A Rage for Revenge

11 Falstaff

Someone was singing to me.

When I woke up, Valerie was already gone. But I could still hear the singing

I opened the door.

The worm was still there. It was facing away from the door, toward the morning sun. Its fur glistened pink.

It was the worm that was singing-humming, really. The sound was coming from deep inside its throat. Was it brooding, or what? The creature's eyes were closed and it looked preoccupied. The trilling was softer than a purr, but it had the same kind of deep satisfying rumble.

I stood in the doorway and listened. The worm crooned and warbled quietly to itself. Its song was tuneless and ethereal; it sounded like an expectant banshee-like a distant murmuring chorus . . . like the echo of someone weeping. It was one of those just below the horizon sounds, and it was as ominous as a hot desert wind. I felt uneasy. I felt like an invader just for listening.

But I was transfixed. It was beautiful. I must have moved or made a sound.

Abruptly, the worm stopped its trilling and swiveled its eyes around backward to look at me. They were the size of searchlights. It blinked. Sput-phwut. Then it turned to face me. It yawned. It looked like it had three million teeth. "Grrp?"

"Uh, good morning." I gulped.

"Wrorr?" the worm asked.

"Uh, yeah, I slept okay-thanks for asking."

The worm blinked at me-and blinked again, refocusing its eyes to study me. It was a fat, pink, blimp-shaped creature, with pale stripes of purple and red and pink flickering along its sides. It huffed and it puffed and it made ruminative noises deep within its gut. "Platt!"

"Gee-thanks for sharing." I waved the stench away from my face. My eyes were watering. "Uh, listen, what does a person do about breakfast around here?"

Sput phwut.

"Food? You know, food?"

"Brurrp!" said the worm. It backed away, swiveled, turned and flowed down toward the center of the compound.

I shrugged, swallowed my heart, and followed.

The creature moved with a rustle and swoosh that made me think of an asthmatic elephant carrying a steam engine on its back. I hadn't realized that Chtorrans might have respiratory problems in Earth's atmosphere. Maybe they were biologically suited for a thicker, heavier soup.

Breakfast was a great communal meal served under a spreading canopy of oak trees. There were pink shrouds hanging from the branches; they looked like festive curtains. There were thick strands of blackvine too, just starting to blossom with bright blue flowers. I could smell the rich perfume from here. It was all too gay-in the middle of a war zone, it made me think of the mad tea party.

Adults, bunnydogs--cute ones as well as the bigger skinny-ugly ones--and children, all sat chattering and gobbling together at six huge tables arranged in a broad U-shape under the shrouds. Only small children and bunnydogs sat on the inside of the U, everybody else sat on the outside of the tables. They cheered when they saw us coming; I didn't know if the cheers were for me or for the worm.

The worm flowed off in another direction then, off on some business of its own. Somebody called my name and waved, a baldheaded man with a full beard and a bright red lumberjack shirt. He stood up, grinning and waving, then bounced gladly up the slope to meet me.

"Welcome, Jim. I'm Ray." He grabbed my hand and shook it; he clapped me warmly on the shoulder and guided me down to the table. "Here, we saved a place for you. Loolie wants you to sit by her."

I smiled weakly, nodded to Loolie-the little girl looked ecstatic-and slid sideways onto the end of the bench. Somebody handed me a plate, somebody else handed me a fork and a spoon.

"Would you like to come and see my zoo today?" Loolie asked.

"Your zoo? Uh, sure. If it's all right with . . ." I looked around, "-whoever."

"Oh, it's all right," Loolie said. "I already asked."

"Here," said Ray,"have some of these; and try this; it's Jessie's new recipe!" He raised his voice and called, "Hey, Brownie-" One of the kids came bouncing up to the front of the fable. "-We have a guest here. Let's have some of those hot plates passed around."

"Right." Brownie bounced off. Service was provided by several of the older children and several of the larger, skinny bunnydogs. Loolie called them bunnymen. The children carried in the full platters; the bunnymen carried off the empty ones-often pausing to lick them thoroughly first. Sometimes they had to compete with the dogs, or with three or four pig-like creatures that were snuffling around, looking for garbage. They were a dark reddish-brown color and looked like tapirs-or giant libbits, a sausagey Chtorran rodent.

I filled my plate cautiously. I didn't recognize some of the foods and even the familiar ones looked and tasted different. The bread was pink, and sweeter than I was used to. The jam was almost a fluorescent shade of red and I didn't recognize the flavor. The eggs had an orangey color, but the flavor was rich and full.

A little brown sparrow landed on the edge of the table in front of me. It had something pink and fleshy in its bill, something that looked like a chubby little naked man-it squirmed and peeped. Ray poked me. "The birds love the finger-babies. And for some reason, we get a lot of 'em around here." The bird cocked an eye at its surroundings, decided it didn't like the company, then took off again, up and past my shoulder..

Almost immediately, there was a frantic rustling behind me. I turned around and looked upward: the little sparrow was caught and struggling wildly in the folds of one of the velvety pink shrouds. The more it struggled, the more it wrapped itself up tight. A glittering haze of sparkling fairy dust flurried up around it, and then a fat red hairy claw-shaped thing came scuttling down the curtain from above.

The sparrow peeped once and was silent. "You'll see that a lot," said Ray. "We call it evolution in action."

"It's not evolution-" I started to say, "-it's an invasion!"-but shut up quickly instead. No, I wasn't going to argue with these people. Not about anything. I wasn't going to give them the opportunity to . . . explain things to me.

I turned my attention back to my plate, pushed my fork into a gold-colored mash of some kind and took an unenthusiastic bite; it tasted a little bit like mashed potatoes and a little bit like fresh bread, but it was crunchy and it had a warm buttery aftertaste. I studied a forkful; it looked like some kind of grain, but I couldn't be sure.

"We try to use as many new foods as we can," Ray said. He put a bright red tomatoey-looking thing on my plate. "Here, you'll like this."

I took a cautious bite. It was sweet and fruity and tasted almost alcoholic. I looked at Ray, surprised.

"It's Chtorran," he nodded. "And no, it's not alcoholic. Not quite. But it will give you a very pleasant glow."

Brownie returned then, carrying two serving dishes. "Uh, no, thanks." I passed on the fried finger-babies. The other plate was piled high with hot sizzling strips of . . . I didn't recognize the meat. It was redder than I was used to. "What is this?" I asked. "Those pig-things? The big libbits?"

"Try it first," Ray grinned. He forked a couple of strips onto my plate.

"My mother used to say that. What is it?"

"Take a bite and I'll tell you."

"My mother used to say that too."

"And you hated her for it, didn't you?"

I didn't answer that. It was none of his damn business who I hated or not. Or maybe it was his business. I knew what they were doing here; trying to get me to lower my guard.

"Go ahead, Jim. Try it. We don't poison our guests any more." I wasn't reassured, but my knife and fork were already slicing off a piece of the red meat.

It looked like it should be as crisp as bacon, but it wasn't; it had the chewiness of beef jerky, but it wasn't tough-and it had a rich, sweet flavor. I cut a second bite. "Reminds me of lamb," I said, chewing.

"Nope. Bunnydog. Good, huh?"

I gulped---and swallowed in spite of myself. "You mean, like Mr. President?"

Ray turned to the woman on the other side of him. "Is this Mr. President?" He pointed at the plate.

She shook her head. "Oh, no; that's Pinky. Orrie ate Mr. President last night, at the Revelation. We're going to pick a new president tonight."

"Again?" asked Loolie, chewing loudly.

"Loolie, don't talk with your mouth full," Ray cautioned her, then turned back to me. I must have been looking a little green, for he said, "I know, Jim. I went through the exact same thing just a few months ago. Look . . ." He put his hand on my arm and his expression went serious. "We're designing the future of humanity here. Change causes upset. But we're willing to have upsets along the way, because the changes are so important."

I swallowed hard. I took a drink of purple juice. It wasn't grape, but it was sweet and it was cold-and it gave me a chance to choose my words carefully. I looked at Ray and said, "What if I don't like the changes? What if I don't want to be a part of the process?"

He shook his head. "You're already part of the process, Jim, because these changes are inevitable. The only choice you get is what part you want to play. You can be a part of the process that resists-that is, you can be one of the pebbles that gets rounded smooth by the action of the stream-or you can be part of the stream." He patted my arm. I thought about decking him, but it wouldn't accomplish anything. "Jim, let go of everything you think and know and look and see what's really so. You might be surprised."

I didn't answer him. I didn't look at him. I stared at my plate and wondered what else I had eaten. The orange mash, for instance? Crushed insects? I pushed my plate away. I wasn't hungry any more.

"Can I be excused now?" Loolie asked. One of the bunnydogs was already taking her plate away. "Jim, you want to see my zoo now?"

"Jim's not through eating yet, honey."

"Yes, I am." I handed my plate to another of the bunnies. It sniffed at the strips of meat, then gobbled them enthusiastically and scampered off.

I stood up slowly. I felt like I was walking on razor blades. I chose each word carefully. "Yes, Loolie-please show me your zoo."

I had to get out of here. Now.