A Matter For Men Part 20

The roar and buzz of a thousand separate voices swirled in the air above the lobby. A large crowd surrounded a huge fat man and a small loud one who were alternately booming and sniping at one another-a duel between a foghorn and a magpie. I couldn't get close enough to hear what they were saying, and the spirited reactions of their listeners were drowning out the meaning, leaving only the shredded sounds of their voices.

Behind me, someone else was preaching; I turned to see a bulldozer-shaped woman backing a nervous-looking man up against a corner. "-and we have the papers to prove it! Have you read them yet? No? I'll send you copies. Marsha got a letter from the man himself, saying how impressed he was by her volume-"

I faded sideways, almost into the center of another conversation, a very quiet one. The speaker was a well-mannered black man, very soft-spoken. His listeners were a group of reporter types, each one holding his or her recorder out like a s.h.i.+eld. ". . . The people have had enough bad news. They want to hear something good for a change. Of course, Dr. Zymph's remarks are not going to be popular-I expect to see a lot of resistance. But now let me add this. If the threat is real, you can be sure that the American people will shoulder their fair share of the responsibility. We'll handle it."

I'd heard enough. I headed out toward the lounge area. I was confused at the reaction of the delegates-didn't they realize?-and angry at them as well. I stood in the middle of them and fumed. I would have liked to have stuffed a few of them into the nearest Chtorran in full view of their colleagues. That would change some minds, all right!

I was still hesitating, standing in the middle of the crowd and wondering what to do next, when I heard my name called. A hand was waving at me from halfway across the lobby. Ted's. I began working my way over to him. He was standing with a short, barrel-shaped man who was wearing a dark suit and a frown; he looked constipated, perpetually glaring out at the world through thick-lensed horn-rimmed gla.s.ses. "This is Martin Miller," Ted said, "managing director of the Erewhon Project."

"Oh," I said. I looked around. "Um, what happened to Dinnie?"

Ted shrugged. "I dunno. We got separated. No problem."

"I thought you two were, ah . . ."

"Huh? You've gotta be kidding!"

"Then what was that business about eleven o.r.g.a.s.ms?"

Ted put his hands on my shoulders and looked me straight in the eye. "Jim, trust me. Someday, you'll know this for yourself-when you finally manage to lose that legendary virginity of yours -but until then, take my word for it: it is impossible even for a normal healthy male in the peak of physical condition to come eleven times in one night." And then he added, "I know-I've tried. But the most I've ever managed was seven. And it wasn't with Dinnie."

"She seemed to think so."

"Jim, I am telling you the truth. I only came once. And I had to think of raw liver to do even that. Let her believe what she wants."

"Then why the h.e.l.l did you-"

"Shh! Keep your voice down! I'm gonna teach you one of the secrets of success. If you need to get to know a great number of people in a hurry-especially important people-find yourself the most ambitious social climber you can, and flatter her. Or him. You can get into a lot of otherwise closed doors that way. Look, you don't mind, do you?" He had slipped one arm around my shoulder and turned me sideways away from Miller. "This could be very big. For both of us. He's not even twenty-five yet and he's making multimillion-casey decisions. I'll talk to you later, all right?"

"Huh-? But you called me!" But Ted had already turned back to his conversation. Something about flash-doming urban tracts for future redevelopment. Miller was explaining how preservation grants would allow them to claim large areas of already developed but abandoned property, and Ted was babbling about getting the Reclamation Office to foot most of the bill. I didn't think either one was hearing a word the other was saying.

"Listen, you've got to stop seeing it as a set of political moves," the woman behind me was saying. She was speaking to a small cl.u.s.ter of Fourth-World delegates. She looked deceptively friendly. Her face was framed with dark curls and her mouth looked like a kiss looking for a place to happen. Her nametag said s. DORR. "I understand your concerns, I really do. Your governments are justifiably afraid that the United States is using this ecological infestation as an excuse for rebuilding its military strength. And certainly, that would be a legitimate concern under any ordinary circ.u.mstances. But these are not ordinary circ.u.mstances. You heard Dr. Zymph's presentation." Her badge identified her as a deputy amba.s.sador to the United Nations. She spoke calmly and with authority. "Perhaps you've seen the reports, perhaps not, but the United States is the only nation left on this planet that can still muster the human resources necessary to meet this challenge. If you don't allow the pa.s.sage of the Allowance Act, you're hurting yourself as much as us. These are the hard, cold facts-Europe is in ruins, barely surviving; Africa is at war with itself; most of South America is out of communication-all we know about are a few major cities; Russia's in turmoil; and we have no idea how bad the situation is in China. At least the United States still has a workable military organization. That's because this country did not mobilize its military for civilian population control during the plagues. We were forbidden to mobilize, so we kept our units isolated and as a result most of them survived. We now represent a reservoir of ability that the international community of nations desperately needs to draw upon-must draw upon-despite the fact that it would require the one thing that a majority of nations in the U.N. are most opposed to: an extraordinary American military reconstruction! But that's what's needed if we are to mount realistic opposition to this invasion." She held up a hand to forestall an interruption. "Please-I need to make the point understood. What we intend is not a military campaign in the traditional sense of armament and mobilization-there simply isn't the manpower for that-but rather a worldwide call to purpose with the same sense of discipline and urgency that are the hallmarks of a successful military operation. We would use the existing structure of the United States Civilian Operations Corps as a foundation on which to build our proposed worldwide ecological defense-because it's there and it's ready to go to work, and we don't have the time to spare making everything politically satisfactory for all concerned parties.

"We know that several members of your delegation were upset by Dr. Zymph's remarks, but my government is prepared to stand behind them. We are also prepared to share our knowledge freely. Your scientists are welcome to verify our facts; we're sure that they'll come to the same conclusions."

Her audience listened politely and patiently, but when she finished, the leader of the group spoke up. His English was thickly accented, but his words were blunt. "And if we don't do as you wish-what then? You go ahead and do it anyway, right? Who is to stop you now? Who has the power to stop anybody anymore? So what you're asking is not permission, not even cooperationbut approval. I cannot see my government granting that, Ms. Amba.s.sador. I cannot see any government going out on that limb."

The woman flushed. Was it anger or embarra.s.sment? Her tone of voice was too deliberately calm. "Dr. T!Kai, you disappoint me. If the United States were able to do this alone, we would already be in the process of doing it-that is how serious we consider this situation. But we are not able to do this alone; that is the purpose of this special conference, to demonstrate the scale of the problem and to call for worldwide cooperation-"

He interrupted her. "I find a flaw in that reasoning, Comrade Deputy Amba.s.sador. First you tell us that we are not capable, that only the United States is capable. Now you tell us that you cannot do this without us. Which is it, please? You cannot have it both ways?"

This time, it was obvious. She was angry. "Dr. T!Kai, you are supposed to be a man of science, a visionary among your own people. You have even been called the mastermind of the African social revolution. We have been putting facts before you for three days now. We have many more facts to put before you. Please listen to them. Realize what they mean. If you have any questions at all, the entire staff of the National Science Center is at your disposal. You've seen the live specimens-if you need to see them again, it can be arranged. But please hear what we are trying to tell you!"

He looked at her calmly and said, "I am hearing. I am hearing all too well." He shook his head. "What I hear are excuses and justifications. I do not want to hear any more. Excuse me, please." He gestured to his retinue, and the group of them turned away and moved off down the hall.

Deputy Amba.s.sador Dorr looked after them, tears welling up in her eyes. She mouthed a phrase that looked like d.a.m.n fools! Then she caught me looking at her and she smiled with embarra.s.sment. She said, "You weren't supposed to hear that."

I said, "I've seen the Chtorrans. You're right."

"Yes," she said. She didn't look happy about it. "But this isn't about being right."

TWENTY-TWO.

WHEN THE conference resumed, there were some conspicuously empty places in the auditorium. I wasn't the only one who noticed; behind me, I heard someone say, "Good. Now maybe we can get something accomplished."

I found a seat closer to the front this time. Almost immediately, two MP-types dropped into the empty places on my left and a narrow-looking scientist type with curly black hair, gla.s.ses and a big nose plopped himself down on my right. He was carrying a clipboard. Funny-there were a lot of people carrying clipboards today; most of them looked like they were part of the cadre that was running this operation. Professional, determined and grim. The foreign delegates had a more casual air, and they had secretaries and aides with them instead of clipboards-an almost ostentatious display of wasted labor.

Dr. Olmstead called the conference back to order then and introduced the next speaker, Dr. Indri Kwong from the Asian Control Center. Dr. Kwong was very thin and very old. He wore one of those quasi-military suits that all those Asian officials like to wear. And he was tiny; they had to lower the podium for him. There was something wrong with his right arm-he kept his hand tucked into his pocket and used only his left.

He fumbled around with his notes for a moment, then began.

"Is that screen working? Ah, yes-good. Thank you." His English was almost too good-he spoke in precisely clipped phrases. "Thank you. Thank you for inviting me to address this conference. But if you will forgive the presumption of an old man, it is entirely appropriate that this section be the responsibility of the Asian Control Center. We were not only the first to isolate and identify specimens of the Chtorran gastropedes, but we have also compiled the greatest record of experience with these creatures. I wish to point out, however, that the term 'gastropede' is a misnomer. The creatures are only superficially sluglike under their fur. They actually have many small pairs of legs-so, if anything, they are giant, pink, fur-covered caterpillars."

He stopped then and paged slowly through his notes. I thought it was strange that he was using hard copies instead of a clipboard or a terminal, particularly because of the extra burden of having only one hand to manipulate the pages with.

"May I have the first slide, please? Ah, thank you. This is the first public presentation of these photographs, and we believe them to be the best set of photos yet obtained. Perhaps I should take a moment to present the background here. It has been only recently discovered that the mountainous regions of Manchuria are the site of a rather heavy infestation of gastropedes and a.s.sociated ecology. On somewhat short notice we organized a small caravan of armored vehicles and airlifted them into the area. They were able to send out the following pictures before contact was lost. I wish to point out that the loss of the caravan does not necessarily imply that the gastropedes reacted with hostility to the human presence. The area is also known to be a staging site for several well-organized bandit gangs-"

"Hmp," muttered one of the MPs on my left. "They won't let him admit they've got a rebellion on their hands. Those are probably guerrillas."

"-and it's equally possible the caravan may have been attacked by one or more of these gangs."

I looked at the MP, and whispered, "How come everybody is so reluctant to admit that the worms are dangerous?"

"Eh?" He looked annoyed at me, but before he could answer, the curly-haired fellow on my right shushed us both.

Dr. Kwong was saying, "The evidence of these pictures should effectively dispel several of the more pernicious rumors that the creatures feed on human flesh. As you can see here-ah, yes, here's the shot-this particular individual is stripping the bark off a tree. During this entire sequence of photos-until the creature realized it was being observed-it felled several small saplings and ate most of the smaller branches and leaves. Later on, other individuals were seen to duplicate this behavior."

Huh? But what about- I shut my mouth and listened.

Dr. Kwong adjusted his gla.s.ses on his nose and looked out over the audience. "We do not dispute that there have been attacks on humans, but we do believe now that such incidents are atypical. Not all tigers are maneaters either. A tiger has to learn that a man is easy to kill. Um ... let me digress here. A tiger perceives that a human being is larger than he actually is because a man stands erect and seems to tower over the tiger. The tiger's perception of the man's height overrules his perception of the size of the man's body. So there is probably the element of, say, surprise for the tiger that a human being is easier to kill than he might have thought. But even that is not enough to turn a tiger into a man-eater. Human flesh does not taste good to the average predator-particularly the big cats. No, the tiger has to have a susceptibility, a need, before it can turn into a man-eater. Salt is one of its primary needs. A lack of it is usually enough to turn the tiger into an enemy. We suspect that the gastropedes that have attacked human beings may be suffering from a similar kind of dietary deficiency and human flesh may inadvertently be one of the sources for whatever the element is that they need."

Another picture came up on the screen. Obviously a telephoto shot. A small Chtorran carrying a sapling across the ground. "We suspect that the natural behavior of the creatures is closer to that of the North American beaver. This colony was observed for quite some time performing a very pastoral set of behaviors. As you can see here, they are in the process of damming a small stream.

"This is one of the larger Chtorran settlements that the team discovered. Notice that there are three domes here, and an equal number of domes still under construction-"

"Those are corrals," I said. I folded my arms across my chest. Dr. Kwong didn't see that the Chtorrans were predatory, so he obviously couldn't recognize their corrals for what they were.

The curly-haired man on my right gave me a look. "You know something?"

"d.a.m.n right I do."

"Better keep it to yourself. This isn't the place." He didn't intend it angrily, but I didn't want to hear it.

Dr. Kwong was saying, "-we do find it interesting that the Chtorran gastropedes come three to a nest. Never more than that-"

"Excuse me, sir," somebody said, standing up. It was me. Heads swiveled to look at me. Dr. Kwong stopped in midphrase, unable to ignore me. He blinked twice and said, "I beg your pardon?"

"Have you ever found four Chtorrans in a nest?"

"Dr. Kwong looked mildly annoyed. "Young man, I just finished saying that there were never more than three."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Young man, what is the purpose?"

"I'm sorry, sir. But they do come four to a nest. I've seen it." Beside me, the curly-haired man was tugging at my sleeve. "Sit down!" he hissed. I ignored him.

Dr. Kwong wasn't angry-just surprised that someone would display the incredibly bad manners to interrupt him. "Are you arguing with me, young man?"

"No, sir. I'm correcting you. I've seen it. Four worms-Chtorrans-in a nest. I was there."

"I see. Young man, I am the Director of the Asian Control Center. We have a network of observers that spans the largest continent on this planet. This is the first time I have ever heard of a fourth Chtorran in a nest. So perhaps you can understand my reluctance to accept this information. Particularly in these circ.u.mstances. I'm sure your story merits investigation. Perhaps some anomaly has occurred, but this is neither the time nor the place, so if you would resume your seat, I might continue-"

Something brittle snapped. "If this isn't the place, then where the h.e.l.l is? I have information! I saw this myself." I said it loudly, and there was anger in my voice. "There was a but and a corral and the corral was full of millipedes and the hut was full of eggs. And when the Chtorrans came out of the but, there were four of them."

By now, the people around me were calling for me to sit down, but I ignored them. Curly-hair was slumped in his seat, one hand over his eyes.

Dr. Kwong motioned away a concerned aide. "No, no, let him be-I can handle him." Everything he said was amplified by the PA system, whether he faced the microphone or not. He said to me, "Young man, may I ask, on what do you base your knowledge? What is your credential?"

"United States Army. Sir. My name is James Edward McCarthy, and I hold the rank of corporal."

Somebody behind me snorted. Somebody else called, "That's as low as they have left. They can't find anyone willing to be a private anymore."

My mouth opened again and said, "United States Army, Special Forces Operation. I was a.s.signed as an exobiologist and an observer."

"Special Forces?" There was something odd about the way he repeated it.

"Yes, sir."

"And your duties involved...?"

"I was on a reconnaissance mission and on a Chtorran-hunting mission."

"A what-?"

"Uh-to say it in plain English-which is something n.o.body else around here has done yet-we went out to burn some worms. And we killed three of them. And then the fourth one came out and killed my friend. And I had to burn them both."

"I beg your pardon? Did you say burn?"

"Yes, I did."

He was leaning forward intently. "What do you mean, 'burn'?"

"Burn! Flamethrowers, sir. Napalm. Jellied gasoline. It's the only thing that'll stop a worm fast." There was a startled reaction from the audience, loud gasps and cries.

Dr. Kwong was holding up his hand. "Please, please-may we have some order? Napalm? Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir. I had to kill one of the best men I've ever known. It was the only way. I wouldn't lie about a thing like that."

"You used napalm? Napalm is an illegal weapon!"

"Yes, sir. I know that. I raised the same objection myself. But you missed the point, sir. There were four worms in that hut!"

"Young man, there are some very good reasons why napalm was outlawed as a weapon of war. If you'll wait a moment, I'll show you one of them-" He was fumbling with his jacket. One of his aides stepped up to help him, but Dr. Kwong brushed him peevishly aside. He unzipped the tunic and dropped it to the floor, then he opened his s.h.i.+rt to reveal a withered right arm and a ma.s.s of white scar tissue that stretched from his neck to his waist, and probably a good way down his leg as well. He walked with a slight limp as he stepped around the podium. "Take a good look-this is what napalm can do to a human being. I was seven years old. United States soldiers came to my village, looking for the enemy. The enemy was long gone, but they burned the village anyway. And most of the villagers too. I have lived all of my life carrying the scars of your country's crime against mine.

"Many other nations had to suffer the same ravages to discover sanity in the ashes-and it took a long time for it to happenbut the peace-loving nations of this world finally enforced a lasting peace against the imperialistic savageries of the United States. Napalm was the most pernicious of the American weapons to be restricted. There are too many thousands of crippled men and women who can tell you why. Look and see what it does to the human body, young man. There is no easy healing here-there is no healing at all, only scars. And now-you stand there in your ignorance, your bare-faced naivete, and dare to tell me that the United States is using such weaponry again? In disregard of all the treaties and United Nations mandates?"

"That's not the issue!" I was screaming now. "You grandstanding son of a b.i.t.c.h! You think the worms are so G.o.dd.a.m.ned friendly, why don't you go in and see for yourself? They have one here at the center! He's in a gla.s.s-walled room-why don't you go in and try hand-feeding him! Then you'll find out if they're man-eaters!"

"Sit down!" That was Dr. Olmstead, pointing at me and shouting through a bullhorn-where the h.e.l.l had he gotten that? Dr. Kwong was shouting back at me, "I've seen the specimen-and that's a feral animal. It has no inhibitions and only animal intelligence. It may be that the other creatures we've observed do have some intelligence. Had you let me finish, I would have discussed that point. We have been making attempts to establish contact with them, but since you and your cohorts have been burning every one of them you come in contact with, you've made it impossible for us. You're the ones who've made them into an enemy-you and your execrable military mind-set!"

Off to my right, one of the African delegates was standing and shouting now. "Don't be sidetracked! Let's deal with this napalm issue! The United States is in violation of-"

"What about the fourth Chtorran?"

"You can't bomb your way to peace," called someone else, and still another voice responded, "It's a h.e.l.luva start!"

"Come on," the curly-haired man said, grabbing my arm. "You're getting out of here!" He gestured to the MPs. "That way-"

"Huh? What is this? You can't-"

"Shut up, stupid! You want to get out of here in one piece?" He pushed me roughly forward.

"Wait a minute! What about the fourth Chtorran-? Wait a minute!"

TWENTY-THREE.

THE TWO MPs moved through the crowd like destroyers. One of them had my arm in a steel grip and was pulling me after him-I caught quick glimpses of roaring faces turning toward me, but I couldn't even shout. Curly-hair, holding my other arm in an equally painful vise, brought up the rear. We were out the side door of the auditorium so fast we could have been on rails.

"This way-" the MP said, jerking me sideways into a hallway. Behind us, I could hear the angry outcry rising. "d.a.m.n!" said curly-hair bitterly. "You just started a riot."

"Uh, sorry about that."