When the stingfly grub is large enough, it releases its hold upon the stomach lining of its host encysts itself into a hard indigestible pellet, and allows itself to be flushed through the system and excreted. Shortly after excretion, usually within a day, it hatches into an adult stingfly.
Stingfly grubs will spend only three to four weeks in the gut of a healthy gastropede. In order to retain the ability to digest foliage, both Chtorran and Tenan, the gastropede must continually reinfect itself with stingfly eggs. This symbiosis is obviously beneficial to both partners; the gastropede becomes a more efficient consumer of its environment, and the stingfly and its host bacteria thrive as a result.
But this symbiosis is clearly more important to the stingfly than it is to the gastropede, because the gastropede can survive without the stingfly larvae in its gut, but the stingfly cannot reproduce without a host. This means that the wormberry must be an important part of the gastropede diet, otherwise the stingfly could not have become so dependent on this avenue of infection.
As a result of our initial studies, the destruction of wormberries has been suggested as a way to control the spread of stingflies-and possibly gastropedes; but additional experimentation is strongly advised here before any pilot eradication programs are initiated. It is equally possible that without the nutritional support of the stingfly grubs and their symbiotic bacteria, gastropede appetites could become dangerously amplified, representing a much greater danger to resident populations in or near infested areas.
—The Red Book,
(Release 22.19A)
Chapter 28
Houstin
"Everything in moderation. Especially moderation. "
-SOLOMON SHORT
The chopper hit the ground with a bang and the door popped open almost immediately. I recognized the technique. The pilot was pissed about something and wanted us off his airplane right now. The landing left my kidneys hurting, and I came down the steps with a foul expression on my face.
Dannenfelser made a serious mistake. No, not waiting for me at the bottom of the ramp. I was so tired that I would have walked right by him without even noticing he was there-but he opened his mouth. That was his mistake.
I'm sure it must have been something terribly clever that he meant to say. I don't know, he didn't get the chance to finish. I just grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him backward against the nearest waiting vehicle. "You fucking son of a bitch! You goddamned traitor to the human race! You'd sacrifice the truth if it let you pay off a grudge!" His eyes were as wide as soft-boiled eggs. His face was as drained as a dead man's-except for the blood running out of his nose. I didn't even remember hitting him in the face. I just kept slamming him up against the damned van, again and again and again.
When they finally pulled me off him, he slumped brokenly to the ground. I had to give him credit for one thing, though-he never whimpered. He just wiped at his nose and tried to get back to his feet, waving off help. "No problem, no problem-"
I felt shocked at the damage I had done, and frustrated at the same time. I wasn't finished. I wanted to bang his head against a wall for a while. I wanted to listen to the sound of his bones crunching. The fury that filled me was a flush of rage and ecstasy. It was very satisfying and to hell with the goddamn consequences. I'd have a lot to say at my court-martial.
Abruptly, I noticed that my hands were bleeding; my knuckles were dripping. I'd cut them when I'd broken the window of the van with Dannenfelser's head. I shrugged off Siegel's and Valada's grip. "It's okay,'' I said. "I'm done." And then, I added, "For now, anyway." Two of Dannenfelser's friends were helping him away. They looked as shocked as he did.
"My God, look at your hands," Valada said. "Let's get him to medical."
"No," said Valada. "I've got the first-aid kit from the chopper." She was already dabbing at the backs of my hands with a stinging cotton swab. "You're lucky," she said. "When you fell down the ramp, you only skinned your knuckles. A little shpritz from the spray can and they'll be fine."
"Huh-?"
'Too bad about Lieutenant Dannenfelser, tripping and falling into the wall like that."
"Valada? What are you talking about?" Siegel was staring at her.
"I know what I saw," she said firmly. She glanced around to the others. "Poor little Randy Dannenfelser was prancing around on the tarmac, celebrating our return, and he accidentally ran into a wall. Captain McCarthy hurt his knuckles when he went to help him. Right?"
"Thanks, Christine," I said. "But you can be court-martialed for perjury. Besides, this is one I'd prefer to brag about."
"Pardon me for disagreeing, Captain, but I don't think so."
"I insist. This is my battle, not yours."
Valada sniffed and shrugged. "Hold out your hands." She shook the can vigorously and then began spraying my knuckles. The cooling mist stopped both the bleeding and the pain almost immediately.
I looked past her shoulder. Dannenfelser, helped by his friends, was hobbling up to me. He looked like hell, puffy and red. Tomorrow he'd look even worse. Valada saw my look and tried to step between us. I said, "It's all right, I'm through." Even so, I could see Siegel and Lopez poised to separate us again.
Valada finished with me and turned to Dannenfelser to attend to his wounds. He waved her off and pointed one trembling finger at me. It took him a moment to summon the words, but finally he managed to croak out, "I know who picked you up. You haven't heard the last of this. I know who picked you up."
"Then you know more than I do." I started to turn away, then turned back. "Reilly and Willig and Locke are dead because of your petty little stunt. You're lucky I didn't kill you. I still ought to feed you to a worm-"
Abruptly, I stopped. Dannenfelser's expression never changed. Why was I wasting my breath? "Aw, the hell with it." I picked up the autolog cases, pushed past Valada and Siegel, and headed toward the distant terminal.
But the stingfly and its grubs are only supporting characters in this particular biological drama.
The insect's more important role is to provide an avenue of transportation-and communication-for the Chtorran bacteriological and viral communities.
Because of the creature's voracious appetite, it is continually injecting and sucking blood from the gastropede population of the mandala settlement. Ecological models demonstrate that this behavior will produce and maintain a uniformity of microorganism populations throughout the gastropede inhabitants of the camp. The complete range of microorganism varieties will be found in all gastropedes accessible to the stingfly swarm.
—The Red Book,
(Release 22.19A)
Chapter 29
The Bald Man
"Being dead means never having to say you're silly."
-SOLOMON SHORT
The first thing I wanted to do was climb into a hot shower, dial it up to something just short of scalding, and let the steam rise up around me forever; no, make that the second thing. The first thing I wanted to do was find Lizard and see if she was still talking to me; but when I got back to the apartment, she wasn't there.
But the bald man was.
What struck me first about him was how shiny his head was. He was totally hairless. Tall and thin, he had a big nose and bright blue eyes made larger by his glasses. He wore an Army uniform and a familiar smile. And he was sitting in my chair-my comfortable chair-nursing a soda. He switched off the TV and stood up when I entered.
The last time I'd seen him was at the meeting where the President had authorized the use of two nuclear devices against the Colorado infestation. He'd looked familiar then too.
I didn't ask, "How did you get in?" The answer was obvious. He had four stars on his shoulders and an Uncle Ira insignia. Instead, I asked, "Where's Lizard?"