Scuzzworms (18 page)

His mouth now completely packed with the struggling worms, Borg hesitated only a moment longer before sinking back beneath the surface, leaving the eggs to bob in the waves created by his descent.  As she watched, the feather dusters laboriously lifted up the egg they had chosen and flew slowly off.

Imelda sat speechless.

Post broke the silence.  “Talk about an ugly mother.”

“You lied.”

“I did not!”

Camille shrugged.  “You lied, Kellogg.  You said you didn’t want any contractual agreements.  Now you say you thought we had a verbal agreement and you’re trying to enforce it with me.  I never agreed to anything.”

“But...!”

Camille continued her steady pace down the hallway, the thumps of her soft-soled boots echoing her progress.     “You said it yourself.  Sexual gratification is an emotionless act, simply a biological requirement.  You don’t feel anything special towards the women you go to bed with, you even forget whose turn it is sometimes, right?”

Kellogg’s face reddened.  “But it’s not that way for you!  You told me....”

“So I lied, too.  I went to you only for gratification. Now it’s someone else’s turn.  I told you that I cared just to make it seem romantic.  Are you understanding me yet?”

Camille thumbed open the door to the wing containing their workstations just in time to hear Post’s voice roar, “Imelda, you are absolutely crazy if you think I’m going to do this!”

Kellogg, his own vocal cords poised for bellowing, nearly knocked Camille over as she froze in the doorway, staring at the scene before her.

Imelda sat at her workstation with her back to Post, rumpled, obviously tired and ill
-tempered.  “Suit yourself, Post.  You aren’t too good at reporting things anyway.  Just sit on it a while and see what Caldwell says.  He might give you an award for extreme stupidity this time.”

Post, standing behind her, was a tower of rage.  “NO!  I will not do this!  This is all YOUR idea, and YOU should be the one!”

Imelda shrugged.  “I will monitor the discussion only. You claimed I stole your ideas before.  Now you can tell everyone your ideas yourself.”  She pointed at the clock in front of her.  “The conference is starting.  Get going, and quit being a jerk.  I have better things to do than argue with you.”

Post looked as though he were going to hit her.  Camille rushed forward to grab his arm, her own argument forgotten.

“No, Post, it isn’t worth it!  She’s provoking you on purpose!  Forget it!”

Post turned to look at Camille in surprise.  Abashed, he lowered his arm.  “I wasn’t going to hit her,” he muttered, then, shrugging off Camille’s hold, he brushed past Kellogg to stride hurriedly out of the room.

#

Post stood at the podium uncomfortably.  Imelda had turned her monitor off so he couldn’t tell if she were listening or not.

As the tape wound to an end he kept glancing toward the monitor to see if she would appear.  As the last scene faded, no one in the audience waited for his comments before volunteering their own.

“You are sure the egg that the feather dusters took was one that came from the bog creature?”

Post nodded.  “Yes.  We can verify that on both the visual and infrared.  Also, if you listen to the auditory data, you can hear sounds coming from the eggs that match the species that was attracted to them.  The eggs that did not attract other species either did not make a sound or hatched singleton species.”

The noise volume in the room rose.

“How do you know that the other species don’t simply parasitize the bog creature?  Maybe the bog creatures are a host form, and have nothing to do with...”  

“Do we dare generalize?  Might not this bog be an exception?  We haven’t had a good look at... “

Post interrupted impatiently.  “I can only say that we don’t know.  But whether host or maternal form, the bog creature definitely plays a role in the life cycle...”

“The genetics?  How can the genes for such different species be carried inside one bog creature?  It doesn’t make biological sense.  The reproductive cycle would be far too fragile, critically dependent upon one species type.  I can see such a life cycle for one or two closely related species, maybe, but not of the magnitude you are implying. You have shown us two separate orders suggesting they rely on one reproductive form, and imply that possibly the entire ecology does the same.  The idea is ridiculous!”

Imelda, sitting in her office, glanced at the image of the speaker.  Steinson, from the marine group, was outraged.

“For us as a scientific group to propose this idea will make us laughingstocks!  It won’t sell I tell you!”

Sell.  Sad, but true.  Ideas had to be sold, no matter how obvious, logical or irrefutable.  Grimacing, she switched on her intercom to speak.  “All life forms are fragile.  All life cycles are fragile.  Don’t make the same mistake that human scientists have made since they first tried to rub two sticks together and say ‘impossible’.

“The life cycles of certain species of worms on earth require passage through several different and specific hosts in order to reach maturity and reproduce.  Yet, fragile as their life cycles are, they parasitized humans for thousands of years.” 

Imelda paused, her look at Steinson cynical.  “In order to break the lifecycle of those worms and rid humankind of disease, the only measure necessary was to sterilize human waste before reintroducing it to the environment.  Yet even after humans knew how to avoid being parasitized, it took several more centuries before the worms were eliminated, primarily because humans have always been afraid of new ideas and even more so of spending money.  I agree that we have only part of the story for Iago IV.  But let’s not call anything ridiculous yet.  An idea is ridiculous only if it doesn’t work.”

Steinson glared in irritation, clearly annoyed to be called down by an inferior on the corporate totem pole.  “Okay, maybe not completely ridiculous, but definitely a long shot.  Not our theory of choice.  Can someone here exercise their logical minds and propose a few alternatives, maybe?”

A silence of fear followed.  Nobody wanted to be the first with a really dumb idea. After a long pause, a brave soul muttered something about commensal eggshells and the argument sparked back to life.

#

“Okay, Imelda, you have put us off long enough.  You promised dinner.”

Imelda looked around her apartment disorientedly.  It wasn’t Igor.  His face was buried in his dinner bowl.  Oh, the intercom.  She answered it hastily.    “Sorry, Post.  I forgot our date.  When did you guys want to meet?”

“Is now okay?  You haven’t eaten, have you?”

“Uh, no,” she agreed reluctantly.  She had been forgetting to eat lately, and realized that she was ravenous.  “I guess some chow would be okay.  Sure, I’m ready.  Where to?  The Rec. Hall?”

“My apartment.  Room 825.  Not far from yours.  Camille will be here in a few.  I’m not sure who she’s bringing.”

“I don’t know.  This wasn’t part of the deal.”

He laughed.  “Just to meet.  Don’t be so paranoid, Imelda.  Camille wanted to take a walk down to the observation tower first.  You can request a room monitor if you don’t trust me.”

Imelda hesitated.  Post was acting awfully friendly for someone whom had only a short time ago hated her g
uts.  This was probably a trick for the purpose of revenge.  Maybe he was a part-time gigolo/rapist.  She sighed in resignation.  What was she worried about?  He had a girlfriend.  She knew where to kick if he got carried away.  She would make sure the room monitors were on.   The real issue was whether or not she could control herself.  Maybe drugs would help - something strong, like general anesthesia.

“Okay. I’ll be there in five minutes.”  She’d be damned if she were going to dress up for this.   Major grunge.  Total yecch.  An ocular gross-out.  That was she.

His door stood partly open.  She entered bravely, feigning a blithe lack of concern.  “Hello,” she called.

Post stuck a wet head out of his bedroom.  “When you say five minutes, you mean it, don’t you?”

“Sure,” she answered brusquely.  His room reeked of masculinity.  She sat down uncomfortably on a chair, looking around at furnishings that were almost identical to those of her apartment.  Unlike her, he had scattered photos and books and various personal items about.   She picked up a metal bust of a woman, turning it over to read the inscription.  It didn’t make much sense.  It just said, “friends,” that was all.  The woman’s face was beautiful. Probably an old girlfriend.

Just as she was
replacing the bust on the table he emerged, combed and lightly dressed.  She was struck by how hairy his legs were…and how well muscled.  He walked over to a cooler in the kitchenette.

“Want a beer?”

“No thanks.  Just a soda.”

“How about a glass of wine?”

She shook her head firmly.  “I’m not a social drinker,” she answered.

He smirked.  “Oh yeah, I forgot.  You’re an antisocial drinker.”

The thin shirt left most of his deep, well developed chest uncovered.  He moved with a smooth assurance that almost completely unnerved her.  The features of his face oozed vitality and sensitivity.  She could feel the room closing in.

She sipped gingerly.  “Can I ask you a question?”

“Only if I get to ask one in return,” he responded playfully.

She nodded uncertainly.  “Why in paraspace did you agree to a date with me?  I have gone out of my way to treat you like a dirtball.  You don’t get the message?”

He shrugged.  “Don’t worry.  I get the message.  I’m not stupid, despite your statements otherwise.”  He glanced at her and she shifted uncomfortably.  “I wanted to see if you were just as obnoxious alone as you are when playing with Borg.”

She smiled, beginning to feel hopeful.  “I’m worse.  I have no conversational skills and I have bad breath.  I sneer at weaklings and snipe at superiors.  The real me makes the scientist me seem charming.”

He laughed.  “So I have been told.  Now, would you mind answering me a question?”

She looked at him suspiciously.  She was in control, but barely. “Depends on the question.”

“This is an easy one.  Why is it that, although everyone who mentions your name tells me how sneaky, conniving, and underhanded you are, they still would give their right arm to be on your research team?”

“What?  Who gave you that idea?”

“I told you, I’m not stupid.  Grady, the head of our group, tried to steal you.  He claimed that since the original work on the bogs was being done in his territory, you should come under his section.  I heard him screaming at Caldwell in the hallway.  If you didn’t stay holed up with Borg and came out once in a while, you’d know about it too.”

“I thought Grady just wanted to take over my observation point.”

“He wanted you more than he did the observation point. Caldwell said ‘no.’ He wanted you to remain independent and report to him directly.”

She shrugged.  “Grady knew we were close to something.”

“He’s not the only one.  Steinson tried to talk Caldwell into allowing you to join him in Marine.  Which is crazy.  You have no experience in Marine.”

“There’s your answer.  He’s crazy.”

Post shook his head.  “So if you are a conniving thief of information, how come they want you?”

Imelda shrugged.  “What’s for dinner?”

He stared at her a minute longer.  His liquid brown eyes were so dark you could sink into them for light years. “It’s waiting at the observation tower.  Camille is running late so she’ll meet us there.  Ready for a walk?”

Oh jeez, alone with Post and him half naked.  “Sure.”  Anything to escape this apartment.

Keeping an arm's length between them, they set out in search of food.

Imelda caught her breath as they entered.  She
assiduously avoided socializing and the main reason to enter the observation tower was to socialize.  She hadn’t been inside it since their original conference on arrival at the research station.

The panorama was even more awe-inspiring without a crowd and podium blemishing the view
.  Through the observation dome the sun was not visible, and most of the wall was perfectly black as only atmosphereless space could be, powdered with piercingly bright stars.  The stark details of the planet they orbited turned the wall into a huge abstract painting, a painting that was gradually edging its way across the dome as the station spun.

‘Gravity’ was less here
since they were closer to the hub of the station.  Her physical lightness combined with the movement of Iago IV to make her feel wildly off balance.  Post’s presence didn’t help either.

A narrow path of steel led them between clumps of vegetation.  Imelda paused to admire several apple trees heavy with clusters of fruit in various stages of ripening.  A huge clump of asparagus covered the ground on the other side of the walk, with many thick sprouts showing their tips invitingly.  A few stingerless bees and an occasional hummingbird whizzed by, avidly pursuing their job of fertilizing the thousands of blooms that littered the greenery.

Most of the species here were genetically engineered.  Seasonal production of fruits or vegetables was not particularly desirable on a space station.  She stopped to examine a bush where the blossoms had passed their glory and now hung in shriveled brown decadence.

“How often do they blow-dry this area?” she asked.

Post glanced at her sideways.  His attention had wandered to a few orchids that were attached to a thick walnut tree.