Mute Read online

  They entered the cave. They rounded a bend in it, and the passage opened into a pleasant chamber. There was none of the moisture or dirt associated with a natural cave; this was even and clean and dry. A normal-seeming man sat on a crude throne made of solid gold, concentrating on an ingot of lead before him. He gave no sign of being aware of the intruders.

  “He is almost deaf and blind,” Knot said. “And feebleminded. He was not very happy until we arranged this occupation. Now all his needs are provided for, and he is left alone most of the time. He lives for his work; he gets a thrill from a challenging transmutation. But all he knows now is lead, as origin or product. It would be a shame to take him away from this. He really doesn’t belong in psi-mute facilities.”

  “I can appreciate that,” Finesse said dryly. She walked around the cave as though about to move into it as an apartment, her eyes taking note of the crude blocks of lead at one side, the crude blocks of gold at the other. A compact, sturdy cart stood on a steel track in an alcove. “What’s this?”

  Knot walked across. He put his arms around the nearest block of gold and heaved it up, his right arm doing three quarters of the work. It was about the size of a four-liter container, called a gallon locally, but it weighed as much as Knot himself did. He took one staggering step and eased it into the cart, slowly extricating his pinched fingers.

  The weight started the cart on its way. “That will roll to our metal shop; it’s downhill from here,” he said, flexing his arms to alleviate the cramp caused by the effort. He could have handled the weight more readily, had both arms been of equal size and strength; but he wasn’t really sure his build was a disadvantage. Most normals were right handed, too; it just wasn’t as extreme.

  “You do have a notion what a gallon of gold is worth?” Finesse asked. “Maybe seventy kilograms in that one block—”

  “The earnings of a normal’s lifetime,” Knot said “But you have to understand, it takes our leadmuter several hours to convert that amount, and he is tired afterward.”

  “Tired!” she snorted. She looked at the man again. He had not moved. His head was supported by his hands, and a small string of drool dangled from his flaccid lips. The block of metal before him seemed smaller than before; it was changing to gold.

  “Can he transmute anything to anything,” she asked. “I mean, were he trained appropriately?”

  “We don’t know. He prefers the heavier metals, and it is not easy to change his program. It took several months to shift him from lead-as-product to lead-as-origin. The gold is worth enough to stay with, I think.”

  “It is not for you to decide. The leadmuter must be registered with the Coordination Computer.”

  “Who will take him away from us, to no advantage to him, us, or CC.”

  “The law is the law,” she said firmly.

  Knot sighed. “Do you realize the removal of this source of income will put our enclave into the red?”

  “Surely an executive of your ability will find ways to make up the difference. Most mutant enclaves operate in the red, after all; it is no colossal shame.”

  “But we’re the best enclave, no burden on the economy of our planet. We want to stay that way.”

  “Solvency that is attained by illegal means is much the same as thievery.” She looked again at the little set of tracks. “I don’t suppose we could take the cart back?”

  “Unsafe,” Knot assured her. “Besides, we must pick up your alarm bleeper before it gets lonely and sets itself off.”

  “It’s a dummy.” But she moved toward the exit passage.

  He followed her out. Obviously she was still teasing him—but why? She had verified what she had come for: the presence of an unregistered mental mutant. There would be hell to pay, for the enclave’s concealment of this asset was a crime against the Coordination Computer, which was the effective executive branch of the human government of the galaxy. She could reasonably expect to face a desperate man in Knot. Why should she leave herself open to persuasion or threat?

  Knot distrusted this, but decided he had better play along.

  He needed to know what this too-attractive and too-devious auditor was really up to. Naturally she had sufficient means of self defense; there would be no physical coercion possible, even if that happened to be his style. It was not his style, not by a parsec. It was time he let her reel him in.

  “You mean I could have laid hands on you any time with impunity?” he asked, as though none of his private thoughts had occurred.

  “That depends.” She selected a hummock and sat down on it. She reached into a pocket and brought out what seemed to be a small ball. “This is Mit,” she said, holding it in the palm of her hand. “Hold him.”

  Knot took Mit. Mit was an ornate shell, of the kind found in oceans, curled into a tightening spiral of nacreous hue, with a shiny pink lip around the opening. “A very pretty conch,” he said. “I like it. Is the ocean audible?” He lifted it toward his ear.

  Then a greenish claw emerged from the shell. Knot paused, startled. The claw was small, but could have taken a nasty nip from his lobe.

  “Mit is a hermit crab,” Finesse said as two hesitant eye stalks appeared. “Very shy around strangers.”

  “A crab—out of water?”

  “He keeps a reserve in his shell, and he’s modified. He can remain indefinitely on land.”

  Knot was fascinated, knowing she was not showing him this as an idle curiosity. This might relate to whatever she was hiding from him. “So he’s more than a shell. I still like him. Come on out, Mit; I would be the last one to hurt you. I like animals.”

  Mit came out. His right claw was comparatively large and strong, while his left was small. He peered up at Knot with coalescing confidence. He tapped his claw against the rim of his shell, once.

  “That’s a click of approval,” Finesse said. “He likes you.”

  “He should. He is built like me. Is Mit a mutant too?”

  “It is normal for crabs to have one claw larger than the other.”

  “I’m not sure you answered my question.”

  “You are not as slow as you look. You are right. Mit is mutant.”

  “Ah. Mental rather than physical? Does he have psi?”

  “Yes. He is probably the best psi-crab in existence. He is clairvoyant and precognitive.”

  Knot laughed, pleased. “He knows there is no danger!”

  “Precisely. No danger to him or to you. When I carry him, I know when there is any threat to me. He hides in his shell and chatters his teeth.”

  “Chatters his teeth!” Knot knew she spoke figuratively. “Did you say he has a double psi talent? I thought that was impossible.”

  “Extremely rare, but it happens. Even triple talents are theoretically possible. One chance in a hundred billion or so, I believe. Since there are not nearly that many mutant births in a century, we really don’t need to let the prospect concern us unduly. CC is very interested in such combinations, and collects all the dual-mutes it finds.”

  Knot felt another chill. He covered it with a smile. “No wonder I couldn’t bluff you. You know all my secrets.”

  She nodded smugly. “Mit knows, at any rate. Tangible things, mainly; intangibles become too complex for his comprehension.”

  Intangibles were beyond the crab’s limited power. Knot allowed himself more hope. “I find myself liking you, Finesse. Let me be blunt, while I have the clairvoyance in my hand. You’ve been coming on to me from the outset, but you’re a normal, and not an ugly or stupid one. What is on your mind? You can’t find me physically attractive.”

  “Men don’t have to be physically attractive.” She squinted at him appraisingly. “Actually, there is a certain appealing quality to you. Were your proportions normal, you would be a handsome man, and even as it is—”

  “You’re avoiding the issue again. There is no visible reason why you should play up to me, especially on business time. You’ve gotten your information; you verified the power of the l
eadmuter.

  You caught our enclave cheating the planetary government and hiding a psi-mutant from CC. It makes most sense for you to scoot the hell home to the machine and make your devastating report. Instead you’re acting as though I’m of more interest than—” He paused, glancing down at the hermit crab. “Mit did she come to investigate me?”

  “Won’t work, Knot,” she said. “He’s only a crab, with the mind of a crab. Even if he could grasp the complexities of human subterfuge, he can neither comprehend your speech nor reply in kind. He tunes in on danger to himself and those nearest him, without defining it. At least, not in our terms. W ere you telepathic, you could converse with him and obtain more specific information; otherwise the best you can do is tap questions on his shell and get yes-no answers. Since I mean you no mischief of a tangible kind, he feels secure. You’ll learn nothing from him you can use.”

  “Getting me fired or transferred to an inclement enclave or lobotomized as a criminal would not be completely intangible, by my reckoning,” Knot said. “You don’t have to club me on the head to hurt me.”

  “Oh, such things are not beyond Mit’s ken. He might not understand them, but he can precog your future grief. And he would inform you by clicking on his shell. But my plans for you are a good deal more devious, and I really do not mean you any harm, Knot. I do rather like you, despite your ornery ways, though I will not pretend you are any rival to a normal or any model of integrity.”

  She was really working him over, but she still had not caught on to his secret, he judged. Best not even to think about that. “And if I take you in my arms and do with you what you’re obviously made for—?”

  “In due course. I’m not an amateur in that respect. But first there is one other thing I must show you.” She reached into another pocket and drew out a small, slender, long animal with a little round, whiskered face. “This is Hermine, the weasel. She’s a mutant too.”

  Knot accepted the weasel in his left hand. She was warm, with sleek fur, and had the secure footing and litheness of a healthy predator. Knot liked all animals other than household pests, but he found himself liking this one in quite a strong, specific way. “And what is your talent, Hermine?” he asked, not expecting an answer.

  Nice man. Like you.

  Knot started, almost dropping the crab in the forgotten hand. “Broadcast telepathy!” he exclaimed. “And near-human intelligence. Mental verbalization. Isn’t that at least a double mutation?”

  “Double mutations of a beneficial nature are prohibitively rare,” Finesse said. “Usually they’ll be a physical-mental combination, such as a minimal body abnormality and a substantial mental one, or vice versa.”

  Did she know? Knot was suddenly nervous again.

  She knows you are a double mutant, Hermine projected.

  And you are a transceiver telepath! Knot thought back. You can read minds, and you can project your own thoughts. You must be one of the most potent telepaths in the human galaxy.

  I’m not human! the weasel retorted.

  I didn’t think you were. But you are in the human galaxy.

  The weasel galaxy!

  Do weasels build spaceships?

  You are too smart for me.

  But you’ve got my number, you cute little huntress. Aloud he said: “Hermine does seem pretty smart. If she’s not a double mute—telepathy and intelligence—what is she?”

  “She’s a full telepath—receive and transmit. A single mutation, but a potent one. Most telepaths are partial, being either readers or senders, with varying degrees of proficiency. In range of a human mind—her range is three or four meters, the power varying inversely with distance—she draws on the intelligence of that human mind, much as we draw on the abilities of computers. By herself, she is ordinary weasel intelligence.”

  “Fascinating. Did you pick up our mental conversation Just now?”

  No.

  “No,” Finesse echoed. “She transmits on a narrow band, mind-to-mind. Close up she can send to anyone; from a distance she must target a particular mind, one she knows well. She can receive from a familiar mind at greater distances. But the other party has to be consciously projecting, and Hermine has to work at it. Right now she’s in touch with you, not me; I have no idea what secrets you two are exchanging.”

  Is that true, Hermine?

  Half true, Knot. She isn’t receiving, but she’s guessing.

  I don’t want her to know my secret, Knot thought with a mental picture of a human face with a closed zipper in lieu of the mouth.

  Nice man. Funny man. I won’t tell. But she will know. She’s very smart. Her thoughts are like the teeth of a carnosaur.

  “I don’t need to be a telepath to figure that out,” Finesse said, frowning prettily. “You’re making a deal to hide your paranormal power from me. But I’ll have it anyway.”

  “So Hermine tells me. But you already have the leadmuter, who is potentially far more valuable to you than I could ever be. Can’t you settle for that?”

  “Let the animals play,” she said. “They’ll be all right.”

  Mit feels no threat, Hermine agreed. Put us on the ground.

  Knot put his hands to the ground, and both weasel and crab moved into the grass.

  Now Finesse leaned forward, treating him once more to the glimpse of her frontal charms. Her eyes were large and green, the prettiest Knot had seen in a long time. She was a marvel of appearance, and obviously knew it, and used her physical attributes to sway his mind. Knot was aware of all this, yet felt the impact. She was deliberately making him want her, and the strategy was working.

  “I am here to interview you,” she said. “The leadmuter was only a pretext. I’m not really an auditor; I’m a scout. The Coordination Computer is looking for someone, and suspects you may be that one.”

  “How did CC catch on that I have mental mutancy? I thought I had escaped detection.”

  “You are the son of a man who traveled in space within a year before you were born. That made you a potential mutant. The sperm of the male is affected by the radiation of deep space, so that for up to three months thereafter, until the affected reservoir is used up, the offspring—”

  “And I am a mutant, as is plainly evident,” Knot said. He put his hands together, making obvious the disparity in their sizes and configurations. “Here I am working in a mutant enclave, doing a satisfactory Job—”

  “More than satisfactory,” she said. “Enclave MM58 is, as you surmised, number one on the index for client adjustment. That points right to the placement officer.”

  “So I’m doing a good job, then. An excellent job, a superlative job—whatever you will. I happen to have empathy, a feel for the needs of mutants, and I like my work. I like helping people. This is no psi-power; it is just personality and inclination and effort. And luck. Next year some other enclave will be number one, when one of its gardeners discovers a diamond mine in the barren soil and it can suddenly afford to cater to all its outré whims, and its placement officer will seem suddenly more talented—while simultaneously our own enclave has to make do without our illicit income from transmuted gold. A great fat huge lot that will prove!”

  Finesse was watching him, smiling. That only spurred him to further commitment. “I empathize with mutants because I am one, and I work hard to make my clients comfortable. Had you been a client, I would have worked just as hard for you, to place you where you would do best and be happiest. This is the one job I am really fitted for. Why should CC want to take me away?”

  “You’re beautiful when you’re earnest,” Finesse said, stroking the side of his face. “Maybe your psi talent is not useful elsewhere in the galaxy. Why don’t you just tell me what it is and let me form an opinion? I can’t make the decision, of course, but I am a trained interviewer, just as you are, and I might be able to provide some hint how CC will react.”

  There was a kind of exhilaration he obtained from fencing with another person in his specialty. Knot interviewed physical mu
tants and placed them compatibly; she did the same for mental mutants. But this time he was the subject, and he did not want to be placed. “Why don’t you just kiss me and slap me and go home in a huff?”

  “I’ll try,” she agreed. She stood, kissed him on the lips, slapped him lightly on the cheek—and remained blithely looking at him. “Give me a nudge. I haven’t quite mastered the third action yet.”

  Is she really as seducible as she seems? Knot thought fiercely at the weasel, not certain whether the little animal remained in range.

  “Of course I am,” Finesse said.

  He started. “Oh— Hermine broadcast to you instead of to me?”

  “She knows me better. She decided I would want to make that particular decision for myself. Most females do, regardless of what they profess openly, and she’s one of us. Not that I needed any telepathy to grasp that particular thought.”

  “You have encountered it before?” He felt jealous.

  “Many times. That’s par for the course. I hardly even need to work at it, any more; the signals come naturally. But what I really want at the moment is your secret—and Hermine, a pox on her secretive little heart, has not vouchsafed that to me.”

  “Suppose I ask her to report to me on your questions?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Knot concentrated, seeking contact with the weasel. Finesse seemed to be doing the same. They were outside Hermine’s immediate range, but within her general range.

  Knot laughed, receiving the telepathic message. “Right now!” he said, and took Finesse in his arms.

  Ellipsis, Hermine thought, and went back to the vole she was stalking.

  CHAPTER 2:

  In the afternoon Knot called on Hlet, the enclave supervisor. Hlet was proportioned like a normal, but he had two faces—one on each side of his head. This was hardly noticeable until he walked away—and he preferred to sit at his desk, his back to the wall. Knot wondered whether the back face got bored staring at the blankness, or whether it merely slept.

  Hlet blinked. “I don’t believe I know you.”

  “I’m the new placement officer,” Knot said. “You can verify it with my secretary.”