A Day for Damnation

THIRTY-FOUR

THERE WERE voices in my sleep again.

They dropped out of a hovering pink sky, a wall of brightness-like God-and danced in circles around me. When I looked, they were bunnydogs. When I turned with them, they were men again. We took off our bunnydog suits and danced naked. We were happy there. When I looked at the singing sky, it was a worm.

There was something I wanted to know. I floated up toward the worm, but it sailed away and I couldn't catch it-and the dance was over now. I'd missed it. The herd was breaking up.

I woke up trembling. I knew something.

There weren't words-I had this overwhelming sense that there were connections underneath the world-as if I'd heard the heavenly music, the great chords of reality, and the sound was still reverberating in my soul.

The weird feeling stayed with me all morning. It meant something: I knew it. There was something I had to do-something about that dream-

And maybe too it was another fit of delirium; but when they checked me out at the hospital, my readings came up green. "Forget it, Lieutenant," the doctor said. "You had a bad dream. Considering what you've been through, you're entitled to a few nightmares."

Except, it hadn't been a bad dream. It had been an extraordinarily good one. That was what troubled me so. I wanted to return to it.

I sighed, shrugged, thanked the doctor and headed upstairs to Intensive Care.

This time, Duke was conscious.

They were keeping him in a sterilized environment, so he was still inside a big plastic tent with odd little ventilation tubes and ultraviolet lights plugged into it.

He turned his head to look at me when I came in. His face was starting to look like a face again. But I wondered if plastic surgery would be able to make it look like a human face.

I dropped my gaze embarrassedly. I looked around for a chair, snagged one and pulled it up to the bed. "Hi, Duke-"

He didn't respond. He turned his head back to look at the ceiling. His breathing sounded labored. The shape under the sheets was disturbingly short.

Just to have something to do, I snagged his medi-console off the foot of the bed and studied it.

And then I wished I hadn't.

They'd taken off both his legs and his left arm. Dr. Fletcher's notes said there was too much nerve damage for prostheses. Embarrassedly, I replaced the console. I looked to Duke again. "Uh, they said you were still having trouble talking-so, uh, if you don't want to talk, you don't have to. I'll do the talking-if you want-"

I waited a moment to see what he would do. I couldn't read his expression, so I continued, "-I don't really know where to start. Um, I guess I should tell you that we brought back some truly astonishing videos. They're being examined frame by frame. I've been debriefing almost every day since I was released. We really did discover something. I mean-nobody knows what to make of those bunnydogs.

"One theory is that they're worm-tenders-kind of like tickbirds and crocodiles. Or lieutenants and captains. The bunnydogs handle the paperwork."

He shifted his head slightly to look at me through the plastic.

I wished I knew what was going on inside that skull. What was he feeling?

"Um-the other theory, Duke, is that the bunnydogs are the worm-controllers. We don't think that the bunnies are the intelligent species behind the invasion-although they could be-but we're wondering if perhaps they mightn't be the managers of this phase. Maybe they're some kind of sub-Chtorran intelligence.

"And-um, there's another theory-it's just a thought, nobody's advocating it seriously yet, it's just something to think about-that perhaps we're dealing with several different intelligences, or a compound intelligence. The worms are one part, the bunnies are another, something else is still a third part. What we're trying to do now is figure out how the bunnies and the worms communicate. If we can do that, then maybe we can find some way to ... talk to them and negotiate or sue for peace or something-"

Duke made a rumbling noise in his throat. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't get that, Duke."

He turned his head toward me and said it again. I had to strain to make it out. "Bfllshmt," he said.

The meaning was clear.

"Uh, yeah. I think so too. Listen, um-a lot of people have been asking me about you. I heard from the guys in Colorado. They send their best. And Dr. Fletcher says hello too. And-uh, I saw your son-"

Was it my imagination or did his expression harden? He turned his face back to the ceiling.

"I guess it's none of my business, but I think he wants to come and see you, Duke-I mean, he didn't say anything, I just sort of got the idea that he wanted to; he called me and asked how you were. But he didn't want me to say hi for him, so I don't know if I'm messing where I shouldn't. I just... well-"

"Shft fp."

"Huh?"

He didn't repeat it.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I guess I should go."

"Wfft."

"What?"

He struggled to make himself heard. "Wait-" he rasped. "I want... oo t' do smmfing.. . ."

"Anything, Duke!"

"Write 'own. Co' nummer."

"Write down a code number?" I was already fumbling for a pen. "Right. Go ahead, I'm ready."

He cleared his throat, coughed, and began hoarsely reciting digits. He was giving me his personal military code-and password! "Duke-I don't think you should-"

"Shft fp, McCarfy-"

"Yes, sir-"

"I wan'-yoo ge' me... a grenay."

"A... grenade?"

He nodded; the gesture was difficult for him. "Sfuicide grenaye. Ffoice-actifvated. "

"Duke, I don't think-"

"Fmk what you fhink!" he said. He glared at me. This time there was no mistaking his expression, even through the plastic. "I don't want-be helfless-" He was interrupted by a spasm of coughing. It went on for a long moment. I wondered if I should signal for a nurse. No, if he was in real trouble, the medi-console would alert the nurses automatically. Duke caught his breath and continued, "-nft helfless ... against wfrms-"

"Worms? Duke, there are no worms in Oakland-"

Somehow, he managed to turn halfway toward me. He tried to reach for me through the plastic of the sterile tent. His hand looked like a worm claw. "Ge' grenay, Jhm!" he rasped. "I don' wan'-to die-helfless!" There was terror in Duke's eyes.

I studied the code number in my hands. By rights, I should tear it up and forget it. This was insane. Duke wasn't being rational. A suicide grenade in a hospital? Defense against the worms here? "McCarfy-promisf?"

"Duke, I can't do this-"

"Promisf me!" He looked wild. He couldn't hear a refusal.

I nodded. I swallowed hard. "I'll figure ... something out, Duke. I promise."

He seemed to relax then. He sighed and sank back into his pillow.

"Duke-? Sir?"

"Mm?"

"Remember once, I asked who you cleared with-and you said you checked in with the boss upstairs? Do you remember that? Um-have you checked in recently ...?"

"Fmk'ff."

"I didn't get that, Duke. Could you say it again?"

He rolled his head toward me and rasped, "Ghod isf a lie-ge' grenay."

I sat there in silence, wondering what I should do. Should I tell his doctors-or what? I was churning up inside.

Damn it! This was DukeI owed him!

But-this was crazy! Where do you draw the line?

You son of a bitch, I thought. Haven't I got enough guilt already?