David Gerrold - A Matter for Men

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

"I got it," Fromkin 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 Fromkin. "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?" Fromkin 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."

He nodded.

"I don't know if I can believe you or not."

"So don't believe me," Fromkin said. "Your belief is irrelevant. The truth is what's so, whether you believe it or not. The question is, what do you want to do about it?"

"Well-" I began. I felt myself smiling. "Revenge would be silly-"

"It's also out of the question." He smiled back.

"-so I might as well be useful."

"Good idea," Fromkin agreed. He leaned back in his chair. "You know, you may have forgotten, but you're an officer now. You fooled us. Nobody expected you to live long enough to use your commission. But you have, so now we've had to create an appropriate job for you."

"I've got one."

"Eh?"

"I've already got a job," I repeated. "I'm working on the Chtorran ecology. There are too many people making guesses without enough information. There aren't very many people out there actually gathering it. I had an instructor once who said that if you offered him the choice between a dozen geniuses for his lab or a couple of idiots who could handle field work, he'd take the idiots. He said it was more important to observe the facts accurately than to be able to interpret them, because if you observed enough of them accurately, you wouldn't have to interpret them--they'd explain themselves."

"Makes sense. Go on."

"Right. Well, you've got almost nobody out in the field. This war against the Chtorr doesn't exist yet because you-we don't have any intelligence on them!" I thumped my chest meaningfully. "That's my job! I'm an intelligence agent! That's where you need me the most. Because we don't even know yet who or what we're fighting-"

He was holding up one hand to stop me. "Hold it! You're preaching to the choir, son. I got it." He grinned broadly. It was the cheeriest expression I'd ever seen on him. "You know, it's a funny thing. That's exactly the same job we had picked out for you."

"Really?"

"Really." He nodded as he said it. "I'm making the assumption that we are on the same side, then?"

I looked at him. "I guess we are."

He said, "I know. It doesn't feel like it, does it?"

"No, not really. Not yet."

"So I'll tell you this. You don't get to choose your friends or your enemies. They're always thrust on you. All you get to choose is which category you're going to put them in." He grinned. "Wanna be my friend?" He held out a hand.

"Yeah." I took it.

"Thank you," he said, looking into my eyes. His gaze was intense. "We need you." He held onto my hand for a long moment, and I could feel his gratitude, almost like energy, flowing into me. I realized I didn't want to let go.

He smiled at me then, a warm expression like sunrise coming up over a cold gray beach. "You'll do fine. Major Tirelli will be by later to get you started. Do you have any other questions for me now?"

I shook my head. And then I said, "Just one-but it's irrelevant. Does the Mode training really work?"

He grinned. "Yes, it does. It did; I'm sorry it's such a low priority these days." His expression went wistful. "Someday, when there's more time, I'd like to tell you about it."

I said, "I'd like that."

That made him smile proudly. "I think you would." He stood up to go. "Oh, one more thing." He glanced at my meal tray. "Don't drink the orange juice."

"Huh?"

"I said, don't drink the orange juice."

I looked at his face. "I passed another test?"

"Right." He grinned again. "Don't worry, it's the last one."

"Is it?" I asked.

"I sure hope so, don't you?" He was laughing as he left.

I looked at the meal tray. There was a glass of orange juice on it. I poured it into the potted palm.

THE MORNING sun was very bright, and I felt terrific. My knee hardly hurt at all. The doctors had replaced my kneecap with one grown in a tank and shaved to fit my bones; they told me to minimize my walking for a week-and to guarantee that I did, they put my leg in a case so tight I couldn't bend it. But I could limp-with crutches or a cane-and as soon as I could I was out of the hospital.

I found Ted at the bus station.