David Gerrold: A Season for Slaughter

I scratched my neck thoughtfully. I returned his glance. "May I ask? Are you here as an observer? Or as a commanding officer?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Officially," he began, "I'm here to learn."

"Is there an unofficial side to that?" I asked as politely as I could.

"Just what kind of a bug have you got up your ass, boy?"

"I am not your boy," I said quietly. "I am not anybody's boy. I am a captain in the United States Army, Special Forces Warrant Agency, currently assigned to the jurisdiction of the North American Operations Authority, and I am entitled to be treated in an appropriate manner." I added pointedly, "Sir."

He glowered at me, sucking angrily on his unlit cigar. The insignia on his sleeve said he was from Quebec. He was old enough to have fought in the insurrection, but I couldn't tell from his accent which side he was most likely to have been on-as if any of that mattered anymore. He spat on the ground distastefully, looked up, and noticed that some of the men were watching us. He pointed with his chin. "Over there."

"Not a good idea, sir. That's-"

"—an order," he said. He was already striding purposefully away from me.

He must have been a lot angrier than he looked. I followed him for nearly the length of a football field before he finally stopped, and turned to confront me. He was red-faced with fury. "All right, now you listen to me, you little cocksucker. I know who you are. I've read your record. You've been white-washed more times than Tom Sawyer's fence. I know the truth behind your record too, and I don't care how many merit badges your old lady has pinned on your skinny little chest. I know the truth about you. You're a deserter, a renegade, a queer, a coward, a flake, and a Modie."

"You left out Revelationist. I'm also part Jewish, part Negro, and part Cherokee Indian on my great-grandmother's side."

"Don't smart-mouth me."

"I just didn't want you to leave anything out, sir. If you're looking for a reason to hate me, make sure you have all the right ones. In the meantime, sir, we're out here because we have a job to do." How to say it without bragging? Hell, I couldn't say it without bragging. "Whatever faults I may have, sir, I am an expert on this infestation. I have more on-site experience with the Chtorran ecology than almost anybody else in the forces. At least, anybody left alive. That's why they gave me this mission."

"And that's precisely why I took it over," he said, spitting at my feet. "You can't be trusted. Your sympathies are no secret."

"Huh? You must be talking about the other Jim MeCarthy-" He wasn't listening.

"You're like all the other queer scientists. You'd rather find a way to live with the worms than kill them. Well, that's not my agenda, and it's not the agenda of this mission. You fucking cowards don't have the cojones your mother gave you. Well, we're going to see some changes."

He was pacing back and forth as he shouted, gesticulating angrily with the butt of the stogie. I didn't know who he was mad at; it wasn't me. He was blowing off enough rage for a whole lifetime of bullshit. Whoever had done it to him had done a real good job. Probably his father. I decided not to take it personally. This man was not going to stop until he'd unloaded every angry message he was carrying; all the responses to all the people who'd ever done it to him in his entire life and refused to let him answer back. Now he was getting even. It didn't matter that he was unloading them on the wrong person-he'd keep unloading until he got one right. I thought about the best way to handle his case, decided I didn't have a contract to do so, and prepared to wait until he himself grew bored with his own performance. I studied the sky, the ground, my shoes, his shoes… After a while, I realized he wasn't going to bore easily. He was enjoying himself too much. Sooner or later, I was going to have to interrupt and remind him that we were standing in the middle of a field of hungry red horticultural vampires.

"Look at me, goddammit, when, I talk to you!" His anger was heading toward apoplexy.

"Sir-?" I tried to suggest that I might have something to say.

"Fuck you! I don't want to hear it. I've heard it. I know what you're going to say. You're going to recommend that we turn back now. You saw a dead worm and you're afraid of what's hiding under the ivy. Chtorran fairies, maybe. Hmp! You shouldn't be afraid of fairies! They're your people, aren't they?"

I had to assume the best. Nobody becomes a major by accident. "Sir. This is very important. Please let me-"

He shoved his face so close to mine, I could smell what he'd had for lunch. "You shut the fuck up! You will not speak unless I tell you to speak. You got that, soldier?"

Oops. Wrong. I had no idea. the Canadian forces had fallen into such a sorry state.

"-If I want you to have an opinion, I'll give you one!"

I took a breath. "Shut up," I said. I used the voice.

He gaped at me. "What the fuck did you say?"

"Shut up and don't move. You're endangering both our lives-"

He glanced around. There was nothing to see. Just the endless red ivy and some hulking foliage-covered masses that could have been trees once. "From what? Titmice?" Abruptly, he giggled manically. "You want to take a poke at me, don't you? Well? Go ahead, try it."

I thought about it. I could take him easily enough-not a brag, just a fact. He was flabby and out of shape. And I was pissed as hell. But as satisfying as it would have been to knock him on his ass, it would have been too dangerous. I looked off at the faded gray sky and considered its color. I looked down at his boots again. At mine. At his eyes. At the distant hulking shapes. I tried to gauge the distance back to the vehicles. Several of the men had stepped out curiously and were staring across the distance at us.

I scratched my ear thoughtfully. I hated running. Especially in combat boots. I hated the feeling of my heart pounding in my throat and my lungs aching for air. I took a deep breath. And another.

He was staring at me. "What the fuck are you doing?"

I swallowed my third breath. "You don't want to hear it." I took another deep breath. This was going to hurt, no matter how many deep breaths I took. I glanced at his feet. "You're standing on a creeper-nerve. You've been practically dancing on it."

He looked down and saw the vines beneath his feet. His eyes widened sharply.

"Those things over there are shambler trees." I pointed with a nod. "They're full of tenants-nasty, hungry little creatures that attack in swarms. Have you ever seen a feeding frenzy?"

"No-" he said. He was starting to sound uncertain.

"Well, I have-and they don't leave survivors."

"Yeah?" He looked skeptical. "How did you survive?"

"I didn't. I was killed too." And later on, I'd wonder how that thought got into my head. Right now, Major Bellus was having major doubts. He kept looking back and forth between me and the shambler trees. "Do you think you can outrun a swarm of angry tenants?" I asked. I didn't wait for his answer. "I don't think so. You're carrying too many potatoes."

I activated my headset. "Everybody back in the tanks-do it as quietly as you can. Lock down. Leave the hatches open only in the two closest vehicles. Those are shambler trees behind us. If the tenants go off, flame them; but not unless they go off. Understand?"

"Aye, aye, Cap'n."

"Now, listen to me. If they go off-and if it's clear that we're not going to make it-close the hatches. Don't be heroes."

"Yessir."

I clicked off and turned back to the asshole. His face was a confused mix of anger and panic. "You're lying-" he said, but his voice was uncertain. He took a nervous step sideways. "Why hasn't it triggered already?"

"You didn't read your briefing book, did you?" I shook my head. How did people like this end up in authority? "They're waiting to see how close we'll come. Shambler tenants can he very patient. They don't like to get too far from their hosts. I usually they wait until you're right under them."