Part 39 (2/2)
I pulled my hand back. I looked at her. She nodded yes. I looked at the Chtorran fur again. Every strand was a different color. Some were thick and black. Others were fine and silvery. Most were various shades of red-a whole spectrum of red, shading all the way from deep purple to bright gold, and touching all the bases in between: magenta, pink, violet, crimson, orange, scarlet, salmon and even a few flashes of bright yellow. The effect was dazzling.
I brushed my hand against the fur again, parting it gently. Beneath, the Chtorran skin was dark and purple, almost black. It was hot. I thought of the skin on a dog's soft underbelly.
I realized the Chtorran was trembling. Every time I touched it, the intensity of the s.h.i.+vers increased. Huh-?
”You're making it nervous,” Lucrezia said.
Nervous-? A Chtorran? Without thinking, I slapped the creature's flank. It twitched as if stung.
”Don't,” she said. ”Look-”
A shudder of reaction was rippling up and down the Chtorran's body. There were two technicians on a platform hanging just above the Chtorran's back. They were trying to secure a set of monitor probes. They had to pull back and wait until the Chtorran stopped shuddering. One of the technicians glared at me. When the creature's flesh stopped rippling, she bent back to her work.
”Sorry,” I said.
”The creature is incredibly sensitive. It can hear everything that goes on in here. It reacts to the tone of your voice. See? It's trembling. It knows you're hostile. And it's afraid of you. It's probably more afraid of you than you are of it.”
I looked at the Chtorran with new eyes. It was afraid of me-!
”Remember, it's just a baby.”
It took a moment for me to grasp the implications of thatnot just for here in the lab, but for outside as well, out there, where the wild ones were.
If this was a baby-if all of those out there were babies-then where were the adults? The fourth Chtorran-?
”Wait a minute-this can't be a baby!”
”Oh?”
”It's too big-I brought in eggs! A baby Chtorran should only be . . .” I spread my hands as if to hold a puppy. ”. . . oh, about yay big...... ”
”Have you ever seen one?”
”Uh-”
”What's the smallest Chtorran you've ever seen?”
”Uh-” I pointed. ”This one.”
”Right. Have you ever heard of heavy metal acc.u.mulation?”
”What about it?”
”It's a way of measuring the age of an animal. The body doesn't pa.s.s heavy metals, like lead or mercury; they acc.u.mulate in the cells. No matter how clean a life you live, it's inevitable that you'll pick up traces just from the atmosphere. We've tested this creature extensively. Its cells are remarkably earthlike. Did you know that? It could almost have evolved on this planet. Maybe someday it will. But here's the thing: it doesn't have enough trace metals in its system to be more than three years old. And my guess is that it's actually a lot less. Maybe eighteen months.” She held up a hand to forestall my objection. ”Trust me-we've tested it. We've deliberately introduced trace metals into its system to see if perhaps it doesn't have some way of pa.s.sing them. And yes, it does--our estimate of its age is based on that equation. And that's no anomaly, buster. All of our supplementary evidence supports the hypothesis. Eighteen months. Maybe two years at the most. It's got an incredible growth rate.”
I was shaking my head. ”But what about my eggs-?”
”Oh, that's right. Your eggs. Your Chtorran eggs. Come with me.” I followed her back to the room we had just left. She brought me up to the row of cages. ”Here are your eggs,” she pointed. ”See all the baby Chtorrans?”
I stepped close to the cage and peered.
Inside were two small millipedes. They were sleek and wetlooking. They were busily chewing on some pieces of shredded wood. A third baby millipede was just now chewing a hole in the sh.e.l.l of its egg. It paused abruptly and looked straight out at me. I felt a cold chill.
”The only thing interesting about these babies,” she said, ”is the color of their bellies. See? Bright red.”
”What does that mean?”
She shrugged. ”Means they're from Rhode Island. I don't know. Probably it doesn't mean anything. We've found all kinds of color bandings on these creatures' bellies.”
”When did they hatch?” I asked.
”Early this morning. Cute, don't you think?”
”I don't get it,” I said. ”Why would the Chtorrans keep millipede eggs in their dome?”
”Why do you keep chicken eggs in your refrigerator?” Dr. Borgia asked. ”What you've found is the ubiquitous Chtorran version of the chicken, that's all. These things eat the stuff that's too low on the food chain for the worms to bother with. They're convenient little mechanisms to gather up food and store it till the worms are hungry.”
”I'm confused. Those eggs looked too big to have been laid by a millipede.”
”Do you know how big millipedes get?” I shook my head.
”Look down here.”
”Jesus!” I yelped. The thing in the cage was as big around as a large python. It was over a meter long. ”Wow!” I said, ”I didn't know that.”
”Now you do.” She looked at me, and her green eyes flashed smugly. ”Any more questions?”
I stepped back and turned to her. I said, ”I apologize. I've been a jerk. Please forgive me.”
”We're used to dealing with unpleasant creatures.” She smiled innocently. ”You were no problem at all.”
”Ouch. I deserved that. Listen, it's obvious that you know what you're doing here. And that just hasn't been my experience elsewhere in the Center. I didn't even know this section existed until this morning.”
”Neither did anybody else until we took custody of junior in there-” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the other room.
”I'm really sorry,” I said.
She swung to face me. ”I got that. Now listen up and listen good. I don't give a d.a.m.n how sorry you are. I really don't. It's over. Now, let it be something you can learn from.”
”Uh, yeah.”
”You're an officer now. So I'll give you the bad news. Every d.a.m.n schmuck who sees those bars on your arm wants you to succeed, you know that? He wants to know that he can trust you totally when his life is on the line. That's how you want to feel about your superiors, don't you? Well, that's how your men want to feel about you. You act like a jerk and you blow it-not just for yourself, but for every other person who wears the same bars. So get yourself tuned in to what this is about. Those stripes are not a privilege! They're a responsibility.”
I was feeling a little sick.
I guess it showed. She took me by the elbow and turned me to the wall. She lowered her voice. ”Listen, I know this hurts. And here's what you need to know about that: criticism is an acknowledgment of your ability to produce results. I wouldn't be giving you correction if I didn't think you could take it. I know who you are. I know how you got those stripes. That's fine; you deserve 'em. I've heard a lot of good things about you. Believe it or not, I don't want to see you s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up. You got that?”
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