Such stories! Nan stood up angrily, rapping her fork against her thick chinaware cup. “How can you all believe this nonsense?” she demanded. “How can all of these be true at once?” But not many of the others were paying attention, and she felt a tug at her elbow.
It was the colonel, who had, as he often did, squeezed in between Ana and her roommate at the table in order to try his fortunes one more time. “Sweet, beautiful Ana,” he said, “don’t make a fool of yourself. I know something of these stories, and they are all true.”
That one of them was true was proved the next morning. Sixty-five more persons arrived at the base, and Ana knew one of them! It was the blond woman who was Godfrey Menninger’s daughter.
Of course, everything was turned topsy-turvy. All of the billeting accommodations were changed to make room for the new arrivals — no, not for that reason alone, Ana realized, because most of the new ones, and quite a few of the old ones, were housed in another barracks half a kilometer away. Nan lost her WAC corporal roommate and feared at once that she would get Colonel Guy back again. But that did not happen. He went to the other barracks, and Nan was moved in with the Canadian woman, whose specialty seemed to be growing food crops in unusual circumstances. Marge Menninger caught sight of Nan in the crowd and waved to her. But they had no chance to speak — not that Ana had any particular reason to want to speak to the American, anyway — and in all the confusion, she was nearly an hour late for her morning session with the female balloonist.
The creature was no longer a specimen to Ana. She was a friend. Into the cognitive half of Ana’s brain the songs of the balloonists had poured. In the first day she had learned to understand a few simple phrases, in a week to communicate abstract thoughts; now she was almost fluent. Ana had never thought of herself as having any kind of a singing voice, but the balloonist was not critical. They sang to each other for hours on end, and more and more Shirley’s songs were sad and despairing, and sometimes even disconnected. She was, she told Ana, the last survivor of the dozen or more of her species who had been wrenched from Kungson and hurled to this inhospitable place. She did not expect to live much longer. She sang to Ana of the sweetness of warm pollen in a damp cloud, of the hot, stinging sadness of egg-spraying, of the communal joy of the flock in chorus. She told Ana that she would never sing in the flock again. She was thrice right. She would not have dared sing with her voice so pitifully harsh and weak because the gas pump gave her only faltering tones. She had no chance of being returned to Kungson. And she knew death was near.
Two days later she was dead. Ana arrived at the zoo to find her cage empty and Julia Arden supervising the sterilization of its parts.
“Don’t take on,” she advised gruffly. “You’ve learned all you need to know.”
“It is not for the learning that I weep. It is because I have lost someone dear.”
“Christ. Get out of here, Dimitrova. How did they let a jerk like you into this project in the first place? Crying over a dead fartbag and sending love letters to the Peeps — you’re really out of it!”
Ana marched back to the barracks, threw herself down on her cot, and allowed herself to weep as she had not done in months — for Shirley, for Ahmed, for the world, and for herself. “Out of it” described her feelings exactly. How had everything become so hideous and complex?
That afternoon in the exercise field was an ordeal. The physical strain was no longer a real problem, but for some days now the “exercises” had taken a new turn. All of them, her own original detachment as well as the new arrivals, had been working less to strengthen their muscles and reflexes than to learn to handle unfamiliar equipment — unfamiliar to Ana, at least. She observed that all of the new people, and some of the old, had obviously had experience with it already. Such equipment! Heavy hoses like water cannon, backpack tanks and nozzles like flamethrowers, lasers, even grenade launchers. For what grotesque purpose was all this intended? Tight-lipped, Ana did as she was told. Repeatedly she found herself in difficulties and had to be bailed out by one of the others. The colonel saved her from incinerating herself with a flamethrower, and Sergeant Sweggert had to rescue her when the recoil of her water cannon knocked her off her feet.
“Please do not concern yourself,” she gasped furiously, pulling herself erect and reaching once more for the hose. “I am quite all right.”
“Hell you are,” he said amiably. “Lean into it more, honey, you hear? It doesn’t take muscle, just a little brains.”
“I do not agree.”
He shook his head. “Why do you get so uptight, Annie?”
“I do not like being trained in the use of weapons!”
“What weapons?” He grinned at her. “Don’t you know this stuff is only to use against vermin? Colonel Menninger spelled it all out for us. We don’t want to kill any sentients; that’s against the law, and besides, we’ll all get our asses in a crack. But all the intelligent ones got little cousins, crabrats and airsharks and things that dig around in the dirt and come out and chew your ass off. Those are what we’re going to use this stuff for.”
“In any event,” said Ana, “I do not require assistance from you, sergeant — even if I believed you, or your Colonel Menninger, which I do not.”
Sweggert looked past her and pursed his lips. “Hello, there, colonel,” he said. “We was just talking about you.”
“So I noticed,” said Margie Menninger’s voice. Ana turned slowly, and there she was. Looking, Ana observed without regret, quite poorly. The shots were having their way with her; her face was broken out in cerise blotches, her eyes were red and running, and her hair showed dark roots. “Get on with it, sergeant,” she said. “Dimitrova, see me in my room after chow.”
She turned away and raised her voice. “All right, all of you,” she cried. “Get your asses down! Let’s see how you crawl!”
Rebelliously Ana dropped to the ground and practiced the way of worming herself across an open field that she had learned the day before. These were infantry tactics! What nonsense for a scientific expedition! She conserved her anger carefully, and it lasted her the rest of the afternoon, through dinner, and right up to the moment she knocked on Menninger’s door in that other barracks halfway across the base.