V: The Crivit Experiment

by Allen Wold

  "You mean they could destroy all life on the East Coast?" Anne asked at last.

  "No, not at all," JoAnn said. "Things would stabilize in a decade or so when the crivit population expanded to its feeding capacity. We would have just as much wildlife as before. But it would be a different balance. Imagine what life would be like if wolf packs, lion prides, and families of bears roamed around without our ability to kill them off. The ecological system would shift radically. It would survive, though a number of species might die out from overpreying or inadequate competition with the crivits. But human economics would go down the tubes."

  "And since," Mark interjected, "some of these crivits have already gotten beyond the confines of the breeding station, we'll have to stop them before they escape altogether."

  "I won't argue with you," Anne said, "but this is going to have to be carefully planned. We'll have to take out Leon and his staff all at once. Then we'll have to make sure we catch and kill all the crivits. And we'll have to do that quickly, before Chang finds out something is wrong and comes down to stop us. If we miss on this one shot, we won't have a second chance."

  "I agree," Mark said. "But we might be able to accomplish our ends in another way. Remember that conversation Diana had with Leon the other day? She warned him against allowing that very thing to happen, letting the crivits escape. Maybe it's time we admitted we've bugged the place, and sent word to Chang that Leon is endangering the environment and working against Diana's explicit instructions."

  "I think we may be able to blow the whistle on Leon," Anne said, "without having to divulge our own big secret. All we have to do is admit that we've bugged the breeding lab, which we have."

  "We'll work all three ways," Mark said. "Personally, I think we could do a lot just by killing Leon. He's the one, after all, who's responsible. If he were out of the picture, I don't think anybody else would be allowed to carry on in his stead. "

  "It's obvious," JoAnn said, "that we've got a lot more thinking to do, and I—"

  "Just a minute," Anne said as the intercom buzzed.

  "This is Bill," said the voice on the other end. "Use the green line, please."

  Anne picked up the phone and punched the button that opened the dedicated line not connected to the outside world. Whether the Visitors had taps on their other phone lines was uncertain, but this line was isolated and inspected daily.

  "What is it, Bill?" she asked.

  "Professor Morton Barnes was arrested this morning and taken to Camp T-3."

  "Damn," Anne said. "Thanks, Bill." She hung up and told the others the news.

  "Damn, indeed," JoAnn said. "Barnes knows all about us. If they question him, they'll be sure to find out, and then everything will be over."

  "I guess this puts the crivits on hold," Mark said.

  "Only as far as a decision is concerned," Anne told him and the others. "I want everybody to come up with every possible plan they can, and we'll talk about it later. But you're right, if we don't get Barnes out of Camp T-3, none of our plans will have any meaning."

  A short while later, Anne drove through downtown Chapel Hill toward Carrboro. Traffic seemed normal, and there were few Visitors in sight. She drove up Greensboro Street in Carrboro to the FCX, where she parked and went inside.

  Wilma Southerland and another woman were attending to customers at the counter. Anne waited until Wilma was free, and then went up to her.

  "There's something about my last bill I don't understand," she said. "Can I talk to you about it?"

  "Surely," Wilma said. "Come on into the office." She lifted the flap on the counter and led Anne into the back room.

  "We need some professional help," Anne said when Wilma had shut the door.

  "What sort?" Wilma asked, lighting a cigarette.

  "The lizards picked up someone who knows enough about us to endanger the whole intelligence project," Anne said, and told about Professor Barnes's arrest and what he knew.

  "That's bad," Wilma agreed. "Underground central has been able to put a lot of your information to good use. Not to mention that your own lives will be in danger."

  "There's a complication," Anne said, and told her the most recent developments in the crivit project. "We just don't have the personnel or the expertise to handle both situations at once," she concluded. "I'm not even sure we can make the right decision ourselves."

  "Boy, you've really opened up a can of worms," Wilma said. "All right, this calls for the best. I'll get a message to Chris Faber out in L. A. and call you back on it as soon as I know anything."

  "Thanks, Wilma," Anne said. They left the office. "Thanks for clearing that up for me," she added as Wilma let her out from behind the counter.

  "No problem," Wilma said, and turned to take care of the next customer.

  RTP Area Administrator Chang looked over the report she had just received from the crivit research project. A brief message telling of the human trespass had been waiting for her when she'd gotten to her office a few hours ago. It also said a full report would be forthcoming. As she read it now, she tried to convince herself that it was just a case of random vandalism, as had happened on the UNC Chapel Hill campus awhile back.

  According to the report, there had been no damage, but two verlogs had turned up missing. Whether these had been taken by the humans or whether the humans had just allowed them to escape, nobody knew. Their disappearance might not have had anything to do with the trespass, since the staff occasionally supplemented their meals with one of the test animals.

  Of greater interest was the discovery, during pursuit of the humans, of the mines underneath the Thurston property. The full extent of the mine tunnels had not yet been determined, but their existence seemed to provide no hazard to the house or the other buildings on the property. That the humans had used the mines to gain access to the property was worrisome, however. Besides the mind head just a few hundred yards from the house, there were three other exits, and the humans could have entered from any one of these.

  Chang read the descriptions of the five humans involved. None were very clear, but one rang a bell. It was a more complete description than the others, since the man had been seen up close by Gerald, one of the technicians on the crivit project. And though Visitors found that most humans seemed to look alike, Chang felt sure that she had seen this same person herself once or twice before.

  She reached for the communicator and called Leon at the crivit farm.

  "I've just finished reading your report," she said when Leon came on the line. "This human who Gerald saw— does his description seem at all familiar to you?"

  "It does," Leon said, "but I haven't been able to place it."

  "That narrows it down quite a bit," Chang said. "The only place we've been together where there are humans is the Five Star Bar."

  "That's it," Leon said. "He was sitting back in the corner the night we went there after my arrival."

  "Exactly. Do you want to try to find him, or shall I?"

  "I'll let Gerald do it," Leon said. "He'd recognize him at once and would like a chance to get even. The human hurt him pretty badly."

  "Fine," Chang said. "I'll tell Timothy to put a couple of security guards at your disposal. When you find this man, send him down to Camp T-3 and we'll find out what he knows."

  Durk finished the last of his homemade whiskey and still wasn't satisfied. He'd spent the day working around the barn and house instead of in his fields. His tractor was still inaccessible, as he'd discovered when, after waking up late, he'd gone up to see if he could recover it. Crivit burrows surrounded it, tearing up his bean rows. They did not extend too far from the abandoned machine, but he dared not go over that ground to get it, especially since it was now out of fuel and would be hard to start. Even if he brought in a can of kerosene, the crivits' tentacles were long enough to reach him on the tractor's seat. And without the tractor, there wasn't much he could do.

  Anxiety over the presence of the aliens next door added to his frustrati
on. The result was that, after supper, he'd abandoned caution and drunk up the last of his moonshine. There hadn't been that much and he wanted more.

  He went out to his truck, thinking that he could use it to haul his tractor in if the crivits weren't so active. If it would only rain, the ground would become inhospitable to the creatures, and it might be safe enough for him to hitch it up. But now the ground was drier than ever, the soil ever more permeable. Thank God, he thought as he started down the drive to the road, the clay made most of his farm inaccessible to the monsters.

  The nearest place to get something to drink was the Five Star Bar. They weren't supposed to sell bottles of whiskey, but Tom Rogers knew Durk and maybe would make an exception. He drove the long way round so he wouldn't have to pass in front of the Thurston house.

  The sunset was at its most spectacular when he pulled up into the parking lot in front of the bar. He recognized most of the cars there. He went in and saw Tom standing at the end of the bar, talking with George Monty.

  "How's it going, Durk?" Tom asked.

  "You don't want to know," Durk answered. "Evenin', George."

  "Things been that bad, huh?" George asked.

  "Moles," Durk said cryptically. "I need a bottle, Tom. Can you fix me up?"

  Tom looked around at his other customers. "I guess so, if you keep it under your coat."

  "I'd appreciate it. I'd rather not go all the way to Chapel Hill tonight."

  "Churchill'd be closer, wouldn't it?" George asked.

  "Than Chapel Hill but not closer than here. You want to come on down and help me work on it?"

  "Man, you must be really desperate," George said as Tom went off to put a bottle of bourbon into a bag. "Sure, I'll keep you company."

  "I'd appreciate it," Durk said. He took out his wallet and put a ten-dollar bill on the counter.

  "That'll be six-twenty," Tom said, handing Durk the bag. He took the bill while Durk stuck the bag into his belt under his jacket and George finished up his beer. "You take it easy," Tom added when he brought back the change.

  "I'll take it easy tomorrow," Durk said. "Thanks, Tom." He turned to the door just as it opened to admit three red-uniformed Visitors. One of them was Gerald.

  "Oh, shit," Durk said, his voice a barely audible whisper. Gerald was looking right at him, a small smile on his artificial face.

  "It's my turn now," Gerald said, his voice more resonant than ever. He stepped up and quickly swung a blow at Durk's midsection. Instead of hitting Durk's solar plexus, however, the Visitor's fist struck the bottle of bourbon with a sound of breaking knuckles.

  Durk staggered back but did not lose his sudden opportunity. While Gerald was yelling and holding his injured hand and the other two Visitors hesitated in confusion, Durk turned and ran through the bar to the door at the back. Fortunately, nobody got in his way.

  He went through the door with a crash, through the tiny office beyond, and out into the service area behind the bar. His truck was probably out of reach. He sprinted toward the woods beyond the bar and nearly made it when a powerful spotlight shone down from overhead, directly upon him. A laser pulse incinerated a spot in the ground right in the direction he was going.

  He skidded to a stop, turning at the same time, but before he could make any headway in a different direction, another laser pulse struck just a yard away. Then a third. The shock of the near shots made him sit down heavily.

  The spotlight centered on him. "Just hold it right there," an amplified voice called from overhead. Durk did not need to look up to know that an alien skyfighter was hovering above him. He heard the back door of the bar slam open and feet running toward him.

  All the fight went out of him at once. He sat until the two soldiers who'd been with Gerald reached down to grab him and drag him roughly to his feet. One of them reached into his jacket and pulled out the bottle.

  "This bar doesn't have a license for package sales," the Visitor said wryly. He and the other soldier, holding on to Durk's shoulders, marched him around to the front of the bar where the skyfighter was settling down to the pavement, blocking traffic. Gerald came out from the front, holding his broken hand.

  "You're going to regret this, Mr. Attweiler," Gerald said. George or Tom must have told the Visitor Durk's name. Durk didn't blame them; they didn't want to be arrested too.

  "Let's get him on board," Gerald told the two soldiers. The hatch of the skyfighter opened, and the soldiers forced Durk up the ramp.

  Chapter 9

  Durk Attweiler was processed into Camp T-3 just like any other human, except for a bit of first aid for the beating Gerald had given him en route. But unlike other humans, when he was put out into the compound, he recognized where he was.

  It was night and lights shone down, not on the compound itself but onto the sandy moat that surrounded it outside the chain-link fence. That was different, but the barracks buildings were the same as when Durk had been here before. Back then, this had been a part of the Fort Bragg military base.

  There were few other prisoners up and about at this time of night. Durk had no instructions from his captors as to where to go or what to do with himself, so he went to where a small group of people was standing at a darkened corner of one of the barracks.

  "Excuse me," he said, "but where can I find a place to sleep?"

  "They got you too," an older man said, turning to face him. It was Professor Morton Barnes.

  "Welcome to Camp T-3," a young man with wildly disheveled hair said sardonically. "You too can become some lizard's lunch."

  "Be quiet, Peter," a black man said. "Our new friend might prove himself useful to our hosts in other ways."

  "It is to be hoped," Professor Barnes said. "Durk Attweiler, meet Peter Frye and Cliff Upton."

  "Are you badly hurt?" Upton asked, noticing Durk's bandages.

  "Not as badly as the guy who beat me is," Durk said. "He was angry, but he wasn't tough enough to do me any real damage."

  "They don't want to spoil their livestock," Peter said, pursuing a dark thought.

  "Enough, Peter," Upton said again. "We don't know that that's what's in store for us."

  "Like hell we don't," Peter said. "You know what this place is, Attweiler? It's a stockyard. If we can't be made into slaves, or if we don't throw ourselves to the crivits outside the fence, we're all going to be eaten. How do you like that?"

  Upton slapped him across the face. Peter didn't strike back but just turned away, his hands clenched into fists.

  "Don't pay any attention to him," Barnes said. "He's just overwrought."

  "No, he isn't," Durk said. "He's probably got the situation pretty well figured out. But do you? Have the lizards questioned you much?"

  "No, not much. What do you mean?"

  "Have they asked you about certain people you know? About Dr. Van Oort, for example?"

  "Uh, no, not that I know of. Why?"

  "Because," Durk said, "if they do, they'll find out all about what those people are doing. I don't want to die, Professor Barnes, and maybe they just think I'm a trespasser. But if they start to get too close to what I know about crivits and what other people are learning about them, I may have to decide to go take a walk across that sand over there, just so they won't pick my brains. Have you thought about that?"

  "Jesus," Barnes said.

  It was nearly midnight in the secret lab below Data Tronix. Bill Gray punched a global-search command into the console. The screen overhead showed the word, "SEARCHING."

  Next to him, Paul Freedman was running another program to compile a series of reports based on internal communications intercepted at Visitor headquarters. These communications all had to do with the Visitors' attempts at monitoring human activities in the Research Triangle Park. From these reports, extrapolations could be made to indicate which of the various research facilities were currently under the most intense surveillance and which, as a consequence, should be most careful about their own activities and communications. Those who for the
moment were being ignored could afford to take chances. Since the development of this system, the two dozen companies in the Park had been able to operate more freely than they had in the past, whether their activities were directly opposed to Visitor regulations or of just marginal interest to the aliens. Bill's screen scrolled and now read:

  SEARCH STRING "CAMP T-3" FOUND. FOUR ENTRIES.

  TYPE "R" TO READ, "P" TO PRINT, "S" TO STORE TO DISK.

  Bill typed "R". The entries were all very brief. The third one, however, made him pause.

  SPEAKER A: We have the human Durk Attweiler in custody and are now on our way to Camp T-3.

  SPEAKER B: Very good, Gerald. I hope you didn't hurt him too badly.

  SPEAKER A: Just a little bit. Any special instructions?

  SPEAKER B: Just make sure he'll be able to talk when we want him to.

  SPEAKER A: Don't worry about that.

  "Look at this," Bill said to Paul. "Wasn't it Durk Attweiler who took Mark and Anne and those down to bug the crivit ranch?"

  "That's right," Paul said. "We'd better let them know about this."

  "Won't do them any good if we can't find out where Camp T-3 is."

  "That message sounds like it was being transmitted from a skyfighter. Run a triangulation on it."

  "Right," Bill said. He canceled the rest of the report and called up another program. Feeding it the ID code of the message in question, he got the data on signal strength and direction from the time it was intercepted.

  "Looks like somewhere near Fayetteville," he said.

  "Fort Bragg," Paul said. "I'll bet you anything that's where Camp T-3 is, somewhere out on their artillery range."

  "Goddamn it, I bet you're right." He reached for the dedicated phone whose only other connection was to Anne Marino's office. She answered it immediately.