sk.dreamcatcher-第70节

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　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