A Matter for Men

SIX

RECONNAISSANCE CONFIRMED that there were only three worms in the valley, as Duke had guessed, but also that they were very busy with something. When Larry reported that, Duke frowned. He didn't like worms being so active-that made them hungry.

Dr. Obama ordered satellite pictures and the USAF ROCKY MOUNTAIN EYEBALL sent us a full-spectrum series, a twelvehour surveillance of the valley and surrounding regions. The frames started arriving within an hour of Dr. Obama's request.

We all studied them, particularly the infra-red ones, but they told us little we didn't already know.

"Look here," said Larry, "the igloo." It was a bright red blotch; the frame was pseudo-color enhanced to show heat sources. "Something very hot in there. They must be large."

"And very active," grunted Duke. "That's almost too much heat." He poked Shorty. "What do you think? How much mass are we looking at?"

Shorty shrugged. "Hard to say. Three tons at least. Probably more. The resolution on the infra-red is lousy. The wavelength's too long."

"Yeah," said Duke. "I guess that settles it. We'll take three teams."

We left just before dawn. Chtorrans don't like direct sunlight, so we figured to drive all morning and catch them in the hottest part of the day, when they were most likely to be torpid. We hoped.

There were twelve of us. Four men with torches, three with grenades and two with rocket launchers. And the three jeep drivers would be carrying laser-sighted AM-280s. The 280 was recoilless and could fire twenty-three hundred rounds per minute. A mere touch on the trigger would put fifty rounds inside a seven-centimeter circle-whatever the target beam touched. You could shoot from the hip and aim it like a flashlight. The 280 could chew holes in a brick wall-it was the high volume of fire that did it. If any gun could stop a Chtorran, it would have to be the 280.

I'd heard only a single complaint about the guns-from Shorty, of course. Denver had sent up some specially loaded magazines for them. Every hundredth round was a needle dart packed with a variety of particularly nasty germs. The reasoning was that if we failed to kill the Chtorrans right away, the bugs might get them later. Shorty had snorted contemptuously. "It's in case we don't come back. That's how much faith they have in us." He looked at me. "Listen, boy-that's not the way we do it here. We plan on coming back. Got that?"

"Uh ... yes, sir."

The Remington hadn't been that hard to master. I'd spent the first couple of days starting forest fires-clearing brush and widening the scorched area around the camp; then had switched to target practice-trying to burn an asbestoid-and-wire framework dragged behind a jeep.

"Now, be careful," Shorty had warned. "If you fire too soon, the Chtorran will veer off-but you won't be able to see that until the smoke clears. By then it's too late. Wait as long as you can before firing."

"Until I see the whites of his eyes, huh?"

Shorty grinned as he got back into the jeep. "Sonny, if you get close enough to a worm to see the whites of his eyes-you're lunch." He drove off and began his run.

I missed, of course. I waited too long and nearly got knocked down by the cage.

Shorty braked to a stop, stood up in the jeep and rang a big triangular dinner bell. "Come and get it, Chtorrans! Dinner is served! Nice fresh human-not dangerous at all! Come and get it!"

I waited till he was through. "I assume that means I was too slow."

"Too slow-? Of course not. You just move too long in the same place."

We tried again. This time he drove straight at me. The jeep bounced across the field, the asbestoid worm in hot pursuit but never quite catching up. I planted my feet solidly and counted slowly. Not too soon, now...

I missed again.

This time Shorty got out of the jeep and strode back to the target. He pulled a fifty-casey note out of his pocket and stapled it to the cage. "There," he said. "I'm betting fifty C's that you can't hit it." He started back to the jeep. "You know, you really ought to learn how to run faster. Make the worms earn their lunch. We don't want any fat Chtorrans on this planet, do we?"

"We don't want any at all," I said.

"That's the idea," he grinned. "I thought you forgot. Want to try it again?"

"Yeah. This time I'll get it."

He hooked a thumb at the target. "I've got fifty caseys says you won't-prove me wrong." He gunned the engine and jolted off. While he circled, I tried to figure out what I was doing wrong. Obviously I was waiting too long to fire-but Shorty had said not to fire too soon or the Chtorran would have time to veer off.

On the other hand, if I held off too long I might not get the chance to fire at all.

Hmm. The best time to shoot had to be at just that moment when it was too late for the Chtorran to change course. But when was that? How close did a Chtorran get before the bloodlust took over? Fifty meters? Twenty-five? Hmm, think of a stampeding elephant. Call it fifteen meters....

Hey, wait a minute-! This torch had a range of almost seventy. What was Shorty trying to pull? I could burn worms long before they got close enough to chomp me!

I waved at him and tried to attract his attention, but he only grinned and waved back. He started heading toward me. Fast. He was beginning another run.

Well, I'd show him. I reset the range of the flamer to maximum. This time I'd fire as soon as the target got close enough. I wouldn't wait one second longer than necessary.

I focused on the wire-mesh worm, estimated its range, waited till it bounced across an invisible line and squeezed the release. The flame whooshed out with a roar, startling me with its intensity. The asbestoid worm disappeared in a ball of orange fire. Oily black smoke rose from it.

Shorty leapt from the jeep, howling. I cut off the torch hastily. But he wasn't mad at all about his fifty caseys-not even angry about his singed eyebrows. He just ran over and pulled the plug on my battery pack.

"Now you're thinking like a worm-burner," he said. "Fire as soon as they get within range."

I glowered at him. "Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?"

"What-? And let you miss the excitement of learning how to outthink a Chtorran? That's what the lesson was all about."

"Oh," I said. Then, "Can we try it again?"

"Uh, I think not." He was feeling the damage to his eyebrows. "At least not until I get a longer towline for that target."

We never did get the longer towline, what with preparations for the big burn and all, but it worked out all right anyway. A couple more days of shooting at the target-Shorty wore his asbestoid pajamas-and I was ready for the real thing. At least Shorty and Duke were willing to take the chance. I wasn't as sure. I'd heard that worms could be as long as four meters and weigh as much as nine hundred kilos. Or more. Maybe those were exaggerations-I'd find out for myself soon enough-but I'd been brought up to worry.

It's a family tradition. Good worrying is never wasted.

Well, I'd certainly done enough this time-and just in case I hadn't, I was doing a little extra in the jeep. Just to be on the safe side.

Duke noticed it, of course. We were both in the second car. "Relax, Jim. It's not white-knuckle time yet."

"Sorry," I said, trying to grin.

"We won't be there for hours." He leaned back against the seat and stretched his arms. "Enjoy the morning. Look at the scenery."

"Uh, shouldn't we be on the lookout for worms?"

"We are."

"Huh?"

"Shorty's in the first jeep. Louis and Larry are in the last one. You don't know what to look for-that's why you're in the second. And I have more important things to think about." He folded his arms behind his head and appeared to go to sleep.

"Oh," I said.

I was beginning to get it. In this man's army, you don't worry unless you're ordered to-and if I want you to have an opinion, I'll give you one.

In other words, this was not the army I had thought I was joining-the Teamwork Army. That was dead and gone. I don't know why I hadn't realized. This was something else altogether.