"You think it's that easy?" I asked. "You can just tell someone to be sane and that's it?"
"I wish it were," he said. "Everything would be a lot easier. You asked me if you were a tool. Yes, you are. You happen to be an extremely valuable tool, for more reasons than I care to explain right now. Believe me, I really hate losing a good tool. But no matter how valuable you are, if I can't depend on you in a clinch I have no choice but to bounce you and get someone else who may not be as good; but who I can count on not to be so crazy that he drives the people around him into therapy."
"My bags are packed and sitting in the bedroom," I said skeptically. "That's a pretty clear signal, isn't it? I'm being thrown out."
"Your bags are packed so you can leave immediately. If you want to go to Panama City and join the operation, I have your orders right here." He pulled the papers out of his coat pocket, then looked at his watch. "You have just enough time to catch your flight. If you don't want to go to Panama City, I have a billet for you in Idaho, filing reclamation waivers. It's your choice."
"What does Lizard want?"
"Don't be stupid. Why do you think I'm here? You think I'm doing this for you? It's for her. She wants you in Brazil; otherwise she never wants to see you again."
I was already on my feet. "I'll take it-"
"Wait a minute," he said. "I mean it about cutting out the bullshit." He rose up in front of me, stepped in close, and put his hands on my shoulders. "You're not stupid. You've had access to a lot of Most Secret material. You know what's going on. The infestation hasn't abated-it's only pausing to assimilate its conquests; when it starts to expand again, it'll be the beginning of the end. We don't have the resources to resist anymore. Operation Nightmare is the last scientific mission. There won't be any resources for anything else if this fails. This is our last best chance to find a weak link in the Chtorran ecology. And we have to find it quickly.
"We're in the middle of a raging population crash. The best thing I can say about public morale is that it's uncertain. The government is pulling back everywhere. People are retreating to fortress cities. And everybody is crazy. That's not just a cliche, Jim. I mean it; nobody is untouched. We're all walking wounded. Some of us are just a little more obvious than others. The intersection between the collective and individual traumas is producing catatonics, berserkers, libertines, and lord knows what else. I can't tell you to get sane; there's no such thing as sanity anymore. All l can do is tell you to pretend. Act sane. Control your craziness. Take it elsewhere and express it in ways that won't undermine the war effort. I promise you, if you find a way to kill the worms, you can have all the dogs, chickens, and Boy Scouts you want to fuck. Just remember what the first priority is."
"That's never been the question," I said. "I've always known what my job is. When I get angry, it's because I'm not sure that the people around me know what their jobs are."
"I don't care why you lose your temper. I just want you to stop. Can you do that?" His expression was piercing. His bright blue eyes were inescapable.
"I'll talk to Lizard," I promised.
He studied me for a long moment. "I don't know if I believe you."
"I don't know what to say to be convincing, or how to say it so you'll be convinced. I got your message. I'm an asshole and you want me to stop. I don't know if it's possible to stop being an asshole. And if it is possible, I'm damned sure that it's not possible to do it overnight. But if you're asking me what kind of an effort I'm willing to make-well, I'm willing to commit myself totally to doing whatever I have to do to make the biggest damn difference I can in the goddamn war against the goddamn worms. And if that means swallowing my goddamn pride and if it means getting down on my knees right here in front of you and begging for the chance to go to Brazil, I'll even do that too. Not just for Brazil, but for Lizard. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me. She's the only good thing that's ever happened to me. I'd rather die than live without her. So, yes, I'll do what you want. Anything. I promise; I'll find a way to handle my anger without clobbering other people with it. I don't know how, but I will." I took a breath. "Is that good enough for you?"
It was.
He handed me my orders. "Don't let me down. I broke my cover for you. Make me right."
I nodded. Somehow, it seemed inappropriate to thank him. But I didn't know what else to say. I felt suddenly embarrassed. It was going to be harder to go back to Lizard than it would have been to go to Idaho. I shrugged halfheartedly, a gesture of acknowledgment and thanks and whatever else I was feeling, and started for my suitcases.
"You only need the duffel," he said. "Leave the others. The gear you'll want in Brazil is already on its way."
"You thought of everything, didn't you?"
"There's a car waiting downstairs. Your flight leaves in thirty minutes. You have just enough time to wash your feet. And there are clean socks in the bottom drawer."
"Aren't you going to wish me luck?" I was starting to feel good again.
He shook his head. "If you need it, then I'm sending the wrong man."
"Hot Seat," April 3rd broadcast: (cont'd)
ROBISON:… So of course, if everyone would just sign up for the Mode Training tomorrow, we'd all be saved from the evil Chtorrans.
FOREMAN: Pay attention, John. You're hearing what you're hearing. You're not hearing what I'm saying. If there is a way to save ourselves; we need to turn ourselves into the kind of people who are committed to doing that, whatever it takes. What we're finding in the Training is that a lot of the decisions that have to be made are very difficult decisions. They challenge some of our most fundamental assumptions about what is appropriate behavior for a rational human being.
ROBISON: So you're not even sure that we can save ourselves from the giant purple man-eating worms, are you? You're just another opportunist, another phony, preying on the moment.
FOREMAN: The underlying assumption of your show, John, is that your idealism has been betrayed-by con men, by charlatans, by people with their own agendas, probably by just about everybody you've ever trusted. That's why you're so skeptical, and rightfully so, about The Core Group and the Mode Training and anything else that dares to speak to the higher aspirations of humanity. You've been conned and cheated too many times, beaten up, beaten down, manipulated, dominated, pushed around, taken advantage of, bruised and hurt and left bleeding in the dust-and you've made up your mind not to ever let it happen again, by God. Isn't that correct? It's all right, you can nod your head. Well, guess what? So has every other human being on this planet experienced the same kinds of betrayals. We're all angry. The honest ones admit it. We've all been conned and cheated, and we all share the same enraged feelings about hypocrites and abusers that you do. Most of us aren't as good at voicing them as you are, and that's why you pull such high ratings. Your job is to be spokesman for the , anger, and you do it very well. The bad news is that you're like the watchdog who can't tell the difference between a hand raised to strike you and a hand raised to pat you on the head. You bite them both, just to be safe.