Chapter 18 Chapter Sixteen

Hindsight is pointless.When the first flying saucer had just landed, one strong mind and one bomb could wipe out the threat, and the "Kavanaugh family" - Mary, the Don and I - searched around Grinnell and Des Moines, The three of us can kill all the slugs if we don't show mercy, and more importantly, if we know where they are. If the bareback plan is executed within two weeks of the first flying saucer landing.With this alone, we can thwart their tricks.Unfortunately, it was implemented too late.By the next day, it was already clear that the bareback scheme had failed as an offensive measure.As a defensive measure, the bareback program is useful; it should be continued in uninfected areas so that it is impossible for the slugs to hide.The plan even met with modest success during the offensive; areas that had been infected but not yet fully controlled by the slugs were immediately cleared.Like Washington and New Philadelphia, and New Brooklyn -- dealing with this area, I'm able to make a lot of very specific opinions.The entire East Coast has turned the corner.

The area below the middle of the map is full of signs, red, and always has been.Later, the nail-studded maps on the walls were replaced by huge electronic military maps, and the infected areas stood out against the red lights.It was a 1.6-millionth military map that filled one wall of the conference room, and it was kept in sync with another in the basement of the new Pentagon. The whole country was split in two, as if a giant had washed down the Grand Canyon with red dye.Between the two amber zig-zag passages is a huge ribbon-like area controlled by the slugs; these areas intersect each other and are the only real active areas, hostile space stations and those still controlled by freemen where you can see.One of these areas starts near Minneapolis, winds its way through Tennessee and Alabama to the Gulf via west of Chicago and east of St. Louis.Another section cuts a wide strip across the Great Plains until near Corpus Christi.El Paso is the center of another red zone that is currently not connected to the main body.

Looking at the map, I wondered what would happen to these fringes.I was alone in the room, the cabinet was meeting, and the president took the old man with him.Rexton and his senior officers had left early.I hadn't been directed where to go, and I didn't think it was a good idea to hang around the White House, so I stayed here, just feeling restless, watching those amber lights turn red, and the red lights turn amber and green few. How could a sleepover of no status get breakfast here, I thought.I got up at four o'clock in the morning, and the only thing I have eaten so far is a cup of coffee given to me by the presidential guard.Even more disturbing was my rush to the bathroom.I know where the president's bathroom is, but I'm afraid to use it.I had a vague feeling that using the president's bathroom was a gross outrage.

Not a single guard in sight.But there might be a device somewhere watching the room.I think there are hidden "eyes and ears" in every room of the White House, but you can't see any of them. I finally despaired and tried desperately to open every door.The first two were locked, and the third was exactly what I was looking for.It wasn't marked "Presidential Only" and there was no sign of a trap, so I used it. I went back to the conference room, and Mary was there. I looked at her stupidly for a moment and said, "I thought you were with the president." She smiled, "It was just now, but I was kicked out. The old man took over for me."

I said, "Look, Mary, I've been meaning to talk to you, but now I haven't had the chance. I think I—oh, anyway, I shouldn't, I mean, according to the old man—" I stopped It ended, and my well-prepared speech was ruined. "Anyway, I shouldn't have said what I said." That was the sad end of my speech. She put her hand on my shoulder and said, "Sam, Sam, dearest. Don't worry about it. You didn't do or say anything wrong, as far as you know. As far as I'm concerned, What matters is what you've done for me, and nothing else matters—and I'm glad to know you don't despise me."

"Well, but--hell, don't be so noble! I can't bear it." She smiled at me charmingly and vivaciously, not at all like the gentleness she had just seen when she saw me. "Sam, I think you like your women a little more coquettish, and I warn you, I would too," she continued, "I think you're still bothered by that slap, well, I'll pay you back." A slap." She raised her hand and patted my face lightly, just once. "Okay, I'll give it back to you, and you can forget about that slap." The expression on her face changed suddenly, and she slapped me hard - I think the sky cap was knocked off. "This time," she whispered nervously and hoarsely, "give me back the time your girlfriend hit me!"

My ears are ringing, and my eyes are staring.If I hadn't seen her empty hand, I'd have sworn it was at least a plank two inches wide by four inches long. She looked at me warily and defiantly, without apology—if those slapped nostrils meant anything, it was anger. I raised a hand and she tensed up - but I just wanted to rub my burning cheek.The face hurts badly. "She's not my girlfriend." I said guiltily. We looked at each other and laughed at the same time.She wrapped my arms around me and rested her head on my right shoulder, still laughing. "Sam," she said at last, breaking off her laugh, "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have hit you, I shouldn't have done this to you, Sam. At least not so hard."

"To hell with your sorry!" Wo snarled, "You almost took my face off." "Poor Sam!" She raised her hand and stroked my face, which ached so badly. "Is she really not your girlfriend?" "No, that's bad luck. But it's not that I didn't try my best." "I'm sure it's not because you didn't try. But who's your girlfriend, Sam?" It sounded coquettish; but she didn't say it that way. "You are, you shrew!" "Yes," she said cheerfully, "I am—if you will. I've told you before. I mean what I say. You paid, and you got what you paid for."

She waited for me to kiss her; I pushed her away. "Damn it, bitch, I don't want your 'get', 'give'." These words did not embarrass her at all. "I didn't make it clear. Gave—but didn't get. Kiss me?" Dare I say, so far she has not aroused my desires, not really aroused.Seeing that I agreed, she kissed me and it felt like summer sunshine breaking through the clouds.It's not quite the right way to describe it, but it's close enough. She kissed me once; this time she really kissed me.I feel like I've fallen into a warm golden cloud and I really don't want to wake up again.

Finally, I had to stop out of breath. "I think I'll have to sit down and rest for a while." She said, "Thank you, Sam." I sat down. "Mary," I said after a pause, "Mary, honey, I have to ask you to do something for me." "What's the matter?" she asked eagerly. "For God's sake, tell me, how do I get something to eat in this place? I'm starving. I haven't had breakfast yet." She was amazed; I guess she wasn't expecting that, but she agreed, "Okay, sure." I don't know where she went or how she got it.She probably broke through the wall into the cold-serve kitchen of the White House and made it herself.She returned a few minutes later with a plate of sandwiches and two beers.Corned beef and black bread brought blood back to my face.Near the end of my third sandwich, I asked, "Mary, how long do you think the meeting will last?"

"Let's see," she replied. "There are fourteen people including the old man. I think it will take at least two hours. Anything?" "If that's the case," I said, swallowing the last mouthful of my sandwich, "we'll have time to go out and find a registry and get married and be back before the old man misses us." She didn't answer, and she didn't look at me, but at the froth in her beer glass. "How?" I insisted. She raised her eyelids. "If you say that, I'll marry you. I don't mean to go back on my word. But I don't want to start by lying to you. I'd rather we don't get married." "You don't want to marry me?" "Sam, I don't think you're ready for marriage." "You're talking about yourself!" "Don't be mad, dear. It's not that I won't say yes to you--really. You can have me, with or without engagement, anytime, anywhere, in any way. But you don't know me yet. Get to know me better ; you might change your mind." "I'm not in the habit of changing my mind." She glanced up at me, said nothing, then turned away sadly.I feel hot in the face. "It was a very special situation," I argued. "It won't happen again in a hundred years. It wasn't me who spoke, but—" She won't let me go on. "I know, Sam. You're trying to prove to me that it wasn't your intention, or at least you now know it was yours. But you don't have to prove anything. I'm not leaving you, nor Won't mistrust you. Take me out some weekend, and you'd better move to my apartment. Anything but don't get married." I must have looked depressed, I felt so.She put one hand on mine and said to me seriously, "Look at the map, Sam." I turned my head and saw that the red areas on the map were the same as ever, or more—in my opinion, the danger zone around El Paso had increased.She went on to say, "Let's get this mess over with, my dear. Let me know if you still want to. At the same time, you have the right not to take responsibility." Could anything be fairer than this?My only dissatisfaction is that this is not my way of solving problems.Why would a man who had avoided marriage like the plague suddenly decide that there was nothing better for him than marriage?I've seen this kind of thing so often that I can't figure it out; but now I'm doing it myself. As soon as the meeting is over, Mary has to go back to her shift.The old man dragged me out for a walk.Yes, I took a walk, although I only came to the bench in front of the Baruch ① monument.There he sat, twiddled his dice, and gazed at the sky.This kind of sweltering weather is only available in Washington, but there are almost no tourists in the park.People aren't used to bareback planning yet. 【① Baruch (1870~1965), economic advisor to President Wilson and President Roosevelt. 】 "The counter-impact plan starts at midnight," he said. I said nothing; it was no use asking him. After a while, he said again: "We are going to launch a surprise attack on the relay stations, radio stations, newspaper offices and Western Union headquarters in the 'red zone'." "Sounds good," I replied. "How many people are needed?" He ignored me and said, "I don't like the plan. I don't like the plan at all." "Ok?" "Hey boy - the president went on TV and told everyone to take their shirts off. We found out that the message didn't reach the infected area. What's the logical next step?" I shrugged. "Plan for Countershock, I suppose." "It hasn't started yet. Come to think of it—it's been more than twenty-four hours: what should have happened and hasn't happened yet?" "Should I know?" "If you want to come to any conclusions for yourself, you should know. Here you—" He gave me the combination lock number, "Go to Kansas City and do some research. Avoid comm stations, avoid Cops, and—bah, you know where they're attacking better than I do. Avoid them. Check other things as well. Don't let them catch you." He looked at his watch and added Said, "Come back half an hour before midnight or earlier. Go quickly." "Let me search the whole city? You've given me a lot of time," I grumbled. "It's like a three-hour drive to Kansas City." "More than three hours." He replied, "Don't violate the rules on the road, so as not to attract attention." "I am a careful driver, as you know very well." "action." So I hit the ground running, stopping at the White House to get my kit.It took me ten minutes to convince the new White House guard that I was in the White House all night and that I actually had something of mine to show. The code was for the car I came in; I found the car at the Rock Creek Park platform, the traffic wasn't heavy, and I handed the code and said to the dispatcher, "There aren't many cars." "Valleys and commercial vehicles are on the ground," he replied. "Urgent mission—do you have a military license?" I know it's just a phone call to the old man, but it's not going to make him like me to bother him with such little things.I said, "You look up the number." He shrugged and swiped the code across the machine.My hunch was right; he raised his eyebrows and returned the password to me, "You're awesome!" he commented, "You must be the President's favorite kid." He didn't ask me where I was going, and I didn't tell him. As soon as the car started, I set the controller to the legal top speed and thought about it as I headed toward Kansas City.Whenever I drive from one control zone to another and the radar beam hits the car, the car's transponder beeps, but no one appears on the screen.The Don's code apparently worked well on this line. I started thinking about what would happen when I entered the red zone—and then I figured out what he meant by "the next logical step."Will the traffic control network send me into an infected area that we know very well? When it comes to communication, people think of things like communication channels, nothing more.In fact, "communication" included all sorts of associations, even dear old Aunt Mamie's trip to California with a head full of gossip.The slugs have taken over the TV channels, and the president's speech cannot be broadcast (this is only our speculation) - but news is not so easily blocked; such measures only slow the spread.Therefore, if the slugs want to exercise tight control over the area where they live, controlling the transmission channel is only their first step. It's reasonable to infer that there aren't enough of them to control all forms of communication, but what would they do? I can only draw one unhelpful conclusion: they must do something.Now that I'm part of the "communication" by definition, I'd better be ready to dodge if I want to keep my nice tender skin. Meanwhile, the Mississippi River was getting closer to the Red Zone with every passing minute.I was wondering what would happen if my identification signal was received first by the station controlled by the master.I tried to put myself in the shoes of the Titans - but I found I couldn't.Even though I had been a master's slave, thinking about things from their perspective seemed repulsive and incompatible with my brain. So how would security officials react if an unfriendly aircraft flew into a closed dictatorship?No doubt, shoot it down.No, it won't.As long as I don't land, I'm probably safe. Better not let them see me landing.This is the most basic common sense. What "basic common sense" is dealing with is a traffic control network that proudly proclaims that even birds can't slip through it.They boast that if a butterfly were to force-land anywhere in the United States, it would be found by search and rescue systems.It's not 100% true - but I'm much bigger than a butterfly. I want to land in an area free of infestation and enter from the ground.Walking can cross all kinds of security barriers, mechanical, electronic, manual, or mixed.But if I walk in, the old man won't see the information until the next Lai Gala Festival, and he requires before midnight. 【① September 29 every year commemorates the festival of Archangel coming to Galle. 】 Once, on one of the rare occasions when he was in a good mood, he told me that he would not bother to give comprehensive orders to his agents—give him tasks; life and death were up to him.I implied that he must have cost the lives of quite a few agents in doing so. "There are some," he admits, "but less than others. Believe in individual abilities. I always pick those who have the ability to manage to survive." I asked him, "But how do you know that you chose 'someone who has the ability to manage to survive'?" He had a smirk on his face: "The ones who have the ability to manage to survive are those who came back. Then I will know." Over the next few minutes, I made a decision.Elihu, I thought, you'll soon know what kind of man you are--what a hard-hearted old man! I headed toward St. Louis on a set course, rounded the city's bend around St. Louis, and then onto Kansas City.St. Louis is a red zone.The military situation map showed Chicago still in the Green Zone; I remember the amber line zig-zagging west to somewhere north of Hannibal, Missouri—I wanted very much to cross the Mississippi in the Green Zone.A car crossing a mile-wide river produces radar pulses as conspicuous as shooting stars. I signaled the regional control to descend to the local altitude, and without hesitation, resumed manual control, reduced speed, and headed north. Not far from the Springfield bend, I headed west again, keeping low altitude.When I reached the river, I turned off the transponder, clinging to the river, and slowly crossed.Of course, the radar signature can't be turned off in the air, not in the standard configuration - but the division's vehicles are non-standard.The old man is very good at this kind of illegal trick. I had hoped that when I crossed the river, if the local traffic was monitored, my pulse would fool them into thinking it was a boat. I don't quite know whether the next control station on the other side of the river is a red zone or a green zone, but If I remember correctly, it should be the green zone. I was going to turn the transponder back on, thinking it would be safer, or at least less suspicious.I was about to get back into the traffic system when I suddenly noticed a bankline stretching out ahead of me.The map doesn't show a tributary there; I judge it to be an inlet, probably a spring flood, and the new channel hasn't been mapped yet.I fell almost to the surface of the water and nearly fell in.The stream is narrow and winding, almost hidden by trees.I don't want to fly aerial vehicles into it any more than bees want to fly into a trombone—but doing so would completely block my radar image and they wouldn't be able to find me. After a few minutes, I couldn't find my way.Now, not only the surveillance technicians can't find me, but I don't even know where I am.I have left the area marked on the map.The navigation signal disappeared, appeared, and disappeared again. I was in a hurry to control the vehicle to avoid crashing, and I didn't care about the navigation signal at all.I really hope this is a water, land, and air amphibious vehicle, so that I can land on the water. The woods on the left bank suddenly parted, and I saw a large flat land.So I drove over, let the rear end of the car hit the ground, decelerated so hard that the seatbelt almost didn't cut me in half.But I'm finally down, and I don't have to bump around like a catfish in the murky water anymore. I was thinking, what should I do.There seemed to be no one around; I figured I was behind someone's farm.No doubt there are roads nearby, and I'd better find them.Drive on the ground. I know it's stupid to think so though.It's a three hour flight from Washington to Kansas City - I've almost done that, how far am I from Kansas City now?On land, it will take about three hours.And I had to park ten or twelve miles outside of Kansas City and walk—another three hours. I feel like a frog at the end of a log, the first jump is halfway to the log, the second jump is halfway to the remaining distance, halfway down and halfway down, and it never ends.I have to get back in the air. But I dare not do this, because I don't know whether the traffic here is controlled by free people or slugs. It occurred to me that since leaving Washington, I hadn't turned on the stereo.I'm not much of a fan of stereo, but news programs might be useful. I can't find a news program.I found (1)."Why Husbands Get Bored" - I'm sure she probably has a lot of experience with it, sponsored by Utilize Generic Hormone, Dr. Myrtle Dulaitelli; (2).The trio "If You Are What I Understand," a trio sung by three chic girls, what are we waiting for? "; (3). An episode of Lucretia Learns to Live. That lovely Dr. Myrtle Doulatli is fully dressed, and half a dozen Titans can be hidden in her body.The girls in the trio are dressed as you can imagine, but their backs are not facing the camera.Lucretia's clothes were either torn by others or she took them off voluntarily, but every time before I could see if she was barebacked (I mean, with slugs), the camera either cut to somewhere else or the lights went out up. None of them speak for themselves.These shows may have been recorded weeks or months before the president announced the bare-back plan.I'm still flipping through the channels trying to find a news program -- or any live broadcast -- when I see the announcer's professional, courteous smile before my eyes.He is fully dressed. It didn't take long for me to realize that this was one of those shows that gave away too.He's saying: "—at this very moment, some lucky little lady sitting in front of the TV is about to receive an absolutely free gift—an ordinary six-in-one automatic butler with atomic energy. Is it accurate? You You? Lucky you?" He turns away from the camera, and I can see his shoulders.His shoulders, concealed by his shirt and coat, were apparently round, almost like raised mounds.I'm in the red zone. When I turned off the TV, someone was watching me—an urchin of about nine years old.He was only wearing shorts, but you could tell by his tanned shoulders that he was out of habit.I put down the windshield, "Hey little guy, where's the road?" He looked at me a while longer before he answered, "The road to Macon is over there. Look, sir, it's a Caddy Toker, isn't it?" "That's right. Where's the road?" "Take me a ride, okay?" "No time. Where's the highway?" He looked at me first before answering: "Take me and I'll tell you." I had no choice but to promise him.He climbed in the car and looked around, and I opened the toolbox, took out the shirt, pants, and jacket, and put them on. I bring up the topic: "Maybe I shouldn't be wearing a shirt. Do people here wear shirts?" He said dissatisfiedly: "I have a shirt!" "I'm not saying you don't; I'm just asking people here if they wear them." "Of course. Where do you think you are, sir, Arkansas?" I stopped insisting and asked him where the road was.He said, "Can I press a button for takeoff?" I explained that we were driving on the ground, and he showed unabashed displeasure, but also pointed in one direction resignedly. The car was too heavy for unpaved country roads, and I drove carefully.After a while, he asked me to turn around. After a long while, I stopped the car and said, "Do you want to tell me exactly where the road is, or do you want me to beat you up?" He opened the door and slipped out of the car. "Hey!" I yelled. He turned away. "The road is over there." He admitted that he had lied to me. I turned around, not really expecting to find the road, but I did, and it was only fifty yards away.The little bastard made me go around half a circle. It’s also called a road—not even a bit of rubber is needed to pave it.But it was a road; I drove west along it.All in all, I wasted over an hour. Everything in Macon, Missouri, seemed normal—too normal to be true, since no one here had apparently heard of Project Naked Back.It is true that there are many people with bare backs, but that is because of the hot weather.More people are clothed, and anyone can hide a slug.I'd love to just check out Macon.Instead of taking a bigger risk check Kansas City.Finally, I managed to get back on the way back before I retreated.Delving into an area already known to be controlled by its master, I felt as tense as a priest at a men's party.I want to run away. But the old man said "Kansas City"; if I didn't go to Kansas City, he wouldn't say yes.I ended up making my way around Macon, onto the far landing pad, lined up for the local launch, and headed for Kansas City, mingled with a tangle of farmers' helicopters and various local vehicles.On my way across the state, I had to abide by the local speed limit, which was much safer than using a contraband because every regulated area control station could identify my car with a transponder. There is no staff at the station, it is fully automatic, and there is no staff even on the refueling line.It appears that I did not raise suspicion when entering the Missouri transit system.Of course, there's a control area control station in Illinois that might not figure out where I'm going, but that's okay.