I had to hold it down, because if I didn't—I didn't know what would happen.

  I felt it once in a dream, and then again when I woke up, and once in the middle of the day. And once, while sitting at the keyboard, I started crying for no reason at all. Shorty. The worms. Everything. How was I to make sense of it all? It wasn't me that was crazy. It was the world.

  I was still, rubbing my eyes and wiping my nose when Ted bounced in. "Okay, Jimmy boy! Pack your comic books! It's time to go."

  I didn't even look up. "Later. Not now—"

  He grabbed my chair from behind at pulled me back away from the terminal. "Come on—Obie wants to see us."

  "About what?"

  "Have you forgotten? Denver, remember? It's a large city in Colorado . . . next to a mountain?"

  "Oh, yeah." I said, "I can't go."

  "Huh?"

  "I'm not done." I leaned over to the terminal and touched a button. The screen started cycling through the pages of my report and over a hundred different three-dimensional graphs. There were cross sections too. I pointed. "Look at that activity curve, Ted! It doesn't make sense. These things look like they should be nocturnal—but their behavior pattern with light and temperature variations say they're not. And look at the way it spikes on the spectrum tests—what does that mean?"

  Ted pulled me to my feet. "What it means is congratulations!" He pumped my hand heartily. "You've just won a free trip to Denver!"

  'But the job is incomplete!"

  "It's good enough! You don't have to interpret it! They have real brains in Denver. They'll take one look at what you've done and have the answers for you in no time. You'll probably get a nice footnote in somebody's report," He placed one hand in the middle of my back and shoved. "Now, move! The chopper's already on its way—yes, this time it's for real; Larry's bringing packing crates—is your data disked? Here, take it. Let's go!" We were out the door and on our way before I even had a chance to punch him.

  We tumbled into Dr. Obama's office like a small stampede. We were both out of breath and flushed. Dr. Obama barely glanced up as Ted snapped a precision salute. I realized what he had done and hastily followed suit, only not as precise.

  Dr. Obania ignored it. She opened her drawer and took out two envelopes. She handed them across to us. "Here's your paper work. McCarthy, you'll see that yours is a bit different. I'm sure you understand . . ."

  We read them together. I finished first and looked up. "Thank you, ma'am." And then I added, "I think."

  She nodded. "You're right. I'm not doing you a favor. I'm probably only postponing the bad news, but at least this way you have another chance to be a soldier instead of a specimen. They'll test you, but at least this way it'll be without prejudice. And if you have any more of these spells, well, at least you'll be having them where you can't do as much damage."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Ted grinned and poked me. "See—I told you not to worry."

  Dr. Obama's expression hardened at that "Don't think you're going to a party. Denver isn't going to be any more pleasant than Alpha Bravo—there's a different breed of predator—but I'm sure you'll find that out for yourselves. You'll both want to be real careful. There are things much worse than being eaten."

  "Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." I'd made up my mind that I was going to say as little as possible. I wasn't going to give her a reason to change her mind.

  Dr. Obama looked unhappy. She let out a long sad sigh and said, "I suppose I should wish you luck and tell you I'm proud of you. But I won't. I'm not proud of you, and you're going to need a lot more than luck. So let's have no illusions. I didn't want you up here, either of you, and I'm going to be glad to have you out. This is no place for untrained recruits."

  Maybe she realized how harsh that sounded, because she added, "I'll give you this much. You did your jobs—and I can thank you for that. You're both intelligent, and wherever you end up, you should do fine—" She looked at Ted, she looked at me. "—Each in your own inimitable style." She glanced at her watch. "You have less than an hour. Pack your specimens and be in front of the mess hall at twelve-thirty. Duke is driving you to the helipad. There are metal cages for the bugs and an insulated box for the eggs right outside. And please—try very hard not to get sent back."

  "Yes, ma'am. Thank you." I started to rise.

  "Don't be so quick—there's one more thing. Jackson, would you excuse us for a moment? Wait outside. And, ah—this time, would you please not eavesdrop?"

  'Huh? Who, me?" Ted pretended to look puzzled. "I don't know what you're talking about, ma'am."

  "Yes, I'm sure you don't," Dr. Obama said quietly as the door closed after him. She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a small flat lockbox the size of a paperback book. "I have a . . . personal favor." She lowered her voice. "There's a Lieutenant Colonel Ira Wallachstein attached to Project Jefferson. Would you please deliver this to him?"

  "Certainly, ma'am—"

  "I want you to personally place it in his hands."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "If for any reason that's not possible, take this out to an open field and punch the date into the lock. Then walk away quickly. Thirty seconds later, it'll self-destruct. Any questions?"

  "No, ma'am."

  "Repeat it back to me."

  I did so and she nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Thank you. That'll be all."

  The helipad was a kilometer down the mountain. It took five minutes to drive there. Duke was tight-lipped all the way. What was it about the Special Forces anyway? Did they have some rule that you had to be nasty all the time?

  Ted was stretched across the back. I was sitting in the front, half-turned toward Duke. "Uh—Duke?"

  "Don't talk." He said it very flatly.

  I shut up. Okay. Let him hate me. I'd survived worse.

  Abruptly Duke said, "Listen, both of you—you've both taken the oath and you're both entitled to wear the Special Forces insignia. I would prefer that you didn't."

  "Sir?"

  Did Duke look annoyed? The expression flashed so quickly, I wasn't sure. He said, "Listen, stupid—this has nothing to do with anything that's happened in these mountains. That's Alpha Bravo business and it stays up here. This other thing, I'm telling you for your own good."

  I nodded. "We understand." I glanced back at Ted. For once, he looked serious. He nodded too.

  "All right," said Duke. "What you need to know is this: if you wear your insignia, you will attract the attention of some people who will ask you a lot of questions that you don't want to answer. Questions that could be very embarrassing for you. And possibly even for your country. Got that?"

  I started to say, "I don't understand—" but Ted poked me in the ribs. Hard. "We got it," he said.

  I looked at him. He looked back at me, eyes hard. I remembered what he had said about the Special Forces and I shut up.

  We pulled up at the helipad then—actually just a large clear space next to the road, bulldozed flat and surrounded by automatic lights and plastic markers. The chopper was nowhere in sight. Duke glanced at his watch. "Looks like we're a little early."

  "Or they're a little late." That was Ted. He hopped out of the Jeep and walked off a way to admire the view.

  "Duke?" I said.

  He glanced over.

  "You lied to me."

  "Eh?"

  "I went and reread my contract. I'm 'scientific personnel attached to the military, specifically exempt from combat duties and functions.' I'm not in the army at all. That's why my papers are pinks, not yellows. I'm a free agent. You can't give me orders, only recommendations."

  "You're operating under army authorization," Duke corrected. "In the book, that makes you army. But I never lied to you, McCarthy."

  "Um," I said. "Well—you misled me."

  "I did not mislead you." There was a dangerous edge to Duke's voice. "You misled yourself. What I said was this: 'If the mission is military, every man is a soldier.' That has nothing at all to do with your contract. That 'special duties' stuff is something the lawyers created. But lawyers don't carry guns—and lawyers don't burn worms. You could have stood your ground as a 'scientist.' I'd have respected that. But you'd have never seen a worm—because unless you're willing to burn them, I can't trust you on my flank."

  "Yeah, well . . . I only did it because—because I thought I was going to earn your respect." I let my bitterness show.

  "Jim—" He lowered his voice. "You did earn my respect. Much more than you realize."

  I looked over at him, startled.

  He nodded slowly.

  "You surprised me," he admitted. "More than once. And going into that live nest was the act of a courageous damn fool."

  "So—if this is how you treat the people you respect, I'd rather have your enmity."

  "No, you wouldn't." He took a breath and stared out across the helipad. "Maybe I do owe you an apology. And maybe not. The truth is, I don't want to like you and I don't want to care about you, because if something happened to you, I'd have to hurt again. And I've had enough hurt already." He added softly, "That stunt with the worms—that scared the hell out of all of us. Maybe you know what you're doing. I don't. And that's reason enough for me to want to keep you at arm's length. I'll respect you, kid—but I'll be damned if I'm going to let myself like you. Because someday I might have to kill you."

  I was just about ready to grab my duffel and slam out of the Jeep—and then I looked at the expression in Duke's eyes and realized how hard it must have been for him to say all this to me.

  I didn't know what to say.

  I climbed out of the Jeep and walked a few paces away, trying to think of some reply. Dammit there wasn't anything I could say. But I turned around and walked back to him anyway.

  "Well, for what it's worth. Thank you."

  "For . . .?"

  "For . . . whatever."

  He stared off into the distance, but he accepted it with a nod.

  "Good," I said. "Now it's over—and I won't have to drag it around with me."

  "Drag what around?"

  "This wish I have—to watch you choke to death on a chicken bone. At least now I can say that I thanked you for the good parts. And I won't have to feel guilty when something awful happens to you."

  Duke raised an eyebrow at me; then he smiled. Sort of. It was more like a hint of a smile, but for Duke even the intimation of a smile was a significant event. "Good—" he admitted, "—but nowhere near nasty enough. If you're going to be Special Forces, you're going to have to be much more sarcastic than that."

  The chopper appeared in the distance then and Duke sat up on the back of his seat and shaded his eyes to see it better.

  "Can I ask you a question?"

  He sounded annoyed. "What?"

  "Are there really people who—you know, cooperate with worms? And if so, why?"

  "You're a funny one to ask that question. You should know better than I."

  "Just answer it, okay?"

  He shrugged. "We've heard some stories. They're not confirmed. We don't know." He didn't speak for a moment; he was watching the chopper approach. "And what we do know doesn't prove anything. There was a team, a mission. They flashed a dome. They found bodies inside. Two of them. From the positions of the bodies, it didn't look like they were there against their will. But—" He shrugged again. "—What does that prove? Nothing."

  We could hear the chopper now, a distant blurring in the air. Duke glanced over. "Better get your shit unloaded." He didn't offer to help.

  By the time Ted and I had unloaded our duffels and the specimens, the chopper was overhead, engines screaming and stirring up clouds of choking dusk with their downdraft. It was one of the new Huey Valkyrie 111s. With jet-assisted flight, its range was more than two thousand miles—at least, that's all the army would admit. Privately, it was said to be a lot more. The landing gear flexed and gave as the copter settled its weight to the ground, but its rotors continued to strop the air. The thunderous roar of the jets muted temporarily to an impatient whine. We picked up our bags and boxes and ran for it.

  Ted climbed up first—and came back down, just as fast. I bumped into him as he did a sudden stop in my face. The pilot was kicking metal canisters and padded crates out both sides of the machine. A half-loaded pallet was rolling down the rear ramp. Duke ambled over with a hand-truck and started pulling them into some kind of order.

  As soon as the last of the boxes hit the ground, Ted tossed his duffel in, followed by the millipede cage he was carrying. I tossed my duffel in and followed, carrying the box of eggs as carefully as I could. The pilot made no move to help either of us. She was an impeccable-looking redhead in jumpsuit and major's insignia, Army Air Corps. I wondered if she was friendly. "Unload those heavy canisters," she snapped. "Only the ones marked Alpha Bravo. Secure your specimens in the back, then get out. I'm in a hurry." No, she wasn't.

  "Uh—" I said, "We're coming with."

  "Forget it—I don't carry passengers." She booted my duffel casually out the door.

  "Hey!" I yelped, but she was already turning to Ted.

  He was unbuttoning his pocket. He handed her our orders. She didn't even bother to look, just snapped, "I said, 'Forget it.' "

  Ted and I exchanged glances—

  Duke called up, "What's the matter? What's going on?"

  —and I shouted back, "No problem. We're just going to have to find some other transportation, that's all. Come on, Ted—I'll get the eggs, you unstrap the cages."

  "Hold it, Charlie!" she barked.

  "Just hold it yourself!" I barked right back, surprising even myself. "We have a job to do too!" It worked. She stopped—but only for a moment. "You'd better read our orders," I said very calmly.

  She glanced at the papers in Ted's hands "Pinks!" she snorted. "Doesn't mean a thing. Those are just advisories."

  "Right," I said. I kept my voice innocent. "We're advised to deliver these specimens. And you're advised to take us."

  "Uh-uh." She shook her head. "Nobody told me about it. I'm only taking those." She pointed at the cages.

  "No way." I cleared my throat and prayed that my voice wouldn't crack. "If we don't go, they don't go. Duke, hand me that duffel."

  She looked at me, then really looked. I glared right back. She had very bright blue eyes—and a very dark expression. She flicked her glance briefly over Ted, then back to me again. I was already stowing my bag. She said a word, a not-very-ladylike word; then: "The hell with it—I don't care! Fight it out with Denver. How much do you turkeys weigh?"

  "Seventy-three kilos," grunted Ted. He didn't look happy.

  "Sixty-four," I said.

  "Right." She jerked her thumb at me. "You sit on the left." To Ted: "Secure that box on the other side. Both of them. Then belt up." She didn't even wait to see; she pulled the door shut behind us with a slam, secured it, and climbed forward again. She checked to see that Duke was clear—I just had time to wave; Duke shook his head unbelievingly and turned away—and punched us up into the air.

  The mountain dropped quickly, then angled off and slid sideways as we described a sharp, sweeping turn. The acceleration pressed me against the wall of the cabin. We had hardly leveled off—I had to trust my eyes for that; my stomach was no longer speaking to me—when the jets cut in and a second press of acceleration forced me deep into my seat. The cabin tilted steeply and my ears popped as we climbed for height.

  There was nothing to see out the window except clouds; the stubby wing of the copter blocked my view of the ground, and the bulge of the jet engine was not enough to hold my interest. The scenery in the distance, what little of it I could see, was too far away to be impressive.

  I realized the pilot was speaking to us: ". . . be in the air a couple hours. If you're hungry, there's a ration box plugged into the wall. Don't eat all the chocolate ice cream."

  Ted was already rooting around in it. He came up with a couple of sandwiches and a container of milk. Grinning hungrily, he went forward and plopped into the co-pilot scat.

  The redhead eyed him. "You got a certificate?"

  "Well, no—but I am licensed." He gave her what he probably hoped was a friendly smile; it came out as a leer.

  "Jeezus! What is it with you guys? Go sit in the back with the rest of the passengers."

  "Hey, I'm only trying to be friendly."

  "That's what stewardesses are for. Next time, take a commercial flight."

  "And, uh—I wanted to see how this thing flew," he added lamely.

  She did something to the control panel, set a switch, and locked it in place. "Okay." She shrugged. "Look all you want. Just don't touch." Then she unstrapped herself and came aft. The tag on her junipsuit said L. TIRELLI.

  "What's in the boxes?" she asked. She nudged the insulated one with her foot.

  "Eggs," I grunted.

  "And in here?"

  "Bugs," I said. "Big ones."

  She looked disgusted. "Right. Bugs and eggs. For that they cancel my leave. Oh, yeah. I always get the good ones." Still muttering, she turned her attention to the ration box. "Damn! Clot-head took all the chicken." She pawed through the remaining sandwiches sourly.

  "Uh—I'm sorry," I offered.

  "Forget it. Everybody's an asshole. Here, have a sandwich." She picked one at random and tossed it at me before I could say no. She took another one for herself and dropped into the seat opposite. "What's so special about your bugs and eggs?"

  "Uh—I don't know if I'm allowed to—" I looked at Ted. "Are we top secret?"

  "What've you got—more Chtorrans?" To my startled look she said, "Don't worry about it. It's no secret. I carried a live one into Denver a month ago."

  "A live Chtorran?"

  "Uh-huh. Just a small one. They found it in Nevada, dehydrated and weak. I don't know how they caught it. I guess it was too sick to fight back. Poor little thing, I felt sorry for it. They didn't expect it to live, but I haven't heard if it died."

  Ted and I looked at each other. "Some scientists we are," I said. "They don't tell us anything."

  "Well, there goes our big claim to fame," he added. "We thought we had the only live specimens around."

 

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