Kim completely untroubled by lingering doubts. Eminently satisfied with cause, result of her killing. Wished own case so clear-cut. Told her so. Then related incident.
Kim listened quietly, thoughtfully, sympathetically to facts. But cut off subsequent breast-beating soliloquy: “Stop that — stop it right now! You have nothing — nothing! — to feel guilty about! With your training you could have done nothing else -
“But…!” Blue eyes flashed impatiently. “If you could have — if you had it to do over again and the only way you could save Terry was by killing Rollo — or someone else you knew no better — and you had time to plan every single action in advance, what would you do?”
Mouth opened, then closed without reply. Whole universe shifted on moorings. Most disturbing perspective, but question in that form completely self-answering, of course: Yes! — in hot millisecond would kill to save baby brother — dozen times over…!
“You don’t have to shout,” Kim remonstrated, smiling. “You’re only three feet away.”
Felt so much better! Killing weighed on me, even though had rationalized intellectually with Adam’s help. But Kim, with unerring instinct for bottom line, spotted flawed reasoning underlying residual guilt; skewered with single question; fixed it on gut level, where really counts.
Future resolve unaffected, however: Intend to do level best never to kill again. Still working to eliminate lethal automatic responses from combat computer. Rough stuff still available if circumstances mandate, but want use contingent upon conscious evaluation, decision. No more accidental discharges.
Kim disagrees. Stated emphatically, upon adding her (Lisa, too) to training schedule, wants entire arsenal, undiluted. Feels minuscule accident risk inadequate justification for blocking instant access to most potent techniques. Haven’t argued; teaching them same program I learned originally, as requested. Even Lisa working on baby drills targeted (once acquires sufficient mass, strength, coordination) at unthinkingly lethal potential.
But I’m not.
Wish party included animal behaviorist. Perhaps could furnish simple, reasonable explanation; thereby preserve my sanity: Terry’s vocabulary still expanding in exponential increments: words, phrases, sentences — paragraphs — few of which could have heard often enough to implant in memory. Don’t know what to make of it. Always been good talker, of course (for Hyacinthine Macaw; not best-talking psittacines, just one of most loyal, loving, intelligent). And recent performance nothing short of phenomenal, no question. Maybe even anomalous.
But hardly justifies Adam’s present reaction: Has convinced himself is in on ground floor of major Unnatural Happening (as distinct from minor Unnatural Happening?).
Latest speculation: Terry and I mind-linked — “It’s the only possible explanation; he says almost everything you do half a breath before you get it out.”
Nonsense began day Terry spouted relevant new word string as I checked Adam’s splint. Observed patient’s awed expression then, but failed to recognize significance. If had, would have nipped in bud. Explanation obvious, reasonable, logical — mundane:
Of course anticipates me regularly: Been with me almost every waking moment since egg: developed sophisticated conditioned-reflex matrix based on my behavior. Picks up clues too subtle for observer lacking long-term close association; achieves fair degree of accuracy guessing what I’ll do, say next.
But missed boat; no letup since.
And driving me mad…
At least Adam more at ease with Kim now. Signs unmistakable.
This morning she related experience with gasoline generator upon utilities’ collapse: Located, hooked up to house wiring; enjoyed benefits for two weeks — until failed. Checked, noticed oxidization buildup on commutator surfaces; attempted to clean with alcohol to no avail.
“Of course not,” Adam interrupted; “no generator will work after being doused with alcohol.”
Kim looked puzzled; advice clearly at odds with training. “Why not?”
“Because,” he pontificated, “a potched watt never toils.”
Kim joined me in retaliatory tickle attack without moment’s hesitation.
We (Kim and Lisa, too; somehow inclusion into party never in doubt) proceeded to Pasadena, located AA address from Palomar Cal-Tech directory. Site examination produced sketchy clues pointing to Jet Propulsion Laboratory.
Adjourned to thence, invested several days searching. Results ambiguous. Fairly recent activity evident, certain areas only: Footprints in deep dust contain shallow dust; elsewhere coating undisturbed. Plus Kim says much equipment she saw during recent touristy-style visit missing.
Oddly enough, only relevant information found by Lisa. Scrap of paper crumpled on office floor: Apparently someone’s crib notes of meeting at secret (ah-hah!) AA facility sometime after attack — meeting attended by all available AAs, families.
Attack no surprise to AA community. Knew how would be conducted but not when. Informed Defense Department to no avail. Though knew mechanism possible (Daddy’s research), and Other Side undoubtedly possessed technology, officialdom judged probability of use — and attendant implication that goal was worldwide elimination of everyone not within own ranks — incredible: “That’s not war; that’s insane! We can’t base policy on that — nobody would do that…!”
AAs living out of suitcases for weeks prior to attack; irreplaceable belongings either already in shelters comparable to Daddy’s, boxed, ready to load, or lined up in orderly fashion, ready to snatch-and-run on moment’s notice. Instant missile phase ended, all on way to retreat -
(All but self…! Daddy never hinted — other than How-Bad-Things-Are lecture, shelter checkout shortly before went to Washington. Likewise, Teacher knew attack would find me home alone — wonder why let me rot in shelter, and months afterward. Surely could have told someone, left message…)
Per usual, nothing in document suggested location of AAs’ retreat. Apparently putting in writing contrapolicy. Frustrating, but makes sense: Is secret, after all…
Contents little more than summary of regretful broodings about events leading to that point; checklist of writer’s immediate duties in data-, equipment-gathering expedition to certain installations about Cal-Tech campus, outlying research facilities, collecting stuff hidden When Balloon Went Up (to protect from random looting and/or vandalism). Plus intimation that booty awfully useful when things quieted down after “poor old H. sap” gone, and certainly critical during “instant emergency.”
But not a clue concerning how useful. Or where.
Adam still at it: Watches Terry like Rhine Institute test monitor — or first-time séance attendee. Anytime baby brother utters anything unexpected, relevant, clever, complicated — whatever — Adam pounces immediately, blows all out of proportion. Has everybody else doing it now, too — i.e., Kim.
But Lisa to blame for current intensity of Terry-watching fever: All sitting around living room one evening, chatting about nothing in particular. More particularly, Kim and I ragged Adam as attempted to spin improbable yarn about past. Terry observed antics beatifically from stand while Tora-chan drowsed in Adam’s lap. Lisa ostensibly paying no attention, reading book.