"You don't exist unmolested inside a Chtorran society," I corrected. "You exist unmolested inside a Chtorran."
"I w-would expect you to say's-something like that," Dwan replied coldly. "All you w-want to d-do is's-slash and b-burn."
"That's the military mind-set," said Shreiber. "Don't worry about it. This isn't their mission. It's ours." She still hadn't twigged.
"It's not a 'mind-set,' ' I said quietly. "It's the result of direct observation-"
"You l-lived with r-renegades," Dwan stuttered. "You, of all p-p-people, should know- b-better."
"They fed their children to the worms!" I snapped right back. "There isn't any cooperation. It's a delusion."
"Listen, McCarthy-'' interrupted one of the technicians. I recognized him, Clayton Johns; big and beefy, he'd been a college football star or something. He was always grinning and slapping people on the back, and fucking anything that moved or even looked like it was capable of movement or had maybe thought about moving once. Right now, his expression was tight and his voice was low and controlled. He looked like he was about to get physical. He straightened where he stood.
I'd already decided, if he moved on me, I was going to break his kneecap. I was still thinking about the missing pilot, and I wasn't in a terrific mood. Clayton Johns apparently thought he was defending something; he spoke with ill-concealed arrogance. "You're not welcome here," he drawled. "So, why don't you just pack up your unwanted opinions and go take a flying-"
"Excuse me-?" A new voice. We all turned as one. General Tirelli and Captain Harbaugh had come quietly up to the video table. In the darkness, none of us had noticed. They were two grim silhouettes.
"If there is any flying," General Tirelli said politely, "Captain Harbaugh will order it. If there is any fucking, I will order that. As for Captain McCarthy's opinions, he's doing exactly what he was hired to do." She fixed Clayton Johns with a penetrating stare. "He is very welcome here. He is aboard this vessel to give us the benefit of his considerable expertise. He knows more about the worms than anybody else on this ship." She included Shreiber now. "He even knows more about the worms than you do. So I suggest that you make every effort to work with him."
Johns lowered his gaze so General Tirelli wouldn't see his expression. A mistake. General Tireili wasn't stupid.
She looked right through him with a penetrating stare and added, "If you don't like it, I'll be happy to reassign you anywhere you want. I believe there's an opening for a kitchen orderly."
Johns went rigid. He straightened up immediately. "No, ma'am," he said. "I have no problem."
"Hm. We'll see." Tirelli gave him a skeptical look. She'd dealt with this type before. She started to turn away
Dr. Shreiber wasn't as quick. She gazed across the video table, looking directly at me with a meaningful smirk. "I thought this was supposed to be a scientific mission, but ah, now I see otherwise. The priorities have shifted, haven't they… ?"
Tirelli turned back around slowly. I wanted to shout, ''Incoming-!"
"You stupid little bitch," the general said sadly. "You couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you? So blind and stupid and mean-spirited. What a deadly combination. Who needs the worms when we have you and your attitude problem aboard? I wasn't going to say this in public, but you've given me no choice. You-specifically you, Dr. Marietta Shreiber-are a very large part of this problem. Last week, you disregarded the formal chain of operational command established by the joint military and scientific network. You deliberately endangered the lives of this man and his on-site reconnaissance team. As a direct result of your reckless action, three lives were lost, and valuable information has been denied to the scientific community. Justifiably, I might add. You gave Captain McCarthy absolutely no choice but to respond as he did. And if Dr. Zymph hasn't already chewed you a new asshole for your arrogance, let me make up for that oversight now. By the time I found out you were on board, it was too late to. send you back-but if I'd known last week that you were going to be a part of the auxiliary on-site scientific team, I'd have canceled your ticket immediately. There is no place in this operation for someone who puts her personal goals above the goals of this mission."
"You're a fine one to talk," Shreiber snorted. "I know about your… relationship!" She made it sound like something dirty.
"He's not my relationship," Lizard said quietly. "He's my Ilusband. And he's here because my commanding officer assigned him here-over my objections-and not because I asked for him. Cuptain Harbaugh will confirm that. She was there."
Shreiber shrugged. Logic was irrelevant in this argument. "So what? You don't scare me. You have no jurisdiction over me. I work for Dr. Zymph."
General Tirelli grinned abruptly. Her grin widened. Uh-oh. She snapped her fingers at Corrigan, one of her aides. The man stepped forward. "Call Dr. Zymph. Tell her I've just relieved Dr. Shreiber of all her duties and placed her under house arrest. She's no longer a part of this mission." To Dr. Shreiber, "If I had a spare flyer, I'd send you back to Rio tonight. Unfortunately, we have a missing pilot to search for, and she's more important than you are." To Corrigan, "Now get her out of here. She's interrupting the real work."
He took her arm firmly. Shreiber looked like she wanted to say something else, but Corrigan shook his head at her and said softly, but firmly, "Don't make it worse." He escorted her off the observation deck, amid shocked stares.
The general waited until the door whooshed shut behind them.
Because increased observation has made it possible to begin cataloging the various Chtorran life forms, we are now starting to see a wider variance in individual species than previously observed. Bunnydogs, for example, are demonstrating a much greater range of development than originally thought.
The average bunnydog-if such a creature as an average can be said to exist-will not be taller than one meter. The creature will mass between twenty and thirty kilograms. He will have very thick legs, a stubby frame, and heavily muscled limbs. His feet will probably be oversized, and his entire body will be covered with a thick coat of red, pink, or light brown fur. The redder the fur, the more neural symbionts the creature is carrying.
—The Red Book,
(Release 22.19A)
Chapter 51
Serenade
"Heisenberg was not only right. He was absolutely right."
-SOLOMON SHORT
Then she exploded.
"Now, let me make this excruciatingly clear!" she said such sudden anger that every person in the room was startl, immediately to attention. She pointed vehemently at the alarm display spread across the video table. "That is the enemy. Down, there! If you have any hatred, any enmity, any negative thoughts toward anything that isn't big and red and Chtorran, then you are betraying the mandate of this mission and the oath you took when you enlisted." To Johns and the people around him, she said "I'm not asking you to love MeCarthy. Frankly, he's not very lovable, and loving him isn't an easy job. But I am ordering you to work with him and I am ordering you to treat all of your coworkers with the same respect and courtesy that you'd want in return." I felt sorry for Johns. It wasn't all his fault, but he was bearing the brunt of it. It was obvious that he'd gotten the message. He looked close to tears. Apparently he'd never been bawled out like this before.