Dr. Fletcher added, "The troop leader and two of the boys went back to investigate. They found the horse had been half-eaten. They did not see a worm. They did not hear it cry, `Chtorrrr!' The Royal Canadian Mounted Police later searched the surrounding area as thoroughly as it could-it was near the Canadian Rockies-but they found nothing.

"Naturally, the news media played it for laughs. It was a dull summer, so The Giant Canadian Rocky Mountain Worm filled a lot of space on otherwise slow news, days. Of course, once the plagues broke out it was forgotten. It wasn't until much later that we realized that this event, and several others like it, were actually harbingers.

"We know now that the worms have a fairly thick coat of fur, and that the name `worm' is something of a misnomer. We think that what we've seen is another Chtorran adaptation to the planet. The first worms to appear did have very little fur, and they really did look like worms. But over the last three years, we've seen the worms developing thicker and thicker coats. But what it means, I can't tell you. Actually, it's not even fur-it's sensory antennae. The creature is coated with nerve fibers. So, probably what we're seeing is a more-you should pardon the expression-sensitive worm. And yes, you're right; they do look like caterpillars." '

She glanced down at her podium display. "I see the puzzle has been reset-"

I looked down into the chamber again. Tiny was still positioned eagerly in front of the panel. Apparently the worm had learned to anticipate its second chances at the puzzles.

The panel slid open before it. There was a new rabbit in the cage. The puzzle machinery had been reset. Tiny slid quickly forward and began to operate the levers and knobs. Its claws moved with a certainty that hadn't been present before.

The chime sounded. The cage popped open. There were gasps in the room.

"Forty-three seconds," Dr. Fletcher said dryly. Tiny was already eating the rabbit. The sound was hideous. I remembered the feeding room in Denver. And the dogs. And the people who liked to watch.

Dr. Fletcher waited in silence until Tiny was finished, then touched another button on her podium and opened the passage back to its cell. The worm slid obediently into it. She remarked, "We've found Tiny to be surprisingly cooperative. It seems to appreciate the discipline." She checked that the passage was clear, then closed the panel-and then the curtain.

She looked calmly out over the room. "I think that pretty well answers the question: how intelligent is a worm? The answer is very. And they learn fast. As you have seen, incredibly so. Our tests with the second specimen confirm that Tiny's responses are not atypical. The other worm is even faster than Tiny-and as other specimens become available for testing, we expect to see the same facility in them as well.

"We're beginning another set of tests next Monday, this time with a completely different type of problem. We're going to further explore the worms' ability to conceptualize. Conceptualization is the key to communication. We're clear that if the worms can conceptualize, they can communicate. But let me caution you, don't confuse conceptualization with sentience. Even a dog can conceptualize; Pavlov proved that. And I think most of you will grant that a dog is capable of a certain rudimentary level of communication. When I talk about communication with the worms, I'm talking about that dog-level of communication. I'm talking about taming.

"And in fact, that's the very next question that has to be answered. How can we create a relationship with a worm so that it's willing to communicate? In other words, how do we domesticate a worm? Your consideration of this particular problem will be much appreciated." She glanced at her watch. "The discussion part of this session will take place this afternoon at fifteen hundred hours. Dr. Larson will be mediating. I thank you for your time and your attention."

I went straight to the men's room and threw up.

I FOUND Dr. Fletcher in her office. She looked up as I came in. "Oh, McCarthy-how are you? Thanks for staying awake this morning." She studied me curiously. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." I waved her off. "Just an upset stomach."

"Mm hm," she said. "A lot of people have that problem after they see a worm eat."

I let it pass. "I have a question for you."

"Me answer is, `I don't know.' What's the question?" She glanced at her watch.

"We gassed a nest of worms yesterday afternoon. Four of them. They were all tied together in a knot."

She nodded. "Your videos came in last night."

"Then you saw? Each time we pulled one off, they reacted as if we were breaking a connection."

She frowned, she pressed her lips together. Finally, she pushed back from her terminal and swiveled to face me. She leaned forward intently. "Exactly what did it look like to you?"

"It looked like-they were writhing in pain. They cried. It was an ... eerie sound. And two of them actually opened their eyes and looked at us. It was very disturbing," I admitted.

"I'll bet. What do you think was happening?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you."

"I want your observations first," she said.

"Well..." I said. "It looked like-I mean, the way they twisted and turned-it made me think of earthworms. Cut in half. Only this was a giant one, cut into four screaming pieces."

"Mm," said Fletcher, noncommittally. "Interesting."

"What do you think it was?"

She shook her head. "I don't. The best thought anyone around here has had is that it was something sexual. Some kind of mating behavior perhaps. And that's why they reacted so strongly. How would you react if somebody interrupted you?"

I blinked. "The worms have four sexes?"

She laughed, a short sharp bark. "Hardly. At least you can't prove it by their chromosomes. So far, all the tissue samples we've examined are genetic nightmares-we have no idea what they're modeling-but we can identify the chromosome structures, and they seem to be pretty much identical from one specimen to the next. No X or Y chromosomes-or equivalents. By that evidence, the worms have only one sex. It's convenient, I guess; it doubles the chances of finding a date for Saturday night, but-it sounds boring. Unless of course you're another worm."

"But-then that brings up another question-"

She glanced at her watch again. "It'd better be a short one."

"I'm interrupting something?"

"Mm, sort of. I need to go into San Francisco-"

"Huh? I thought the city was closed."

"It is. To most people."

"Oh."

"But I'm on the Advisory," she explained.

"Oh," I said again, disappointedly.

Fletcher studied me speculatively. "Family member? Your mother? No-your father, right?"

"My father," I nodded. "We never heard one way or the other. And, uh-I know this is silly-"

"No, it isn't," she said.

"-but my father was always such a... survivor. I just can't imagine him dead."

"You think he's still alive somewhere?"

"I... just wish I knew for certain. That's all."

"Uh huh," she said. "The truth is, you want to go there and see for yourself. You think you can find him. Right?" She fixed me with a green-eyed gaze. Her manner was startlingly direct. It put me off-balance.

I shrugged. "Yeah," I admitted.

"Mm hm. You're not the first one, Lieutenant. I see it all the time. People don't believe until they see for themselves. Well, all right-"

"Huh?"

"You want to see San Francisco?" She rolled back to her terminal and started typing. "Let me get you a pass. McCarthy ... James Edward, Lieutenant-" She frowned at the screen. "When'd you get a purple heart?"

"Denver. Remember?"