"Down the side, please-" I pointed.
"Eh?"
"You pour beer down the side of the glass, not the center-"
"Oh, well-it's too late now. Sorry." He handed me the glass of beer suds and the still half-full bottle. "I'll know for next time, right?"
"Yeah, right." There wasn't going to be a next time.
"I guess I'm just not used to pouring my own drinks," he said, sitting again. He patted the couch next to him and glanced toward my mother. She came over and sat down-a little too close. "I'm too used to being taken care of." He grinned and slid his arm around my mother's shoulders.
Mother said, "Alan-Jim's been off fighting those awful Chatorrans-."
"Oh? Really?" He looked interested. "Have you actually seen any-?"
"Uh-first of all, it's pronounced `Ktorran.' The `Ch' is silent. It's sort of a click before the `T.' Just say the word `victor' and leave off the 'vi-."'
"Oh, well-" my mother said, excusing herself with a wave. "I never watch the news. I only read about them in the morning papers.
"-And, yes," I said to Alan of the hearty handshake; I said it coldly, "I have seen a few. Quite a few, in fact."
"Really?" he asked. "They really exist?"
I nodded. I sipped at my beer. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I was debating inside whether I should be polite or tell the truth. My mother had the "dance for Grandma" expression on her face, Alan Wise wore a big plastic smile, but Mr. Takahara was watching me quietly. The truth won out.
I looked across at Alan Wise and asked, "Where have you been that you don't know what's happening?"
He shrugged, "Right here. The good old U. S. of A. Where have you been?"
"Colorado. Wyoming. Northern California."
"You're kidding! We have-how do you say it?-Torrans right here in California?"
"One of the worst infestations I've ever seen. Just north of Clear Lake. "
"Well... I'll be damned." He looked at my mother and gave her a little squeeze. "I didn't know that. Maybe we should drive up some Sunday and have a look. What do you think, 'Nita?"
I blinked. He couldn't really have meant that! I put my glass down on the end table, and said quietly, "That area is sealed off. And even if it weren't, that wouldn't be a very good idea."
"Oh, come now-" He dismissed me as casually as if I'd just told him the sky was pink. This far south and this close to the coast, it wasn't. "I think you're exaggerating the case, son. It's just some more of that same military thinking that got us into Pakistan thirteen-fourteen years ago. Of course, you probably don't remember that. You were just a little tyke then-"
"I know about Pakistan," I said. I'd had time to do a lot of reading in the hospital.
"Well-let me tell you something, son. You're too close to the forest. You don't have the perspective. You don't have objectivity. Y'see, this thing with the Ch'torrans, K'torrans, whatever-it's overrated. Oh, now-'' he held up a hand to keep me from interrupting "-I'll grant that there's really something out there. I'm sure that some old lady somewhere was actually frightened out of her panties by a big pink caterpillar; but when you look at the whole picture-like I have-you'll see that a young man like yourself needs to be looking toward the future."
"If there is one," I said dryly. Mr. Takahara's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"Oh now, don't give me that liberal-defeatist crap. That song and dance may work on a congressman-but you're talking to Alan Wise here, and you know your mother doesn't hang out with dummies."
"Mmm, if you say so."
"Listen, I know how the game is played. The military has to make the war look serious to justify all those heavyweight appropriations. Read your history, son! The more money they want, the worse the war gets. It's all about John Q. Taxpayer and his hardearned Labor Standard Kilocalorie banknotes. The truth is, this is a terrific time for a smart man who knows how to read a newspaper."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I'm talking big money, son. Corporations. Licenses, Federal grants. I want you to know, there's an incredible opportunity here!"
"Huh-?"
"It's raining soup!" he said. "It's time to grab your bucket! I'm in the Reclamation Industry-and people are making fortunes every day! It's all there for the taking. There are huge areas still waiting to be reopened-whole cities. Somebody's got to go in and do the job-and whoever does it is going to get rich. Very rich. The government knows this. The army knows it. But all this war-scare stuff is keeping people from seeing the real problemthat big government has got its hands in our pockets again. And it's a very good excuse for the army to go in and nationalize the unclaimed property. You pay attention, son-read the papers! Not just that K'torran stuff. You'll see what's going on."
My mother gave his arm a squeeze and said, "Alan works so hard-" She looked across at me with an expression that said, Don't start an argument.
"Mr. Wise-" I said.
"Alan," he corrected.
I ignored it. "-Mr. Wise, I am a lieutenant in the United States Army, Special Forces Warrant Agency. We take care of those special challenges that are beyond the duties of the regular army. As such," I explained, "we are under the direct command of the President of the United States. The Special Forces is currently assigned to one task and one task only: the eradication of all Chtorran gastropedes-we call them worms-from the continental United States and Alaska. Hawaii is not presently infested.
"In the course of my duties, I have come in contact with over a hundred of the monsters. I have been personally responsible for the deaths of fifteen of them. I have one of the highest kill ratios in the Special Forces. If we had such classifications, I would be considered an ace. So I will tell you this about the worms-"
"Jim-" my mother interrupted. "I don't think this is the time or place for war stories."
I caught myself. I looked at my mother, and at Alan Wise. And realized something. They were both a little red-faced and happy-looking. They were both drunk. I couldn't tell about Mr. Takahara. He was a silent enigma.
What was it Duke had told me once? When a drunk and a fool get into an argument, you can't tell which is which. You have to wait until the drunk sobers up. The other one is the fool. How do you know when a drunk and a fool are in an argument? Easy. Anyone who argues with a drunk is automatically a fool.
Right.
"No, no, hon. Let him talk. I want to hear-" Alan Wise turned and nuzzled my mother's cheek, her neck-he nibbled her ear. She squealed and protested, but she didn't push him away.
I said, "Actually, I don't think we can have this conversation at all-"
"Eh?" He looked up at me.
"-because you really don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Wise. When you've done your research properly, then we can talk." I stood up. Their faces were gaping. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom."
THIRTY-THREE
MY MOTHER was waiting for me when I came out of the bathroom. I'd have been disappointed in her if she hadn't.
"What is the matter with you!" she whispered angrily. "All I wanted was a quiet little evening with the two men in my life! Is that too much to ask! Do you have to ruin everything? Now, I want you to go back in there and apologize-"
I headed for the front door instead.
Her voice went up an octave. "Where are you going?"
"Back to the military-industrial complex for a little more brainwashing," I growled.
Alan Wise of the hearty handshake was leaning up against the front door. I guess he thought that would stop me.
"Son," he said.