David Gerrold - A Matter for Men

"Jillanna, did you tell him?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Jim?" She turned to me and went all coquettish, twisting two fingers into the material of my shirt. She twinkled up at me-a grotesque imitation of a woman, this creature who was sexually aroused by the death of three dogs to a giant day-glow caterpillar. She lowered her voice. "Uh, Jim. . . will you give Smitty fifty caseys?"

"Huh?"

"It's for ... you know." She cocked her head toward the other side of the wall where something pink was trilling softly to itself. I was so startled that I was already reaching for my wallet. "Fifty caseys?"

Smitty seemed apologetic. "It's for ... well, protection. I mean, you know, we're not supposed to let unauthorized personnel in here-and especially not when we're feeding it. I'm doing you a favor letting you be here."

Jillanna solved it by plucking my wallet out of my hand and peeling a crisp blue note from it. "Here, Smitty-buy yourself a new rubber doll."

"You should talk," he said, but not very strongly. He pocketed the bill.

I took my wallet back from Jillanna and we left. There was a dark pressure at the back of my skull. Jillanna squeezed my hand and the pressure grew darker and heavier. I felt like a man walking toward the gallows.

I stopped her before we reached the floater. I didn't want to say it, but I didn't want to continue with this horror one moment more.

I tried to be polite. "Uh, well-thanks for showing me," I said. "I uh, think I'll call it a night."

It didn't work.

"What about us?" she asked. She demanded. She started to reach for me.

I held her back. I said, "I guess I'm ... too tired."

She toyed with the hairs on my arm. "I have some dream dust. . . ." she said. Her fingers tiptoed toward my elbow.

"Uh-I don't think so. That just makes me sleepy. Listen, I can walk back to my barracks from here-"

"Jimmy? Please stay with me-?" For just a moment, she looked like a lost puppy, and I hesitated. "Please . . .? I need someone."

It was the word need that got me. It felt like a knife in my gut. "I-I can't, Jillanna. Really. I can't. It's not you. It's me. I'm sorry."

She looked at me curiously, one beautiful eyebrow curling upward like a question mark.

"It's, uh-that Chtorran," I said. "I wouldn't be able to concentrate."

"You mean you didn't find him sexy?"

"Sexy-? My God, it was horrible! That poor dog was frantic!"

"It was just an old mutt, Jim-the Chtorrans are something magnificent. They really are. You have to look at them with new eyes. I used to think it was awful too, but then I stopped anthropomorphizing-stopped identifying with the dogs and started looking at the Chtorrans objectively. The strength, the independence -I wish humans had that kind of power. I want to do it like that. Please, Jim, stay with me tonight. Do it to me!" She was plucking at my jacket, at my shirt, at my neck.

"Thanks-" I said, remembering something my father used to say. Something about knowing what you're getting into. I disengaged myself from her hands. "-But, no thanks." I wanted to say something else, but a vestigial sense of tact prevented me from telling Jillanna what I really thought of her. Perhaps the Chtorran had no choice in being what it was. She did. I began to pull away

"You are some kind of queer, aren't you?"

To hell with tact. "Are you the alternative?" And then I turned and walked away from her.

She didn't say a thing until I was halfway across the lot. Then she hollered, "Faggot!" I turned around to look, but she was already roaring off in the floater.

Shit.

By the time I found my way back to my barracks, I was chilled. But I wasn't trembling anymore, and I wasn't angry anymore. I was only ... sick. And tired. I wanted to be young again, so I could cry into my father's lap. I was feeling very, very much alone.

My bed was like an empty grave and I lay in it shivering, trying to feel compassionate, trying to understand-trying to be mature. But I couldn't be mature-not when I was surrounded by idiots and assholes, blind and selfish and wallowing in their own sick games and fetishes and power ploys. What I really wanted to do was hit and kick and burn and smash and destroy. I wanted to pound and pound and pound. I wanted to grab these people and shake them up and down so hard their eyes would rattle in their heads.

I wanted to feel safe. I wanted to feel that someone, somewhere-anywhere-knew what he was doing. But right now, I didn't think that anyone in the world knew what he was doing, not even me.

Were they all that blind or sick-or stupid?

Why couldn't they see the truth in front of them? S¢ut-Phwut.

Why couldn't they see it?

Show Low, Arizona, was no hoax!

TED STAGGERED in at six in the morning, slamming into the room, switching on the lights and banging and clattering his way from wall to wall to bathroom.

"Hooboy!" he shouted. "I am going to be limp for a week-and walk funny for two." The rest of it was lost under the sound of running water.

An axe would be too messy, I decided. It would have to be a gun.

"Hey, Jim! You awake?"

"I am now," I grunted. No, the gun would be too quick. I wanted it to be painful. I'd use my bare hands.

He lurched into the room, grinning. "Hey-you getting up?" What was left of his makeup was smeared.

"Yeah. I've got something I want to do."

"Well, let it wait. This is more important. You're lucky I had to come back for clean clothes. You can ride back with me-but hurry up!"

I sat up on the edge of the bed, "Ride back where?"

"Back to the hotel. The first session isn't until ten, but I've got a breakfast meeting-"

"Breakfast meeting?"

"Yeah-you got any sober-ups?"

"I dunno. I'll have to look-"

"Never mind, I can get some at the hotel. Come on, get dressed-"

"Just a minute-" I sat there, rubbing my eyes. My head hurt. I granted him a temporary stay of execution while I reviewed the evidence. "What's this all about? Where were you all night?"

"Painting the town black and blue. Come on-" He pulled me to my feet. "-Into the shower with you. I did a party-walk-"

"Party-walk?"

"Is there an echo in here? Yeah, a party-walk." He was punching up a cycle on the shower panel. "Come on, get out of those-unless you're going to shower in your underwear."

"Wait a minute-!" I started to sit down on the commode.

"We haven't got a minute." And suddenly, he was lifting me up bodily, stepping into the shower and holding me under the running water. "Goddammit!" Not even a phone call from the governor would save him now. All I needed was a jar of honey, an anthill and four stakes.

My paper underwear was already shedding off. He handed me the soap, then shredded off his own sopping shirt. He peeled off his kilt-it was real-and tossed it out of the shower onto the bathroom floor.

I had to ask. "Did you leave them somewhere?"

"Leave what?"

"Your underwear?"

"Never wear any. It's traditional. Nothing's worn under a kilt." He grinned foolishly. "Well, it's a little worn this morning, but give me a couple days-I'll be all right."

I turned away from him, stuck my head under one of the shower heads and just stood there. Aahhh.

"Anyway-" he continued, "-I went for a party-walk." Maybe if I let the water run into my ears, I wouldn't be able to hear him. "Only this time, I did it with a purpose. I started out on the main floor of the reception with Colonel Bustworthremember him? The one with the girl? He's a very important man to know-he's in charge of requisitions, supplies and transportation for the whole Denver area. He's the perfect bureaucrat-he makes the paper run on time. Anyway-Jim, stand a little closer to the soap! We're in a hurry! Anyway, I stuck with him long enough to get into a private party in the penthouse. The Conference Committee. Sat in the corner near three of the armpieces and listened to them gossip. In fifteen minutes I knew who was important in that room and who wasn't. Another fifteen minutes and they knew who I was-Senator Jackson's nephew from Mormon University!"