A Season for Slaughter

Chapter 6 Sisters

General Wainright had a few tricks of his own. You don't get to be a general without learning how to be a bastard too. I found that out at the mission briefing. The on-again, off-again Brazilian mission was on-again. Maybe. Well, anyway, we were back in the planning theater. I was hardly in the door when Dannenfelser, the general's aide (and official hemorrhoid sniffer), came trotting over to me. I was looking for Lizard. I hadn't seen her in two days. She'd had meetings. And then she'd had more meetings. I just wanted to tell her how much I'd missed her.

"Your briefing book," Dannenfelser demanded snippily. He held out his hand. "I'll take it now, please."

"Excuse me?"

"Didn't they tell you? Your clearance has been suspended. You've been replaced." He snapped his fingers impatiently.

I grabbed his thin, almost girlish wrist and twisted it upward. "Don't snap your fingers at me, you little twit."

"How butch," he replied icily, but he relaxed his hand in my grip. I released him without breaking it. He pulled his wrist away and glared at me. "Are you done? May I have the book now?"

"I think you should just turn around and walk away. General Tirelli is not going to be happy about this-"

"You're not paid to think. You're paid to follow orders: The book… ?" he repeated.

"I'll surrender this book only when I see a written authorization to do so. And I'll want a receipt."

He was already leafing through the papers on his clipboard. "The orders"-he handed them across—and the receipt." While I stared at the papers, he plucked the book out from under my arm. He flipped quickly through it, as if counting the pages, then looked expectantly back to me. "Sign it-I get the original, you keep the copy."

I started fumbling in my pockets for a pen, Dannenfelser offered his, I ignored him and pulled out my own-and then Lizard came in through the opposite door. She looked furious. I headed immediately toward her. Dannenfelser followed in my wake, sputtering angrily, "Sign the damn receipt, McCarthy!"

"Do you know what's going on?" I accosted her. I jerked a thumb over my shoulder in the general direction of the slimeball. "This little creep says I've been replaced."

She looked past my shoulder at Dannenfelser. "You couldn't wait to let me tell him, could you?" She glanced at the receipt in my hand. "Sign it, Jim." Her voice was no-nonsense grim. I signed the slip quickly and handed it nastily across. Dannenfelser pranced away; I turned back to Lizard.

"Don't say a word, " she mouthed. In a more conversational tone, she added, "I want you to meet the new science officer, Dwan Grodin."

For the first time I noticed that Lizard wasn't alone. The person behind her was-a thing. She was a lumpy blonde potato with bad skin and a vacuous grin. She had irregular wide-set blue eyes, blubbery thick lips, a lopsided scar on her upper lip showing where her cleft palate had been badly repaired, and a flat forehead distorting the already unnatural aspect of her thumb-shaped head. Her hair was so short, it was almost a buzz-cut; and surrounding her entire brain case, she wore a shining cage of wire, a framework of thick rods like a bicycle helmet. I'd seen pictures of cerebral augments; I'd never seen one in person. I realized I was staring.

"Hi, Shim-" Dwan said. She waved a stumpy hand at me. Her voice was a thick whistle; her teeth were clumped unevenly, and she sprayed spittle when she spoke. She grabbed my hand and shook it for a painfully long moment. Her palms were warm and clammy. I wanted to pull my hand back and wipe it off. I looked to Lizard, askance.

"Dwan is plugged into all six public data networks, three military nets, and both of the infestation colloquia," Lizard explained. "As good as you are, Jim, it was felt that Dwan had certain capabilities that made her more appropriate to this operation." From her tone of voice, I could tell that she was repeating someone else's arguments, General Wainright's probably-or Dannenfelser's. It didn't matter.

"So I'm off the mission?"

"If you request it, I'll sign your transfer. I'm hoping you'll stay." Her eyes were expressionless. Sometimes I couldn't tell what Lizard was thinking. This was one of those moments. I felt abandoned.

"In what capacity?" I asked slowly.

"As Dwan's assistant."

I looked back to Dwan. She looked happy to be here. Hell, she was probably happy to be anywhere. Every Down's syndrome I'd ever met had been unfailingly good-natured. "I've n-never had an assistant b-b-before," she said thickly. She formed her words slowly, almost painfully. "If I m-make any m-m-mistakes, I hope you'll h-help me."

Oh, great.

My reaction must have shown. "I'm not's-stupid," she said. "You don't have to worry about that." She tapped the helmet of rods surrounding her head. "I've got a c-c-class-nine memory, and a f-full-spectrum m-m-multi-processor. I once p-p-played three grand m-masters blindfolded and beat them all. I can do the job. I know more about the Chtorran infestation than anybody else on the p-planet. Even you. I know all about you. You're James Edward M-McCarthy. I have all your reports in my head. You're very s-smart. I hope you'll work with me. Some people are uncomfortable w-working with m-m-me because I have Down's syndrome, and b-because I have these augments; they don't know whether to treat me as if I'm smarter or dumber, or both; b-but I don't think you have that kind of p-prejudice. I think you'll treat me just like a p-person, won't you?"

"Uh-" I finally extracted my hand from her wet sausagey grip. "You'll have to excuse me. I-" Looked to Lizard; she was frowning. "I don't know what to say."

"J-just say yes, you'll stay on the m-m-mission. P-please?"

Lizard nodded almost imperceptibly. She wanted me to stay too. "I don't know. I'll have to think about it."

I knew what I wanted to do; head for the door and not look back. This was a deliberately calculated embarrassment, a punishment.

General Wainright must have laughed himself silly over this one; I could almost hear him saying, "We'll show that damn Yankee jewboy faggot. If he wants to stay on the mission, he can suck a retard's ass. Ha! He'll be too fucking proud to stay on. And if he tries to quit, his mama will come down on him like a ton of lizard-shit. Yeah, do it, Dannenfelser. McCarthy thinks he's an expert on revenge? Wait. I'll show him how vindictive I can be. He wants to play games? I'll give him games."

And I already knew what Lizard would say. "I know it hurts, Jim, but I need you. The mission needs you. Show them you're bigger than this. Don't quit. That's exactly what they want you to do. It'll go on your record, and they'll use it to demonstrate that you're not a team player. Don't let your anger show-"

Right. Put a cork in a volcano.

Grodin was saying something. She giggled ernbarrassedly. "They d-d-didn't tell m-me you were so handsome." She was actually blushing.

"Uh-" Oh God. Why me? "Look, um-it's not your fault, but I'm a little upset about something right now. Would you excuse me please?" I looked to Lizard and shook my head helplessly. It was time for a walk around the block. Only I didn't think I could find a block big enough to burn off this rage and confusion.

Lizard followed me out into the corridor. A few secretaries and aides were visible, but none were within hearing distance. "Jim-" she began.

I held up a hand. "Don't say it. I know. You did your best, but for political reasons, etcetera, etcetera, you had no choice. You could have won on this issue, you could have gone to the President, but then you would have used up all your favors and you wouldn't have any clout for the next thing where you might really need it. We have to know which battles are worth fighting for, right? Am I right?"

Her expression told me I was. I felt betrayed. I could feel the rage rising inside me like a nascent upwelling of magma.

I started slowly. "I busted my ass on those briefing books so that everybody involved will be fully prepared. I can't begin to tell you how badly it hurts to get kicked off like this. It really pisses me off. I want to hurt them back. I want to kill something. They have no right-"

I stopped to catch my breath; I held up a finger to indicate I wasn't through yet. I started again, this time in an even quieter tone. "I suppose I could say that this is very petty of them, but you could just as easily say that what I did to Major Bellus was even more petty, so maybe this is fair. But it doesn't lessen the hurt. If what I did was right, you should have protected me-not played another round of politics as usual. Nothing you can say or do can take the sting out of that.

"So, you know what I'm going to do? I'm going home and I'm going to thaw out one of those very expensive steaks we were saving for a special occasion; I'm going to sear it with a blowtorch till it's just the way I like it; raw on the inside, burned on the outside. I'm going to sit on the balcony with that steak and a tall cold beer and I'm going to watch the sun set. It'll be symbolic, watching the sun set on the planet Earth. I'm going to see how many beers I can drink and how long it takes to stop caring. If I have to, why I'll even let myself be pissed as hell. I'll be honestly angry for a while instead of 'processing it out.' And I'm going to do it alone. I'm going to enjoy being by myself with no one else around me to tell me what I should or shouldn't do or how I should do it or why. I'm through being used. I'm through being manipulated. I'm through. I've had it. I risk my butt out there in the field-do I get thanked? Do I get rewarded for being an expert? No, I get punished for being right.

"I don't care how many megabytes and megahertz Ms. Grodin is packing upstairs; I've got something that she doesn't have; something that's a thousand times more valuable. I have field experience. I know the context of the infestation because I've lived it. I wish you luck in Brazil, sweetheart. You're going to need it. You're going to need a lot more than luck, because I won't be there to protect you. I love you, but I don't think any of you are coming back. I think General Wainright's little stunt is a death sentence."

Lizard had remained impassive throughout my entire monologue. Now, as my last angry words sank in, she looked stricken. "Jim, you can't mean that."

"I can and I do. I think General Wainright is willing to have the whole mission go down in flames rather than let you and me go unpunished. Well, that's okay. I think I'm going to stay home, so if I'm right and you don't come back; I can kill him."

She exhaled sharply, a sound of disgust. "I can see there's no talking to you when you're like this."

"That's right. It's the pain talking. The real person checked out. You'll come back when I can be molded and manipulated again. Do me a favor. Don't. Either accept me as a mean sonofabitch once in a while, or don't accept me at all. I won't have it halfway."

"Fair enough," she said with finality. She turned and walked back into the planning theater.

Shit.

It was going to take more than chocolate and roses to patch this up. And I couldn't afford either chocolate or roses anymore. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.

I looked up. Dwan Grodin was standing in the doorway. Her eyes were full of tears. She'd heard the whole thing. "I-I thought you would b-be a n-nice m-man. G-general Tirelli's-said you w-were n-nice. B-but you're n-not. Y-you're a-a-a d-dirty,'s-stinky, d-d-dummy mat. Y-you c-can g-g-go f-f-fuck y-yourselfff." She turned away from me and stumped off after Lizard.

Oh great. What else could go wrong?

I turned around and there was Dannenfelser smirking at me. He began to applaud. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. The sound was slow and mocking.

The hell with everything. I let my distaste show. I shook my head scornfully and snorted. "And here's old Randy Dannenfelser again, with another case of the clap." I started to turn away in disgust.

"Don't come on so high and mighty with me, Miss Thing," he said archly. He stepped in close. His perfume was overpowering. "You're just another self-important sister."

He was referring to news so old, it was already history. And it was none of his business anyway. The hell with being enlightened. The hell with being responsible. The hell with being polite. I grabbed him by the lapels and yanked him up off his feet. It felt good to do something violent. We were uncomfortably close, nose to nose. Close enough to kiss. "Let me explain something to you," I said. I spit the words into his face. "You and I are not sisters. We will never be sisters."

"Thank God for that," Dannenfelser said. "Mother will be so relieved." He tried to remove my fists from his lapels; I tightened my grip; he gave up and lowered his hands again. He waited for me to get tired of this. His eyes were wide, but he didn't flinch; he didn't look away. After a moment of mutual hate-stares, I let him go, dropping him rudely to the floor.

Dannenfelser straightened his jacket, then gave me his iciest look. "The only difference between us," he sniffed, "is that I'm not ashamed of who I am. You can pretend all you want, Captain Closet, but poking the Lizard won't make you straight."

"The difference between you and me, Randy," I said icily, "is beyond your comprehension. We are light-years apart." And then I got nasty. "For one thing, my sex life isn't the definition of who I am."

He sniffed and looked unconvinced, but I wasn't through talking. "I have a relationship. You, however, are nothing more than a tacky tea-room queen, trolling the urinals and dropping to your knees at the sound of a zipper. And you have the colossal gall to think that your furtive sexual prowling gives us some kind of kinship! Not even in your wildest dreams! The difference between that kind of sex and a real relationship is so profound that you'd have to have a brain transplant before I could explain it to you. You and I have nothing in common and don't you ever forget that!"

Dannenfelser was momentarily unnerved by the raw blast of my anger, but he recovered quickly. He pursed his lips and replied in quick clipped words, "I'm so glad to see that the Mode Training works. It's made you so much more compassionate and enlightened. I mean, you used to be a real asshole." He straightened his jacket again; his hands were like naked pink spiders. He turned crisply and strode off down the corridor.

Was there anyone else I could offend? No.

I'd gotten my wish. I was alone.