the barn floor and singing 〃On the Good Ship Lollipop。〃'
Kurtz obviously thought he was being witty； and Owen supposed that in a way he was； but Owen himself was overe by a wave of intense horror。 There's a four…year…old out there； he thought。 Just four years old； how about that。
'She's cute； and she's hot；' Kurtz was saying。 'Visible Ripley on the inside of one wrist； growing at her hairline； growing in the corner of one eye。 Classic spots。 Anyway； this soldier gave her a candybar； just like she was some starving Kosovar rug…muncher； and she gave him a kiss。 Sweet as pie； a real Kodak moment； only now he's got a lipstick print that ain't lipstick growing on his cheek。' Kurtz grimaced。 'He had himself a little tiny shaving cut； barely visible； but there goes your ballgame。 Similar stuff with the others。 The rules don't change； Owen； carelessness gets you killed。 You may go along lucky for awhile； but in the end it never fails。 Carelessness gets you killed。 Most of our guys； I'm delighted to say； will walk away from this。 We're going to face scheduled medical exams for the rest of our lives； not to mention the occasional surprise exam； but look at the upside … they're gonna catch your ass…cancer wicked early。'
'The civilians who appear clean？ What about them？'
Kurtz leaned forward； now at his most charming； his most persuasively sane。 You were supposed to be flattered by this； to feel yourself one of the fortunate few to see Kurtz with his mask （'two parts Patton； one part Rasputin； add water； stir and serve'） laid aside。 It had worked on Owen before； but not now。 Rasputin wasn't the mask； this was the mask。
Yet even now … here was the hell of it … he wasn't pletely sure。
'Owen； Owen； Owen！ Use your brain … that good brain God gave you！ We can monitor our own without raising suspicions or opening the door to a worldwide panic … and there's going to be enough panic anyway； after our narrowly elected President slays the phooka horse。 We couldn't do that with three hundred civilians。 And if we really flew them out to New Mexico； put them up in some model village for fifty or seventy years at the taxpayers' expense？ What if one or more of them escaped？ Or what if … and I think this is what the smart boys are really afraid of … given time； the Ripley mutates？ That instead of dying off； it turns into something a lot more infectious and a lot less vulnerable to the environmental factors that are killing it here in Maine？ If the Ripley's intelligent； it's dangerous。 Even if it isn't； what if it serves the grayboys as a kind of beacon； an interstellar road…flare marking our world out … yum…yum； e and get it； these guys are tasty 。 。 。 and there's plenty of them？'
'You're saying better safe than sorry。'
Kurtz leaned back in his chair and beamed。 'That's it。 That's it in a nutshell。'
Well； Owen thought； it might be the nut； but the shell is something we're not talking about。 We watch out for our own。 We're merciless if we have to be； but even Kurtz watches out for his laddie…bucks。 Civilians； on the other hand； are just civilians。 If you need to burn em； they go up pretty easy。
'If you doubt there's a God and that He spends at least some of His time looking out for good old Homo sap； you might look at the way we re ing out of this；' Kurtz said。 'The flashlights arrived early and were reported … one of the reports came from the store owner； Reginald Gosselin； himself Then the grayboys arrive at the only time of year when there are actually people in these godforsaken Woods； and two of them saw the ship go down。'
'That was lucky。'
'God's grace is what it was。 Their ship crashes； their presence is known； the cold kills both them and the galactic dandruff they brought along。' He ticked the points off rapidly on his long fingers； his white eyelashes blinking。 'But that's not all。 They do some implants and the goddam things don't work … far from establishing a harmonious relationship with their hosts； they turn cannibal and kill them。
'The animal kill…off went well … we've censused something like a hundred thousand critters； and there's already one hell of a barbecue going on over by the Castle County line。 In the spring or summer we would've needed to worry about bugs carrying the Ripley out of the zone； but not now。 Not in November。'
'Some animals must have gotten through。'
'Animals and people both； likely。 But the Ripley spreads slowly。 We're going to be all right on this because we netted the vast majority of infected hosts； because the ship has been destroyed； and because what they brought us smolders rather than blazes。 We've sent them a simple message： e in peace or e with your rayguns blazing； but don't try it this way again； because it doesn't work。 We don't think they will e again； or at least not for awhile。 They played fiddly…fuck for half a century before getting this far。 Our only regret is that we didn't secure the ship for the science…boffins but it might've been too Ripley…infected； anyway。 Do you know what our great fear has been？ That either the grayboys or the Ripley would find a Typhoid Mary； someone who could carry it and spread it without catching it him… or herself'。'
'Are you sure there isn't such a person？'
'Almost sure。 If there is 。 。 。 well； that's what the cordon's for。' Kurtz smiled。 'We lucked out； soldier。 The odds are against a Typhoid Mary； the grayboys are dead； and all the Ripley is confined to the Jefferson Tract。 Luck or God。 Take your choice。'
Kurtz lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose high up； like a man suffering a sinus infection。 When he looked up again； his eyes were swimming。 Crocodile tears； Owen thought； but in truth he wasn't sure。 And he had no access to Kurtz's mind。 Either the telepathic wave had receded too far for that； or Kurtz had found a way to slam the door。 Yet when Kurtz spoke again； Owen was almost positive he was hearing the real Kurtz； a human being and not Tick…Tock the Croc。
'This is it for me； Owen。 Once this job is finished； I'm going to punch my time。 There'll be work here for another four days； I'd guess … maybe a week； if this storm's as bad as they say … and it'll be nasty； but the real nightmare's tomorrow morning。 I can hold up my end； I guess； but after that 。 。 。 well； I'm eligible for full retirement； and I'm going to give them their choice： pay me or kill me。 I think they'll pay； because I know where too many of the bodies are buried … that's a lesson I learned from J。 Edgar Hoover … but I've almost reached the point of not caring。 This won't be the worst one I've ever been involved in； in Haiti we did eight hundred in a single hour … 1989； that was； and I still dream about it … but this is worse。 By far。 Because those poor schmucks out there in the barn and the paddock and the corral 。 。 。 they're Americans。 Folks who drive Chevvies； shop at Kmart； and never miss ER。 The thought of shooting Americans； massacring Americans 。 。 。 that turns my stomach。 I'll do it only because it needs to be done in order to bring closure to this business； and because most of them would die anyway； and much more horribly。 Capish？'
Owen Underhill said nothing。 He thought he was keeping his face properly expressionless； but anything he said would likely give away his sinking horror。 He had known this was cormng； but to actually hear it 。 。 。
In his mind's eye he saw the soldiers drifting toward the fence through the snow； heard the loudspeakers summoning the detainees in the barn。 He had never been part of an operation like this； he'd missed Haiti； but he knew how it was supposed to go。 How it would go。
Kurtz was watching him closely。
'I won't say all is forgiven for that foolish stunt you pulled this afternoon； that water's under the bridge； but you owe me one； buck。 I don't need ESP to know how you feel about what I'm telling you； and I'm not going to waste my breath telling you to grow up and face reality。 All I can tell you is that I need you。 You have to help me this one time。'
The swimming eyes。 The infirm twitch； barely perceptible； at the corner of his mouth。 It was easy to forget that Kurtz had blown a man's foot off not ten minutes ago。
Owen thought： If I help him do this； it doesn't matter if I actually pull a trigger or not； I'm as damned as the men who herded the Jews into the showers at Bergen…Belsen。
'If we start at eleven； we can be done at eleven…thirty；' Kurtz said。 'Noon at the very worst。 Then it's behind us。'
'Except for the dreams。'
'Yes。 Except for them。 Will you help me； Owen？'
Owen nodded。 He had e this far； and wouldn't let go of the rope now； damned or not。 At the very least he could help make it merciful 。 。 。 as merciful as any mass murder could be。 Later he would be struck by the lethal absurdity of this idea； but when you were with Kurtz； up close and with his eyes holding yours； perspective was a joke。 His madness was probably much more infectious than the Ripley； in the end。
'Good。' Kurtz slumped back in his rocker； looking relieved and drained。 He took out his cigarettes again； peered in； then held the pack out。 'Two left。 Join me？'
Owen shook his head。 'Not this time； boss。'
'Then get on