They had the sweetest voices.
The keening went on and on-and then suddenly, one of the bunnydogs let loose a rapid, high-pitched series of yelps. The other bunnies froze for just an instant and
-then began to dance.
It was a wild and frenzied performance-an explosion of bright pink energy. The bunnydogs stamped the ground beneath their feet as hard as they could. The dust rose in thick billowing explosions, sparkling and churning around them. The bunnies whirled and pounded, jumped and bounced. They chittered and shrieked and whooped.
They flung their arms out wide and leapt into the air, screaming like sirens-they bounced like popcorn. Where one came down, five more leapt up. It was a chain reaction of giggling joyous energy. We could hear them growling like teddy bears and yelping like Indians.
There was no pattern to it that we could see. The dance was a celebration, an exuberant demonstration of enthusiasm and delight. I couldn't help myself, I could feel the grin spreading across my face. I glanced over at Lizard and she was smiling too. The bunnies were funny.
By now, they must have been out of control. They caromed off each other like ping-pong balls in a wind tunnel. The bunnies were shuddering and shaking and waggling their fat little butts like ecstatic puppies. I wanted to run out there and join them. I wondered if Lizard was feeling the same way. I glanced over at her.
"It's marvelous!" she said. "But what does it mean?"
"It looks like a wraggle."
"A-what?"
"A dance. A communication dance. That's how bees tell other bees where to find the tastiest flowers. Maybe that's what's happening here. Maybe this is how you control or communicate with worms-by dancing. Dr. Fletcher is going to want to see this."
But-
No, it didn't make sense.
This dance couldn't be just for the fun of it-not here. Not now. Now with all these worms watching.
There was something else going on here, something I couldn't even begin to understand-and I knew I should.
It felt too familiar.
But the connection refused to complete-it hovered annoyingly beyond the edge of recognition. I could feel the frustration growing like a knot in my chest.
The bunnydogs were whirling now, not leaping. They twirled and spun like little fat dervishes-like plump pink pigs. They bumped into each other, fell into the dust, sputtering and gobbling, then bounced back up into the smoke and kept on twirling. They looked like chipmunks trying to describe a tornado.
A communication dance. And then I realized-"Oh my God."
"What-?"
"I've seen this before," I said.
"What!"
I added quickly, "Not exactly this, but something enough like it-" I swallowed hard. "In the herd. In San Francisco. Dr. Fletcher took me. The herd members do a kind of-dance. It looks like this." I shook my head. "I don't know. Maybe it's a coincidence."
"Why does the herd dance?" Lizard asked.
"Dr. Fletcher thinks-that it has something to do with communication. Nonverbal communication."
Lizard didn't reply immediately. She was studying the bunnydogs again. They were still bouncing. Their energy seemed inexhaustible.
"How do you decode it?" she asked. "I don't know. I'm not a worm."
"You think the dance is for the worms?"
"Who else? Maybe they're telling the worms about us, about what they saw when they peeked in the windows. I don't know. Maybe-" I hesitated, then added, "I don't want to worry you with this thought, but-"
"Worry me," she said.
"Well-obviously, there's some kind of partnership here. And uh, it seems pretty obvious to me-by the shape of their muzzlesthat the bunnydogs are meat-eaters, or at least, omnivorous. Their mouths look like they're good for sucking too. Maybe they use the worms to kill for them. Maybe they're telling them right now that this is a picnic basket."
"Right," said Lizard. "Listen, if you have any more thoughts like that... you don't have to worry me."
Outside, the frenzy was ebbing now. The dance was slowing. One by one, the bunnies whirled into the center and collapsed exhaustedly into the dust. They fell on one another, rolling and tumbling. The dance was deflating into a big pile of pink fur. There was silence. The ever-present pink dust hung in the air.
"Now what?" Lizard wondered.
I didn't answer.
The worms had watched the entire dance without reaction. Now, they slowly turned their eyes toward each other. They almost looked ... uncertain-as if they were waiting for the emperor's reaction before they allowed their own
Only ... which one was the emperor?
One by one, the worms were turning their attention toward the largest-and most patterned-worm in the group. It had narrowed the apertures of its eyes; it looked like it was brooding thoughtfully. Caesar Augustus? Or Caligula?
Abruptly, its eyes bounced open. And then it moved.
Ponderously, majestically, it flowed forward. Straight toward us. And then all the worms flowed forward.
They surrounded the chopper-and began to examine it. All fourteen of them. They scratched and tapped and thumped the hull of the ship.
The chopper pitched and bumped ominously.
TWENTY-SEVEN
LIZARD WAS on the radio immediately, "Houston! We've got a problem!"
Colonel Danny Anderson replied immediately, "Go ahead, ELDAVO."
"We've got worms. More than a dozen of 'em-" Lizard screamed, "-and they're reading the label on this package. Canned people!" She yelped again as something rocked the chopper.
I scrambled out of my seat and crawled back looking for the rocket launcher or the freeze gun. Maybe I could hold them off until the blimp arrived.
There were scrabbling sounds at the door. Something was scraping across the roof The chopper bumped as if something else were pushing it from behind. It lurched so hard I stumbled against the wall.
Duke was moaning! He was waving his arms, trying to get up. He was mumbling and reaching- "Torsh-whah mah torsh?" A pair of giant black eyes was peering in at him through the left side bubble.
I didn't think. I grabbed the shelterfoam gun and sprayed the window. Did the worm look surprised? Did it back away? I didn't see. I turned and sprayed the other bubble.
I crawled over to Duke, pushing him back down onto the deck. "Stay still," I commanded.
"Huh-? Whuh-?"
"Stay still! That's an order, Captain!"
"Yessuhm-" And he lapsed back into unconsciousness.
As I scrambled back to Lizard, she tossed me a sidewise glance. "Gave yourself a little promotion, huh?"
"So court-martial me. Where's the goddamn blimp?" I looked at the clock. "They're overdue."
"I don't know-"
"We're eight minutes away," boomed Colonel Anderson's voice from the radio. "Keep your pants on."
"Why-?" I snapped back. "Will that taste better to the worms?"
"Listen up, Lieutenant!" Colonel Anderson had his father's same angry tone. "Anchoring a blimp is tricky. How you feel about it is irrelevant. It's going to take the same amount of time whether you're calm and rational or panicky and screaming. So it's up to you-how do you want to play it?"
Something in the rear of the chopper creaked ominously. It sounded like a Kevlar strut crackling under pressure. Something else went thump against the door. The door bulged. A piece of shelterfoam spronged off and ricocheted off the opposite wall.
I turned back to the radio. "That's real reasonable, Colonel, sir-but you don't have several tons of worm trying to climb into your ship. We do."
"I'm aware of your problem, Lieutenant. But we don't have any more time to talk about it. You'll have to have your little hissy-fit after we pick you up."