.

  "Now, let me make this excruciatingly clear!" she said such sudden anger that every person in the room was startl, immediately to attention. She pointed vehemently at the alarm display spread across the video table. "That is the enemy. Down, there! If you have any hatred, any enmity, any negative thoughts toward anything that isn't big and red and Chtorran, then you are betraying the mandate of this mission and the oath you took when you enlisted." To Johns and the people around him, she said "I'm not asking you to love MeCarthy. Frankly, he's not very lovable, and loving him isn't an easy job. But I am ordering you to work with him and I am ordering you to treat all of your coworkers with the same respect and courtesy that you'd want in return." I felt sorry for Johns. It wasn't all his fault, but he was bearing the brunt of it. It was obvious that he'd gotten the message. He looked close to tears. Apparently he'd never been bawled out like this before.

  And General Tirelli still wasn't through. She turned around include everyone in the cargo bay. There was absolute silence. The work had stopped. "Let me make this clear to each and every one of you." She spoke in precise clipped tones that only served accentuate the depth of her anger. "I am sick and fucking tired all this goddamn infighting, politicking, backbiting, and position scrabbling. I'm sick of it in Houston. I'm sick of it here. It does not serve you. It doesn't serve us. And it doesn't serve the people who sent us-so this is the end of it. It stops right here and right now." She looked back to Technician Clayton Johns specifically. "From this moment on, everything you say and everything you do had better be in the service of this mission, or I'll have you up on charges so fast you'll think Einstein was wrong about the speed of light. And that goes for the rest of you-and everybody else on this goddamn airship. Is that clear? It is? Good." And then in a surprisingly calm tone of voice, she turned to Captain Harbaugh. "Do you want to add anything to that, Captain?"

  Captain Harbaugh gazed studiedly at General Tirelli. "Goddamn?" she questioned. "Goddamn airship? I'll have you know that the pope himself blessed this vessel."

  "Really?" Lizard looked genuinely surprised.

  "Last year, in Rome." Captain Harbaugh was obviously pleased with herself.

  "I apologize," said Lizard. "I got carried away."

  "No problem. I enjoyed watching you work. You're very good." Captain Harbaugh turned to the rest of us and added quietly, "What General Tirelli said goes for me too. You're guests on this vessel. I expect you all to behave appropriately." Then she looked calmly to me and spoke as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. "Captain McCarthy? Please
-what is your assessment of the situation?"

  "Uh, I'm not a captain anymore, ma'am. I'm retired."

  "I know that, yes, but you're still entitled to the honorific. If you please?"

  "Yes, well-" I cleared my throat, I looked back at the video table. It dominated the darkness. We all looked like ghouls in its ghastly green light. The glowing display had changed significantly in the last few moments. Something was clearly happening below. The worms were surging up out of the ground. Our presence had to be the trigger. I cleared my throat a second time. "Um, our science officer has been studying this map longer than I have." I nodded across the table to Dwan. "I think it might be more valuable to hear what she has to say."

  Captain Harbaugh looked to Dwan. "Lieutenant Grodin?" Lizard caught my eye and nodded very slightly. Good.

  Dwan looked startled. I'd caught her off balance; she hadn't expected that from me. But she began stammering out words, clumsily at first, then as she regained control, her phrases became more carefully constructed. "J-just in the't-time we've been talking, I've b-been m-monitoring changes in the nest. We're almost d-directly over the center of the m-m-mandala now-that's the central arena d-down there."

  Captain Harbaugh nodded. "We're sky-anchoring now." She meant that the airship's computer would hold us at our present mooring and position for as long as we wanted it to. Satellite reconnaissance had revealed that the center of this mandala, like the center of the Japuran mandala, had been cleared to form a large open area; the Purus mandala also looked like it was being similarly shaped. Whatever the process was, it was generic.

  Nobody was sure exactly what purposes these huge clearings served, but the presence of such a clearing at the exact center of each mandala suggested considerable importance. The Mission Design Team-Lizard had brought me in to work with them, between the various postponements-had decided almost from the very beginning that the airship should take up its position directly over the center of the mandala. Whatever significance the arena Ir.rd for the worms might serve us equally well.