A matter for men, p.1
A Matter for Men, page 1
part #1 of War Against the Chtorr Series
SHOW LOW SHOWDOWN
Dr. Obama's face went grim now. "Have you ever heard of a town called Show Low?"
"I don't think so."
"It's in Arizona—it was in Arizona. There's not much left of it now. It was a nice place; it was named after a poker game—" Dr. Obama cut herself short; she laid the folder on the desk in front of her and opened it. "These pictures—these are just a few of the frames. There's a lot more—half a disc of high-grain video—but these are the best. These pictures were taken in Show Low last by a Mr. Kato Nokuri. Mr. Nokuri apparently was a video hobbyist. One afternoon he looked out his window—he probably heard the noise from the street—and he saw this." Dr. Obama passed the hardcopies across.
I took them gingerly. They were color eight-by-tens. They showed a small-town street—a shopping center—as seen from a third-story window. I flipped through the pictures slowly; the first showed a worm-like Chtorran reared up and peering into an automobile; it was large and red with orange markings on its sides. The next had the dark shape of another climbing through a drugstore window; the glass was just shattering around it. In the third, the largest Chtorran of all was doing something to a—it looked like a body—
"It's the last picture in the bunch I want you to see," said Dr. Obama. I flipped to it. "The boy there is only thirteen."
I looked. I almost dropped the picture in horror. I looked at Dr. Obama, aghast, then at the photograph again. I couldn't help myself; my stomach churned with sudden nausea.
"The quality of the photography is pretty good," she remarked. "Epecially when you consider the subject matter. How that man retained the presence of mind to take these pictures I'll never know, but that telephoto shot is the best one we have of a Chtorran feeding."
Feeding! It was rending the child limb from limb! Its gaping mouth was frozen in the act of slashing and tearing at his struggling body. The Chtorran's arms were long and double-jointed. Bristly black and insect-like they held the boy in a metal grip and pushed him toward that hideous gnashing hole. The camera caught the spurt of blood from his chest frozen in midair like a crimson splash.
I barely managed to gasp, "They eat their—prey alive?"
BANTAM SPECTRA BOOKS BY DAVID GERROLD
Ask your bookseller for the ones you have missed
The War Against the Chtorr
Book 1: A Matter for Men
Book 2: A Day for Damnation
Book 3: A Rage for Revenge
Book 4: A Season for Slaughter
Voyage of the Star Wolf
The Man Who Folded Himself
A MATTER FOR MEN
A Bantam Spectra Book / published by arrangement with
the author
SPECTRA and the protrayal of a boxed "s" are trademarks of Bantam
Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.
PRINTING HISTORY
Timescape / Pocket edition published 1983
Revised Bantam edition / March 1989
Bantam reissue / January 1993
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1983, 1989 by David Gerrold.
Cover art copyright © 1992 by Gary Ruddell.
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in any form or by any other means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording, or by any information
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to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received
any payment for this "stripped book"
ISBN 0-553-27782-0
Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada
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Patent and Trademark Office and in othe countries. Marca Registrada.
Bantam Books, 666 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10103.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
OPM 0 9 8 7 6 5 4
CONTENTS
Books
Title
Copyright
Dedication
1: Worms!
2: "It's not for you to condone!"
3: "Can you operate a flame-thrower?"
4: Whitlaw
5: Shorty
6: Hardware
7: "—A bunch of sweat-pushers!"
8: The Plagues
9: Software
10: "That thing is full of eggs!"
11: Millipedes
12: The Inquest
13: "—a low threshold of bullshit."
14: Discoveries
15: Bad Luck All Around
16: "Moby Dick is a liar."
17: The Dome
18: The Song of the Worms
19: Them
20: Us
21: Orders
22: Orders
23: Denver
24: Caviar and Strawberries
25: Jillana
26: Project Jefferson
27: Dr. Zymph
28: Uproar
29: Questions
30: Colonel Wallachstein
31: The Thirteenth Floor
32: The Battle of Whitlaw's Classroom
33: Pizza for Ten Billion
34: The Man Who (Almost) Wasn't There
35: Dr. Davidson
36: Duck Jokes
37: No Exit
38: Trajectories
39: R. T. F. M.
40: Sunday Services
41: Answers
42: The Mourning After
43: Noise
44" Hello, Goodbye
45: The Job Offer
46: Indian Summer
47: "You didn't kill it."
48: The Return
49: Fatal Mistakes
50: The Last Day
51: Knock-Knock
52: "I don't have any friends!"
53: The Stone Hits Bottom
54: Alpha Charlie Assault Team
About the Author
For Robert and Ginny Heinlein
with love
THANK YOU
Dennis Ahrens
Seth Breidbart
Jack Cohen
Richard Curtis
Diane Duane
Richard Fontana
Bill Glass
Harvey and Johanna Glass
David Hartwell
Robert and Ginny Heinlein
Don Hetsko
Karen Malcor
Susie Miller
Jerry Pournelle
Michael St. Laurent
Rich Sternbach
Tom Swale
Linda Wright
Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Howard Zimmerman
Chtorr (ktôr) n. 1. The planet Chtorr, presumed to exist within 30 light-years of Earth. 2. The star system in which the planet occurs; a red giant star, presently unidentified. 3. The ruling species of the planet Chtorr; generic. 4. In formal usage, either one or many members of same; a Chtorr, the Chtorr. (See Chtor-ran) 5. The glottal chirruping cry of a Chtorr.
Chtor-ran (ktôr-in) adj. 1. Of or relating to either the planet or the star system, Chtorr. 2. Native to Chtorr. n. 1. Any creature native to Chtorr. 2. In common usage, a member of the primary species, the (presumed) intelligent life form of Chtorr. (pl. Chtor-rans)
—The Random House Dictionary
of the English Language,
Century 21 Edition, unabridged.
Saw "Chtorrans"
Searchers Claim
LAKE GRANBY VILLAGE, Colorado—Three volunteer members of the Patty Brady search team reported sighting "at least two, possibly three Chtorran worms" in the hills north of Little Ford yesterday. "They were the size of large dogs, only longer and pinker. We didn't try to get too close to them. We knew what they were. We couldn't have been mistaken."
This latest sighting of "extraterrestrial worms" comes on the heels of a rash of highly publicized reports throughout Northern California. The Colorado sighting, however, occurred only a few miles north of the squatters' camp where the missing five-year-old girl disappeared last week. Search parties have still found no trace of the girl.
County Sheriff Alice McMasters immediately discounted their report as "irresponsible panic-mongering" and suspended the volunteers from further participation in the rescue effort, saying, "We don't need that kind of help."
Speaking at an impromptu press conference, a spokesman for the Governor's office defended Sheriff McMasters' action. "Suggesting that mythical space monsters may have caused Patty Brady's disappearance is a cruel and heartless prank. On Monday, the Governor will be asking the State's Attorney General to investigate the possibility of filing disciplinary charges."
The Governor's spokesman also suggested that, "All these Chtorran sightings are just so much publicity-seeking and hysteria. Like flying saucers or Bigfoot. Next year it'll be something else."
Martha Brady, the child's ortho-mother, had bitter words about the sighting. "My little girl is still out there somewhere. If these people aren't here to search for her, they should go back to California where they belong."
&nb sp; 1
Worms!
"A little ignorance can go a long way."
—SOLOMON SHORT
"McCarthy, keep down!"
"Yes, sir."
"—and shut up."
I shut. There were five of us climbing up the slope of a sparsely wooded ridge. We angled diagonally through high yellow grass so dry it crunched. July had not been kind to Colorado. A spark would turn these mountains into an inferno.
Just before each man reached the top he sprawled flat against the slope, then inched slowly forward. Duke was in the lead, wriggling through the tall weeds like a snake. We'd topped five hills this way today and the heat was getting to me. I thought about ice water and the Jeep we'd left back on the road.
Duke edged up to the crest and peered down into the valley beyond. One at a time, Larry, Louis and Shorty moved up beside him. I was the last—as usual. The others had thoroughly read the land by the time I crawled into place. Their faces were grim.
Duke grunted. "Larry, pass me the binoculars."
Larry rolled onto his left side to unstrap the case from his right hip. Wordlessly, he passed them over.
Duke inspected the land below as carefully as a wolf sniffing a trap. He grunted again, softly, then passed the binoculars back.
Now Larry surveyed the scene. He took one glance, then passed the binoculars on to Louis.
What were they looking at? This valley looked the same to me as all the others. Trees and rocks and grass. I didn't see anything more. What had they spotted?
"You agree?" asked Duke.
"It's worms," said Larry.
"No question," Louis added.
Worms! At last! I took the glasses from Shorty and scanned the opposite slope.
A stream curled through ragged woods that looked as if they had been forested recently. And badly. Stumps and broken branches, ragged sections of trunk, huge woody slabs of bark, and the inevitable carpet of dead leaves and twigs were scattered unevenly across the hill. The forest looked as if it had been chewed up and spit out again by some rampaging, but finicky, prehistoric herbivore of gargantuan proportions and appetite.
"No, down there," rumbled Shorty. He pointed.
I put my eyes to the glasses again. I still didn't see; the bottom of the valley was unusually barren and empty, but—no, wait a minute, there it was—I had almost missed it—directly below us, near a large stand of trees; a pasty-looking igloo and a larger circular enclosure. The walls of it sloped inward. It looked like an unfinished dome. Was that all?
Shorty tapped me on the shoulder then and took the binoculars away. He passed them back to Duke, who had switched on the recorder. Duke cleared his throat as he put the glasses to his eyes, and then began a detailed description of the scene. He spoke in soft, machine-gun bursts—a rapid monotone report. He read off landmarks as if he were knocking items off a checklist. "Only one shelter—and it looks fairly recent. No sign of any other starts—I'd guess only one family, so far—but they must expect to expand. They've cleared a pretty wide area. Standard construction on the dome and corral. Corral walls are about . . . two and a half—no, make that three-meters high. I don't think there's anything in it yet. I—" He stopped, then breathed softly. "Damn."
"What is it?" asked Larry.
Duke passed him the binoculars.
Larry looked. It took a moment for him to find the point of Duke's concern, then he stiffened. "Aw, Christ, no—"
He passed the binoculars to Louis. I sweated impatiently. What had he seen? Louis studied the view without comment, but his expression tightened.
Shorty handed the glasses directly to me. "Don't you want to look—" I started, but he had closed his eyes as if to shut out me and the rest of the world as well.
Curious, I swept the landscape again. What had I missed the first time?
I focused first on the shelter—nothing there. It was a badly crafted dome of wood chips and wood-paste cement. I'd seen pictures of them. Close up, its surface would be rough, looking as if it had been sculpted with a shovel. This one was bordered by some kind of dark vegetation, patches of black stuff that clumped against the dome. I shifted my attention to the enclosure—
"Huh?"
—she couldn't have been more than five or six years old. She was wearing a torn, faded brown dress and had a dirt smudge across her left cheek and scabs on both knees, and she was hopskipping along the wall, trailing one hand along its uneven surface. Her mouth was moving—she was singing as she skipped. As if she had nothing to fear at all. She circled with the wall, disappeared from view for a moment, then reappeared along the opposite curve. I sucked in my breath. I had a niece that age.
"Jim—the glasses." That was Larry; I passed them back. Duke was unslinging his pack, divesting himself of all but a grapple and a rope.
"Is he going after her?" I whispered to Shorty.
Shorty didn't answer. He still had his eyes closed.
Larry was sweeping the valley again. "It looks clear," he said, but his tone indicated his doubt.
Duke was tying the grapple to his belt. He looked up. "If you see anything, use the rifle."
Larry lowered the binoculars and looked at him—then nodded.
"Okay," said Duke. "Here goes nothing." He started to scramble over the top—
"Hold it—" That was Louis; Duke paused. "I thought I saw something move—that stand of trees."
Larry focused the binoculars. "Yeah," he said, and handed them up to Duke, who scrambled around to get a better view. He studied the blurring shadows for a long moment; so did I, but I couldn't tell what they were looking at. Duke slid back down the slope to rest again next to Larry.
"Draw straws?" Larry asked.
Duke ignored him; he was somewhere else. Someplace unpleasant.
"Boss?"
Duke came back. He had a strange expression—hard—and his mouth was tight. "Pass me the piece" was all he said.
Shortly unshouldered the 7mm Weatherby he had been carrying all morning and afternoon, but instead of passing it over, he laid it down carefully in the grass, then backed off down the slope. Louis followed him.
I stared after them. "Where're they going?"
"Shorty had to take a leak," snapped Larry; he was pushing the rifle over to Duke.
"But Louis went too—"
"Louis went to hold his hand." Larry picked up the binoculars again, ignoring me. He said, "Two of 'em, boss, maybe three."
Duke grunted. "Can you see what they're doing?"
"Uh-uh—but they look awfully active."
Duke didn't answer.
Larry laid down the binoculars. "Gotta take a leak too." And moved off in the direction of Shorty and Louis, dragging Duke's pack with him.
I stared, first at Larry, then at Duke. "Hey, what's—"
"Don't talk," said Duke. His attention was focused through the long black barrel of the Sony Magna-Sight. He was dialing windage and range corrections; there was a ballistics processor in the stock, linked to the Magna-Sight, and the rifle was anchored on a precision uni-pod.
I stretched over and grabbed the binoculars. Below, the little girl had stopped skipping; she was squatting now and making lines in the dirt. I shifted my attention to the distant trees. Something purple and red was moving through them. The binoculars were electronic, with automatic zoom, synchronized focusing, depth correction, and anti-vibration; but I wished we had a pair with all-weather, low-light image-amplification instead. They might have shown what was behind those trees.
