A Season For Slaughter Part 13

"Everything. The Teep Corps knew everything that was going on inside that camp because they were looking out through the eyes of one renegade and two captured soldiers. Some of that intelligence was pa.s.sed to the attack units; but not the source of that information. The Teep Corps was apparently willing to sacrifice those three lives and the lives of all the other captured troops too, rather than reveal the fact that people were being implanted without their knowledge. But the information came out anyway.

"There was a big uproar about this," I continued. "Public hearings. Sealed committee sessions. Major hoo-ha. Over a hundred thousand people are walking around implanted and don't know it. It still hasn't been resolved. On the one hand, the data gathered is very important. On the other hand, there's the whole personal privacy issue."

"But if you've been implanted, don't you have the right to know?"

"Legally, yes. And no, not if you're in the service. The military has the right to use you any way they deem appropriate. And that includes an implant. You can always have yourself scanned, of course; but the Teep Monitors can just as easily tell your implant to go inactive for a while and the scanner won't pick up a thing; so even if the scanner says you're clean, you have no way of knowing if that's really true. But, according to the Supreme Court, if you do know that you're bugged, then they can't monitor you without your permission. You have the right to switch them off."

"How?"

"Well, you can always apply for active Teep training. But that doesn't really guarantee that you'll be able to switch them off either. The monitor is a twenty-four-hour device. The only sure-fire way is to wear an iron cap."

Willig scratched her head nervously. She looked uncomfortable.

"Have you ever been operated on?" I asked. "Do you think you might be bugged?"

"No. I'm just wondering what I could do that would be worth the attention of a hundred thousand Peeping Toms."

"How about dying?"

"Huh?" She looked startled.

"Consider this possibility. Suppose you're monitored. And suppose you get caught in a life-threatening situation. In fact, suppose your death is absolutely certain-and suppose you don't know it, but the Teep Corps is monitoring you. They know where you are; in fact, they're the only ones who know where you are. They could send in a rescue mission to pull you out, but instead they don't-instead, they monitor your death as pure horror show. How would you feel about that?"

Willig's expression showed her distaste for the idea. "Do they really do that?"

I nodded.

She shrugged and said, "I suppose if I didn't know I was being monitored, it wouldn't make any difference." But she didn't like the idea.

"It's the amorality of the whole thing," I said.

"It's pretty heartless," Willig agreed "It's not just heartless," I corrected. "It's inhuman. The Teep Corps is turning into a ma.s.smind. Its primary members don't exist as individuals anymore. They spend all their waking moments linked up with each other, and they don't think like separate beings anymore; they're all just bugs in a giant hive-mind. The only ident.i.ty they have is the ma.s.smind-so the death of any individual cell, especially one that's only a sensory cell, and not a partic.i.p.atory brain cell, is meaningless to the corps. Do you see what I'm saying? If they don't care about their own lives, why should they care about yours? They're more interested in the information they gain about the way people die than they are in preventing the death in the first place. They don't have the same commitment to human life that you and I do. In some ways, their thinking is even more alien than the Chtorran's. We're sure they have people in other camps; but they're not saying what they know. They're not telling us much; they say we wouldn't understand, couldn't a.s.similate. There's a lot of frustration in Houston. The Teep Corps is very hard to control. It may be out of control. I don't know.

"Anyway-" I shook my head in resignation. "The point is, n.o.body should have to be an unwilling transmitter of his own death. If the corps can peep, they can make the effort to rescue. If they won't make the effort to rescue, they're not ent.i.tled to peep. The Supreme Court said that if a military officer abandons the support of a mission, then the person in charge of the mission is free to act on his own recognizance and take whatever steps he considers appropriate, including the disconnection of communications. You're legally ent.i.tled to lock them out."

"I'm beginning to get the picture," Willig said.

"That's right. Shreiber's refusal to give us guidance on this makes it legal for me to break the uplink. I'm acting under the authority granted me by Article Twenty, Section Twenty. It's not quite the same as an iron cap, but it'll do. G.o.dd.a.m.n!

They're so stupid. This could be the biggest and most important find of the year, and they're p.i.s.sing it away for politics!" I flung myself back in my chair and glared at nothing in particular.

Willig didn't reply. She waited patiently, and without further comment.

"So, yes-" I admitted, after a long uncomfortable silence. "In answer to the question you didn't ask, breaking the link is a spiteful act. But at least this time I have the rules on my side." I reached up and grabbed the VR helmet, pulled it down, and pushed my head angrily into it. "Siegel, I'm taking back control. Let's go see what's at the bottom of this hole."

Shambler colonies are known to be a primary vector for the spread of the red kudzu; the red kudzu in return provides the covering shelter of its own foliage to the shambler colony. But this is a particularly uneasy partners.h.i.+p, and one that must be precisely balanced, or it will prove fatal to one a.s.sociate or the other.

Generally, the kudzu vines envelop a shambler colony like a cloak; the large red leaves help to protect the tree and its tenants from the direct rays of the sun and from the harsher attacks of wind and dust-but the red kudzu is beneficial only to shamblers large enough to support it; otherwise, it is so voracious a species that, given the time to become sufficiently established, it will overpower and destroy any shambler too small or too weak to resist its inexorable advance. It can overwhelm a young colony so completely that it cannot move, cannot feed, cannot survive.

Eventually, the kudzu will even topple the shambler.

But the young colony is not totally helpless. Several of the shambler's tenants, the carrion bees for example, will-if hungry enougheat the leaves of the red kudzu faster than it can grow. Millipedes traveling with the shambler colony also like to chew on the roots of the red kudzu. The combined efforts of the shambler tenants can keep the red kudzu enough in check that a young colony will not be immobilized or overpowered by it.

What is particularly interesting about this relations.h.i.+p is that it is not completely beneficial to either member, suggesting that it is not so much a partners.h.i.+p as it is an armed stalemate, occasionally degenerating into allout warfare should either side demonstrate sufficient weakness.

Is it possible that this condition is common in other Chtorran symbioses, and if so, what can we do to exploit the precarious balance between members? What can we do to permanently topple this and other Chtorran relations.h.i.+ps? Additional research in this area is urgently recommended, as it could offer the most profound results in proportion to the effort expended.

-The Red Book, (Release 22.19A)

Chapter 13.

Descending "By all means, take the moral high ground-all that heavenly backlighting makes you a much easier target."

--SOLOMON SHORT The deeper we went, the thicker the walls became, and the st.u.r.dier the valve-doors; probably a response to the atmospheric changes down here, as well as additional protection for the greater pressures we were experiencing.

I wished I could cut through the surrounding walls of the channel to see how they were constructed. My best guess was that the walls were as multiply redundant as the doors, and that the fleshy shaft we were in was only the innermost layer of a whole set of nested organic pipes.

The repeating valve-doors allowed a step-by-step s.h.i.+ft to a drastically different environment. The beauty of the design was its overall simplicity. No single door had to maintain the integrity o the entire system, and the progression of atmospheric changes was so gradual as to be almost imperceptible, but the c.u.mulative effect of moving through all those valve-doors was to step into a world vastly changed from the one we had left.

There were other things growing on the walls now, unidentifiable objects, manifestations of the Chtorran ecology that even H. P. Lovecraft would have had trouble describing. Some of them were shapeless purple ma.s.ses, looking like homeless goiters. Others were tangles of pallid noodles, limp as dead spagheva and dripping with bluish goo. Here and there, thick nets of creepers hung from the ceiling of the tunnel; if they were there to stop intrusions, they weren't effective against the sliding advance of Sher Khan. The prowler moved steadily forward and down, through the next door and the next and the next.

For a while, we moved through a tunnel that was lined with cup-like projections.

"The walls have ears," reported Siegel grimly; he was immediately promised an early defenestration-as soon as we found an appropriate window. A little farther on, the fleshy cup-like flowers gave way to thick pink protuberances. "Anyone want to say that the walls have tongues?"

"They don't look like tongues to me," said Willig slyly, without additional explanation. There were guffaws on the channel, mostly from the crew in the other van.

Either way, the imagery was disturbing; the urge to joke was fading fast. "Anyone for stoop-tag?" Siegel asked lamely. n.o.body responded.

"Stay on purpose," I reminded them. The prowler continued pus.h.i.+ng through the seemingly endless series of valve-doors.

"Hold it," Siegel said sharply. "We're getting our feet wet."

"Let's do a lookaround," I ordered. "Siegel, you do it." I popped my head out of the helmet long enough to take a sip of water. "How long have we been at this?"

"Three hours," said Willig.

"No wonder my back hurts--ouch! My kidneys are floating. I'll be right back.

Will you update the stereo-map?"

"It's working now," said Willig. She was already typing.

"Geez, I've gotta pee so bad, my back teeth are singing anchors Aweigh."'

"You shoulda joined the Navy."

"No thanks. I saw what happened to the Nimitz."

I headed to the back of the van, locked myself into the head, and started to lean against the wall; I realized I was suddenly dizzy, turned, and sat down instead. My whole body ached, partly with the strain of the vicarious descent into Chtorran h.e.l.l, and partly with the emotional strain of being cut off from all support; not just cut off from Lizard, not just cut off from Science Section, but cut off from the entire network. I felt dizzy from the conflicting realities. And I felt so alone, it hurt.

Emptying my bladder relieved only part of the pain. I wondered if this was what it felt like to get old. That thought made me smile grimly. I had never expected to live even this long. I was already a lot older than I believed. And I didn't expect to last much longer. I knew the odds. In fact, I already had my epitaph picked out: "Something he disagreed with ate him."

When I came back, I didn't feel much better. Emptier, yes, but I ached all over.

Willig must have seen me twisting my shoulders around painfully in a futile attempt to loosen them up; after I sat down again, she came over and stood behind me and started ma.s.saging my neck and back. "Just relax and let it happen," she said. "And stop thinking dirty thoughts."

"Sure... after a remark like that?" But I sat quietly while she worked the knots out of my shoulders.

"Christ, you're stiff. What have you been doing? Carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders?"

"No. Just two rollagons, twelve troops, and a spelunking prowler."

"And a Brazilian mission. And General Wainright. And that toad, Dannenfelser.

And what else?"

"And a broken heart. Don't be so nosy." I clicked my communicator on.

"Marano?"

"Still clear. The only thing moving in this landscape is a fluffball the size of a whale. It's pretty impressive. You should have a look."

"Thanks, but I saw the one that rolled into Alameda last year. They were hosing down whole city blocks when that thing collapsed."

"Alameda? I didn't think there was anything left over there."

"Not a lot, but don't let the governor of California hear you say that.

McMullin-Ramirez was born in Alameda and is determined to rebuild the place-if necessary, as the new state capital." Another thought occurred to me. "Hey, if that fluffball looks like it's going to come anywhere near either of the vans, flame it. If we start getting a lot of fluffb.a.l.l.s, we'll lock down the prowler and get out of here. We can reestablish a satellite linkup later. But I'm not going to risk getting s...o...b..und again. Once was enough, thank you."

"Ten-four, Cap'n." She clicked out.

"Siegel?" I called. "What say you?"

"We've got a puddle down here. Put your helmet on."

I pushed my chair forward-Willig moved in with me and kept right on ma.s.saging-and pulled the VR helmet down over my head again. After the usual moment of dizzying disorientation, I was back inside the prowler's point-of-view.

The tunnel here was ankle-deep in a thin soupy fluid. It was dripping off the walls.

"What do you think?" asked Siegel. "A leak in the pipes? Or is this intentional?"

"I dunno. Wait a minute." I pushed the helmet up again.

"The stereo-map?"

Willig let go of my shoulders and sat down again at her station.

The map popped up on the screen in front of me. It looked like a cone-shaped bedspring, small end down.

"All right, here, look at this," said Willig. "The tunnel spirals downward and in.

Now, if we extrapolate similar tunnels from each of the other shamblers in the grove, we get this-" She touched a b.u.t.ton, and at least a dozen other curving lines appeared in the display. They all curled down to meet at a point below the exact center of the grove. Willig marked the point with a question mark, then put a flas.h.i.+ng red arrow on the screen, labeled, "You are here." The arrow was very close to the question mark.

"There's gotta be something at the bottom," she said, "and it's taking the resources of the whole shambler herd to support,it."

I made a thoughtful clucking sound while I studied the diagram. "That's a fascinating idea. Log it. If you're right, I will take you out to dinner."

She was a professional, but she wasn't too professional to flush with happy embarra.s.sment. She went back to work, and I pulled the helmet back down over my head again. "Siegel? How's the prowler holding up?"

"It's a little sticky down here, but nothing we can't handle. Confidence is at eighty-five. We've got eleven hours' power left before we have to pull out. No problems."

"Okay. Then let's get to the bottom of this thing, once and for all. Let's go."

The prowler pushed through the next valve-door and- The suggestion has been made that we use the Chtorran ecology against itself, and it merits considerable attention because it is consistent with the best practices of the past hundred years of Terran agriculture and bio-control, using one organism to nullify another.

Consider, for instance, Chtorran land-coral; very much like its ocean-dwelling namesake, large colonies of Chtorran land-polyps will produce bizarre concretelike accretions. At first, they appear to be little more than hardening tumbleweeds, but over time, as the polyps grow and their accretions acc.u.mulate, the resulting structures can build up into labyrinthian land-reefs of considerable size. As has been observed in Mexico, Nicaragua, Kenya, Madagascar, China, and Brazil, land reefs can be immense.

The reef structure consists of countless densely packed cl.u.s.ters of skeletal-like limbs and fingers. Stronger and sharper than Earth the Chtorran variety reflects a dazzling spectrum of color; the most prevalent shades ire (of course) red, orange, and ocher; but streaks of violet and bone and marble-pink can also be found.

Land-reefs have been discovered as high as thirteen meters in some tropical areas, and as long as two kilometers; higher and broader reefs are certainly possible; the structural strength is there. Whatever limits there may be be for the size and sprawl of Chtorran land-reefs, we haven't seen them yet.

The importance of the reefs is that they are very nearly impa.s.sable to human agencies. Bulldozers have trouble with even the smallest infestations. Tank treads jam up quickly with fragments of the brittle, bone-like accretion. Explosives are only minimally effective; flamethrowers as well; so the idea that a natural barrier of Chtorran coral could be established to create a self-maintaining boundary enclosing a Chtorran-infested area is an obvious one-if we can't penetrate this wall to get in, then neither can the most voracious elements of the Chtorran ecology penetrate it to get out.

Additional investigation is recommended.

-The Red Book, (Release 22.19A)

Chapter 14.

Authority "You can open more flies with honey than you can with vinegar. "

-SOLOMON SHORT.

-the phone rang.