The meaning was clear.
"Uh, yeah. I think so too. Listen, um-a lot of people have been asking me about you. I heard from the guys in Colorado. They send their best. And Dr. Fletcher says hello too. And-uh, I saw your son-"
Was it my imagination or did his expression harden? He turned his face back to the ceiling.
"I guess it's none of my business, but I think he wants to come and see you, Duke-I mean, he didn't say anything, I just sort of got the idea that he wanted to; he called me and asked how you were. But he didn't want me to say hi for him, so I don't know if I'm messing where I shouldn't. I just... well-"
"Shft fp."
"Huh?"
He didn't repeat it.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I guess I should go."
"Wfft."
"What?"
He struggled to make himself heard. "Wait-" he rasped. "I want... oo t' do smmfing.. . ."
"Anything, Duke!"
"Write 'own. Co' nummer."
"Write down a code number?" I was already fumbling for a pen. "Right. Go ahead, I'm ready."
He cleared his throat, coughed, and began hoarsely reciting digits. He was giving me his personal military code-and password! "Duke-I don't think you should-"
"Shft fp, McCarfy-"
"Yes, sir-"
"I wan'-yoo ge' me... a grenay."
"A... grenade?"
He nodded; the gesture was difficult for him. "Sfuicide grenaye. Ffoice-actifvated. "
"Duke, I don't think-"
"Fmk what you fhink!" he said. He glared at me. This time there was no mistaking his expression, even through the plastic. "I don't want-be helfless-" He was interrupted by a spasm of coughing. It went on for a long moment. I wondered if I should signal for a nurse. No, if he was in real trouble, the medi-console would alert the nurses automatically. Duke caught his breath and continued, "-nft helfless ... against wfrms-"
"Worms? Duke, there are no worms in Oakland-"
Somehow, he managed to turn halfway toward me. He tried to reach for me through the plastic of the sterile tent. His hand looked like a worm claw. "Ge' grenay, Jhm!" he rasped. "I don' wan'-to die-helfless!" There was terror in Duke's eyes.
I studied the code number in my hands. By rights, I should tear it up and forget it. This was insane. Duke wasn't being rational. A suicide grenade in a hospital? Defense against the worms here? "McCarfy-promisf?"
"Duke, I can't do this-"
"Promisf me!" He looked wild. He couldn't hear a refusal.
I nodded. I swallowed hard. "I'll figure ... something out, Duke. I promise."
He seemed to relax then. He sighed and sank back into his pillow.
"Duke-? Sir?"
"Mm?"
"Remember once, I asked who you cleared with-and you said you checked in with the boss upstairs? Do you remember that? Um-have you checked in recently ...?"
"Fmk'ff."
"I didn't get that, Duke. Could you say it again?"
He rolled his head toward me and rasped, "Ghod isf a lie-ge' grenay."
I sat there in silence, wondering what I should do. Should I tell his doctors-or what? I was churning up inside.
Damn it! This was DukeI owed him!
But-this was crazy! Where do you draw the line?
You son of a bitch, I thought. Haven't I got enough guilt already?
THIRTY-FIVE
I PROBABLY should have discussed it with my commanding officer.
Except I hadn't seen her in three weeks.
But she'd assigned me a terminal in the Science Section, so I knew she hadn't forgotten me. I guessed she wanted me to catch up on my paperwork.
There was a note from Danny Anderson thanking me for keeping him posted on Duke. I wondered if I should tell him about his father's request and decided not to. This was something I was going to have to handle myself.
And there was a letter from Dinnie, that nurse in Denver, asking me how I was doing and if I'd heard from Ted recently. No, I hadn't.
General Poole had sent me a congratulatory note. I'd been awarded a Silver Star. I wondered if I was supposed to send him a thank-you note. I decided to play it safe and did.
Dr. Fletcher had forwarded me a copy of her section's schedule. She'd highlighted the session on "Gastropede Communication." That was only an hour from now. Obviously, she meant that as an invitation.
And-new orders from my colonel! A search and devour mission. Two lobsters! Nineteen hundred hours. Jack London Square. I logged my confirmation with a grin. She hadn't forgotten!
And one last item. The paymaster had authorized the bounty check for the worm I'd flash-frozen from the chopper. One million caseys. I stared at the display screen for a long moment. I really was going to have to do something about all those credits. Nobody had ever told me I was going to get rich in the United States Army. Maybe Alan Wise should join the Special Forces.
Nah.
The only position he was qualified to fill was bait. But the money worried me.
It was too much.
According to the newspapers, the economy was in dreadful shape. Everybody said so-and they had the numbers to prove it. All I knew was that the President had committed to getting as much dead cash back into circulation as possible-and that meant lots of bounty and reclamation programs-but there were a lot of civilians screaming about that too. They said this was one more example of big government looting the private sector.
Translation: they weren't getting their share.
But, hell-the worm bounty wasn't limited to members of the military. Anyone who wanted a million caseys could go out and kill as many worms as he could find. The government would cheerfully pay up. The Montana office even paid in cash-all you had to do was deliver the mandibles.
No, it was something that Dr. Fromkin had said a year ago. He'd said that with a steadily shrinking labor force, the casey was doomed to inflate. I wondered if these big bounties were proof of it. I hadn't paid too much attention at the time because I hadn't had enough caseys to worry about. Now, however... I probably ought to do something with this cash while it was still worth something-but I wanted to do something with the money that made sense.
Something that would help the human race win the war. Except-I already knew, better than most people, that the human beings could not possibly win this war. We'd already lost; most of us just didn't know it yet.
No, the best that humanity could hope for was not victory, but survival.
Hm....
I punched for DIRECTORY. Yes, there was a local office of Lunar Five Enterprises in Berkeley. A white-haired woman answered the phone. Yes, she said, the Lunar Colony was officially reopenedand yes, construction on the two L-5 stations had resumed. As a matter of fact, the project was operating under the authority of the North American Unification Treaty, and as such was able to draw funding from public corporations in Canada, the United States, the nation of Quebec, both Mexicos, and the Isthmus Protectorate.
Did I care to invest? she inquired. She flashed me a list of the companies currently involved.
I could have climbed through the screen and kissed her.
I studied the list for half an hour-did some exploring through the network for background information-and eventually decided to buy a nice large piece of a Boeing Olympus-class high-orbit shuttle. The more spaceships we had, the better. There was stock available in the Apollo, the Hercules, and the Vulcan. No, those were already funded to the point of construction. I wanted this investment to make a difference. It cost just a little under three million to start a new shuttle. I decided to spread my cash three ways and start construction on the Pegasus, the Athena, and the Ganymede. I swept half of the rest of the money into the Kilimanjaro catapult and the other half into the Beanstalk Project. The latter looked like a long shot to me, but the payoff was very attractive. If the orbital elevator worked, the cost of lifting one kilo of mass into orbit would drop from five thousand caseys to five. All you'd pay for was the electricity, and you'd get most of that back on the way down.