David Gerrold - A Matter for Men

Dinnie had said, "The thing is, none of us can see our own craziness, because it's the filter we look through. All we can see is what we project on the people around us. And then we blame it on them." She'd smiled and said, "Do you know how to tell if you're crazy? See if the people around you are."

I looked-and everybody around me was crazy.

That was the joke. You know you need help when the people around you are crazy.

The hell with her. I didn't have time to be crazy anymore.

The jeep said, "Will there be a reply?"

I said, "No. And post this. Refuse all future messages from the same source."

"Acknowledged." I still felt lousy.

THE JEEP lurched to a stop in front of the Science Section, and I climbed out carefully. There were no guards here. None were necessary anymore. Since the reorganization, no doors would open for you unless you had a red card or higher. I had a gold card.

Once past the fourth set of security doors, I pointed at two lounging aides and said, "You're temporarily requisitioned. I have some things I want loaded."

They grumbled and fell into line behind me. "I don't want to hear it," I said.

We went directly to the extraterrestrial specimen section. A woman in a lab coat looked up as I came in.

"Where's Dr. Partridge?" I asked.

"She doesn't work here anymore. She's been transferred to Administration."

"What about Larson?"

"Who?"

"Jerry Larson?"

"Never heard of him." She put her clipboard down and looked at me. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm McCarthy," I said.

"So?"

"I requisitioned some specimens." I pointed to the wall of cages. "Three millipedes and an incubator of eggs. They were supposed to be ready for me."

She shook her head. "The orders didn't come through here."

"Fine," I said. "I'll give them to you now-" I pulled my copy of the flimsies out of my pocket.

She blinked at me. Her face hardened. "Whose authority are you operating under, Lieutenant?"

"Special Forces Warrant Agency," I snapped. My leg hurt. I was tired of standing. I tapped the card pinned to my chest. "This is my authority. I can requisition any goddamned thing I want. If I want to, I can requisition you to Nome, Alaska. Now, I want those three bugs and that box of eggs." I gestured to the aides. "There's a jeep out front. Load 'em in the back."

"Just a minute," she said, reaching for a phone. "I want confirmation-"

I hobbled over to her, leaning heavily on my cane. "One," I said, "I gathered those specimens. Two, I killed a Chtorran to get them here. Three, I haven't seen one piece of research out of this lab, so as far as I'm concerned, the effort in bringing them here was wasted. Four"-I was unfolding the orders that had been handed me that morning by Major Tirelli-"I have all the confirmation you need right here. And five, if you don't get out of my way, I'm going to place this cane in a most uncomfortable place. And if you don't believe I can do it, I'm the fellow who killed the Denver Chtorran."

She read the orders, then handed them back without comment. She sniffed. "No, you're not."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You didn't kill it."

"Say again?"

She raised an eyebrow at me. "Do all lieutenants have lousy hearing? I said, `You didn't kill it.' "

I turned to the aides. "Load that stuff on the jeep. I'll be right out."

"Hold it!" She barked. "You touch those cages, I'll have you shot." The aides stopped where they were. She poked my chest. "Let's you and me settle some things first."

I looked at the woman in the lab coat. She wasn't wearing a name badge. She had green eyes. "What's your name?" I demanded.

"Lucrezia Borgia."

"Is there a rank in front of that?"

"Just Doctor."

"Right. Well, Dr. Borgia, do you want to start making some explanations?"

She pointed to a set of double doors at the end of the room. "Two rooms down," she said.

I hobbled through the double doors. She followed after me. I was in a wide hallway with another set of double doors at the end. I pushed through those and

-there was the Chtorran, almost motionless in the center of a large room. The room was brightly lit. The Chtorran's flanks heaved regularly as if its breathing were labored. There were men attaching probes to its sides. There were ladders and scaffolds all around the creature.

"I ... uh . . . "

"Didn't kill it." She finished for me.

"But I-never mind. What're they doing to it?"

"Studying it. This is the first time we've ever been able to get close enough to a live one to poke it and prod it and see what makes it tick. You crippled it. It can't see, it can't hear, it can't move. At least we don't think it can see or hear. We're sure it can't move. It certainly can't eat. Your gun pretty well destroyed its mouth. We're pumping liquids into it."

I didn't ask what kind of liquids. "Is it safe to approach?"

"You're the expert." She said it acidly.

There were men and women all over the animal. I hobbled forward myself. Only one or two of them looked up at me. Dr. Borgia paced me quietly. She took my cane and poked at the creature's mouth. "Look here," she said. "See that?"

I looked. I saw a clotted mass of flesh. "What am I looking for?"

"See that row of bumps? New teeth. And if you could climb the ladder, I'd show you the creature's arm stumps. And its eyes. If we could get underneath, I'd show you its feet. The thing is regenerating."

I looked at her. "How long?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Three months. Six. We're not sure. Some of the gobbets we've carved off it show signs of trying to grow into a complete creature too. Like starfish. Or holograms. Each piece has all the information necessary to reconstruct the original. You know what this means, don't you?"

"Yeah. They're almost unkillable. We have to burn them."

She nodded. "As far as the rest of the world is concerned, you killed this thing. They even paid you for it. But the truth is, you only stopped it. So don't you ever come into my lab again, throwing your weight around and acting like an expert! You got that?"

I didn't answer. I was looking at the Chtorran. I took a step toward it and reached out and touched its skin. The creature was warm. Its fur was silky. Oddly alive. It felt electric! My hand tingled as I stroked it.

"Static electricity?" I asked.

"No," she said.

I took another step forward, almost leaning on the warm side of the Chtorran, almost pressing my face into it. Some of the strands of fur brushed softly against my cheek. They felt like feathers. I sniffed deeply. The creature smelled warm and minty. It was oddly inviting. Like a big friendly fur rug you wanted to curl up in. I continued stroking it.

"That isn't fur," she said.

I kept petting. "It isn't? What is it?"

"Those are nerve endings," she said. "Each individual strand is a living nerve-appropriately sheathed and protected, of course-and each one has its own particular sensory function. Some can sense heat and cold, others light and darkness, or pressure. Some can smell. Most-well, while you're busy petting it, it's quietly tasting you."

I stopped petting it.

I pulled my hand back. I looked at her. She nodded yes. I looked at the Chtorran fur again. Every strand was a different color. Some were thick and black. Others were fine and silvery. Most were various shades of red-a whole spectrum of red, shading all the way from deep purple to bright gold, and touching all the bases in between: magenta, pink, violet, crimson, orange, scarlet, salmon and even a few flashes of bright yellow. The effect was dazzling.

I brushed my hand against the fur again, parting it gently. Beneath, the Chtorran skin was dark and purple, almost black. It was hot. I thought of the skin on a dog's soft underbelly.