“The thing I was not expecting about being human is the skin,” he said. “It is so sensitive, so awake.”
“So you like it now, being human?” she asked.
“There are compensations,” he said, watching her steadily.
Her intellect told her she ought to be changing the subject, pressing him on the topic of public concern, but her private concerns were flooding her mind, making it impossible to think. She was slightly drunk, or she never would have said it aloud. “Damn! It’s so unfair. Why does such a perfect man have to be an alien?”
A human man would have taken it as an invitation. Captain Groton hesitated, then with great restraint took her hands chastely in his. “Susan,” he said, “There is something I need to explain, or I would be deceiving you.” He drew a breath to steady himself as she watched, puzzled at his self-consciousness. He went on, “It is not an accident, this shape I have assumed. On my planet, when a woman chooses a man, he becomes what she most wishes him to be. It is the function of the chameleon trait. We would have died out long ago without it.” He gave a slight smile. “I suppose nature realized that men can never be what women really want until they are created by women.”
Susan was struggling to take it in. “Created by...? But who created you?”
“You did,” he said.
“You mean—”
“That first day we met, when you touched me. It is why we avoid human contact. A touch by the right woman is enough to set off the reaction. After that, physiology takes over. Every time you touched me after that, it was biochemical feedback to perfect the process.”
All the misery and shock of an interspecies transformation, and she had done it to him? “Oh my God, you must hate me,” she said.
“No. Not at all.”
Of course not. Her perfect man would never hate her. It would defeat the purpose.
At that thought, she felt like a bird that had flown into a window pane. “You mean you are everything I want in a man?” she said.
“Evidently.”
“I thought Tom was what I wanted,” she said faintly.
“You already have him,” Captain Groton said. “You don’t need another.”
She studied his face, custom-made for her, like a revelation of her own psyche. It was not a perfect face, not at all movie-star handsome, but worn with the traces of experience and sadness.
“What about your personality?” she asked. “Did I create that, too?”
He shook his head. “That is all mine.”
“But that’s the best part,” she said.
She couldn’t see his face in the dim light, but his voice sounded deeply touched. “Thank you.”
They were acting like teenagers. They were like teenagers, in the power of an unfamiliar hormonal rush, an evolutionary imperative. The instant she realized it, it shocked her. She had never intended to cheat on Tom, not for a nanosecond. And yet, it was as if she already had, in her heart. She had fantasized a lover into being without even realizing it. He was the living proof of her infidelity of mind.
Trying to be adult, she said, “This is very awkward, captain. What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Perhaps—”
Just then, the back porch light came on, and they jumped apart guiltily, as if caught doing what they were both trying to avoid thinking about.
Tom was standing on the back porch, looking out at them. “You’re back!” Susan called brightly, hoping her voice didn’t sound as strained as she felt. She started up the lawn toward the house, leaving Captain Groton to follow. “Have you eaten?”
“Yes,” Tom said. “I stopped at the Burger King in Walker.”
“Oh, poor dear. I was just about to make coffee. Want some?”
“I am afraid I must be getting back to base,” Captain Groton said.
“Won’t you even stay for coffee?” Susan said.
“No, it is later than I realized.” With a rueful laugh he added, “Now I understand why humans are always late.”
She went with him to the front door, leaving Tom in the kitchen. The captain hesitated on the steps. “Thank you, Susan,” he said, and she knew it wasn’t for dinner.
Softly, she said, “Your women are lucky, captain.”
Seriously, he said, “No, they’re not.”
“Their lives may be brief, but I’ll bet they’re happy.”
“I hope you are right.” He left, hurrying as if to escape his memories.
When Susan went back into the kitchen, Tom said with studied casualness, “Did you make any headway with him?”
“No,” she said. “He’s very dutiful.” She busied herself pouring coffee. When she handed him his cup, for the first time in their marriage she saw a trace of worry in his eyes. She set the cup down and put her arms around him. “Tom,” she said fiercely, “I love you so much.”
He said nothing, but held her desperately tight.
And yet, that night as she lay awake listening to Tom’s familiar breathing, questions crowded her mind.
There was a hole in her life she had not even known was there. Now that she knew it, she could not ignore the ache. She had settled into a life of compromises, a life of good-enough. And it was no longer good enough.
Yet there was no way for her to have more without hurting Tom. She didn’t love him any less for the revelation that he wasn’t perfect for her; he was human, after all. None of this was his fault.
She looked at the lump of covers that was her husband, and thought of all she owed him for years of loyalty and trust. Somehow, she needed to turn from possibility and desire, and pass on by. She had to reconcile herself to what she had. It was simply her duty.
* * * *
The day of the move was planned down to the last detail, the way the Wattesoons did everything. Fleets of moving vans, hired from all over the region, would descend on Okanoggan Falls starting at six thirty a.m.
After stopping at the Wattesoon base, they would roll into town at eight sharp and fan out to assigned locations. The schedule of times when each household would be moved had been published in the paper, posted in the stores, and hand-delivered to each doorstep. There was a website where everyone could find their own move time.
The protesters were organized as well. The word had gone out that everyone was to gather at seven a.m. in the park opposite Town Hall. From there, they would march down Main Street to the spot where the highway ran between the bluff and the river, and block the route the trucks would have to take into town.
When Susan and Tom pulled into the mayor’s reserved parking spot behind Town Hall at six forty-five, it was clear the rally had drawn a crowd. The local police were directing traffic and enforcing parking rules, but not otherwise interfering. Lines of people carrying homemade signs, thermos bottles, and lawn chairs snaked toward the park, as if it were a holiday. Some activists Susan didn’t recognize were trying to get a hand-held PA system going.
When Tom and Susan reached the front steps of Town Hall, Walt Nodaway, the Police Chief, saw them and came up. “We’ve got some professionals from out of town,” he said. “Probably drove in from Madison.”
“You have enough guys?” Tom asked.
“As long as everyone stays peaceable.”
“The officers know not to interfere?”
“Oh, yeah.” They had talked it over at length the night before.
A reporter came up, someone from out of town. “Mayor Abernathy, are you here to support the protesters?” she asked.
Tom said, “Everyone has a right to express their opinions. I support their right whether I agree with them or not.”
“But do you agree with the people resisting the relocation?”
Susan had coached him not to say “No comment,” but she could tell he wanted to right now. “It’s hard on people. They want to defend their homes. I know how they feel.” Susan squeezed his hand to encourage him.
The city council members had begun to arrive, and they gathered
on the steps around Tom, exchanging low-toned conversations and watching the crowd mill around. The protest was predictably late getting started; it was seven thirty before the loudspeaker shrieked to life and someone started to lead a chorus of “We Shall Not Be Moved.” People were starting to line up for the two-block march down to the highway when, from the opposite direction, a familiar black SUV came speeding around the police barricades and pulled up in front of Town Hall. A van that had been following it stopped on the edge of the park.
Captain Groton got out, followed by three Wattesoon guards who looked even more lumpish than usual beside their lean commander. All were in sand-colored uniforms. The captain cast an eye over the park, where people had just started to realize that the opposition had arrived, and then he turned to mount the steps. When he came up to Tom he said in a low, commanding voice, “A word with you, Mayor Abernathy. Inside.” He turned to the city council members. “You too.” Then he continued up the steps to the door. The others followed.
A few spectators were able to crowd inside before the Wattesoon guards closed the doors; Susan was one of them. She stood with the other onlookers at the back of the room as Captain Groton turned to the city officials.
They had never seen him really angry before, and it was an unsettling sight. There was a cold intensity about him, a control pulled tight and singing. “I am obliged to hold all of you responsible for the behavior of those people outside,” he said. “They must return to their homes immediately and not interfere with the operation in progress.” He turned to Tom. “I would prefer that the order come from you, Mayor.”
“I can’t give them that order,” Tom said. “For one, I don’t agree with it. For two, they’re not going to obey it, regardless of what I say. I’m not their commander, just their mayor. They elected me, they can unelect me.”
“You have a police force at your disposal.”
“Just Walt and three officers. They can’t act against the whole town. There must be four hundred people out there.”
“Well then, consider this,” Captain Groton said. “I do have a force at my disposal. Two hundred armed soldiers. Ten minutes ago, they started to surround the park outside. They are only waiting for my order to move in and start arresting noncompliants. We have a secure facility ready to receive prisoners. It is your decision, Mayor.”
Somehow, they had not expected such heavy-handed tactics. “There are children out there, and old people,” Tom protested. “You can’t have soldiers rough them up. They’re just expressing their views.”
“They have had three months to express their views. The time for that is over.”
“The time for that is never over,” Tom said.
Their eyes met for a moment, clashing; then Captain Groton changed his tone. “I am at my wit’s end,” he said. “You have known from the beginning what we were here for. I have never lied to you, or concealed anything. I have done everything in my power to make you content. I have compromised till my superiors are questioning my judgment. And still you defy me.”
“It’s not you, Captain,” Tom said in a more conciliatory tone. “You’ve been very fair, and we’re grateful. But this is about something bigger. It’s about justice.”
“Justice!” Captain Groton gave a helpless gesture. “It is about fantasy, then. Something that never was, and never will be. Tell me this: Do you call the earthquake unjust, or march against the storm?”
“Earthquakes and storms aren’t responsible for their actions. They don’t have hearts, or consciences.”
“Well, if it would help reconcile you, assume that we don’t, either.”
With a level gaze, Tom said, “I know that’s not true.”
For a moment Captain Groton paused, as if Tom had scored a hit. But then his face hardened. “I have misled you, then,” he said. “We are implacable as a force of nature. Neutral and inevitable. Neither your wishes, nor mine, nor all those people’s out there can have the slightest influence on the outcome.”
Outside, the crowd had gathered around the steps, and now they were chanting, “The people, united, will never be defeated.” For a moment the sound of their voices was the only thing in the room.
In a low tone, Captain Groton said, “Show some leadership, Tom. Warn them to get out of here and save themselves. I can give you ten minutes to persuade them, then I have to give the order. I’m sorry, but it is my duty.”
Tom stared at him, angry at the betrayal, furious to be made into a collaborator. Captain Groton met his gaze levelly, unyielding. Then, for an instant, Tom glanced at Susan. It was very quick, almost involuntary, but everyone in the room saw it. And they knew this was about more than principle.
Tom drew himself up to his full height, his spine visibly stiffening. Ordinarily, he would have consulted with the council; but this time he just turned and walked to the door. As he passed by, Susan fell in at his side. The onlookers made way. Not a soul knew what Tom was going to do.
Outside, the Wattesoon guards keeping the crowd away from the door fell back when Tom came out onto the steps. He held up his hands and the chanting faltered to a stop. “Listen up, everyone,” he started, but his voice didn’t carry. He gestured at the woman with the portable loudspeaker, and she hurried up the steps to give him the microphone.
“Listen up, everyone,” he said again. The crowd had fallen utterly silent, for they saw how grim his face looked. “The Wattesoon soldiers have surrounded us, and in ten minutes they’re going to move in and start arresting people.”
There was a stir of protest and alarm through the crowd. “They’re bluffing,” someone called out.
“No they’re not,” Tom said. “I know this captain pretty well by now. He’s dead serious. Now, if you want to get arrested, roughed up, and put in a Wattesoon jail, fine. But everyone else, please go home. Take your kids and get out of here. I don’t want you to get hurt. You know they can do it.”
On the edges, some people were already starting to leave; but most of the crowd still stood, watching Tom in disappointment, as if they had expected something different from him. “Look, we did our best,” he said. “We talked them into a lot of things I never thought they’d give us. We pushed it as far as we could. But now we’ve reached the point where they’re not going to give any more. It’s our turn to give in now. There’s nothing more we can do. Please, just go home. That’s what I’m going to do.”
He handed the mike back to its owner and started down the steps. Susan took his hand and walked with him. There was a kind of exhalation of purpose, a deflation, around them as the crowd started breaking up. Though one of the protesters from Madison tried to get things going again, the momentum was gone. People didn’t talk much, or even look at each other, as they started to scatter.
Halfway across the park, Susan whispered to Tom, “The car’s the other way.”
“I know,” Tom said. “I’ll come back and get it later.” She figured out his thinking then: the symbolic sight of them walking away toward home was the important thing right now.
Don’t look back, she told herself. It would make her look hesitant, regretful. And yet, she wanted to. When they reached the edge of the park, she couldn’t help it, and glanced over her shoulder. The green space was almost empty, except for a little knot of diehards marching toward the highway to block the trucks. On the steps of Town Hall, Captain Groton was standing alone. But he wasn’t surveying the scene or the remaining protesters. He was looking after her. At the sight, Susan’s thoughts fled before a breathtaking rush of regret, and she nearly stumbled.
“What is it?” Tom said.
“Nothing,” she answered. “It’s okay.”
* * * *
By evening of the second day, it was all over in Okanoggan Falls.
In Red Bluff, there had been an insurrection; the Wattesoon army was still fighting a pitched house-to-house battle with resisters. In Walker, the soldiers had herded unruly inhabitants into overcrowded pens, and there had finally been a riot; the
casualty reports were still growing. Only in Okanoggan Falls had things gone smoothly and peacefully.
The moving van had just pulled away from the Abernathy home with Tom and Nick following in the pickup, and Susan was making one last trip through the house to spot left-behind items, when her cell phone rang. Assuming it was Tom, she didn’t look at the number before answering.
“Susan.”
She had not expected to hear his voice again. All the decisions had been made, the story was over. The Wattesoons had won. Okanoggan had fallen to its enemies.
“Can you spare five minutes to meet me?” he said.
She started to say no, but the tug of disappointment made her realize there was still a bond between them. “Not here,” she said.
The Year's Best Science Fiction: Twenty-Fourth Annual Collection Page 103