Foreman said, "That's what you saw?"

  I nodded. "All those people were supposed to die, weren't they?"

  Foreman looked at the ceiling for a moment. Composing his answer? He looked back at me. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

  "Why?"

  "You already know the answer, Jim."

  "No, I don't."

  "Go over it again. Why do you think the attack was set up?"

  "After the fact, it's pretty obvious. Most of those people disagreed with the United States position on the Chtorran threat, so you invited them to a first-hand look at how one feeds. That's the guaranteed shock treatment. It always works. It worked on me, and all I had seen were the Show Low pictures. These people got the special live performance. It was set up so that none of our people were killed or injured, only those who opposed us." I studied his face. His eyes were shaded. "That's it, isn't it?"

  "Pretty much," Foreman said. "You're only missing the context."

  "The context? Or the justification?"

  Foreman ignored my jibe. "You saw how the convention was progressing. Can you give me a better alternative?"

  "Have you tried education?"

  "Yes! Do you know how long it takes to teach a politician something? Three elections! We don't have the time! We have to make our point today."

  I must have been frowning, for he said, "You heard those delegates. They were running everything they saw and heard through the filter that the United States was using the Chtorran menace as an excuse to exploit the rest of the world again."

  "Well? Isn't that true?"

  Foreman shrugged. "Frankly, it's irrelevant. The war against the Chtorr is going to last anywhere from fifty to three hundred years—if we win. That's our window for a best-case approximation.

  "And—? What's the worst case?"

  "We could all be dead within ten years." He said it dispassionately, but the words came out like bullets. "The situation calls for extraordinary crisis-management skills. It demands the kind of unified effort that this planet has never seen. We need a controlling body that can function free of the usual inertia common to an accountable government."

  "You're advocating a dictatorship?"

  "Not hardly. I'm advocating universal commitment for every man, woman, child, robot, dog and computer on the planet. That's all." He allowed himself a wry smile. "That's hardly a dictatorship, now, is it?"

  I didn't answer. He stood up and went to the window and looked out. "The irony of the situation," he said, "is that the only surviving institutions who have the resources to handle the situation are the very ones least able to apply those resources—the world's great technological nations. The conference is dominated by Fourth Worlders who are still in a pre-Chtorran consciousness—you know the one: 'They've got theirs, now I'm going to get mine.' And they're not going to let us play any other game while they still see themselves as not being equal partners. And the fact of the matter is, they're already equal partners. The Chtorrans find them just as tasty—they don't care!"

  Foreman turned to face me. He came back to the chair, but didn't sit down. "Jim, every day that passes without a program of unified resistance to the Chtorran invasion pushes the window of possible victory two weeks farther away. We're rapidly approaching the point where the window becomes totally unattainable. We don't have any time. They've taken the position that the United States is their enemy, one who will use any devious means to exploit them. They don't dare give up that position, because giving it up looks exactly like admitting they've been wrong. And that's the hardest thing in the world for a human being to do—be wrong. Do you know that people would rather die than be wrong?"

  I saw the Chtorran pouring itself off the stage again. I heard the screams of terror. I smelled the blood. Those people died because they were wrong? I looked into Foreman's face. His expression was intense. His eyes were hurting.

  I knew it wasn't true even as I said it, but I had to say it. "So they're wrong—and you're right?"

  Foreman shook his head. "We did what we had to do, Jim, and the only way to explain it is so unsatisfactory that I don't even want to try."

  I thought about it. "Try me anyway," I said.

  He looked unhappy about it. "All right, but you won't like it. This is a different game—with different rules, one of the most important of them being, 'All previous games are no longer valid.' And anyone who keeps trying to play the old game in the middle of the new is in the way. Got that? So we put all of our biggest problems in the front rows. We didn't like it, but it was necessary."

  "You're right. I don't like it."

  He nodded. "I told you that you wouldn't." He continued, "But, Jim—every single one of those survivors has now experienced the war at close range. It is no longer just another political position. It's a bloody scar on the soul. The people who came out of that auditorium know who their enemy is now. What you saw—what you participated in—was a very necessary piece of shock treatment to the community of world governments."

  He sat down again, leaned forward and put his hand on my arm. "We didn't want to do this, Jim. In fact, as of last week, we had decided not to. We were hoping then that the facts alone would be enough to convince the delegates. We were wrong. The facts aren't enough. You demonstrated that when you stood up in front of the entire conference. You demonstrated to us just how completely crystalized the Fourth World position was."

  "Oh, sure—that's right," I said. "Blame it on me now!"

  Foreman leaned forward and said intensely, "Jim, shut up and listen. Stop showing off your stupidity. Do you know what you've given us? The lever with which to engineer a massive realignment of political intention. The tapes of the conference have been released to the public channels. The whole world has seen that Chtorran attacking a roomful of their highest leaders. The whole world has seen you bring that Chtorran down. Do you know you're a hero?"

  "Oh, shit."

  Foreman nodded, "I agree. You're not the one we would have chosen at all, but you're the one we got, so we just have to make the best of you. Listen, the public is alarmed now—we need that. We didn't have it before. It makes a difference. We're seeing some very powerful people suddenly declaring their intentions to martial every resource necessary to resist the Chtorran invasion."

  I leaned back in the bed and folded my arms across my chest. "So the United States wins after all, right?"

  Foreman shook his head. "That's the joke, son. There may not even be a United States when this war is over—even if we win. Whatever is necessary for the human species to defeat the Chtorrans is of such overriding importance that the survival of any nation, as a nation, becomes a minor matter. Every single one of us committed to this war knows that the survival of anything is of secondary importance when weighed against the survival of the species. Period."

  He leaned back in his chair again. I didn't say anything. There wasn't anything to say. And then I thought of something. "I can see that's your position. Now, what was the justification for including me? Remember, I was supposed to get killed there too—not be a hero."

  Foreman did not look embarrassed. He said, "That's right. And you weren't supposed to be rescued either. That nurse, Dinnie—she can be a perfect pain in the ass sometimes—she saved your life. She disabled two of our marines when they tried to pull her away."

  "They were going to kill me?"

  "Uh, not exactly. It just seemed, ah, politic not to rush to your aid. But nobody told her that. When they tried to pull her away, she crippled them. Broke one fellow's kneecap, the other one's collarbone, arm and sternum. She stayed with you the whole time, wouldn't let anybody near you unless she knew them personally."

  "And what happened in the operating room?"

  Foreman looked startled. "You know about that too?"

  I nodded.

  "A senior officer suggested that your treatment be . . . postponed. She invited him to leave the operating theater. He refused. She gave him a choice. Under his own power or otherwise. If otherwise, she guaranteed he wouldn't like it. She was right. He didn't like it. She's under arrest now—"

  "Huh?"

  "Protective custody. Until some things get sorted out. I promise you, she'll be all right. But you and I need to have this little chat first."

  Something occurred to me then. "Why you and I? Where's Uncle Ira? Shouldn't he and I be having this conversation?"

  Foreman hesitated. "I'm sorry. Colonel Wallachstein is dead. He didn't get out of the auditorium in time." There was pain in his face.

  "No!" I cried. "He can't be—!" I felt like I'd been slammed in the chest with a brick.

  "He pushed three people out ahead of him," said Foreman. "I was one of them. He went back for someone else. I waited for him at the door. He never came out."

  "I—I don't know what to say. I hardly knew him. I don't know if I liked him—but I respected him."

  Foreman waved it away. "He respected you for killing that fourth Chtorran. He told me so. In fact, he authorized your bounty check Sunday morning, just before the session."

  "Bounty check?"

  "Don't you know? There's a one-million-casey bounty for every Chtorran you kill. Ten million if you capture one alive. You're a millionaire now. Twice over. I'll authorize your second check. I'm taking over certain responsibilities for the Agency. That's why you and I are having this chat."

  "Oh. Are you my superior officer now?"

  "Let's just say I'm your, ah, liaison."

  "With who?"

  "You don't need to know their names. They're the people who worked with Uncle Ira."

  "The same people who decided I should be killed?"

  Foreman exhaled in quiet annoyance. He folded his hands into his lap and collected himself. He looked me in the eye and said, "You need to understand something about that. Yes, you were supposed to die. The people you work for made that decision."

  "Nice people," I said.

  "You'd be surprised."

  "I'm sorry, they don't sound like the kind of people I want to work for. I may be an asshole, but I'm not a stupid one."

  "That remains to be seen." Foreman went on quietly, "Until Sunday afternoon, as far as anyone could tell, you were a liability. Nobody figured on you bringing that Chtorran down. I admit it, I'm still surprised—but when you did that, you stopped being a liability and started being a hero. You're an asset now, son. Sunday's pictures demonstrate that a human being can stop a Chtorran. The world needs to know that. You've become a very useful tool. We want to use you—if you're willing to be used. The earlier decision is inoperative now. You can thank Dinnie for that. She bought you enough time so we could come to that realization. Hm," he added. "We may have to recruit her."

  I didn't know whether to feel relieved or angry. I said, "That's all I am? A tool? You can tell them I'm grateful. I hope I can do the same for them sometime."

  Foreman caught my sarcasm. He nodded in annoyance. "Right. You'd rather be right. You'd rather exercise your righteousness."

  "I'm angry!" I shouted. "It's my life we're talking about! That may not mean much to you, but being eaten by a Chtorran could ruin my whole day!"

  "You have every right to be angry," Foreman said calmly. "In fact, I'd worry about you if you weren't, but the thing you need to get is that it's irrelevant. Your anger is your business. It means nothing to me. So handle it so you can get on with your job."

  "I'm not sure I want the job."

  "You want to kill Chtorrans?"

  "Yes! I want to kill Chtorrans!"

  "Good! We want you to kill Chtorrans too!"

  "But I want to trust the people behind me!"

  "Jim, stop taking it personally! Any of us—all of us—are expendable, if it will bring the rest of us closer to the goal of stopping the infestation. Right now, our problem is the resistance of every person who doesn't see that the Chtorran problem is the overriding one—especially those who are entrusted with the responsibility for handling this circumstance. They're in the way. If they're in the way, they have to be moved out of the way. So don't get in the way. And if you do, don't take it personally."

  "I think that makes it even more horrifying," I said. "The sheer callousness of it."

  Foreman was unimpressed. "Oh, I see—your ideals are more important than winning the war. That's too bad. Do you know what a Chtorran calls an idealist? Lunch."

  I glanced at his uniform. "Is that an enlightened position?"

  "Yes," he said. "It is." He didn't expand on it.

  I said, "You still haven't answered my question."

  "Sorry. Which one?"

  "What was the justification for wanting me dead too?"

  Foreman shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "You looked like a liability, that's all. I told you, don't take it personally."

  "Is that it?"

  "Uh-huh." He nodded.

  "You mean it was just calmly decided—just like that?"

  "Yep."

  I couldn't believe it. I began to splutter at him. "You mean to tell me that you—and Colonel Wallachstein—and Major Tirelli—just calmly sat around and decided my death?"

  He waited till I ran down. It was a long wait. Then he said, "Yes, that's exactly how it happened. Calmly and unemotionally." He met my furious stare with an unashamed expression. "In the same way that we calmly and unemotionally decided to turn the Chtorran loose on a roomful of our colleagues. In the same way that Duke calmly and unemotionally decided to handle that little girl in the brown dress. Yes, I know about that too." He added, "And in the same way that you calmly and unemotionally decided to handle Shorty and that fourth Chtorran. There's no difference, Jim. We just left out some of the hysteria and drama. But otherwise, there's no difference, Jim, in what we did and what you did.

  "You accepted the responsibility when you accepted that flame-thrower in the first place. The truth is, the things we did that you don't like are really the things you did that you don't like. Right?"

  I had to admit it.

  I nodded. Reluctantly.

  "Right. So give the people around you a break. It isn't any easier over here. We just don't have to be drama queens about it. So you can spare me your goddamned self-righteousness! If I want to be beaten up, I can do it far better than you can! In fact, I already have. I know the arguments—better than you, probably! You think I haven't gone around this bush myself a few times?"

  "I hear you," I said. "It's just—I hate the way I've been treated."

  "I got it," Foreman said. "And that's understandable. The fact of the matter is, the agency owes you several dozen apologies—we owe you more than we can ever repay. But would it make a bit of difference? Or would it use up time we need for more immediate problems?"

  I stopped the anger I was building up long enough to look at his question. No, it wouldn't make a bit of difference. I looked at him again. "No, it wouldn't."

  "Right. What we did was wrong. You know it. We know it. We thought it was necessary—and the fact of the matter is that we never expected to have this conversation. But now we've got it and it's my responsibility to clean up the mess—so consider it an acknowledgment of the contribution that you've made that I'm taking the time. So pay attention. I have a job for you."

  "Huh?" I sat up straighter in bed. "That's it? That's how you say thank you?"

  "That's right. That's how we say thank you. We give you another job."

  "Most people at least say, 'Attaboy. You done good.' "

  "Oh," said Foreman. "You want me to pat your fanny and blow in your ear first, is that it?"

  "Well, no, but—"

  "—But, yes. Listen, I don't have time to waste telling you how wonderful you are—because you won't believe it anyway. If you need to be reminded, then you've got a question about it, don't you? So I'm going to give you the short cut to wonderfulness, so you'll never have to worry about that one again. Ready? What are you doing that makes a difference on the planet? That's your meter stick by which to measure your worth. Got that?"

  I nodded.

  "Good. Now we have a job for you. The Agency wants to put you to work. Does that tell you anything?"

  "Uh, yes. It does," I said. I held up a hand for time. I needed a moment to think this through. I wanted to say it clearly. "Look, I think one of us has got to be a fool—and I know you're not. And I'm not sure I want the nomination."

  "I beg your pardon?" Foreman looked puzzled.

  "How do I know you won't find me . . . ah, what's the word, expendable again some time in the future?"

  "You don't."

  "So there's no guarantee, is there?"

  "Right. There's no guarantee. You want the job?"

  "No." I didn't even have to think about it.

  "Right." He stood up to go—

  "Wait a minute!"

  "You've changed your mind?"

  "No! But—"

  "Then we have nothing further to talk about." He started for the door.

  "Aren't you going to try to . . ."

  "What? Convince you?" He looked genuinely puzzled. "Why should I? You're a big boy now. At least that's what you've been telling us for the past three days. You can choose it or not. You don't need the sales pitch. And I don't have anything to sell."

  "Aren't you at least going to tell me what it is?"

  "No. Not until I know what your agreement is."

  "Agreement?"

  He looked annoyed. "Your commitment. What is it we can count on you for?"

  "To kill Chtorrans. You can count on me for that."

  "Good," he said. He returned to his chair. "Now, quit being an asshole about it. We're on the same side. I want the same thing you do. Dead Chtorrans. I want to put you to work. Do you want to work? Or do you want to screw around with politics—like our Fourth World friends?"

  I glared at him. I didn't like this at all. But I said, "I want to work."

  "Good. So get this—the time is over for games. And that includes self-righteousness. I'm telling you the truth now and you can count on me to keep on telling you the truth." His eyes were fierce. His expression was intense, but unashamed. I felt naked before him. Again.

  I said, "This is very hard."

 

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