A Rage for Revenge watc-3

by David Gerrold

  "You son of a bitch," I said coldly. "You don't know what I've been through."

  "You're right. And I don't rightly care to know, either. I think you're a selfish spoiled brat and I don't care to spend much time with yeh. I'm puttin' up these fences because Betty-John asked me to help yeh; that's the only reason." And then he added, "And mebbe a little out of respect for your mum. Now, are yeh going to hit me with that spike in your hand, or are yeh going to put it in the ground and get on with the job?"

  I threw it down at his feet. That was stupid.

  Jack just looked at me.

  So I picked it up again and jammed it into the ground, anchoring a loop of razor-ribbon. I drove the spike in hard with the gas-hammer. And the next six too.

  Jason was right. Getting a person angry was very enlightening. And then I stopped in frustration.

  "What's the matter, son?" Jack asked abruptly.

  "Nothing," I snapped back at him. "Everything. Dammit, I hate being wrong." I stood there with the gas-hammer poised over the seventh spike and I didn't have the strength to squeeze the trigger. I felt suddenly exhausted and sank to my knees. "I keep trying to do my best and it's never good enough for anybody."

  I stopped myself from saying more. My throat hurt. My eyes hurt.

  I looked out across the bay, waiting for the frustration to pass. The water was dark and gray and dirty looking. Red sludge? Probably. I looked over at Jack; he was waiting for me to say something. It was hard for me to speak. "Okay, I never had the chance to say good-bye to her. At least, my dad and I . . . well, that was complete. But . . .

  "I was right. Yeh haven't done your cryin', have yeh?"

  I glowered up at him. "Go fuck yourself. Leave me alone."

  I levered myself back to my feet and strode off away, just to be alone for a while. Just to cool off for a minute.

  Dove came pushing through the dry brush and made ticktocking noises at me.

  "I don't understand that talk, Dove. Why can't you speak in English?"

  Dove looked hurt and retreated quickly, and I felt like an even bigger asshole than I already was. That's right. Take it out on the kid.

  Except-everything Jack Balaban had said was right. I had abandoned her when she needed me the most, the same way I'd abandoned everybody else when they needed me. That was the pattern of my life. Get close, get close enough to hurt-and then betray.

  But always make sure that you have a good reason first. A good reason always lets you off the hook.

  The funny thing was that I couldn't cry.

  I couldn't cry because I couldn't remember her. I couldn't remember her face.

  What I kept seeing was the enigmatic smile of that Japanese fellow at dinner that night. I kept seeing the smarmy greediness of the man she was sleeping with, Alan Wise, or whatever his name had been. I remember wondering about worms in Santa Cruz. I remembered everything except why I should care.

  All I could remember were all the things I resented: the time she did this to me, the time she did that. I was glad to be free of her. No. Jack Balaban was a stupid old Welshman, who made noises to children. How could I be mourning someone I was so angry with?

  Damn.

  I pushed through the brush, in the direction Dove had come from.

  I'd called Dr. Davidson in Atlanta once. He'd actually answered his own phone. I'd wanted to ask him a question. "Is it possible to grieve for a whole planet?"

  He hadn't said yes, he hadn't said no. What he'd said was, "You don't think it's possible, that's why you're asking." And I'd had to admit that was the truth.

  "Jim," he'd said. "The Earth is a part of you; the cool green hills of Earth are a part of all of us, and they always will be. We haven't lost them. We just have to look for them in our hearts for a while, and hold them there as a vision of what once was."

  "And will someday be again," I added. Dr. Davidson didn't respond to that. "You don't agree?"

  "I don't know." There was something about the way he said it. Flat. Unemotionally. He really didn't know. It was chilling. The voice I depended on for answers didn't have all the answers.

  "If we can't grieve for a whole planet," I said, "how do we do our grieving?"

  "A piece at a time," said Dr. Davidson. "You can't do everything at once. Do it one part at a time. Grieve for the great elephants. Grieve for the verdant grass. Grieve for the shining dolphins and the laughing otters and the dusty grasshoppers. Cry for the golden butterflies and the fat wrinkled walruses and the silly-looking duck-billed platypuses. Weep for the red roses and the tall ficus and the sprawling green ivy. Sorrow for the highflying eagles. Even the scuttling scorpions and the ugly-tough crabgrass and all the tiny diatoms. Grieve for the purple mountains and the silent icebergs and the deep blue rivers. Grieve for them all, one piece at a time, one day at a time. And in your grief, let them live in your heart.

  "Yes, miss them-but in your sorrow, also cherish them." It made sense. Of a sort.

  At least it was a way to continue. But . . . my mother.

  I couldn't grieve, because I couldn't forgive.

  And I couldn't forgive her because I couldn't forgive myself. For Jason.

  I was the person my mother used to warn me about. She would have to forgive me first before I could forgive her. And she couldn't do that, because she was dead.

  So I couldn't cry.

  I could only be angry.

  I was staring at what I was seeing without seeing it at all. And suddenly, Dove's tick-tocking noises made sense. He had been imitating the sound of footsteps.

  There were footprints here in the soft dirt. Cleated footprints. Neither of the boys, and neither Jack nor I, were wearing cleats on our shoes.

  In fact, I couldn't think of anybody who wore cleats. Strangers had been prowling the base of the peninsula. I forgot about my mother.

  She was going to have to wait until I had the time for her. Again.

  There was an old voyeur named Zeke,

  who liked to hide in the closet and peek,

  then jump out with loud cries

  of "Aha!" and "Surprise!"

  and point out your flaws in technique.

  40

  "This is as safe as it gets."

  "No man is an island, but some of us are pretty good peninsulas."

  -SOLOMON SHORT

  "Make it quick, Jim," B-jay said. "I've got enough problems already. We've got kids missing again. I'm afraid that they're going feral on us. You're going to have to put off finishing your fence. I want you in the search party."

  I shook my head. "Joey Donavan's been missing over a week. That's not feral, that's something worse."

  "We've had this conversation before, Jim. I'm tired of hearing about Chtorrans . . ."

  "B-Jay, listen to me! There are renegades in the hills and they're scouting Family."

  I told her about the footprints, and the boy in the hills. "I should have realized it before. They use children as scouts. B-Jay, I've got to have some help finishing the fence. You've got to call Santa Cruz for military protection."

  "I am not going to put myself under the authority of the military government, dammit! I fought too hard to get out from under their thumb."

  "Don't be stupid! We have no defenses here. We have two hundred kids and less than twenty adults. A truly determined assault will devastate this place. They could be on us tomorrow. Or tonight!"

  B-Jay pushed a hand back through her hair. "Jim," she said. "I've heard the speech. You've got your fences. There isn't anything else you can do and there isn't anything new you can tell me."

  "Do you know how renegades use children?"

  She held up a hand. "Spare me the horror stories. I have an imagination. Jim, you've spent the last two weeks putting up those damned dangerous fences. Now, you're telling me they're not going to work?"

  "Those fences will stop worms. They won't stop truly determined renegades."

  "Jim, stop it!" Betty-John screamed at me. Her face was red. "I am sick and fucking
tired of your Chtorran paranoia! So is everybody else! We've got children missing and you want to arm for war! Give the rest of us some credit too! Let us be right once in a while!"

  "Okay, be right!" I shouted right back. "But you'll end up just as dead as if you're wrong! You're living in a dream world! You don't know what's out there!"

  "And you do?"

  "Yes, dammit, I do!" I was screaming in her face. "Christ, B-Jay, I'm trying to save lives!"

  "So am I!"

  For a moment, we both just stared at each other, both breathing hard and glaring angrily, neither backing down, neither willing to concede an inch.

  Betty-John spoke first. "I have done everything I can for you, Jim. I really have. I went out on a limb for you, so you could build those worm fences, even though you're the only one who seems to think we need them. Nobody else does. We've never been attacked here, we've never even seen a Chtorran in this district. This is one of the safest counties in California. But not a day goes by that you don't worry about Chtorrans and renegades. Considering your history, Jim, don't you think that's a little, um . . . derivative? Symptomatic?"

  "You think I'm off the deep end, don't you?"

  "Yes, I do. I think you're just as crazy as the rest of us. But at least your craziness is specific. Jim, you've been hypersensitized to this issue to the point where you can't see anything else."

  "I don't feel safe here," I said it very quietly.

  "I got that. This is as safe as it gets."

  "No, it isn't. There's more we can do."

  "We don't have the resources."

  "We can't afford not too."

  "I'll be the judge of that."

  "Why don't you listen to someone who knows more about it than you do?"

  "Jim-" Betty-John's expression hardened. "This conversation isn't getting us anywhere. I'm not going to authorize any more fences or put guns in the hands of children or ask the military governor for assistance or anything else. And if you want to stay here, you had better get used to the idea that this is the final word on this subject."

  "If that's the final word, B-Jay, then maybe I can't stay here anymore!"

  B-Jay looked as if I'd slapped her. The room was suddenly cold. She said slowly, "I think you'd better go now, Jim. And maybe you'd better reevaluate what kind of contribution you can make here."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "I don't think we should talk anymore right now."

  "No, tell me!"

  She said slowly, "Jim, if that's how you really feel, then perhaps you'd better look at moving to someplace where you do feel safe."

  "For the sake of my children, I may have to."

  "No," she said. "The children stay. You go."

  "They're legally mine."

  "I can fix that too."

  "Huh?"

  "The well-being of the child, Jim."

  "You need grounds."

  "I have grounds. You're sexually abusing Tommy."

  I sank back into my chair as if I'd been slammed with a brick and just stared at her. "I don't believe this," I said. "You're a goddamned hypocrite."

  "You'd better believe it. I mean what I say. I'm tired of hearing about the Chtorr. I've busted my ass to get this place working. A lot of us have. And we're all getting pretty annoyed with you coming in here and telling us how it has to be instead. You're wasting a lot of our time and a lot of our resources, and we're all pretty much fed up with you. If you're not willing to be a part of the solution, then please don't be a part of anything here."

  "Fine," I said. I stood up. "I hope to God you don't one day walk out the door and see Chtorrans coming down that street, because then it'll be too late to change your mind."

  "I can live with myself, Jim. Now I want you to learn how to live with yourself."

  "I'm doing fine, lady." I strode out of her office and headed for home.

  The kids and I could leave for San Francisco right after dinner, and I could probably have us a plane for Hawaii in the morning.

  Rick promised to gently deflower

  a maiden who lived on South Gower.

  (The truth is, he spread

  her legs wide on the bed,

  and finished her off in an hour.)

  41

  Day of Blood

  "Violence is the last word of the illiterate. Also the first."

  -SOLOMON SHORT

  But what if she was right?

  What if I had fallen off the deep end?

  That's the problem with being crazy-you have to take other people's word for it, because it doesn't look crazy from inside. I strode up the street. Some of the kids were playing a game, the object of which seemed to be to see how much noise you could make while moving a soccer ball up and down the road. I crossed to the park to get out of their way. I could smell honeysuckle and pine and roses.

  Maybe I should trust B-Jay. I didn't want to leave here; I liked it here.

  But it was a trap. There was no place to run to. If someone was determined enough to come over the hiking ridge, they could surprise the whole village. A pride of Chtorrans could sweep the length of the peninsula in minutes.

  What would it take to make this place safe?

  We could mine the hiking ridge, we could bury booby traps the whole length of it. But that still wouldn't be sufficient. Nothing short of blowing up the isthmus would work. And we couldn't do that, because all of the service cables for the phones ran through the isthmus, as well as the power cables that fed electricity to Santa Cruz. Somewhere out there were five great turbines, churning silently in the ocean current.

  What else could we do? We could evacuate.

  Betty-John wouldn't even consider it.

  And she was right. Where else in the world could she find facilities like this?

  No, the only alternative was to move everyone to the south end of the island and establish very tight security, constant patrols, and hold regular classes and drills for every person on the island. We should start teaching the teenagers how to use grenade launchers and torches.

  But B-Jay didn't want the kids growing up in a police state. "That kind of stuff creates an atmosphere of fear and paranoia." Behind me, I could still hear the children screaming and hollering. They sounded happy. B-Jay was right, they didn't need fear and paranoia.

  But was I wrong? They needed to be safe! That was where the argument had started. Dammit. I couldn't get it out of my head. The sentences replayed themselves in endless loops.

  And all I wanted was for us to be safe!

  I knew what was happening inside my head.

  It was that survival mind that Delandro had talked about. The mind is a computer. It wants to survive. It will do whatever it perceives as necessary to survive. There are no limits to what it will ask for. The more you think you have to protect, the more vigorously you will try to defend it.

  It's neither good nor bad, it's just the way the mind works. And I wanted to protect my kids.

  I realized I was walking down to the hiking ridge again. I wanted to see if any more of the worm lines had been disturbed. I wanted to see what else I could do. Every problem has a solution. There had to be one here.

  Behind me, the screaming grew louder. And suddenly took on a shrill sound. I whirled around to look.

  The children were shrieking and scattering in all directions. I heard it before I saw it.

  "Chtorrrr! Chtorrrrrr!"

  Three Chtorrans broke out of the park, a squad of men and women running with them!

  Huh-?

  And even before I asked, I knew what had happened.

  They'd come over the ridge and gone straight into the park. Not down the street, they'd have been seen immediately. They used the park as cover and went to the heart of Family.

  The Chtorrans plowed into the children like bulldozers. I yelled. I started running toward them-

  -then zigged into the park and started heading for home. And the Jeep.

  The alarm went off as I was running. It was
a flat double-note wail, rising and falling. I hurtled down a grass slope, over the little Japanese bridge that crossed the brook, and up the opposite side. There were children standing confused, trying to figure out what the siren meant.

  I pointed ahead. "Run for home! Get out of the park! Get out of the streets! Do it as fast as you can!" Where were my kids?

  As I came charging out of the park, I saw Holly standing in front of the house staring down the street. There were sounds of rifle fire coming from the village. Dammit.

  I scooped her up in my arms and went charging through the front door.

  "You have to hide, sweetheart. This isn't a game anymore!"

  "No, Daddy! No!"

  I went down on one knee and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Listen to me, I love you! And you have to hide!" God forgive me. I shoved her into the closet and locked the door. I grabbed my torch and ran.

  The Jeep whirred to life and leapt forward. I swung it around in a tight turn, going up over the curb and ripping out a bush as 1 hcaded south. I would meet the Chtorrans at the plaza. The rifle tire had stopped now. But I could still hear that dreadful purple screaming.

  As I headed toward the south curve, one of the Chtorrans came Ilowing around to meet me. It stopped in amazement. It hadn't expected to see a Jeep coming barrelling down toward it. I stood on the brakes and came screeching to a halt a hundred meters away from it.

  "Come on, you big red slug! Come to Poppa! I'll give you a one-way ticket to hell!" I was standing on the seat now, just hulling the torch tanks onto one shoulder. I unlocked the safeties and double-checked the charge. "Come on, you slimy red bastard! "

  The worm cocked its eyes at me, one high, one low. It chirruped a question. It hesitated. It probably wanted to back up, but it didn't dare. It had been sent this way as a scout.

  Its behavior was atypical. This was no ordinary worm. The wild worms would have screamed and charged. This one could recognize the threat I represented to it. This one wanted to survive. The question came up in the back of my head: did Chtorrans have minds too? Or was it only the tame ones?