A Matter for Men

ELEVEN

WE RODE back in silence. I sat and stared at the sample pouch in my lap and tried not to think of the price Shorty had paid for my stupidity. It was my stupidity, wasn't it? I mean, to carry the pouch like that.

Duke was in the front seat, conferring softly with Hank. I tried not to listen, but the wind kept whipping their words back to me. They were battering at the facts, replaying them over and over again. "That fourth Chtorran-" Duke insisted, "-it shouldn't have been there."

Hank was making noises in response, quacking duck-billed platitudes. "Aww, Duke-we don't know enough about them yet-"

Duke ignored him. "-I thought that shelter looked a little too big-damn Reconnaisance! They're going to hear about this. I should have flashed that damned Mobe, and to hell with the cost."

"Hey, how about the kid-?"

"Huh?"

"He's taking it pretty hard."

"We all are."

"But he's the one who pulled the trigger."

"It's a risk we all have to take," Duke said. "You know that."

Hank glanced back at me. "Still . . ." he said quietly, "it wouldn't hurt to have a word with him . . . or something."

Duke didn't answer for a moment. When he did, his voice was strained. "Damn you, Hank. Just once I want to lick my own wounds first-Shorty was my friend too." He fell silent, then turned away in his seat and stared at the passing hills; they were shadowed in dusk. The clouds were shiny pink against a pale gray horizon.

I pulled my jacket tighter around me. The wind kept slapping at my hair and eyes; it was cold and dusty, and I was miserable, both inside and out. Occasionally, the millipedes would start to move; the bag would squirm uneasily, but a gentle rap with my hand was enough to make them curl up again; three hard little knots the size of cantaloupes.

It was past nine when we got back to base. It had been a boys' camp once, but now it was a makeshift Special Forces base. As the jeeps pulled up in front of the mess hall, men began pouring from its doors. "How was it? How many worms did you get?" Their voices were loud and excited.

Almost immediately, though, they caught our mood, and when Duke said, "Shorty's dead," an uncomfortable silence fell over the group. They followed us into the mess hall where Sergeant Kelly was pouring out coffee in her usual don't-bother-me manner and distributing platters of hot biscuits with businesslike dispatch. I snagged a couple of the biscuits-I could live without Sergeant Kelly's coffee-and faded into a corner. Nobody paid me any attention, for which I was more than grateful.

Duke also stood alone. Holding his mug by the bowl, not the handle, he sipped his coffee steadily, grimacing at its taste and ignoring the occasional question. The other men from the mission were tumbling out their stories as fast as they could talk. When they came to the part about Shorty some of the men glanced toward me and lowered their voices, but an excited murmur rose from the rest of the group. "A fourth worm-? Impossible!" But incredulity was met with insistence and the discussions splintered into speculations.

Dr. Obama came in then and took Duke off to one side where they conferred for a few moments; once they looked over in my direction, but when they saw me looking back at them they turned away; then Duke put down his coffee cup and the two of them left.

Abruptly, Ted was standing in front of me. He was hunched over, with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jeans. He had a peculiar expression on his face, like someone looking at an auto accident.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

He sat down opposite me, folded his arms and leaned across the table on his elbows. "Quit trying to be brave. You look like hell."

"You don't look so hot yourself," I muttered. His sandy hair was rumpled, his face was puffy. He looked like he'd just gotten out of bed. Was it that late?

He ignored it. "I hear you had a pretty rough time." I didn't answer.

He eyed my sample pouch. "Did you find anything interesting? -Hey, it's moving!"

I rapped the bag quickly and it stopped. Ted gaped. "What've you got in there?"

"Some of the bugs from the corral. That's what you can do. Go find a cage."

"A cage-? How big? Would a chicken coop do?"

"As long as there isn't any wood in it."

"Uh uh. Aluminum and wire." He scooted out the door. Some of the men were trickling out now, headed for the rec room, probably. Others refilled their mugs, slurped noisily, and followed them-that was probably the loudest sound in the room. I thought Sergeant Kelly was in the kitchen flashing more biscuits, but she wasn't.

"Here," she said, putting a chicken sandwich and a glass of milk in front of me. "Eat." Her expression was difficult to read, as if her face had been detached from her emotions.

I looked back down into my lap. "I'm not hungry."

"So?" she snapped. "When did that ever stop you from eating?"

"Sergeant," I said, lowering my voice, "I had to kill Shor-"

"I know," she said, cutting me off. "I heard." She placed her hand gently on my shoulder. When I didn't look up, she reached over and cradled my head into her hands-they were hugo- and pulled me to her. I couldn't help myself. I started crying, bawling like a baby into her lap. Sergeant Kelly is the only person in the world who has a lap standing up. I buried my face in it and sobbed. It was the first time I had cried all day. "That's my boy," she said. "That's my good boy. Let it out. Let it all out. Mamma's here now. Mamma's here."

After a while, I stopped. "Sergeant," I said, wiping my nose on her apron, "thank you." I looked blearily up at her; her eyes were bright. "I love you!"

"Uh. . ." For a moment, her composure seemed uncertain. She looked startled. She said, "I left something in the kitchen," and bustled quickly off. I thought I saw her wiping her eyes as she ducked through the door.

When I turned back to the table, Ted was standing there with the chicken coop. How long he had been there, I didn't know, and didn't want to ask. He didn't say anything about my red eyes; he just set the coop down on the table and waited.

I covered my embarrassment by fumbling with the pouch. Ted opened the top of the coop and I put the asbestoid shirt with the millipedes into it. I loosened the knot and tumbled them out, three hard, black nuggets. Then I latched the cage securely.

"That's it?" asked Ted. He sounded disappointed. "Those are actual Chtorran animals?"

I nodded. The millipedes were still rolled up in balls; their shells seemed almost metallic. If they were still alive, they hadn't shown it yet.

"They're not much to look at, are they?"

"Wait'll they open up," I said. "They're cute as baby spiders." Ted made a face.

Meanwhile, Sam, the camp mascot-a large gray and white tabby cat who had adopted us-hopped up onto the table to inspect. "Mrowrrt?" he asked.

"No, Sam, that's not to eat." That was Ted.

Sam sniffed in annoyance. He turned his attention instead to my chicken sandwich and milk, an unexpected bonanza. Neither Ted nor I pushed him away. He ate noisily. Dainty bites, but noisy ones. He was purring appreciatively while he ate.

Louis sauntered over next. He'd stripped down to his T-shirt. He was beginning to show a layer of fat on his middle-age spread. I guess the army couldn't afford to be too choosy any more. "Is that the bugs from the worm camp?" He peered close. "How come they're all rolled up?"

I shrugged.

"Have you tried feeding them yet? Maybe that's the trouble. Maybe they're hungry."

"Or scared," I suggested.

He ignored it. "What do they eat?" I shrugged again.

"Don't you know?"

"How could I? Could be anything. When I caught them, they were chewing on the walls of their enclosure."

"Well, you gotta feed them something," he insisted. Two or three other men had wandered over. A small crowd was forming. One or two of them muttered agreement.

"I'll have to make some tests," I mumbled. "To see what they like."

"Aah, you don't know anything about animals. I grew up on a farm-" He put his finger up to the mesh and clucked. "I'll bet they're just like chickens. Chtorran chickens. Come on, little bugs, come on-see what Daddy's got for you-" He shoved a little piece of biscuit through the wire. "Come on-"

I was hoping the millipedes would ignore him, but one of them chose that moment to uncurl. No longer restrained, and finding no reason to keep hiding, it began exploring its surroundings; its antennae waved tentatively, first forward, then back, then randomly in all directions. After a moment, it slithered across the floor and even part way up the walls of the cage, giving me a good look at its soft underside. Soft? It was a deep disturbing purple with dark bands separating the-what?-they looked like segments. I could see how all the shells were jointed; the creature's body was a train of tiny armored cars on legs.

The millipede tested the aluminum frame with its feelers and tried to poke its head through the wire mesh. For a moment, it seemed to be staring right at me; its eyes were black discs the size of quarters. They made me think of Chtorran eyes. They weren't faceted like normal insect eyes.

It pulled back then and continued exploring, coming at last to the sliver of biscuit. The millipede touched it lightly with its probing antennae, then ate it. It simply moved forward, chewing as it went, until there was no more left. "Hey," said Louis, grinning. "He likes it. Here, have some more." He shoved the rest of the biscuit into the cage.

The millipede made short work of this piece too. One of the others uncurled then and also began exploring the coop. "Hey, Louis," said one of the men. "Now you gotta feed the other one."

Louis glanced around. His eye fell on the chicken sandwich that Sam was still working on. " 'Scuse me, kitty, but I need this."

"Maoww-" Sam protested loudly, but to no avail. Louis tore the bread into pieces and pushed it through the mesh. Sam licked his chops deliberately, hoping the chicken wouldn't follow.

He was wrong. "Let's see what else they like," said Louis, and the chicken was pushed through the wire as well. Also the lettuce and tomato.

"Looks like we have to apologize for hurt felines," remarked Ted. "Here, Sam, drown your sorrows in some milk."

"Mrowwt, " said Sam. But he drank the milk.

Meanwhile, the third millipede had uncurled and joined its fellows in consuming the feast before them. "Look, they like chicken too."

"And lettuce. And tomato." Ted looked at me. "I wonder if there's anything they don't like."

"The stuff inside the enclosure wall," I said. "They don't like that. I brought back a sample for you to analyze." I pulled the plastic bag from my pouch.

Ted opened it and sniffed. "I hate to tell you what it smells like." He wrinkled his nose and closed it up again.

Louis was still at the cage. He poked his finger through the mesh and clucked. "Pretty baby, come to Poppa. . . ." I could understand his fascination with them. They seemed somehow more intelligent than mere insects. It was their eyes; they were large and round and dark, they were almost soft-like puppy eyes; they were all pupil. And it was the way they looked at you through those eyes-peering and turning toward every sound, studying each object with dispassionate curiosity. They seemed knowing. These creatures were to ordinary bugs as an owl is to other birds -clearly the same type of creature, but definitely something more. One of the millipedes rose up into the air to sniff Louis's finger

-and suddenly bit it.

"Aaii-Hey!!" He jerked his finger back, but the millipede had a firm grip. For a moment, Louis was caught there while the creature thrashed about within the cage-then he broke free, blood streaming from the missing joint. "Aaah! Son of a bitch!" he gasped.

Someone wrapped a paper napkin around his hand; it quickly stained red. "Get him to the doctor!" said someone else. Two men hustled Louis out the door. He was making little gasping sounds.

In the cage, the millipedes were unperturbed. Their black eyes were suddenly baleful.

"I should have warned him," I said.

Ted looked at me. "Did you know they would do that?" I shook my head.

"Then shut up. It was his own fault for putting his finger in the cage. Sometimes Louis can be a real fool. Tonight he outdid himself. The bugs must have- thought it was still feeding time." He put on a thoughtful expression. "These things do have an appetite, don't they?"

"So do Chtorrans," I said, remembering. "Here. These were in the enclosure too." I passed him the empty shells and body sections.

Ted raised an eyebrow.

"Lunch," I explained. I pointed at the cage. "The Chtorrans eat them."

"Sounds risky," he quipped. "But it makes sense. And better them than us." Then he thought of something. "Say, how did you catch them without getting attacked yourself?"

"I don't know-they just didn't seem interested in me. I thought I was safe and I was."

"Hm." Ted frowned. "There must have been a reason."

"Maybe I'm just inedible."

"So? Stick your finger in the cage and prove it."

"On the other hand," I said quickly, "maybe there's some other reason."

Ted looked disappointed. "Spoilsport-it would have been a valid test."

"If you're so eager, you stick your finger in."

"Ah, but it's not my inedibility we're testing. No, you're right; there must be some other reason. You're probably edible, just not very tasty. How did you go into the enclosure? Just hold your nose and jump?"

"No, I tested with my foot first. I waved it above their heads to see if they'd attack."

"Well, so you're smarter than I thought. I would have guessed you crossed your fingers and hollered 'King's X" Maybe they just don't like shoe leather-let's find out." He pulled off a boot and pressed one side of it against the mesh. All three of the millipedes attacked it. "Well, that settles that."

Then he tried to pull his boot away. But their combined grip was too strong. "Aww, come on, now-" Not wanting to hurt them by pulling harder, he let go of the boot. It hung there while the insectoids chewed at it and the men around us snickered. The millipedes ate until they could chew no further and the boot clunked to the floor.

Ted picked it up sadly and fingered the holes in it. "My best pair of boots," he mourned. He sighed and pulled it back on, all the while shaking his head. He looked at me. "Okay, let's have one of yours-"

"Huh? Are you crazy? You just got through proving that they like shoe leather-why do you want to ruin my boots too?"

"Dummy," he said patiently, "this is a scientific experiment to determine why you're still walking around. Now, let me have one of your boots before I break off your leg and beat you to death with it."

He was right. I'd seen the way the millipedes had attacked his footgear. It was identical to mine and the millipedes had ignored me. I pulled off my boot and handed it across.

He held it up to the mesh. The millipedes tested it with their antennae, then lost interest in it and wandered away. Ted tried it again on the other side. The millipedes did the same thing.

Ted frowned and held the boot close to his face. He sniffed. Once, twice, a third time, curiously. "Smells fishy. What'd you step in?"

"Nothing," I said. Then remembered. "Uh-eggs."

"Eggs-? You mean like in chicken, cluck-cluck-cluck?"

"No. I mean like in Chtorran."

His expression was incredulous. "You stepped on Chtorran eggs-?"

"It was inside the nest-"

"Inside the nest-? Yipe! I take it all back, Jimmy boy. You're not smart at all. There's a safer way to kill Chtorrans than by walking into their nests and stomping on their eggs. What do you think flamethrowers are for?"

"I didn't mean to step on the eggs. It was an accident."

"I hope you told that to Mamma Chtorran."

"Besides, Duke was going to burn them anyway, so I climbed down and saved a few."

For a moment there was silence.

Then Ted said, "Do you have them with you?"

I upended the pouch and tumbled them out onto the table. There must have been a dozen, at least.

Ted stared; so did the two other men who still remained. I didn't know their names. The eggs were blood-red and smooth, still moist-looking and slightly translucent. There was something dark inside. Gingerly, Ted picked one up and sniffed it. "Raw fish, all right." He held it against the side of the millipede cage. They tested it incuriously, then lost interest. "Well, that's what saved your life, Jimbo-the fact that you're such a clumsy retard. You must have had egg all over you."

I thought back. "You're right. I know I had it up to my knees and all over my arms." I shuddered at the thought of what might have happened if I hadn't. And that was probably why my three specimens hadn't tried to chew their way out of the sample pouch -the smell of the eggs around them.

"Uh huh-" Ted was holding the egg up to the light.

"See anything?" I asked.

"It says, `Disregard previous egg.' " He replaced it on the table. "I can't tell."

"You know what these remind me of?" I said. "Ant eggs."

"Ant eggs?"

"Uh huh. They have that same kind of almost-translucency. And their shells are soft too. Look, see how they bounce? What does that suggest?"

"Handball?"

I ignored it. "It means we can begin to learn something about how they evolved. Birds and reptiles have hard-shelled eggs-it's for extra strength and water retention. This might indicate a lower level of development. Insects or amphibians."

"Worms are a little bit of each?"

"Maybe." I picked up the egg again. "On the other hand, maybe the Chtorran atmosphere is humid enough so that moisture retention is not a very important survival factor. And this shell seems to be awfully thick, almost cartilaginous. That might provide the protection the embryo needs, particularly if Chtorr does have a higher gravity than Earth. That's what some of the fellows around here think. It would explain the Chtorrans' extreme strength and mobility." I frowned and held the egg up to the light. "I don't know. The shape of an egg and the texture of its shell should tell you things about the conditions it's meant to hatch under-and that should give you clues about the nature of the parent and the offspring. But I don't know how to begin to figure this one out. My brain hurts-there are too many questions. Like, for instance, how come if these millipede things are so incredibly voracious they aren't interested in the eggs?" I pressed the egg to the mesh again. "It doesn't make sense."

"Maybe they can tell it's a Chtorran, and they're afraid of it even before it hatches."

"Sorry, I can't imagine these creatures passing up a free meal. There must be something about these eggs that's distasteful."

Ted blinked. "Wow! An egg with its own defense mechanism." He looked up. "What are you planning to do with them?"

"I was thinking of rigging up an incubator."

Ted whistled softly. "Jimmy, I've got to admire your . . . bravado. Or something. You're either the smartest damn fool around here-or the dumbest. It's not enough you have to rescue Chtorran eggs from the incinerator; now you want to hatch them. When Duke hears about this, he's going to have a fit."

I hadn't thought about Duke. "Why? What's wrong with the idea?"

"Oh, nothing; it's just that the purpose of this Special Forces operation is to kill worms, not breed them."

"Not entirely," I insisted. "You and I were sent up here to study the Chtorrans."

"That doesn't mean we have to make pets of them."

"And how else are we going to get close enough to study them? Do you know a better way to observe one long enough to learn anything? On a hunt, as soon as you see a worm, you burn it. No, the only way we're going to be the scientists we were sent up here to be is to put some worms in a cage and watch to see what makes them tick-and if we can't capture a live one, then we'll have to grow our own."

"Simmer down, I'm on your side. I think. It's just that I don't think the idea is going to be very popular around here; this isn't a P.O.W. camp-and that's another thing; even if you do hatch a few worms, where are you going to keep them?"

"We'll think of something," I mumbled. I was trying to think of something.

"We?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. We. Remember, you're an exobiologist too."

"Oh, yeah-I forgot." Ted looked unhappy. "But I think this is one of those times when I'd rather be a botulinus tester." He said, "I mean, raising the worms is going to be the easy part-"

"Huh?"

He clapped me on the shoulder. "Jimbo, put the bugs to bed. I'm going to talk to Duke."

"Want me to come along?"

"Uh, better not. Duke's had a ... rough day. I think I can be more tactful. You just tuck 'em in for the night and leave the rest to me."

"Well ... okay."

I left the millipedes in the mess hall for the night, with a canvas draped over the coop and a sign that said DANGER! On it. The eggs were slightly more difficult, but I borrowed Ted's electric blanket and put them in a cardboard box with it draped across the top as a makeshift incubator. To keep the eggs from drying out, I lined the box with a layer of plastic, then a layer of towels, and then sprayed it all with warm water-enough to keep the towels damp, but not soggy. It was just a guess. I'd have to work out something more permanent in the morning.

I had trouble falling asleep. I couldn't help it. Someone was screaming in my head, Shorty's dead!

I kept telling myself that I had barely known him; I shouldn't be feeling it this hard. But I hurt all over, and-oh, hell, I couldn't help it; I started crying again.

I was still awake, just lying there, aching, when Ted came in. He didn't turn on the light, just undressed in the dark and slipped into his bed as quietly as he could.

"What did Duke say?" I asked.

"Huh? Oh, I didn't know you were awake."

"I'm not. Not really. What did Duke say?"

"Nothing. I didn't talk to him."

"You were gone an awfully long time."

"Yeah," he said. "I'll tell you in the morning. Maybe." He rolled over and faced the wall.

"Ted," I said, "Shorty died because I wasn't fast enough, didn't he?"

"I don't know," he mumbled. "I wasn't there."

"It's my fault, isn't it?"

"Shut up, will you?"

"But-"

"It'll all be settled tomorrow. There's going to be a hearing."

"A what?"

"An inquest, stupid! An inquest. Now, go to sleep, damn you!"