"Uh-? Sure." I was a little puzzled. Usually she answered a scientific question right away.
She made small talk as she brewed the coffee. "Remember those eggs you brought in to Denver, the ones that hatched into millipedes?"
"Yeah?"
"We kept them alive because they were the only red-bellied millipedes we'd ever seen-at least until recently. The ones up north all had red bellies. Do you take milk? Sorry, I don't have any sugar. Anyway, you might be interested to know that the redbellies aren't as voracious as their black-bellied cousins. They grow a lot slower too. And-if you'll accept an undocumented opinion-I suspect they're also smarter. We were going to do some maze tests, but we never had the chance, what with the hassle of moving the whole operation here. I think we brought your three bugs-I'd have to check-if you want to see how they're doing." She handed me a heavy white mug.
"Later," I said. "What about my idea about the bunnydogs?"
She sat down opposite me. "Is the coffee okay?"
I tasted it politely, then started to ask the question again-then stopped and looked back into the mug. The aroma was heavenly. I inhaled deeply. "Mmmm-this is terrific. Thank you." I decided to shut up and just enjoy the terrific smell.
There were loose strands of hair hanging down over Dr. Fletcher's forehead. She brushed them back and I realized how tired she looked. There were tiny lines around her eyes. She must have been under a lot of strain these past few weeks.
She sipped at her coffee and said, "We've been planning another mission, James-up north, the same area-specifically to try to establish contact with the bunnydogs. We think there's a chance that we're looking at the next step here-we're not sure. There's been a lot of discussion about that clustering dance and what it might mean. We've spent a lot of time looking at those videos." She paused, swirled her coffee mug, took a careful drink, and then said, "And we've covered a lot of the same ground you have.. . ."
I could feel my balloon deflating. "So-this isn't news, is it?"
She shook her head. "No, it isn't. The thing about the dance being an invitation, though-that's very interesting. We hadn't realized that." She studied my face.
I sighed and looked into my lap. I rolled my coffee mug between my two hands. "You're trying to let me down easy, aren't you?"
"Not at all. The fact is, you not only saw the resemblance-you also did the appropriate research, and you came up with a pretty damn good hypothesis. It makes more sense than even you may realize." She scratched her head bemusedly. "I think I'd better offer you a job, James."
"A job?"
"Mm hm," she nodded. "We're going to need a mission specialist. I think you might be right for the position-"
THIRTY-SEVEN
THERE WERE eight people in the room, all seated around a huge shiny-topped conference table. I knew Colonel Tirelli, Colonel Anderson, Jerry Larson, Dr. Zymph and Dr. Fletcher. General Poole was flanked by two of his aides. The three of them looked about as pleasant as a bowl of cafeteria chili.
"Based on the evidence of your videos," Dr. Zymph was saying, "we have to assume that communication with the bunnydogs or the worms may actually be possible." She still looked like a truck driver-she was a squat barrel-shaped woman with the expression of a bulldog and jowls to match. There was more gray in her hair than I remembered from Denver, but her voice was as fierce and gravelly as ever. "We were able to identify over a hundred and forty-three specific interactions among the creatures we are now calling `bunnydogs' and another eighty-seven interactions between the bunnydogs and the worms."
"And based on that evidence, you want to drop a man in their midst. Is that correct?" I asked.
"The mission specialist will be given every protection possible," grumbled General Poole. "You'll have two full squads behind you."
"But-essentially, what you're asking me to do is step out of a chopper and walk up to the first bunnydog I see and offer to shake hands, right?"
Dr. Zymph admitted it. "We want to put a man and a bunnydog face to face and see what happens."
"And if I don't get eaten, then you'll know it's safe for the real scientists to come out and talk," I finished.
"Not exactly, but-"
"But exactly!" I interrupted. "You want to stake me out like a goat. That's what you've outlined here."
"Lieutenant," said the general warningly.
"Excuse me, sir. I think it's time I said something about this idea. It's not going to work. At least not the way it's been explained here. I know I'm only a lieutenant-but I've had more experience with the worms and the bunnydogs-face to face-than anybody else in this room. That makes me the expert."
"That's right," said General Poole. "That's what makes you so important to the success of the mission. We want the benefit of your experience." He was wearing his plastic smile.
"If you really do mean that, General, then you'll listen to what I have to tell you. I've seen a lot of cute ideas come down from Denver and everywhere else about how we should deal with the worms. Some are-interesting. Most are dangerous. A few are damned foolish. But almost all of them require some dogface like myself to go out there and put his ass on the line to test somebody else's theory. If the mission fails, you don't lose anything but facebut the asshole who trusted you finds himself on the inside of a giant pink appetite with hair."
"So you are sayin'-?"
"-That if someone has to put his head in the lion's mouth, he should be allowed to choose his own lion."
Dr. Zymph cleared her throat. We all looked toward her. "I think you're exaggerating the situation a bit, Lieutenant-"
"No, I'm not! I'm the guy who froze three worms before we found out it was impossible. This makes even less sense than that. I admit I'm unpopular, but couldn't you find something a little less transparent?"
"Are you through?" she asked.
"For the moment. If I think of anything else," I growled, "I'll interrupt you again."
General Poole said quietly, "Lieutenant. Ah'll be glad to acknowledge the contributions of the Uncle Ira Group any day or night-but let me remind you that you are still part of Uncle Sam's army. When you took your oath you were signifyin' your willingness to give your life, if need be." He gave me his famous intimidation stare.
I gave him my defiant look. "I took an oath, not a suicide pact. Sir."
"Ah'm talking about service and commitment, Lieutenant."
"I hear you. And if I'd wanted to talk about service and commitment, I'd have joined a Tribe and played follow the leader."
"Ah take it that's your answer? You don't want this opportunity, after all."
"On the contrary, sir. I want this opportunity very much. But-if I'm the guy who's gotta get out of the chopper and say howdy to the bunnies and the worms armed only with my own good looks and sparkling personality, then it's my responsibility to make sure this thing is actually doable."
General Poole looked around in disgust. "This isn't getting us anywhere. Who else have we got? Preferably someone with balls."
"No one else who's qualified-" said Dr. Fletcher. "If we don't use McCarthy, then it'll have to be me or Jerry here-"
"That's out of the question," said Dr. Zymph.
Lizard said, "Excuse me-but I've seen McCarthy in action. He's neither a coward nor a fool. I'd like to hear what he has to say."
Poole glowered at her
"General," said Colonel Danny Anderson, "so would I."
The general shifted his glower to me. "All right... if you have something else to say, Lieutenant, let's hear it."