I was shaking my head. "But what about my eggs-?"
"Oh, that's right. Your eggs. Your Chtorran eggs. Come with me." I followed her back to the room we had just left. She brought me up to the row of cages. "Here are your eggs," she pointed. "See all the baby Chtorrans?"
I stepped close to the cage and peered.
Inside were two small millipedes. They were sleek and wetlooking. They were busily chewing on some pieces of shredded wood. A third baby millipede was just now chewing a hole in the shell of its egg. It paused abruptly and looked straight out at me. I felt a cold chill.
"The only thing interesting about these babies," she said, "is the color of their bellies. See? Bright red."
"What does that mean?"
She shrugged. "Means they're from Rhode Island. I don't know. Probably it doesn't mean anything. We've found all kinds of color bandings on these creatures' bellies."
"When did they hatch?" I asked.
"Early this morning. Cute, don't you think?"
"I don't get it," I said. "Why would the Chtorrans keep millipede eggs in their dome?"
"Why do you keep chicken eggs in your refrigerator?" Dr. Borgia asked. "What you've found is the ubiquitous Chtorran version of the chicken, that's all. These things eat the stuff that's too low on the food chain for the worms to bother with. They're convenient little mechanisms to gather up food and store it till the worms are hungry."
"I'm confused. Those eggs looked too big to have been laid by a millipede."
"Do you know how big millipedes get?" I shook my head.
"Look down here."
"Jesus!" I yelped. The thing in the cage was as big around as a large python. It was over a meter long. "Wow!" I said, "I didn't know that."
"Now you do." She looked at me, and her green eyes flashed smugly. "Any more questions?"
I stepped back and turned to her. I said, "I apologize. I've been a jerk. Please forgive me."
"We're used to dealing with unpleasant creatures." She smiled innocently. "You were no problem at all."
"Ouch. I deserved that. Listen, it's obvious that you know what you're doing here. And that just hasn't been my experience elsewhere in the Center. I didn't even know this section existed until this morning."
"Neither did anybody else until we took custody of junior in there-" She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the other room.
"I'm really sorry," I said.
She swung to face me. "I got that. Now listen up and listen good. I don't give a damn how sorry you are. I really don't. It's over. Now, let it be something you can learn from."
"Uh, yeah."
"You're an officer now. So I'll give you the bad news. Every damn schmuck who sees those bars on your arm wants you to succeed, you know that? He wants to know that he can trust you totally when his life is on the line. That's how you want to feel about your superiors, don't you? Well, that's how your men want to feel about you. You act like a jerk and you blow it-not just for yourself, but for every other person who wears the same bars. So get yourself tuned in to what this is about. Those stripes are not a privilege! They're a responsibility."
I was feeling a little sick.
I guess it showed. She took me by the elbow and turned me to the wall. She lowered her voice. "Listen, I know this hurts. And here's what you need to know about that: criticism is an acknowledgment of your ability to produce results. I wouldn't be giving you correction if I didn't think you could take it. I know who you are. I know how you got those stripes. That's fine; you deserve 'em. I've heard a lot of good things about you. Believe it or not, I don't want to see you screwing up. You got that?"
"Uh, yeah. I got it."
"Is there anything you want to say to me?"
"Uh . . . thanks-I think." I added, "I'll know when the bleeding stops. Uh, I'm awfully embarrassed."
"Listen, all new officers make the same mistake. You're lucky you made it here instead of someplace serious. You think the bars change you somehow. They don't. So don't let them get in the way. You're not your rank-you're just a person being trusted with that amount of responsibility. So I'll let you in on the secret. Your job isn't to order people-it's to inspire them. Remember that and you'll be very successful."
"Thank you," I said again. There was something about the way she spoke. "Are you related to Fromkin?"
She grinned. "I trained with him. Nine years ago." She stuck out her hand. "My name's Fletcher. Call me Fletch."
I shook hands gently. My wrist was still sore.
She said, "If you still want the bugs, take them."
I glanced back at the cage. The third baby millipede had finally gotten out of its shell. It was trying to crawl up the surface of the glass. Its belly was bright red. It stopped and stared at me. Its eyes were large and black and unnerving.
I shrugged. "I don't know now. I only wanted them back because I thought nobody around here cared. Now, I see that's not so. If you can do a better job . . ."
Fletcher grinned again. "Yes, we can."
I made a decision. "Well, then-keep 'em here. I just want to know what there is to know about them."
"I'll put your name in the computer," she said. "You can plug into the files any time you want. Our job here is to disseminate information, not hide it." Then her eyes twinkled and she added, "Visiting hours are every day from noon to five. Next time, bring flowers."
"I will," I said. I dropped my gaze away from her eyes. For some reason, they were suddenly too beautiful to look at. I made a show of looking at my watch. I was embarrassed again, but this time for a totally different reason. "Well-" I said "-I guess I'd better get going. I have a plane to catch. Thanks again. For everything."
I turned awkwardly toward the door. She stepped in front of me. "Just one thing. That was a pretty fair piece of shooting. I was there. My compliments." And she stretched upward and kissed me warmly on the lips.
I could feel myself blushing all the way to the jeep.
FORTY-ONE
WE WERE on a high hill overlooking a shadowed valley, almost a canyon. At the bottom, a glittering stream sluiced down between the two sheer slopes, zig-zagging from north to south and forming a wide, shallow pond where the canyon opened up. The surface of the water reflected back the sky; it looked like blue glass. At the far end of the pond, the water poured gently over the edge of a low earth-and-wood dam.
A long shelf of land bordered the little lake. Near the dam was a rounded dome, almost unnoticeable against the black earth of the hill behind it. I studied it through the binoculars for a long time. The dome seemed darker than usual. It looked as if mud had been smeared all over its surface. Not a bad camouflage, but still not good enough to fool the computers. Satellite reconnaissance was monitored, processed and analyzed on a twenty-four hour basis for telltale changes in local terrain. The particular rounded bump of the worm hut, the dam, the local harvesting of trees-any of these things alone could have triggered an investigation; all of them together had put this valley on the ImmediateAttention list. It had taken us three weeks to get to it.
I passed the binoculars over to Duke. He peered through and grunted.
"They're getting smarter," I said.
He nodded. "Yeah. This one is just plain inaccessible. There's no way we can get down there unnoticed."