—The Red Book,
(Release 22.19A)
Chapter 76
Shaun
"If it's not your bedroom, it's not your affair."
—SOLOMON SHORT
I had plenty of time to appreciate the irony of the situation. I had been detached from my commission, my team, my wife, my weapons, my communications, and finally, even my mobility. One piece at a time, I had been reduced to this totally dependent thing. I hated it.
Even worse, I had promised one of the people I most despised in the world that I would cooperate with my fate. I wondered what Foreman would do in this situation and wished I had a gun. I sipped at the canteen; peed a little, chewed a P-ration, and listened to the noises of the hot wet jungle all around us. The day was dark and getting darker.
I thought about praying, but… that seemed a futile exercise. It had worked once before, when I was caught in a pink storm with Duke; but now-the image of Wild Willie Aycock stood between me and God. And besides, God was in hell, so why bother praying? What I really wanted was a telephone-and that was the one thing I was least likely to get.
I was wondering what it would feel like to just give up, when Shaun stuck his head in through the flap. "How're you feeling, gorgeous?"
"I'm feeling anything but gorgeous."
"Brought you a present," he said. He looked behind himself and then quickly slipped into the tent. He was holding something behind his back. "But it'll cost you."
"What?"
"One kiss."
"Shaun-" I said tiredly.
"You really want this present," he grinned.
"You never give up, do you?"
He shrugged happily. "Nope, I guess not." He held up his present. A phone. "It's my own," he said. "But it's got a direct connection to the worldnet, so maybe-"
"How did you know that I wanted a phone?"
"Dr. Shreiber gave orders that you weren't to be allowed near any communications gear."
"You're violating her order? You're going to get in trouble."
"I don't work for Dr. Shreiber. My job is to serve the mission. If you need a phone, it must be for something important."
"It is. I'm going to try to save Lizard's life." Shaun's expression went terribly sad.
"What aren't you telling me?"
The words poured out painfully. "They found the last box of computer logs she was carrying, the ones she was supposed to take in the chopper, they were in the worst-crunched part of the lounge. They found her phone, too."
"But-?" I wasn't ready to give up hope.
"They didn't find her. They couldn't get in any farther. I'm sorry, Jim." He didn't want to say it. "But they've stopped searching. They don't have enough people anymore. And almost everybody is accounted for."
"Whose orders?"
Hesitation. "Dr. Shreiber."
"It figures." And then, I realized. "Where's Captain Harbaugh?"
"She was injured in the crash. She's in a coma." Shaun's lower lip trembled. He looked like he was about to cry. "They don't know if she's going to make it."
"She'll make it," I said. "She's a strong lady." Shaun nodded hopefully.
He put his phone into my hand. Then he stepped even closer and lowered his voice to a soft whisper. "You don't have to kiss me if you don't want to," he said. "I was just joking-"
"Not true. You were hoping." He looked embarrassed. "Come here," I said.
"Huh?"
"You heard me."
He knelt beside my cot. I levered myself up on one elbow so I could put my face close to his. I reached over and stroked his hair.
He really was a sweet-looking boy. I wet my lips and closed my eyes.
Nothing happened.
I opened my eyes. Shaun was looking at me oddly. His eyes were shiny with tears.
"What is it?" I asked.
"You really do love her, don't you?"
"More than anyone in the whole world," I said.
He nodded. "I wish I had someone who loved me like that." The sadness and longing in his voice were heartbreaking. He started to get up.
"Hold it," I said. "Where's my kiss?"
"You don't have to-"
"A deal's a deal." I reached for his hand and pulled him back. At first, he hesitated, but I refused to let go of his hand. At last, he realized he wasn't going to be allowed to leave the tent without completing the transaction. His expression was uncertain, but he knelt close and put his face near mine again. I stretched over and kissed him gently on the lips. I let myself linger over the moment. He tasted as sweet as he looked. Finally, he broke away. He looked at me in surprise and delight and wonderment. "Wow…" he whispered. "How do you do that?"
"You're asking me? I thought you were the expert."
He shook his head. "So did I-"
"It's no secret," I said. "I just kissed you like you were the most important person in the world to me, because while I was kissing you, you were."
"Wow," he said again. "That's a new one to me. I gotta remember that." He knelt down and kissed me again, this time just a quick friendly peck on the lips, but I could tell he was already practicing. "Keep the phone hidden. I'll be back later." And then he was gone.
Most amazing, a living nest is a continual symphony of organic sound: noisy, enthusiastic, intricate, and indescribable. The entire nest pulses with clangorous, uproarious life. It is as if every single living thing within the Chtorran mandala has a voice and is determined to use it, expressing itself across the full range of its emotional terrain.
The walls of the tunnels throb with slow heart-like beats. Deep and regular booming vibrations can be felt thrumming through the ground. Bubbling and belching noises, like the sounds of a vast stomach ruminatively rumbling, come echoing up the shafts from the bottommost depths of the colony.
Other things, of all sizes, add their own sounds; they squeak and shriek and click and whirr, creating an ever-present susurrus of insect-like noises, a soft tide of tiny chitterings that ebbs and flows up and down the tunnels. Bunnydog gobblings and snuffler gulps can be heard in nearby chambers, and occasionally, even the purple wail of a distressed gastropede. Higher pitched notes are felt more than heard, the tiny ultrasonic pips of bladderbugs and the blind rat-like creatures that live on the ceilings and within the fleshy walls of the tunnels and chambers.
And over it all, under it all, throughout it all, permeating every part of the nest, echoing, resonating, vibrating in every Chtorran creature, is the continual great humming chorus of the gastropedes. Worms of all sizes, from the very smallest to the most immense, participate in this fantastic choir. They rumble continuously, each creature adding its own distinctive note to the song of the nest.
The sound is unlike anything ever heard before; the physical sensation of it is exhilarating, exciting, disturbing-and ultimately overwhelming. The experience is terrifying.
—The Red Book,
(Release 22.19A)
Chapter 77
Dannenfelser
"The karmic chicken always comes home to roost."
-SOLOMON SHORT
Instantly, I was punching up Houston. There was only one person who could get me what I needed. This was going to be one of the hardest things I'd ever done in ray life. He answered on the third ring. "Dannenfelser."
"Randy," I said.
I could hear his expression hardening, even over the phone. "What do you want?" he asked. His voice was very, very cold.
"I want to give you the opportunity to get even with me," I said. "I'm going to ask you for something. If you say no, it will be the worst thing that ever happened to me in my, entire life. If you say no, it will destroy me."
"Quit trying to cheer me up," he said. "Ask your question."
"Lizard Tirelli is missing."
"I know. General Wainright is very concerned about that."
"l find that hard to believe-"
"All differences of opinion aside-and yes, there have been plenty-General Tirelli is a brilliant officer. She do
es have her weaknesses," he said meaningfully, "but her strengths outweigh them."
"She's not dead," I said. "I spoke to her on the phone. I know where she was. I know where she has to be. But I've got a broken knee. I can't get to her."
"What do you want me to do?"
"You're coordinating the rescue operation, aren't you?"
"Only the information management."
"But you're running the prowlers through your department, right?"
"We've got two teams of a dozen operators each, forebraining the prowlers. We've got a security perimeter around the whole camp."
"I want one of the prowlers," I said.
I had to give him credit. He didn't flinch. "What for?"
"I want to use it to go searching for Lizard. The prowler can go where nothing else can."
"We need the prowlers for security," he said. "If I pull one out of the pattern, it jeopardizes all of you."
"Listen to me, please-"
"I haven't hung up on you yet."
"I wouldn't blame you if you did. I probably deserve it. But Lizard Tirelli doesn't deserve to be punished for my arrogance."
That stopped him. But only for a moment.
"What's the other agenda here, McCarthy?"
"I love her more than life itself," I said. I couldn't believe I had just admitted that to Randy Dannenfelser, but I had. Even more amazing, I had said it calmly.
He didn't answer.
"Please," I said. "Let me have the prowler-just for a few hours. Let me look for her."
Still, he didn't reply. I wondered what he was thinking, I wondered what he was going to ask in return.
"I'll owe you my life-" I started to say. "I promise you, I'll never ever trouble you again-"
"No deal," he said finally. "I couldn't make a deal like that, and you couldn't keep it. We both have too little respect for each other to make deals."
"Randy-"
"Wait a minute, stupid. I haven't finished talking. You've got your prowler."
"Huh?"
"This has nothing to do with you and me. This doesn't even have anything to do with the fact that you love her. It's simply the right thing to do."
"Oh, God. Thank you, Randy-"
"Don't thank me. Don't you dare thank me. And don't you ever ever make the mistake of assuming that I did this out of any affection for either you or the general. And most of all, don't ever speak to me about this again. One of the prowlers is about to have an LI dysfunction. It'll take about six hours to find the node of confusion. That's the longest I can pull it safely out of the pattern. Even so, we're still going to have a peripatetic hole. Now, then-give me your terminal code-"
"Oh, shit," I said.
"You don't have a terminal."
"Right." Silence. "Wait a minute." My mind was racing.
"You can't get one, can you?"
"I had to steal this phone, Randy-"
He sighed. Loudly. "McCarthy, you are more fucking trouble."
Another long moment. I had no idea what he was doing, what he might be thinking. For all I knew, he might even be considering chucking the whole idea. At last, he said, "I've got an idea. I don't know if it's feasible. Are you going to be at this number?"
"I'm not going anywhere," I said.
"I'll get back to you."
"Randy-thank you."
"I haven't done anything yet. And even if I do, I don't want your thanks."
"You're really going to make this hard on me, aren't you?"
"Can you think of any reason why I shouldn't?"
"You're bigger than spiteful and petty revenge?" I offered hopefully.
He thought about it. "No, I don't think so. I'm just the right size for spiteful and petty revenge. The fact that I'm doing this doesn't change anything at all between us. After she's found, you and I are back to normal." And then he clicked off.
Twenty minutes later, Dr. Shreiber came storming into my tent, her hand out, her fingers snapping. "All right, where is it?"
"Where's what?"
"The goddamn telephone."
I tried to play stupid. "What goddamn telephone? You didn't give me one."
It didn't work. "I know you have a phone. I know you got it from that little fairy, Shaun. I know you called Dannenfelser. You homos think you can get away with anything, don't you?"
Is that what I looked like when I said those things? Suddenly I hated Dr. Shreiber. Suddenly I was ashamed of myself. Suddenly I wanted to kill her.
"The phone?" she prompted.
"Go to hell."
"After you, Alphonse," she said, hitting my arm with the hypo spray. I went out so fast, I didn't even have time to tell her what I thought of her.
In the larger, most intensely settled, central areas of the mandala, our probes found that almost all of the main corkscrew tunnels spiraled down to very large central chambers. These chambers were invariably filled with a thick, organic liquid.
The older the chamber, the larger it was and the more syrupy the fluid within; dark and soupy, it generally demonstrated the texture and consistency of motor oil, although occasionally the substance was found as thick as molasses or tar. The purpose of these chambers and their reservoirs of syrup is apparently to provide a resting place for gastropedes that have grown too large to be mobile.[6]
Apparently, the reservoir chambers serve as "dying rooms" for the eldest members of the Chtorran family. When a gastropede begins to mass three or four thousand kilos, it ceases to be an ambulatory object and becomes instead a landmark, an enormous sac of hungry pudding. When a gastropede approaches this threshold volume, the sheer effort of moving itself starts to become so energy-intensive that it cannot consume enough biomass to maintain itself; so instead, it retires to a suitable reservoir chamber. The syrup in the chamber provides buoyancy and nutrients, enabling the creature to survive in some comfort a while longer.
During this period of "retirement" the elder gastropede is continuously tended by the smaller, younger members of its family. The elder emits a steady rumbling harmonic, which apparently serves as the fundamental note for the entire family, and perhaps every other creature living in the nest.
Although we have only limited observational evidence, we believe that when the creature does finally die, the syrup undergoes a transformation, as do many of the microscopic creatures living in it. Various small creatures in the chamber even demonstrate a swarming behavior. The total effect is to break down the body of the dead gastropede into reusable materials for the benefit of all the other organisms that depend on the mandala host.
During this time, the chamber is sealed from the outside, as the process of putrefaction is quite noxious and likely to infect other parts of the nest.
—The Red Book,
(Release 22.19A)
Chapter 78
Dwan
"A postal worker can lose anything but his job. This explains the quality of the service."
-SOLOMON SHORT
I must have been out all day. By the time I fluttered back up to a state resembling consciousness, sunset was a horizontal lattice of red light slanting through the trees. The effect was eerie. Clouds of dust filled the air and made it difficult to breathe. Overhead, choppers were clattering like hovering tornadoes. I wasn't in my tent anymore. I was on the ground. People were rushing around me. People I didn't recognize. Unfamiliar uniforms. I levered myself up onto my elbows. We were in a scorched clearing, the stink of cordite in the air, an absolutely perfect circle-instant landing field, carved by a daisy-cutter dropped from a chopper. This one was filled with military gear of all kinds soldiers, spiders, machines, prowlers, crates of equipment, pallets of ordnance.
"What's going on-?" I tried to ask, but no one would stop to talk to me. I grabbed at every passing figure. "Help me-" I cried. "Someone help me." I was ignored. I began screaming
"We're being evacuated, calm down," someone said. "You're going out on the next chopper, don't worry." In the distance, I could hear the sound of gunfire
and the muted roar of torches. Acrid smoke was wafting up over the treetops. And then I heard the other sound, a many-voiced sound, all purple and red, and chirruping in anger. The battle was getting closer.
"We're being attacked!" I cried.
"It's all right," somebody said. "We're holding the line. You're perfectly safe. You're going out on the next chopper. We're just waiting for a daisy-cutter. They overran the other clearing."
And then I was alone again, waiting. Somehow I dragged myself up into a sitting position and looked around. I was tied to a stretcher. There were stretchers on either side of me. I couldn't identify some of the bodies; they had already been bagged. Two stretchers down, though, I saw Shaun-either dead or unconscious. He didn't look good. Something had broken him up pretty bad.
"Lie d-down," said a thick voice from behind me.
I turned to look. "Dwan!"
She was still wearing her hurt and angry expression. "You sh-shut up, Mr. Shim McCarthy. You j -just sh-shut up and stay d-down." Her anger muted her stutter.
"Dwan-listen to me. I'm sorry. I was a stupid jerk. I was wrong to say what I did. I wasn't mad at you, I was mad at myself and I said some cruel and angry things. You understand me, don't you? You know that people sometimes do things they don't mean because-well, because they're confused. Can you understand that?"
She blinked at me, confused. She shook her head. "You are n-not a very n-nice m-man."
"What was your first clue?" I asked. She looked puzzled. The joke was beyond her.
"Listen to me," I said. "I need your help. Lizard needs your help. General Tirelli."
"I d-don't w-want to help you," she said. "I d-don't like you."
"I'm sorry that you don't like me. In a minute, I think you're going to like me even less-and I don't have any way to make it up to you."
"I d-don't understand you."
"I'm talking to the massmind now," I said, staring directly into Dwan's face. "I know you're using her. I know that you've been peeking out through her body since the day you implanted her. There's no way you could have given her an augment without also giving her an implant. She doesn't know it, though, does she? But I do-"
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