She pointed forward. "Those creatures out there-those bunnydogs-no matter what kind of animals they are, no matter what kind of culture they operate in, no matter who they pretend to be-they have the same machinery. Or equivalent machinery. Or they wouldn't be there. I'm talking about basic survival machinery. If you don't have a yipe machine you don't survive. Evolution automatically produces a yipe machine. So, what you need to know is that those creatures out there are as scared of you as you are of them."

I nodded my agreement.

She continued, "What comes after fear?"

I thought about it. "Running?"

"No-let's say you can't run from the thing you're afraid of. What do you do next?"

"Um-I get angry?"

"Are you asking me or telling me? What happens when someone threatens you and threatens you and threatens you-?"

"I get angry."

"Right. Anger. After fear comes anger. How do you act out anger?"

I bared my teeth at her. I growled.

She grinned. "Right. You counterattack. You start by baring your teeth and growling and making terrible faces. If that doesn't work, you start screaming and shrieking. And if that doesn't work, you start throwing coconuts. In other words, you put on a performance of rage. All monkeys do. You do it when your survival is threatened-or the survival of anything you identify with, anything you consider as part of your identity.

"It's all part of the automatic machinery. If you scare away the thing that you're angry at, then the machinery worked; you survived. At the very worst, you might have to fight-but most of the time, though, a good performance of anger can prevent a fight. I've just told you everything you need to know to understand international politics."

She let me appreciate the truth of that joke for a moment, then she continued, "That may be fine for monkeys, James. It may even be fine for human beings, though I doubt it. It is definitely not fine for dealing with worms. That's what you need to know.

"Some of us are moving through fear and are starting to move into anger toward the Chtorrans. It could be a fatal mistake. Our monkey machinery is stuck in yipe. There's no escape. Running doesn't help. And there are no goodies. So, the next step is rage."

"I know-I've seen it-"

"Go on. Tell me, what's rage."

"Rage is the fighting machine gearing up."

"Right," she said. "And we know we can't fight the worms, can we? They've already demonstrated that we can't outfight them. So, what comes next, James?"

"Uh-"

"What comes after rage, James?"

"I don't know-"

"Come on, what happens after you've been arguing the same argument for a week?"

"I don't know about you, but I get bored-"

"Right. Boredom." She nodded with satisfaction. "After you've raged and raged and raged and used up all your energy and frustration, suppose the thing you're frightened of, angry at, raging at, is still sitting there picking its teeth and grinning at you. That's when you get tired of being angry. We call that boredom. Or annoyance. But now that you've given up being angry, there's room for you to actually become interested in that thing-whatever it is-that scared you in the first place. That's how the machinery works. It isn't until you let go of the yipe that you have room for the goody, right?"

"Right."

"That's the machinery, James. That's what you're operating on top of. You can't stop it from running. You never could. Now, why do you think I'm telling you all this?"

"So, I can-uh ... well, the object of this is to establish communication, so this is about not letting the monkey machinery get in the way of the communication ... right?" I grinned, I knew it was.

"Right." She grinned right back. "I want you to finish being afraid and angry and bored in here. Don't take that into the circle or that's what the circle will be about. When you give up all that stuff-what can you do?"

I shrugged. "Nothing, I think."

"Don't be flip. What can you do after you give up all those monkey-machine reactions?"

I shrugged again. "Have a party?"

"That's exactly right. After all that other stuff is taken care of, there's nothing left to do but play together. You make up a gamecall it business or marriage or United States Congress-but it's still only a very fancy game played by very fancy monkeys. So ... do you know what you have to do in that circle?"

"Make up a game for monkeys and bunnies."

"You got it. That's all you have to do. If you're fun to play with, the communication will take care of itself."

"Yes, I see-I really do." I was marveling at the simplicity of it. "I have to leave my rifle behind. I have to leave my military mind-set behind. I have to even leave my scientist act behind. I have to just-I see it!-I have to just go in there as a monkey who wants to play, don't I?"

"Congratulations." She beamed at me and shook my hand. "As Chief Medical Officer of this operation, I hereby pronounce you fit for duty. You are the best chimpanzee in the United States Army." She handed me a banana.

"Only a banana?" I asked. "I don't get a mate?"

"That, James, is part of the graduate course."

THE FINAL meeting of the presentation team took place at eighteen hundred hours.

Colonel Tirelli, Dr. Fletcher, Dr. Larson, three staff members I didn't recognize, the two women on the audio-video team, five observers, three mission specialists, six pilots, two programmers, two spider handlers, and the weapons team. I almost felt crowded.

There wasn't a lot of business that needed to be handled. Even Dr. Fletcher admitted that. We checked the weather forecasts, narrowed our choice of target sites-we'd make the final selection tomorrow morning-and then opened it up for questions. There weren't a lot.

Colonel Tirelli took over then and asked if anyone wanted to reconsider their decision to participate. This was a strictly volunteer operation and if anybody present wanted to drop out, they could do so now-or they could see her privately if they preferred. "You have until-" she looked at her watch, considered, and said, "-twenty-one hundred hours. There are backup people available, I assure you-so don't feel that you have to do this. The operation is dangerous, so do consider your participation carefully. If I don't hear from you by twenty-one hundred hours, I will assume that you have made a complete and total commitment. Did everyone understand that?"

Affirmative nods.

"Well, then-that seems to be it. Does anyone here have anything else to add?"

No. No one.

"Good. Thank you-and good night! Get yourself a good dinner, get to bed early, and get a good night's sleep!"

Most of the team headed for the doors. I headed for the front of the room. Colonel Tirelli was conferring softly with two of her pilots, so I waited politely to one side. When she finished, she looked up and saw me. "Yes, McCarthy?"

"May I talk to you privately?"

Her eyes shaded. "You want to drop out?"

"No! It's just-"

"If it's not about the mission tomorrow-"

"It's something that could affect the mission tomorrow." I said it as pointedly as I could.

"Mm hm. Wait a minute-" She handed her clipboard to one of her aides and then took me out into the hall, around the corner and into a deserted office. She closed the door behind us and leaned back against a desk, leaving an uncomfortable distance between herself and me. "What is it?" she asked. Her expression was polite, curious-and very very cold.

I felt myself flushing. "I-I guess this is a personal thing," I started. "But it's really getting to me. I mean, what's going on?"

She blinked as if she didn't know what I was talking about. "I don't understand."

"We had a date planned, remember? You and I and the biggest lobster on the west coast, remember? I mean, you said some things in the chopper-and I don't know if that was for serious-or if it was just... well, you know, real casual, or what?"