"I think I can take it," I said.
"One word-" He whispered. "Manhattan."
"No way!" I protested. "Denver has been denying access to that real estate for three years. They say they won't even consider reclamation for another three. Even the Mothball Corps has to be bonded before they can go in. There's no way you're going to get a piece of that rock!"
Alan spread his hands wide in front of him. "Be that as it may. That's the word you need to keep in mind."
I realized my skepticism was showing. I picked up my coffee cup, but it was empty. I put it down again quickly. "Well-like I said, I need time to think it over."
Mr. Takahara patted his mouth with his napkin and said, "I understand your position perfectly."
Alan Wise I didn't trust-but Mr. Takahara was another story. "Is this true about Manhattan?" I asked him.
"I would be violating a confidence if I told you all that I knew," he replied.
"Yes, of course. But that doesn't answer my question."
He smiled-and he looked like Buddha. "What I can tell you is that there are extraordinary developments coming to fruition in the next eighteen months."
"Mm," I said. He'd told me nothing. "Thank you."
"I'm sure you understand what he really means," Alan said a little too quickly.
"Yes, but like I said, I have to think about it."
"Yes, of course. I don't want to push you." He wiped his nose with his napkin. "Here, let me give you my card. If you have any questions, call me-any time, day or night."
I slipped his card into my pocket without looking at it. I turned instead to my mother. "You said you were working on some project with maps-?"
She shook her head. "I've been working with the refugee relocation office. We're looking for places to establish colonies, that's all. We're using Family as the model-that's the one that takes care of the children, remember?"
"Uh huh. That's off the new peninsula, right? How is that doing?"
"Very nicely," she said. But she didn't really want to talk about it, I could tell. The light had gone out of her eyes. She excused herself abruptly and went into the kitchen and clattered the dishes around.
Alan and I and Mr. Takahara looked at each other embarrassedly. "So when will you let us know?" Alan asked.
"Oh, in a day or two. I just want to take a little time to think it over, that's all."
"Sure. Take all the time you need-but remember, this is one opportunity that isn't going to wait for too long."
"Yes, thank you. I'll keep that in mind." I smiled politely at them both. The subject was closed. In fact, it was dead.
We adjourned to the terrace then, Alan and I and the enigmatic Mr. Takahara. We talked about Derby for a while. The conversation was deliberately casual. Mr. Takahara advanced the theory that the missing robot was hiding on the assembly line. After all, who would look there? I admitted it was an interesting idea. I couldn't think of a better place.
When my mother finally came out to join us, I made my goodbyes and left quickly.
I realized I was humming all the way to the jeep. I felt oddly satisfied. I had a brand-new thought about the worms-and my mother and her boyfriend had solved my other problem too. Resign my commission?
Hell, no!
THIRTY-FOUR
THERE WERE voices in my sleep again.
They dropped out of a hovering pink sky, a wall of brightness-like God-and danced in circles around me. When I looked, they were bunnydogs. When I turned with them, they were men again. We took off our bunnydog suits and danced naked. We were happy there. When I looked at the singing sky, it was a worm.
There was something I wanted to know. I floated up toward the worm, but it sailed away and I couldn't catch it-and the dance was over now. I'd missed it. The herd was breaking up.
I woke up trembling. I knew something.
There weren't words-I had this overwhelming sense that there were connections underneath the world-as if I'd heard the heavenly music, the great chords of reality, and the sound was still reverberating in my soul.
The weird feeling stayed with me all morning. It meant something: I knew it. There was something I had to do-something about that dream-
And maybe too it was another fit of delirium; but when they checked me out at the hospital, my readings came up green. "Forget it, Lieutenant," the doctor said. "You had a bad dream. Considering what you've been through, you're entitled to a few nightmares."
Except, it hadn't been a bad dream. It had been an extraordinarily good one. That was what troubled me so. I wanted to return to it.
I sighed, shrugged, thanked the doctor and headed upstairs to Intensive Care.
This time, Duke was conscious.
They were keeping him in a sterilized environment, so he was still inside a big plastic tent with odd little ventilation tubes and ultraviolet lights plugged into it.
He turned his head to look at me when I came in. His face was starting to look like a face again. But I wondered if plastic surgery would be able to make it look like a human face.
I dropped my gaze embarrassedly. I looked around for a chair, snagged one and pulled it up to the bed. "Hi, Duke-"
He didn't respond. He turned his head back to look at the ceiling. His breathing sounded labored. The shape under the sheets was disturbingly short.
Just to have something to do, I snagged his medi-console off the foot of the bed and studied it.
And then I wished I hadn't.
They'd taken off both his legs and his left arm. Dr. Fletcher's notes said there was too much nerve damage for prostheses. Embarrassedly, I replaced the console. I looked to Duke again. "Uh, they said you were still having trouble talking-so, uh, if you don't want to talk, you don't have to. I'll do the talking-if you want-"
I waited a moment to see what he would do. I couldn't read his expression, so I continued, "-I don't really know where to start. Um, I guess I should tell you that we brought back some truly astonishing videos. They're being examined frame by frame. I've been debriefing almost every day since I was released. We really did discover something. I mean-nobody knows what to make of those bunnydogs.
"One theory is that they're worm-tenders-kind of like tickbirds and crocodiles. Or lieutenants and captains. The bunnydogs handle the paperwork."
He shifted his head slightly to look at me through the plastic.
I wished I knew what was going on inside that skull. What was he feeling?
"Um-the other theory, Duke, is that the bunnydogs are the worm-controllers. We don't think that the bunnies are the intelligent species behind the invasion-although they could be-but we're wondering if perhaps they mightn't be the managers of this phase. Maybe they're some kind of sub-Chtorran intelligence.
"And-um, there's another theory-it's just a thought, nobody's advocating it seriously yet, it's just something to think about-that perhaps we're dealing with several different intelligences, or a compound intelligence. The worms are one part, the bunnies are another, something else is still a third part. What we're trying to do now is figure out how the bunnies and the worms communicate. If we can do that, then maybe we can find some way to ... talk to them and negotiate or sue for peace or something-"
Duke made a rumbling noise in his throat. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't get that, Duke."
He turned his head toward me and said it again. I had to strain to make it out. "Bfllshmt," he said.