But she'd probably hate me if I tried to bring her to this. She wouldn't understand.
Her survival mind would go crazy, gibbering like the ape it was descended from.
Just the same, it was fun to think about. No, it wasn't. I'd go crazy when she started to sleep with the others. I'd only want her to sleep with me.
But that was my survival mind. The hell with it.
She wasn't here and I couldn't have her.
And maybe I shouldn't have her anyway. Most of the time when I was around her, I was crazy. Or she was. Or everybody else was. Jessie and Frankenstein stopped me after breakfast one morning. They needed my help. Would I explain to them how to use the AM-280?
I shrugged and followed them up to the main building. "What's the problem?" I asked. "Are the bikers back?" We'd been hearing motorcycle noises on the road for a week, not very often and usually late at night; but all three of the worms had become very agitated, prowling and sniffing and listening very alertly. Falstaff and Orson disappeared into the forest almost every evening.
"Just taking precautions," said Jessie. "That's all." She unlocked the weapons and began laying them out on the table. "Better clean them first, Jim. Nobody's touched them since you arrived. "
My survival mind twinged at that. Was this a test?
"What's the matter?" asked Frankenstein.
"Huh? Nothing. Why?"
"Your face just clouded for a minute. Did the guns remind you of something?"
"Uh, yeah-it wasn't important." I turned away to cover my doubt. Maybe it was important.
Behind me, I could hear Jessie and Frankenstein exchanging a loud glance. They had to know.
One of the guns was covered with . . .
"I wish you'd cleaned this," I said.
. . . Jon's blood.
I reached for a rag and a can of oil. "And we should recharge the laser-sight."
I worked the mechanism to pop the magazine out.
It was a full magazine. This gun was still loaded.
I slid the magazine back in. It clicked satisfyingly into place.
The thought occurred to me: I could be out of here tonight.
Jessie and Frankenstein were still sorting through the other weapons. They weren't paying any attention to me at all.
I could kill them right now, if I wanted to.
My survival mind said I should.
But-I didn't want to kill them.
I just wanted to leave.
This had to be a test. Where were the worms?
Damn!
My survival mind wanted to leave. I didn't know what I wanted.
I slid the safety off quietly, thought for a second, then slid it back on.
Jessie turned around to me. "Can we use it?"
I was studying the controls. "I wish you'd left it plugged in, but it's still got half a charge." There was something wrong here. I started to dismantle the weapon. "Why'd you leave it like this? Don't you know how to take care of a gun?"
"Sorry," said Jessie. "You're the one who's got the military mind. "
Frankenstein just grunted.
"You're awfully trusting, Jessie," I said, handing her the magazine. "You handed me a loaded gun."
I peered down the barrel--
"No, we know who we're dealing with, Jim," she replied.
--it was clogged with something. I poked at it with a cleaning rod.
Chewing gum.
I held it up for both of them to see. "But you had your doubts, didn't you?" If I had tried to fire the gun, it would have exploded in my hands. It would have been very messy and I would have been very dead.
Jessie shrugged. Frankenstein grunted, "Everything is a choice. "
"Cute," I said. I was annoyed. "I thought I was worthy of your trust. "
"Jason trusts you," said Jessie. "That's his job. My job is to distrust. I'm in charge of defense. I have to be a skeptic."
My expression must have said what I was thinking, because Jessie added, "I know. It feels wrong. We have so much love in this camp and so much passion for the future that to talk about weapons and defense and killing is a terrible mind-set. It's a long sour step south, and the cost of it is a terrible burden on all of us, Jason included. But the alternative is to put the new gods in jeopardy, and that isn't very good service at all. So, we do what has to be done and we try to forgive ourselves as well as those who would destroy us. It's an unhappy position, Jim; but it's the cost of survival."
I nodded. "You don't need to explain it to me. I've heard the speech before. I've even given it myself. Just drop out the line about the new gods and put in 'The United States' instead."
"Good," said Jessie. "Then you don't need to hear it again." She picked up the other rifle and began to expertly strip it and clean it.
I thought so. She'd lied about that too. I concentrated on cleaning the weapon in my lap and didn't say anything else. Frankenstein slid the magazine across the table to me. I ignored it until I had finished checking every single mechanism in the rifle.
Finally, I picked up the magazine and clicked it solidly back into the gun.
If I wanted to kill them, now would be the time.
Instead, I popped the magazine out again and put both it and the rifle back on the table.
"It's fine," I said. "Only, you'll want to replace the propellant regulator before you try to use it. If you fire it without a propellant regulator, you're running the risk of blowing your head off."
Jessie and Frankenstein exchanged pleased glances. "I told you he was smart."
Frankenstein grunted and tossed me the PR-96-A regulator. It had been in his pocket the whole time. I disassembled the rifle again, clicked the assembly into place and reassembled the weapon.
"I suppose you'd like the access codes now?" I grinned.
"If you don't mind."
Maybe I hesitated. Maybe I didn't. I was betraying a United States secret. I don't remember. I just did it.
"No problem at all," I said. I picked up the gun and set the code keys; I passed it across for both of them to see.
Somewhere in that moment, I made up my mind. These people didn't love me. Not really. Therefore, I would be justified in leaving.
As soon as possible.
They could probably see it on my face. I forced a stupid grin and held it. Not much better than a frown, but it would have to do. I finished the job without saying much else, and after that we went to lunch.
I didn't say much to anyone during lunch, I was still thinking about what I had decided-wondering if that was what I really wanted to do, or if that was just my survival mind reactivating an old channel. Maybe I should talk to Jason about it, but I knew what he would say. "Handle it yourself, Jim. It's your head."
Sure. I wanted to love. I wanted to be loved. These people talked love. They demonstrated love.
But they didn't trust me with a loaded gun.
I always thought trust was the foundation of love. Maybe it wasn't; maybe these people could love without trusting. I couldn't.
But if I left, that would prove that they were right, I wasn't trustworthy. To prove that I was trustworthy, I would have to stay and be trustworthy.
Damn! Everything around here was a paradox. Or a trap. After lunch, Jason pulled me to one side. "Jim, can you spare a moment?"
"Of course."
"Jessie says you're pretty good with the weapons. You've come a long way. She trusts you. I want you to start carrying a gun and do some perimeter patrols with Falstaff."
"I thought the patrols were a Tribal responsibility."
"They are; and you can say no if you want to, because you're still technically a guest. But we're shorthanded and this is a very delicate time. Orrie's teaching the babies. He has to spend a lot of time with them. And we really could use your assistance."