A Season for Slaughter watc-4

by David Gerrold

  What I wanted to say was, "Don't thank me. You don't know what you've just inherited." But that wouldn't have been fair to him. He was still glowing with enthusiasm. I took his hand and shook it firmly. "C'mere. Let me talk to you." I led him over to u corner of the room.

  I turned him away from the others. He looked at me expectantly. "I'll give what help I can, whatever advice I can; but never in front of the others. Whatever you do, whatever you say, you must never look indecisive. Don't be afraid to ask your troops what they think of the situation, but don't ever ask them what they want to dc-do you understand the difference?"

  He nodded.

  "All right, look-you need to learn this very very fast. You're The Man now. That means all the nasty decisions are yours." I searched his face for understanding.

  He didn't blink. He understood exactly what I was saying. "Like Reilly and Willig?"

  "Exactly. Like Reilly and Willig."

  "You didn't let me go back-"

  I stared directly into his eyes. "That's right. I didn't."

  "I hated you for that."

  "I hated myself. But I'd already lost three lives. I wasn't prepared to make it four. Here's the thing, Kurt-if I hadn't been there to stop you, if you'd been the lieutenant then, what would would you have done?"

  He didn't answer immediately. "I see your point," he admitted. "There was nothing to be done for Reilly or Willig or Locke. You wouldn't have gotten ten feet. And you would've been risking the lives of the entire team. What were they supposed to do? Leave the door open for you? Let the tenants in? Is that what a lieutenant does? Get killed stupidly? And even if the team was smart enough or disliked you enough to slam the door on you and save their own lives, they'd still be left without leadership. Think about that. Your legacy would have been a wounded team handed to a fresh new lieutenant who has no relationship with them and has to start them all over again from square one. That's bad for him, it's bad for the team."

  Siegel looked shaken. "I hadn't realized-"

  "No, you didn't." Remembering it, I was starting to get angry again. I had to force myself to let go of my own intensity. "It's all right, Kurt. It wasn't your job to realize. It was mine." I put my hands on his shoulders and held him firmly at arm's length. "Listen to me. This job is very different. You're the backbone now. You're the source of continuity. Strength. Direction. You point and they go. That's the job. Anyone can die. But only the lieutenant can point."

  He smiled weakly, shaking his head. "I always thought that the boss was supposed to be the guy in front-"

  "No. That's how children think. It's selfish and it's stupid. You're already a hero. So are they. So… the important thing is simply getting the goddamn job done and getting out quickly. Kurt, you're going to have to learn how to delegate responsibility. Even if it means-" I realized what I was about to say, and my throat constricted tightly. It was painful and it was ironic and it was another practical joke that the universe was playing on me. I could feel the tears rising in my eyes. It was not a funny joke. "-Even if it means… like Reilly and Willig. And Locke."

  Siegel glanced away for a moment, blinking back his own tears. When he looked back to me, his eyes were dry and he looked like a different man. "That's part of it too, isn't it?" It was a statement, not a question. "Deciding who goes and who stays."

  "If you ever have to make that decision, know that I'm standing behind you. When I recommended you, I was accepting responsibility for the quality of your leadership. I didn't make that recommendation lightly. So when you take your team out there-use them. Use them hard, and use them intelligently."

  "I think I understand, sir. I have to learn how to do it without you, don't I?" He put his arms on top of mine, and we held each other's shoulders far a moment.

  "You'll do fine, Kurt. I know. Just don't be so bloodthirsty, okay?"

  He nodded. "Thank you, sir-I mean, Jim."

  "Hey-!" called Lopez from across the room. "Are you two going to play huggy-face all night, or are you going to get your sorry butts over here and help us drink this champagne while there's still some left?"

  "Don't overdo it-" I started to say, then shut up. The team wasn't mine anymore. It was up to Siegel to caution them about keeping fit for tomorrow's operations. He caught me stopping myself and grinned heartily.

  "Hey, you dogfaces-" He waded in, laughing. "Don't open any more bottles. We don't want to waste that stuff on a civilian, do we?"

  From this perspective, it now seems much more likely that the first Chtorran agency to establish itself an Earth had to have been not the plagues, but the manna plants—the simple cotton-candy fluffballs.

  In fact, the first references to a new species of edible mushroom (that in retrospect can only be manna plants) can be found in science journals dating back to the summer of the great northern California meteor shower. These documented references to the manna plant validate this thesis. The manna plant had to be here first to lay the groundwork for everything else to follow.

  This establishes that the Cbtorran colonization/infestation had more than ten years to establish itself at the most fundamental level possible. The time period is also long enough to allow for the establishment of beachheads by the many additional levels of the Chtorran ecology that would be needed later.

  An additional function of this model is that it also allows us to reconsider our original hypothesis that the stingfly may have been the original agent of transmission for the plagues, because now we can put many of the supporting species in place prior to the advent of the plagues. This model gives the stingfly time to spread and establish itself, plus it also provides a mechanism for the common availability of disease-causing microorganisms.

  —The Red Book,

  (Release 22.19A)

  Chapter 43

  A Little Knight Music

  "How did the fool and his money get together in the first place?"

  -SOLOMON SHORT

  What are you can pass out like an officer.

  As it happened, we had to open several more bottles of champagne. First we had to drink a toast to Siegel's promotion. And Lopez's and Valada's too. That was three separate toasts. Lopez made sergeant, Valada was a corporal now. The one good thing about battlefield promotions, you got officers who understood the job.

  Then we had to drink to my retirement, my new job as Indian Scout, and my great-grandparent who was a full-blooded Cherokee. Or was it my great-great-grandparent? Then somebody rembered I had said something about getting married, so of course, we had to toast my impending nuptials, which was accompanied by a number of particularly ribald remarks, followed by a separate toast to the wisdom-or foolishness—of General Lizard Tirelli, for saying yes in the first place. And then a toast to the baby. Babies. We drank several toasts to the babies.

  And then we stopped and drank a solemn toast to the memory of those who couldn't be here to share our joy. We shattered the glasses after that one and had to start over. We started by toasting new glasses. Then I gave a long and much too maudlin speech about the best combat squad I'd ever known-that required three separate liquid salutes. And then we had to stop a minute while Lopez popped a few more corks. They ricocheted off the ceiling and walls, and champagne spurted everywhere amid much shouting and laughing.

  There were several toasts to the worms-and the horrible deaths they were going to suffer. At our hands, of course. Each of the troops stood up to detail his or her plans, and of course, each of those declarations also needed to be honored with a serious libation.

  Finally, though, I had to excuse myself. I wanted to leave before the drinking got serious. Besides, we were out of champagne. Lopez was ordering more.

  I took advantage of the opportunity and began looking for the stairs- "God, I hate airships. The turbulence on these things is impossible. That Captain Harbaugh can't fly worth a damn. Look at the way this thing is spinning." I picked myself up from the wall and turned to Lopez. "No more for me thanks, I've had enough."

  "Drink thi
s." She tried to put a tall glass of something into my hand.

  "Oh, no, no. Very bad to mix your drinks. Would you help me find the door?"

  "I insist. General Tirelli will never forgive me if I turn you loose in this state. Come on, this will ease your hangover."

  "I don't have a hangover. Really, I'm fine. I just need to sit down for a month or two."

  "Come on, drink up, now. Attaboy." It was easier to drink than argue. Besides, she was holding me by the hair.

  "Pfah! Yagh! Yack! That tastes like sheep dip! What are you trying to do, kill me?"

  "I'm trying to sober you up-

  "Same thing."

  "-at least enough so that you can pass out like an officer. Drink some more."

  "I'm not an officer. I'm a civilian." I drank some more.

  "Oh, why didn't you say so? I'll find you a nice warm gutter."

  "That sounds pleasant. Maybe I can die in it and get this taste out of my mouth."

  "You don't drink very often, do you?"

  I blinked blearily at her. "Huh-? I can handle it." I shuddered. "Yick. What was that stuff?"

  "Alcohol neutralizer. Industrial strength."

  "Is that the stuff that gets into your bloodstream and soaks it up and breaks it down-"

  "That's right. It accelerates the whole metabolic process." She glanced at her watch. "Stand by. Here comes the fun part. As the alcohol breaks down, the sugar rush begins. Want to go jogging?"

  "You've gotta be kidding-"

  "The trick is exercise. Lots of exercise."

  "I'm a civilian. The only exercise I want to get is in bed. I think I'll fuck myself to death."

  "By yourself? Or with a partner?"

  "Whatever Lizard wants." I sat up straighter, blinking hard focus. "Okay, I think I'm fine now. You can let me go." She let me go. I fell over sideways.

  "That might not have been such a good idea," I remarked from the floor. After a moment, I added, "Have you ever noticed the pattern on the rug, how it slides off sideways? Interesting trick of perspective here. Come on down and look."

  Lopez propped me back up again and looked at me angrily. Then she turned around and barked at Siegel. "You had to give him firewater, didn't you! Didn't anybody ever tell you about civilians?"

  Siegel came over and looked into my face, tilting my head back so the lights dazzled my eyes. I squinted in reaction. He used his thumb and forefinger to force my left eye open.

  "He'll live," he grunted. "I don't know what they're making officers out of these days-"

  Lopez looked at him sardonically. "I do. And it ain't a pretty sight, amigo." She turned back to me. "You're going to have to talk, Captain. You're too drunk to sing."

  "No, wait-I've got a better idea." I put on my best Irish accent and pulled myself sloppily to my feet. "I'm going to tell you the one about the leprechaun and the penguin." I climbed up onto a chair, thought better of that, and decided to just climb up onto the floor instead. "Siegel, you come back here." -I waggled my hand at him. "I listened to your story about Sweaty Betty. You have to listen to the leprechaun joke. Besides, it's a tradition. The new guys, they haven't heard it yet-"

  Lopez took me by the arm. "No leprechaun joke, Captain. The Constitution of the United States prohibits cruel and unusual punishment."

  "No leprechaun joke-?"' I asked plaintively.

  "Don't you remember why you were asked to leave Ireland?"

  "Actually, I don't remember much of anything right now-"

  "Trust me."

  "Hey! What was that you said about singing?"

  "I didn't say anything about singing."

  "Oh. I thought you did. Never mind." I hiccuped and said, " I have an idea. About the worms." They both looked at me abruptly. "Hey! Why the serious faces? This is supposed to be a party." I forgot what I was thinking and fumbled around for a glass. "Let's have a toast to my idea."

  "You're toasted enough," Siegel replied. "What's your idea? Come on, talk to me, Captain."

  Instead, I belched. I giggled, but I was coherent enough to realize I should be embarrassed as well. "I'm sorry-" I belched again. "Is that the sober-up?"

  "More or less. Don't worry about it," said Lapez. "I already knew you were a pig. I just couldn't tell you before." She sat down across from me and held my hands in hers. "You said you had an idea."

  "No. It's gone now. I had it on the tip of my mind, but I forgot it."

  "Something about the worms-?" They both looked worried.

  "Uh-uh." I shook my head in annoyance. "There's this feeling that keeps flirting with me, it's not really an idea yet, just a physical sensation, but if I could find the words for it, I think-I don't know. If I could just say it, I could know it. Damn all. There's something here I'm missing-"

  "Just think about the feeling," said Lopez. "No. Don't even think. Just feel. Just feel the feeling and then look at what it feels like-"

  "I know the exercise," I said, cutting her off. "That won't work here." I sat up straight, belching again. "That sober-up stuff is working too well. No, the feeling is completely gone. I've lost it. Maybe it wasn't important anyway. Maybe it'll come back to me." I sank back against the wall behind me, letting my body sag again. Lopez and Siegel sat opposite me, studying me warily. "Hey!" I said. "How come you guys aren't drunk?" They both looked abruptly embarrassed. "Uh-"

  "Oh, I get it," I said. "It's the old bridegroom prank. Get him so drunk, he passes out on his wedding night."

  Siegel shook his head. "No, not quite-"

  Lopez interrupted. "Yeah. Exactly. Siegel thought it would be fun to get you drunk, Cap'n. Sort of a payback. Give you a chance to make a fool out of yourself. Be one of the guys. Then we remembered the stories we'd heard about the weird flashes of insight people get when they're suddenly flushed with Sober-Up, and we thought, well, we thought we'd try it on you, because you know so much about the worms, maybe you'd come up with something great-"

  "You're probably pissed as hell, right?"

  I barely heard him. "Y'know, that's not a bad idea-letting the drugs make us more creative than we really are. I'm sorry to disappoint you. Too bad it didn't work."

  "You're not pissed?"

  "Only physically," I said distractedly. "I was just thinking about the way the worms think. Something you said reminded me of one of the theoretical discussions we had when we were planning this mission. We were wondering what would happen if we could implant a worm. Like Dwan Grodin. Or like the members of the Teep Corps. The Teep Corps could listen in, could look out through the worm's eyes, could feel what a worm feels, could think like a worm thinks. And then they could tell us what's really going on. That'd be something, wouldn't it?"

  Siegel and Lopez exchanged a glance, "It' d be great," Siegel said.

  "Go on," said Lopez, intently.

  "Well, we passed the suggestion upstairs, and there's a study group looking into it. I haven't heard if they've decided anything. There's a couple of reasons why it'd be tricky. I mean, not just the biological ones. For one thing, the worms don't have much brain. I mean, not real brain. What they have isn't much more than a clumping of overripe ganglia. As near as we can tell, most of their actual thinking-or whatever it is they do that passes for thinking-takes place in the rest of their bodies, in the network of quill-stuff that infests them. It's the same stuff as their fur, but growing inside. The big ones are just huge sacs of neural quills-they're great big hairbags. Cut one open, and it's like looking into a vacuum cleaner bag that's been used to sweep out a kennel. But that's part of why the big ones are so hard to kill What isn't muscle is brain."

  "Yeah? So what's the tricky part?"

  "Well, not tricky. Dangerous. What if the Teep Corps peeks out through a worm's eyes, and somehow the way that a worm thinks is so fascinating or infectious-like a virus-that the whole Teep Corps starts thinking that way and decides to turn renegade? Part of the problem is to construct an isolated Teep Corps. But then, the isolated Corps is going to know it's isolated, and that will a
ffect its behavior. If it does get its thinking changed, maybe it'll try to hide that fact. How do we know how a worm's mind works? What are they really doing when they go into communion? Do we want even a small network of Teeps thinking like worms. And would it ever be safe to let the isolated Teep communicate with the parent?"

  "You just realized this?" asked Siegel.

  "No," I said. "The study group has been worrying about this for months. What I was thinking about was the way the worms think."

  "What about it?"

  "Worms don't think," I said abruptly. "They sing." I blinked at them. They both looked blank.

  "You don't get it, do you?"

  Lopez spoke first. "Well, of course, they sing-"

  "No. That's just noise. They make noise and we call it singing, but that's not what they really do. What they really do is sing."

  Siegel frowned. "I'm sorry. You're losing us."

  "I can't explain it," I said. "But I can feel it. There's aulnething about the singing-dammit!-I don't have the language for it. This is what I was struggling with before." I took a deep breath and tried again. "It's the difference between me , belting out "Yankee Doodle" and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing the choral movement of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony-"

  And suddenly something clicked. I stopped in midsentence, stunned.

  Lopez saw it in my face. "What?"

  "The herds. Have you ever been in a herd? Have you ever seen une close up? They sing too. The worms sing like the herds. No, that's not right. The herds sing like the worms-"

  "Hold it, wait a minute," said Siegel. "Are you talking about the herds like the ones in San Francisco and Los Angeles and MazatIan?"

  "Yeah. I spent a week in a herd one afternoon. There's this thing that happens, the herd starts humming. Everybody. It's like a cosmic 'ommmm.' Everybody who hears it gets sucked into it. It's the most amazing sound you've ever heard. Try it sometime, get a thousand people together and get them all to start going 'ommmm.' They'll all tune themselves to the same note, without knowing how or why-It's the most incredible sensation because it sucks you into it. You can't resist, you can't help but become a part of it. Even if you don't make any sound yourself, it still gets to you. All those people resonating together, the vibration rattles you and dazes you and fills you up and everything else just disappears. You disappear. You vanish into the herd. You're not there anymore, only the all-pervasive, incredible, soul-filling sound remains. Everything is the sound. The world is filled with it, resonates with it. It's not something you can explain. You have to experience it. It's like a drug high, only it isn't. It's like touching God, only it isn't. It's like being God. Only-afterward, you walk around dazzled by this gorgeous sense of who you really are. It's singing. That's what the worms do." I sat back in my chair, finished, and relieved to have the thought finally out of my head.