Carrot

From Gerrold's not-blog 'Bottomless Soup' from 9/15/07 . . .

Finally, a mildly funny bit of conversation that happened at a recent gathering of SF folks. A friend (fan?) was muttering about past worldcons, present worldcons, and future worldcons, and asked me why I hadn't been invited to be a guest of honor at a worldcon yet. (It was his point that I've been snubbed or overlooked or passed over, while other writers of a much more recent generation are being chosen.) I hadn't really paid much attention to worldcons (sorry guys), because I've been so busy with other stuff, but as near as I can figure out, whoever decides these things are probably waiting until I finish book five of the Chtorr series. I dunno if that's true, but that's as good a reason as any.

I do not know if it is true but ... do you think it's be a good carrot? I've been reading the Chtorr series since I was fifteen - I want to find out what happens to McCarthy and Lizard and above all how that damned Chtorrian ecology got here and if there is an intelligence behind it or if it's just evolution in action.

But also ..

I covered the area, hoping to find one out in the open—no such luck. But I did see where they had started to dam the stream. Could they be amphibious too? I sucked in my breath and tried to focus on the forest again. Just one clear glimpse, that’s all I wanted—

The CRA-A-ACK! of the M-20 startled me. I fumbled to refocus the binoculars—the creatures still moved undisturbed. Then what had Duke been firing at—? I slid my gaze across to the enclosure—where a small form lay bleeding in the dirt. Her arms twitched.

A second CRA-A-ACK! and her head blossomed in a flower of sudden red—

I jerked my eyes away, horrified. I stared at Duke. “What the hell are you doing?”

Duke was staring intently through the telescopic sight, waiting to see if she would move again. When she didn’t, he raised his head from the sight and stared across the valley. At the hidden Chtorrans. A long time. His expression was … distant. For a moment I thought he was in a trance. Then he seemed to come alive again and slid off down the hill, down to where Shorty and Louis and Larry waited. Their expressions were strange too, and they wouldn’t look at each other’s eyes.

“Come on,” said Duke, shoving the M-20 at Shorty. “Let’s get out of here.”

I followed after them. I must have been mumbling. “He shot her—” I kept saying. “He shot her—”

Finally, Larry dropped back and took the binoculars out of my trembling hands. “Be glad you’re not the man,” he said. “Or you’d have had to do it.”

That's writing, brother. Gerrold does it well, I want to see more of it.