A Matter for Men

EIGHTEEN

I TURNED to go and almost bumped into a dream. "Oops, excuse me-" I caught her to keep from stumbling, then forgot to let go.

"Hello!" she said, laughing.

"Uh-" I flustered, unable to speak. I was mesmerized-her eyes were soft and shiny gray, and I was lost in them. Her skin was fair, with just the faintest hint of freckling. Her face was framed by auburn curls that fell in silk cascades down to her shoulders. Her mouth was moist and red.

I wanted to kiss her. Who wouldn't?

She laughed again. "Before you ask," she said, "the answer is yes."

"Huh?"

"You are going to proposition me, aren't you?" Her voice was dusky velvet, with just the slightest hint of Alabama in it.

"Uhh . . ." I took a step back. My feet stayed where they were, but I took a step back.

"Are you shy?" Yes, Alabama. Definitely. She spoke each word so slowly I could taste it. And she smelled of honeysuckle and lilac -and musk.

I found my voice. "Um, I used to be......

"I'm glad to see you got over it," she said, laughing. She put her arm through mine and started walking me toward the elevators to the garage levels. "What's your name?"

"Jim. Uh, what's yours?"

"Jillanna. Everyone calls me Jilly."

I felt suddenly embarrassed. I started to speak-"Um . . " and then shut up.

She looked at me, her head slightly tilted. "Yes?"

"Nothing."

"No, tell me."

"Well, I ... uh, I guess I'm just a little startled."

"Why?"

"I've never been picked up like this before."

"Oh. How do you usually get picked up?"

"Um. I don't," I admitted.

"Goodness. You are shy!"

"Um. Only around women."

"Oh, I see," she said. "Are you gay?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I never tried."

She patted my arm. Did she mean that as reassurance? I didn't ask.

"Uh, I'm here on research," I offered. "I mean, I'm with the army. That is, I'm doing research for them."

"Everyone is," she said. "Everyone in Denver is working on Chtorrans."

"Yeah," I thought about it. "I guess so."

"Have you ever seen one?" She said it casually.

"I ... burned one ... once."

"Burned?"

"With a flamethrower."

She looked at me with new respect. "Were you scared?"

"No, not at the time. It just happened so fast.... I don't know-it was kind of sad, in a way. I mean, if the Chtorrans weren't so hostile, they could be beautiful. . . ."

"You're sorry you burned it?"

"It was awfully big. And dangerous."

"Go on," she said. Her hand tightened around mine.

I shrugged. "There isn't much to tell. It came out of the but and I burned it." I didn't want to tell her about Shorty, I don't know why. I said, "It all happened so fast. I wish I'd seen it better. It was just a big pink blur."

"They have one here, you know." Her grip was very intense.

"I know. I heard from the Lizard."

"You. Know. Her?"

"No, not really. She was just the pilot who flew us in. Me and Ted."

"Oh." Her grip relaxed.

"She told us about the Chtorran they have. She flew it in too." We took the elevator down to the third level of the garage where she had a custom floater waiting in one of the private pads. I was impressed, but I didn't say anything. I climbed in silently beside her.

The drive whined to life, cycled up into the inaudible range, and we eased out onto the road. The light bar on the front spread a yellow-pink swath ahead. The bars of the incoming traffic were dim behind the polarized windshield.

"I didn't know any of these had actually hit the market," I said.

"Oh, none of them did. Not really. But several hundred of them did come off the assembly line before Detroit folded up."

"How did you get this one?"

"I pulled strings. Well, Daddy did."

"Daddy?"

"Well ... he's like a daddy."

"Oh."

Abruptly she said, "Do you want to see the Chtorran?"

I sputtered. "Huh? Yes!" Then, "-But it's locked up. Isn't it?"

"I have a key." She said it without taking her eyes off the road. As if she were telling me what time it was. "It's in a special lab. One that used to be a sterile room. If we hurry, we can watch them feeding it."

"Feeding? It?"

She didn't notice the way I'd said it. "Oh, yes. Sometimes it's pigs or lambs. Mostly it's heifers. Once they fed it a pony, but I didn't see that."

"Oh."

She went on babbling. "They're trying to duplicate what it eats in the wild. They're hunters, you know."

"I'd ... heard something like that."

"They don't kill their prey-that's what I find interesting. They just bring it down and start eating. Dr. Mm'bele thinks there's a kill reflex involved. This one won't eat dead meat unless it's very, very hungry, and even then only when it's being moved around so he can attack it."

"That's interesting."

"They say that sometimes they eat human beings. Do you think that's true? I mean, doesn't that seem atypical to you?"

"Well-"

She wasn't waiting to hear. "Dr. Mm'bele doesn't believe it. There aren't any reported cases. At least, none that have been verified. That's what the U.N. Bureau says. Did you know that?"

"No, I didn't." Show Low, Arizona. "Um-"

"There was supposed to be one once," she said, "but-well, it turned out to be just another hoax. They even had pictures, I heard."

"A hoax, huh?"

"Yep. You didn't know that, did you?"

"Uh, how did you hear about it?" I don't think she noticed, but I was riding at least three lanes away from her.

"I work here. I'm permanently stationed. Didn't you know?"

"Oh. What do you do, exactly?"

"Executive Vice-Chairperson, Extraterrestrial Genetic Research Coordination Center."

"Oh," I said. Then, "Oh!" Then I shut up.

We turned off the main highway onto the approach road. There had been very little traffic going either way.

"Is there anything interesting about the Chtorrans? I mean, genetically?"

"Oh, lots. Most of it is beyond the lay person, but there is a lot to know. They have fifty-six chromosomes. Isn't that odd? Why so many? I mean, what is all that genetic information for? Most of the genes we've analyzed seem to be inactive anyway. So far, we've been unable to synthesize a computer model of the way the whole system works, but we're working on it. It's just a matter of time, but it would help if we had some of their eggs."

"I-uh, never mind. I'm just amazed that they, have chromosomes and genes."

"Oh, well, that's universal. Dr. Hackley proved it almost twenty years ago-carbon-based life will always be built on DNA. Something about the basic molecular structure. DNA is the most likely form of organic chain-almost to the point of inevitability. Because it's so efficient. DNA is almost always there first-and if other types of organic chains are possible, DNA will not only outgrow them, it'll use them as food. It's really quite voracious."

"Um," I said. "How appropriate."

She burbled on. "It's really amazing, isn't it? How much we have in common with the Chtorrans?"

"Um, yeah. Amazing."

"I mean sociobiologically. We both represent different answers to the same question-how can life know itself? What forms give rise to intelligence? And what ... structures do these forms have in common? That would tell us what intelligence is a response to, or a product of. That's what Dr. Mm'bele says."

"I've, uh, heard good things about him."

"Anyway, we're trying to put together a program to extrapolate the physiology of the Chtorran animal from its genes, but we don't have anyone who can write a program for it yet. You're not a programmer, are you? The lack of a good hacker will probably add anywhere from two to three years to our research schedule. And it's a very important problem-and a double-edged one. We don't know what the genes are supposed to do because we don't know the creature, at least not very well. And we can't figure out the creature because we don't understand the genes. Some really peculiar things." She took a breath. "Like, for instance, half the chromosomes seem to be duplicates of each other. Like a premitosis condition. Why is that? We have more questions than answers."

"I'm sure," I said, trying to assimilate what she was telling me. "What about the millipedes? Didn't they give you any clues?"

"You mean the insectoids? They're another whole puzzle. For one thing, they all seem to be the same sex-did you know that? No sex at all."

"Huh?"

"We haven't found any evidence-nobody has-that there's any sexuality in them at all. Not physically, not genetically; no sex organs, no sexual differentiation, no secondary sex characteristics, no markings and not even any way to reproduce."

"Well, they must-"

"Of course they must, but the best we've found are some immature structures that might-just might, mind you-be undeveloped ovaries or testes-we're not sure which-and a vestigial reproductive tract, but they've been inoperative in every specimen we've dissected. Maybe they're just growth glands. But even if they were sexual structures, why are they buried so high up in the abdomen with no apparent connection to any outlet?"

She stopped at the main gate just long enough to flash her clearance at the scanner, then zoomed forward, turning sharply right and cutting across a lot toward a distant L-shaped building. "The Chtorrans have some sexuality, don't they?"

"Oh, yes. Quite a bit. We're just not sure how it works. The one we have-we thought it was a female. Now we're not sure. Now we're guessing it's a male. At least, I think it is, but ... we don't have anything to compare it with. We've been able to dissect some dead ones in the past couple months-two we think were females, one pretty definite male and two we're still not sure of. The big one was definitely male," she repeated. Her voice went funny then. "I wish I could have seen that one alive. He must have been magnificent. Two and a half meters thick, maybe five meters long. We only got the front half. The back half was ... lost. But he must have been magnificent. What a warrior he must have been. I'll bet he ate full-sized cattle."

"Um," I said. I didn't know what else to say. I was beginning to wonder-was this part of getting laid? Or what? I wasn't sure I wanted to any more.

The floater slid to a stop before the building. It wasn't Lshaped, but X-shaped. We had parked in one of the corners. Bright lights illuminated the whole area. As I got out, I paused to look up at the poles. Just as I thought, there were snoops on every tower; that's what the lights were for. Security. Nothing was going to get in-or out-without being recorded.

I wondered if anyone was looking at the recordings. And then I wondered if it mattered.

There were eleven other people already in the room. It was long and narrow and dimly lit. Two rows of chairs ran the length of the room, facing a wall of glass. I could make out five women, six men. The men all seemed to be civilian types, but I couldn't be sure. I didn't know if the women were their colleagues or their companions for the evening. If the latter, I couldn't help but wonder at their choice of entertainment. The men waved to Jillanna and looked curiously at me. I waved back, halfheartedly.

Jillanna's eyes were wide with excitement. "Hi, guys. Have we started yet?"

"Smitty's just getting ready."

"What's on for tonight?"

"Coupla dogs they picked up from the shelter."

One of the women, the redheaded one, said, "Oh, that's awful."

"It's in the interest of science," someone answered. I wasn't convinced.

Jillanna shouldered her way up to the glass. "Okay, make room, make room." She squeezed a place for me.

The glass slanted diagonally out over a deep room below us; we overlooked it as if on a balcony. The light was dim below, hardly much brighter than the viewing room. There was a distinct orange cast to the illumination. I felt pleased at that-so someone else had discovered the same thing!

Deep, slow-paced sounds were coming from two wall speakers. Something breathing.

I stepped forward to look. There was an inclined notebook rack at the bottom of the glass; I had to lean out over it to see.

A layer of straw-it looked orange in this light-was spread across the floor. The room was high and square, a cube, but the bottom half was circular. The corners had been filled in to make a round enclosure four meters high; the top of it came right up to the window. There were cameras and other monitoring devices on the resulting shelves formed in the corners.

The Chtorran was directly below me. It took a second for my eyes to adjust.

It was a meter thick, maybe a bit more; two and a half, maybe three meters, long. Its fur was long and silky and looked to be deep red, the color of blood-engorged skin. As I watched, it humped forward once, twice, a third time, then stopped. It was circling against the wall, as if exploring. It was cooing softly to itself. Why did that unnerve me? As I watched, ripples-like waves moving through sluggish oil-swept back across its body.

"That means he's excited," breathed Jillanna. "He knows it's dinner time."

It slid forward into the middle of the room then, began scratching at the straw on the floor. From this angle, I could see its cranial hump quite clearly-underneath that fur, it was helmeted across the shoulders. A bony carapace to protect the brain? Probably. Its long black arms were folded now and held against its sides like wings, but I could see where they were anchored to the forward sides of the helmet. The brain bulge was directly behind the creature's two thick eyestalks. From this angle, the Chtorran looked more like a slug or a snail than a worm.

"Does he have a name?" one of the women asked. She was tall and blond.

Her date shook his head. "It's just it. " Sput-phwut went the speaker. Sput-phwut.

"What was that?"

Jillanna whispered, "Look at his eyes."

"It's facing the wrong way."

"Well, wait. He'll turn."

"Be a good show tonight," the guy at the end said as he lit a cigarette. "Saint Bernard and a Great Dane. I'm betting the Bernard puts up a better fight."

"Aah, you'd bet on your grandmother."

"If she still had her own teeth, I would."

Jillanna leaned over to me. "He needs fifty kilos of fresh meat a day. They have a real problem getting a steady supply. Also, they're not sure that terrestrial animals provide all the nutritional elements he needs, so they keep varying the diet. Sometimes they pump the animals up with vitamins and stuff. Sometimes he rejects the food; I guess it smells bad to him."

Sput-phwut.

The Chtorran humped around and looked at us with eyes like black disks. Like dead searchlights. It humped up, lifting the front third of its body into the air, trembling slightly, but focusing its face-like the front end of a subway, flat and emotionless-toward us. I stepped back involuntarily, but Jillanna pulled me forward again. "Isn't he beautiful?" Her hand was tight on my sleeve.

Sput-phwut.

It had blinked. The sound was made by its sphincter-like eyelids, irising closed and open again. Sput-phwut. It was looking right at me. Studying dispassionately.

I didn't answer her. I couldn't speak. It was like looking into the eyes of death.

"Don't worry. He can't see you. I think. I mean, we're pretty sure he can't."

"It seems awfully interested." The Chtorran was still reared up and peering. Its tiny antennae were waving back and forth curiously. They were set just behind the eyes. Its body rocked slightly too. I wished I had a closer view-something about the eyes; they weren't mounted in a head, but seemed instead to be on swiveled stalks inside the skin. They were held high above the body and gimbaled independently of each other. Occasionally one eye would angle backward for a moment, then click forward again. The creature was constantly alert.

The Chtorran lowered suddenly and slid across the floor, right up to the wall below us and halfway up it, bringing its face within a meter of the glass. I got my wish-a closer look. It angled its eyes upward, bringing them even closer. Its mandibles --sinuous like an underwater plant-waved and clicked around its mouth. Its eyes opened as wide as they could. Sput-phwut. "Too interested. You sure it can't see us?"

"Oh, he tries that almost every night," called the guy on the end with the funny-smelling cigarette. Laced with dream dust? Probably. "It's our voices he hears. Through the glass. He's trying to find out where the sound is coming from. Don't worry, he can't reach up here. He has to keep at least half his length on the ground to support himself when he rears up. Of course, if he keeps growing-as we think he will-we'll have to move him to a bigger lab. There might come a day when he won't wait for Smitty. He'll just come right up here and help himself."

The women shuddered. Not Jillanna, just the women. They moved instinctively closer to their dates. "You're kidding," the redheaded one said plaintively. "Aren't you?"

"Nope. It could happen. Not tonight, though-but eventually, if we don't get him into a bigger tank."

The Chtorran unfolded its arms then, like a bird flapping its wings once to settle them, but instead of refolding, the arms began to open slowly. They came away from the hump on the back and now I could see exactly how the shoulders were anchored, and the curve of that bony structure beneath the fur, how the skin slid over it as the muscles stretched, how the arms were mounted in their sockets like two incredible gimbaled cranes. The arms were covered with leathery black skin and bristly black fur. They were long and insect-like. How long and thin they were, and so peculiarly double-jointed. There were two elbows at the joint! And now the arms came reaching upward slowly toward us. The hands-they were claws, three-pronged and almost ebony-came tapping on the glass, sliding and skittering up and down it, seeking purchase, leaving faint smudges where they touched. There were soft fingers within those claws. I could see them pressing gently against the glass.

The eyes stared emotionlessly, swiveling this way and thatand then both of them locked on me. Sput-phwut. It blinked. And kept on staring.

I was terrified before it. I couldn't move! It's face-it didn't have a face!-was searching mine! If I had stretched, I could have touched it. I could see how narrow its neck was-a shaft of corded muscle terminating in those two huge, frightening eyes. I couldn't look away! I was caught like a bird before a snake-its eyes were dark and dispassionate and deadly. What kind of god could make a thing like this?

And then the moment broke. I realized that Jillanna was beside me, breathing heavily.

One more sput-phwut and the Chtorran began sinking back down to the floor. It slid away from the wall and began roving around the room again, sometimes humping like a worm, other times seeming to flow. It left a swept trail through the scattered straw and sawdust. There were several bales of it against one wall. It stopped to pull at one of them, did something with its mandibles and mouth, then left behind a small mound of weak-looking foam.

"Building instinct," Jillanna said.

"It doesn't seem very intelligent," the redhead whispered to her date.

"It isn't. None of them are," the man whispered back. "Whatever kind of invaders these Chtorrans are, they don't seem to be very smart. They don't respond to any kind of language-or any attempts at communication. Then again, maybe these are just the infantry. Infantry doesn't have to be very smart, just strong."

I realized then that we were all whispering. As if it could hear us.

Well, it could, couldn't it?

"Look at the way his arms fold up when he's not using them," Jillanna pointed. "It's like they're retractable. They're not bones you know, just muscle and some kind of cartilage. Very flexible -and almost impossible to break. You'll see them in action when he's fed--0h, here we go now."

A slit of light appeared at the base of the left wall; it slid upward to become a door, revealing a closet-shaped cubicle. The Chtorran arced around quickly-amazing, how fast the thing could move. Its eyes rotated forward, up and down, in an eerie disjointed way. The sliding door was completely open now. A Great Dane stood uneasily in the lit cubicle before the Chtorran. I thought of horses-Great Danes, with their lumbering huge paws, long legs and heavy bodies, always made me think of horses. I could just barely hear a low rumbling growl coming from the dog.

For a moment, everything was still: the Chtorran, the dog, the watchers at the glass. Below, in the glow of light reflected from the cubicle, I could see a dark window just across from us. It looked as if there were someone behind the glass, watching.

The moment stretched-and broke. The Chtorran's arms came slightly out from its body. I thought of a bird getting ready to fly. It was a gesture of readiness, the way they were poisedthe claws open, ready to grab.

The Chtorran slid forward. The dog jumped sideways

-and was caught. One of the arms reached out at an impossible angle and snatched the dog in mid-leap, knocked it to the ground on its back. The Chtorran bent sideways in mid-flowas if the dog in its claw was a pivot and it was pulling itself around. The other arm came around. The Chtorran flowed. Its great black jaw was a vertical open hole that split the front of its crimson body. The dog was pinned by both arms now-I could see how the claws dug into its flesh like pincers. It thrashed and kicked and snapped and bit. The red beast raised and stretched and arcedand came down upon the hapless Dane almost too fast to follow. There was a thrash and slash and flurry-and then stillness. The back half of the Dane protruded from the Chtorran maw.

Was that it? The Chtorran was holding the dog like a snake with a mouse, frozen in lidless contemplation before commencing the long process of swallowing. Its mandibles were barely moving, just a slight ready trembling barely visible against the Dane's side. The Chtorran held the dog between its claws; its mouth was stretched impossibly around it. Its eyes stared impassively off, as if thinking-or savoring.

Then something awful happened. One of the dog's hind legs kicked.

It must have been a reflex reaction-the poor animal couldn't have been still alive

It kicked again.

As if it had been waiting for just that thing, the Chtorran came to life and began to chew its way forward. Its mandibles flashed shiny and red, slashing and cutting and grinding. The kicking leg and tail were the last parts of the dog to disappear.

Blood poured onto the floor from the Chtorran mouth. The mandibles continued to work with a dreadful wet crunching. Something that looked like long sausages drooled out, dripped on the floor. The Chtorran sucked it back in. Casually. A child with a strand of spaghetti.

"Wow!" said someone. It was one of the women, an unafraid one. The blonde. The redhead had hidden her eyes the moment the door slid open to reveal the dog.

"He'll take a moment to digest," said the guy at the end, the one who would bet his grandmother. His name, I found out later, was Vinnie. "He could eat another one without waiting, but it's better to give him a moment or two. Once he ate too fast and threw up everything. Jee-zus, what a mess that was. It would have been hell to clean up, but he ate it again almost immediately."

The cubicle door dropped closed and the dim figure in the window across from us disappeared into the deepness behind it. Two more people came in silently behind us, both men, both smelling of alcohol. They nodded at Jillanna; they obviously knew her. "Hi, Vinnie. Did we start yet?"

"Only a Great Dane, but it wasn't much. The Saint Bernard will be better."

"You hope," said his friend, the man he'd made the bet with. Vinnie won the bet. The St. Bernard did put up a better fight than the Dane. At least, that's what the sounds coming from the speaker suggested. I was looking at my shoes.

"Well, that's it," said Vinnie. "Let's go pay the man and finish getting drunk."

"Hold it," said the speaker. Smitty? Probably. "I've got one more. Dessert."

"I thought you only got two from the pound."

"I did-but we caught this one digging in the garbage, been turning over cans for weeks. Finally trapped him this evening. We were gonna send him down to the shelter. But why bother? Let them save the gas."

When the door slid open this time, there was a hound-sized mutt standing there, his nose working unhappily. He was shaggy with matted pinkish-looking fur, stringy and dirty-as if he'd been hand-knit by a beginner. He was all the beat-up old mutts in the world rolled into one. I didn't want to look, but I couldn't stop-he was too much the kind of dog I would have cared about, if ... the kind of dog that goes with summer and skinny-dipping.

The Chtorran was lying flat in the center of the room. Engorged and uninterested. His eyes opened and closed lazily. Sput ... phwut.

The dog edged out of the cubicle-he hadn't seen the Chtorran yet. Sniffing intensely, he took a step forward

-and then every hair on his back stood up. With a yow¢ of surprise, the dog leaped backward into the nearest wall. Something about the Chtorran lying there in a pool of dark red blood smelled very bad to this poor creature. He cowered along the wall, slunk toward the space behind a bale of hay-but it smelled even worse there; he froze indecisively, then began backing away uncertainly.

The Chtorran half-turned to watch him move. Twitched. One arm scratched lazily.

The dog nearly left his skin behind. He scrambled toward the only escape he knew, the tiny lit cubicle. But Smitty had closed it. The dog sniffed at it and scratched. And scratched. Frantically, with both front legs working like pedals, he clawed at the unyielding door. He whined, he whimpered, he pleaded with terrible urgency for impossible escape.

"Get him out of there!" It wasn't me who said it-I wish it had been-it was the redhead.

"How?" said Vinnie.

"I don't know-but do something. Please!" No one answered her.

The dog was wild. He turned and bared his teeth at the Chtorran, growling, warning it to keep back; then almost immediately he was working at the door again, trying to get one foot under it, trying to lift it up again

The Chtorran moved. Almost casually. The front half of it curled up into the air, then came down again, making an arch; the back half barely moved forward. It looked like a toppled red question mark, the mouth flush against the floor where the dog had been.

The Chtorran stayed in that position, its face directly against the straw-matted concrete. Blood seeped outward across the dirty stained surface.

There hadn't even been time for a yelp. "That's it?" asked Vinnie.

"Yep. That's it till tomorrow," replied the loudspeaker. "Don't forget to tell your friends about us. A new show every night." Smitty's voice had a strange quality to it. But then, so did Vinnie's. And Jillanna's.

The Chtorran stretched out again. It looked like it was asleep. No, not yet. It rolled slightly to one side and directed a stream of dark viscous fluid against a stained wall, where it flowed into a trough of running water.

"That's all that's left of last night's heifer," snickered Vinnie. I didn't like him.

Jillanna led me downstairs and introduced me to Smitty. He looked like an ice-cream man. Clean-scrubbed. The kind who was a compulsive masturbator in private. Very fair skin. Wisps of sandy hair. Thick glasses. An eager expression, but haunted. I did not shake hands with him.

"Jillanna, did you tell him?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Jim?" She turned to me and went all coquettish, twisting two fingers into the material of my shirt. She twinkled up at me-a grotesque imitation of a woman, this creature who was sexually aroused by the death of three dogs to a giant day-glow caterpillar. She lowered her voice. "Uh, Jim. . . will you give Smitty fifty caseys?"

"Huh?"

"It's for ... you know." She cocked her head toward the other side of the wall where something pink was trilling softly to itself. I was so startled that I was already reaching for my wallet. "Fifty caseys?"

Smitty seemed apologetic. "It's for ... well, protection. I mean, you know, we're not supposed to let unauthorized personnel in here-and especially not when we're feeding it. I'm doing you a favor letting you be here."

Jillanna solved it by plucking my wallet out of my hand and peeling a crisp blue note from it. "Here, Smitty-buy yourself a new rubber doll."

"You should talk," he said, but not very strongly. He pocketed the bill.

I took my wallet back from Jillanna and we left. There was a dark pressure at the back of my skull. Jillanna squeezed my hand and the pressure grew darker and heavier. I felt like a man walking toward the gallows.

I stopped her before we reached the floater. I didn't want to say it, but I didn't want to continue with this horror one moment more.

I tried to be polite. "Uh, well-thanks for showing me," I said. "I uh, think I'll call it a night."

It didn't work.

"What about us?" she asked. She demanded. She started to reach for me.

I held her back. I said, "I guess I'm ... too tired."

She toyed with the hairs on my arm. "I have some dream dust. . . ." she said. Her fingers tiptoed toward my elbow.

"Uh-I don't think so. That just makes me sleepy. Listen, I can walk back to my barracks from here-"

"Jimmy? Please stay with me-?" For just a moment, she looked like a lost puppy, and I hesitated. "Please . . .? I need someone."

It was the word need that got me. It felt like a knife in my gut. "I-I can't, Jillanna. Really. I can't. It's not you. It's me. I'm sorry."

She looked at me curiously, one beautiful eyebrow curling upward like a question mark.

"It's, uh-that Chtorran," I said. "I wouldn't be able to concentrate."

"You mean you didn't find him sexy?"

"Sexy-? My God, it was horrible! That poor dog was frantic!"

"It was just an old mutt, Jim-the Chtorrans are something magnificent. They really are. You have to look at them with new eyes. I used to think it was awful too, but then I stopped anthropomorphizing-stopped identifying with the dogs and started looking at the Chtorrans objectively. The strength, the independence -I wish humans had that kind of power. I want to do it like that. Please, Jim, stay with me tonight. Do it to me!" She was plucking at my jacket, at my shirt, at my neck.

"Thanks-" I said, remembering something my father used to say. Something about knowing what you're getting into. I disengaged myself from her hands. "-But, no thanks." I wanted to say something else, but a vestigial sense of tact prevented me from telling Jillanna what I really thought of her. Perhaps the Chtorran had no choice in being what it was. She did. I began to pull away

"You are some kind of queer, aren't you?"

To hell with tact. "Are you the alternative?" And then I turned and walked away from her.

She didn't say a thing until I was halfway across the lot. Then she hollered, "Faggot!" I turned around to look, but she was already roaring off in the floater.

Shit.

By the time I found my way back to my barracks, I was chilled. But I wasn't trembling anymore, and I wasn't angry anymore. I was only ... sick. And tired. I wanted to be young again, so I could cry into my father's lap. I was feeling very, very much alone.

My bed was like an empty grave and I lay in it shivering, trying to feel compassionate, trying to understand-trying to be mature. But I couldn't be mature-not when I was surrounded by idiots and assholes, blind and selfish and wallowing in their own sick games and fetishes and power ploys. What I really wanted to do was hit and kick and burn and smash and destroy. I wanted to pound and pound and pound. I wanted to grab these people and shake them up and down so hard their eyes would rattle in their heads.

I wanted to feel safe. I wanted to feel that someone, somewhere-anywhere-knew what he was doing. But right now, I didn't think that anyone in the world knew what he was doing, not even me.

Were they all that blind or sick-or stupid?

Why couldn't they see the truth in front of them? S¢ut-Phwut.

Why couldn't they see it?

Show Low, Arizona, was no hoax!