A Season for Slaughter watc-4

by David Gerrold

  "How?"

  I sighed. It was a tough question, one that a lot of people had been struggling with. "Well, the military solutions-blast and burn-just don't work against a biological enemy. So… if we're going to control them, we're going to need some kind of biological agent."

  "Like for instance?"

  "Well, if we could find some essential biological process that we could disrupt-maybe some of their hormones could be turned against them. A maturity hormone or a mating hormone or something like that could be used to confuse them and keep them from maturing or mating properly. It's worked with Terran insects. Or maybe we could find or invent some kind of virus-some equivalent of AIDS or something. If we could determine what the key creatures in the ecology were, and if we could find their biological weakness, then maybe we could… I don't know. How do you find the Achilles' heel of a worm?"

  "You're talking about the Chtorr as if it's all one creature."

  "Maybe it is," I said. "We have to consider every possibility. Maybe every creature in the ecology is just another form of every other creature in the ecology."

  "An interesting idea."

  "It's been considered. There's even a continuing DNA study in the works to investigate the possibility. A lot of the Chtorran critters seem to have very similar genetic heritages. We're still looking into it. Anyway-to get back to your original question-I don't think this invasion is accidental. It's too well designed. And too many new creatures keep showing up, almost out of nowhere, and always exactly when the ecology is ready for them. I think there's something at the center of it. I think the mandalas are a chic. I think if we could find that thing or creature or species or process or whatever it is at the center of the whole thing, and if we could find out what it is and how it works and somehow do something to it to keep it from working, then perhaps we could break the ecology down into its component bits and keep them fnm cooperating and forming larger, more devastating structures-like the mandala nests."

  "Are the nests really that devastating?"

  "In comparison to the random spread of species that we have now, I honestly don't know. At least when they form into mandalas, we know where everything is. And we seem to be discovering that the various creatures of the infestation are a lot more dangerous to human life when they're part of a mandala than when they're found as feral individuals or feral swarms. Maybe we're a lot safer with mandalas than we are with rogue worms and millipedes and shamblers. I don't know."

  We paused then while the waiters served the salad-each one a single crisp head of baby iceberg lettuce, the kind you never saw anymore, spread open to form a leafy bed, overlaid with slivers of firm red tomato, fresh green cucumber slices, and succulent bits of white onion, all laced with a hot-and-sour herb dressing that gave the whole confection a distinctly Chinese flavor. There were edible white flowers around the edges of the plates.

  There were three kinds of rolls. I helped myself to a croissant and a sourdough briquette. The butter was real! For a while, none of us talked while we savored the tastes. Lizard and I took turns exclaiming about the freshness of the vegetables and the sweetness of the tomatoes and cucumbers. The wine was a fairly recent, but still pre-Chtorran, Kalin Cellars Sauvignon Blanc Reserve from Marin County. Faust said it was wonderful with anything, but brilliant with the salad. I was beginning to appreciate his commentary; I was starting to learn what to taste for.

  We were served little cups of cantaloupe sorbet to clear our palates, and then the fish course followed-an exquisitely arranged plate of sashimi. There were delicate slices of tuna, both lean and fatty, sea bass, sweet yellowtail, abalone, giant clam, and even fresh salmon with a tang sharp enough to cut! I was too amazed to ask how it was possible to serve fresh raw fish aboard a dirigible. Faust poured us each a glass of six-year-old Rosemount Estate Hunters Valley Show Reserve Chardonnay from New South Wales.

  "No hot saki?" I asked. He merely frowned and shook his head. Maybe he shuddered.

  After a while, the conversation wandered back to the mandalas again. Captain Harbaugh turned to Lizard and asked, "What do you think the postwar world will be like?"

  Lizard shook her head. "I can't imagine. Or maybe I don't want to. You're assuming we're going to find something out here that will make the difference, that will give us what we need to stop the spread of the Chtarran ecology. I hope you're right. But I think Jim is right." She reached over and squeezed my hand affectionately. "I don't think the Earth will ever be completely free of the Chtorran ecology. I don't think human beings will ever be able to stop fighting the worms. So whatever the postwar world looks like, it won't be postwar as much as it will probably be reduced war. I think-" She stopped herself from finishing the sentence. She deliberately reached out for her water goblet and took a long deep drink. Lizard put the goblet carefully back on the table, and a steward stepped up almost immediately to refill it. Lizard reached out for the glass, but she didn't lift it; she just held it there on the table for a moment, staring into the shifting patterns of ice cubes and wetness while she considered the vision in her head. Both Captain Harbaugh and I waited politely.

  At last, Lizard lifted the glass again and took another drink. "It's so simple, we take it for granted. Clean water." Then, remembering where she was, she looked at Captain Harbaugh again. "The truth? I'm a member of the military. I know what the military position is. We blast, we burn, we never admit defeat. Custer wasn't defeated, you know. He was killed, but he wasn't defeated. That's one option. The other option-and this is just a personal feeling-is that we may have to find a way to live with the Chtorr, because we may not be able to live any other way." And then: "I'm sorry. That's probably a very unpleasant thought, and tonight is supposed to be an extraordinary evening."

  Captain Harbaugh politely ignored Lizard's afterthought and turned to me. "Do you share that view, Jim?"

  I half shrugged, half shook my head. "I don't know," I admitted. I reached over and took Lizard's hand in mine again. "But I do know that I believe in our future. I have to. Otherwise, there would have been no point in our getting married tonight, would there?"

  Lizard responded with a weak smile. She was troubled, but I squeezed her hand and she squeezed back, and after a bit, she let herself relax again.

  Captain Harbaugh remained focused on me. "How do you think human beings will be able to live with the Chtorr?" she asked.

  "I don't know," I answered quietly-I didn't really want to speculate. My experiences with Jason Delandro and his tribe of renegades had skewed my perspective undeniably toward the negative side of the question, but this was neither the time nor the place to rehash that history. The truth was, we really didn't know enough yet. We knew there were people living in mandala nests. The satellite pictures showed it. But we didn't understand how. Or why. And I said so.

  "I guess that's one of the more important questions we hope to resolve during this mission, ma'am. We don't have enough information. Nobody's done any real studies of it yet, partly because it seems, well… defeatist. But more and more people-intelligent people, like yourself-are starting to ask that question. So I guess maybe it's time we started to consider it seriously."

  Captain Harbaugh seemed satisfied with that answer and motioned to Faust to pour the next wine. There was a different wine for every course. I thought it was decadent, but Lizard was obviously enjoying it. This one was a white burgundy, a ten-year-old Domaine de la Romanee-Contee Le Montrachet. Captain Harbaugh seemed quite proud of it. Lizard was very impressed. Apparently she knew something about wine. I was merely astonished. I'd never tasted wine with such a rich velvety texture and ripe woody overtones. I hadn't known wine could taste like this. When I mentioned this to Faust, he nodded and said, "Yes, that's one way to describe it. Actually, it would be more appropriate to say that the wine has a smooth yet complex mix of fruit, wood, and flint, with a finish that lingers for what seems hours." The way the words rolled off his tongue, it sounded like poetry. I wondered if he had blisters on his hands from
corkscrewing all those bottles.

  After another sorbet, this one pineapple-lime, the waiters brought out trays of savories. We started with mesquite-broiled quail with honey sauce and graduated to succulent New Zealand lamb cutlets in mint jelly, segued to thin slices of roast beef so rare the cow was probably only injured; it must have gotten up and walked away after the operation; and finished with medallions of chateaubriand served with a bearnaise sauce so rich, it came with a pedigree. There were sidecar dishes of perfect little new potatoes, baby com, fresh peas, and green sweet potatoes simmered in butter and topped with sugar, cinnamon, raisins, and pecans. With the lamb and beef, Faust served a twenty-year-old Chateau Mouton-Rothschild; it was mysteriously dark and deliciously red. "Is this as good as a Lafitte Rothschild?" I asked. Faust just narrowed his eyes and snorted. I decided to keep my mouth shut and let him do his job. I'd concentrate on mine, which at the moment involved some sophisticated action with a knife and a fork.

  For dessert-Lizard almost broke down and cried when she saw it-moist chocolate cake with sugary chocolate frosting as thick as shingles; black-chocolate ice cream with black fudge swirls; classic French chocolate ice cream with a butterfat content high enough to be illegal in California; chocolate mousse a la Bullwinkle dripping with chocolate whipped cream and crunchy chocolate sprinkles; chocolate dipped fruits: strawberries, orange slices, cherries, and peaches; and finally, an unbelievably large bowl overflowing with chocolate truffles that glimmered with holographic fantasies pressed into them. Around the edges, more flowers, and various cheeses, fruits, and sorbets, to be used as spacers. Lizard looked glassy-eyed. I was astonished and astonished and astonished again. Whatever troubling thoughts either of us might have experienced earlier in the meal were completely washed away in the overwhelming cascade of chocolate amazements that the dessert chef proudly wheeled out to us. Faust opened a bottle of thirty-year-old Chateau d'Yquem. It had so much sugar, it was viscous to the point of being a syrup. Talk about heaven-I wanted to pour it over fresh buttermilk pancakes. I was smart enough not to express this thought to Faust.

  And then, suddenly-there was coffee!

  Fresh coffee! Real coffee! Colombian beans! Freshly ground! I could smell it like a memory of the golden age! This had to be a branch office of heaven! The aroma was thick enough to climb! I moaned as Shaun filled the cup in front of me. The steam rose up in a delicious writhe of ecstasy. I hadn't realized how much I had missed the hard rich flavor of coffee. I was almost afraid to taste it. I just stared in amazement.

  "Go ahead," Shaun urged. He was grinning like someone delivering Christmas.

  I lifted the cup slowly with both hands and held it in front of me, just breathing in the incredible black fragrance. At last I took my first taste of it and nearly passed out from the intensity. "Oh, yes!" I exulted. "Yes!"

  Lizard agreed. She was licking chocolate off her fingers in a gaudy display of gluttony. "Mm, this is even better than sex." She blushed as she said it.

  "The evening's not over yet," I replied. "Don't make any hasty judgments."

  "Look at us," she laughed. "We're acting like children."

  "We're acting like pigs."

  "Oink, oink, " Lizard agreed.

  Captain Harbaugh acted as if death by chocolate were a common occurrence aboard her vessel. "Enjoy yourselves," she said. "There's plenty more where this came from." But both Lizard and I were certain that she had specifically ordered this extravagance as a special wedding gift for the two of us. "I'm afraid," she whispered conspiratorially, "that you're not going to be allowed to leave here until you've sampled every dessert on the cart." She lowered her voice. "Henri is very sensitive. That's him over there, holding the meat cleaver."

  "You're a hard taskmaster, lady," Lizard laughed. "We'll be here all night."

  Captain Harbaugh patted Lizard on the hand. "Take all the time-and all the chocolate-that you want. This is your wedding."

  That was all she needed to say. Abruptly, Lizard dabbed at her eyes. "This is the best wedding I've ever had in my life." She sniffled and tried to blink back her tears. Then she looked embarrassed. Faust was just placing two large brandy snifters on the table in front of us. "I'm sorry," she wept, waving one hand in the air. "I think I'm delirious."

  "I should hope so," Feist or Faust or whoever he was replied with a deadpan expression. "Otherwise, the entire evening was wasted."

  When Lizard finally stopped laughing-and crying-she dabbed at her eyes one last time and put her hand to her throat. "Oh, my," she said. "Oh, my. Please, don't anybody say anything else funny. I don't think I can take any more."

  Faust simply put an open bottle on the table and said, "This is a sixty-year-old Napoleon brandy from Delamane. It should be an adequate nightcap."

  Lizard and I blinked at each other, astonished. "Adequate?" she asked. "That's an understatement. I can't think how the evening could have been any better."

  "I can," said Faust drily. "I should have served a 1971 Niersteine Klostergarten Silvaner und Huxelrebe Trockenbeerenauslese with the chocolate instead of the Chateau d'Yquem. Unfortunately…" He sighed and looked apologetic. "Only two hundred fifty bottles of that particular TBA were ever laid down, and the last one was served to the emperor of Japan. I'm not sure he had the palate to appreciate it, but… as a matter of diplomacy-well, never mind. One does the best one can." And then he exited.

  Lizard and I tried to hold back our giggles for as long as we could, but it was impossible. Even before he was gone, we both burst out laughing. And then we looked to Captain Harbaugh.

  "Thank you, thank you, thank you for the dinner-and the entertainment. He is marvelous!"

  "He's adequate," Captain Harbaugh admitted. "I don't think he should have mentioned the Trockenbeerenauslese myself, but… good help is so very hard to find these days." She said it absolutely deadpan, but there was a seditious twinkle in her eye. "I'm going to leave you two now. It's your wedding night. Enjoy the view up here for as long as you please. When you're ready to return to your cabin, Shaun will escort you back. If there's anything else you need, just ring this bell. Come along, Henri. I promise you, General Tirelli will not insult your chocolate avalanche. We may even have to wheel her back to her cabin."

  After they left, I looked across the table at Lizard. "That is one great lady."

  "You noticed that too, huh? Here, open your mouth. Try one of these-"

  "Mmf. Thmt's gmmd—" After several long moallents of delicious savoring, I finally said, "You were right. I just had my first oral orgasm."

  Just a little forward of the gazebo, there were three steps leading down to a sheltered love seat, where we sat and sipped the last of our coffee and gazed out at the dark Amazon night. Lizard rested her head against mine, and we rested in the afterglow of an incredible evening. "I didn't know it was possible to have this much fun with your clothes on," she said.

  "Why do you think they did all this?" I asked.

  Lizard didn't reply immediately. She knew the answer, she just didn't want to speak it aloud. Instead, she said, "I think… I think they just wanted to share our happiness. There isn't a lot of happiness around anymore. What little there is has to be shared."

  "Mm. But this-this was overkill."

  "There's no such thing as overkill. Dead is dead." She snuggled closer.

  "I wonder if it isn't something more than that…" I said. "I think maybe they're all afraid that this is the end of an era. And this was their way of marking it. Of celebrating their own greatness."

  "I'm not complaining," Lizard whispered. "We don't deserve it."

  "Actually, my sweet little chocolate dumpling, we do. You and I may represent the last best hope of the human species to preserve what once was great about this planet. We're the ones who might just make the difference in this war. I think they wanted to give us a very intense experience of what we're fighting for."

  "Well, they succeeded." She sighed luxuriously. "But I wish you wouldn't make it sound so serious."
/>   "It is serious-now that I've seen what you can do to a table of chocolate. Lady, you'd kill someone if they got between you and a hot fudge sundae."

  Lizard sniffed. "That's not fair. I give first warnings."

  I hugged her close. "I promised you chocolate. You promised me babies. I hope all our promises can be kept so easily." Lizard fell silent again. There were times when she did that, retreated to the privacy of her own thoughts. I knew there were things that she would probably never share with me; but it was all right. When she did'share, she shared herself completely.

  "It's going to be a long day tomorrow," she said. "We have a lot of work to do."

  "Most of it is going to be the waiting," I told her. "All the equipment is ready. Everybody knows what they're supposed to do. Mostly, you and I are going to stand around and watch while all these people we've so carefully trained do their jobs. You and I only have to go to work if something goes wrong." Even as I was saying it, I wished I hadn't. I didn't want to acknowledge the possibility.

  But it was all right. Lizard just squeezed my arm reassuringly. She sat up straight and said, "We should probably take some sober-ups before we go to bed."

  I glanced sideways at her. I'd already had one experience with Sober-Ups today. "If we do, we're probably going to have some very bizarre sex."

  "Okay," she agreed. "I'll be the chorus girl, you be the German shepherd."

  "No fair. You always get to be the chorus girl-"

  Regardless of its other manifestations, it is clear that the neural parasites are primarily gastropede symbionts. The gastropede provides an ambient environment conducive to symbiont growth, and the symbiont network within the gastropede provides additional sensory inputs to the gastropede's primitive brain.

  Some observers believe that without the additional sensory connections that the neural symbiont network makes possible, the gastropede is little more than a mindless slug, unable even to control its own body functions.

  Unfortunately, there are so many other aspects of gastropede physiology that have not yet been satisfactorily resolved or understood that it would be ill-advised to endorse any thesis at this time.