Mute by Piers Anthony
“Now where?” Knot asked.
Mit doesn’t know. It is beyond his range. There are many people, many passages; too many to fathom.
He’s only a little crab, after all, Knot thought. He doesn’t have your ability to borrow the brain capacity of the mind he deals with.
He does, a little, especially when I relay to him. But we could not free ourselves without you.
We’d better get ourselves to a good hiding place, Knot thought. We need to give the lobos time to forget me. Then escape will be easier.
Mit says there is a storage closet no one will check soon.
Good. A complex escape plan was beyond the crab, but a simple temporary hiding place was manageable. Knot walked to the closet, picking a route that Mit knew was clear of lobos for the moment. Once they were safely ensconced in the fairly spacious closet, he settled down for some catching up. You say CC made me forget you?
And the full story came out: Knot had agreed to serve as Cc’s agent, being convinced at last that this was his necessary course. However, he would have been highly vulnerable had this information remained in his conscious mind. CC needed a secret agent, and with telepaths about, there could be no conscious secrets. His own psi talent could not be concealed from telepathic or mechanical observation, but it tended to protect itself by its very nature, and seemed largely harmless.
Knot’s CC-related experiences had, with his permission, been selectively edited, to be restored only by key thoughts or situations. Finesse had summoned him to Planet Macho by a key reference to chickens; a physical threat had given him recollection of the combat training be had received; and Hermine’s name, thought to him, had restored her to him.
His attitude toward CC had passed muster under the lobo drug interrogation because it was genuine—or had been, before he learned more about CC’s nature and problems. So many opinions of so many people were based on ignorance, and he had been among that multitude. Until now, his memory restored.
Finesse, too, had been selectively blanked. She had, it seemed, believed she was near a lead on CC’s enemy. So she had, without consciously realizing why, summoned Knot. He, in turn, was to serve as a lure for enemy contact. It had worked, though not precisely the way planned; the lobos had abducted him before revealing their nature. Now he had the answer; he knew who was lobotomizing CC operatives, and why. All he had to do was escape with the information.
So Finesse had not really forgotten him, any more than he had forgotten Hermine and Mit. The forgetting had been something other than personal disinterest. At any rate, each had played his or her part flawlessly; had any enemy snooped on either their words or their minds, that enemy would have acquired nothing of real value. The best traps were not at all obvious, until sprung.
Now he could share his love with Finesse. Except—
What would happen to her? Viveka had said Finesse would be picked up. The lobos surely had the ability to do it. I must get to her and warn her, help her, he thought.
It is not yet safe, Hermine responded. The lobos have not yet forgotten you. They have discovered the drugged ones, and know you are loose on the premises.
But if I wait too long, they will get Finesse. I must reach her first.
There is risk either way, Mit says. We do not know the risk to her, but are certain it is not safe for you to act yet.
I’d rather risk myself than her, he thought with such force of feeling that the weasel did not argue.
If you wait, I will try to tune her in, Hermine thought, trying to placate him.
You can read minds from a distance?
No. But I know Finesse well, and she can focus her thoughts marvelously, so that I can pick them up when she and I are both trying. I can pick you up farther than others, but her farthest of all. If she sends when I’m reading—
Very well. I’ll stifle my panic while you try.
Mit gave warning: the lobos were conducting an organized search. closing off sections and flooding them with stungas so that no one could escape. This process took time, but was sure; there was no present opening for Knot. In half an hour a leak would develop, the result of a seemingly minor miscalculation that no one except a precog-clairvoyant could catch. Knot would be able to slip through the net then, not before, under Mit’s direction.
The alternative was capture and lobotomy; forewarned of his abilities, the lobos were not easy to fool. In fact, they were amazingly well organized, for a group possessing no psi and using no electronic aids. They intended to complete the search within the hour, before they forgot him.
So we wait, Knot agreed, frustrated.
Mit and I have been confined for some time, and we are hungry. May I hunt?
I do not own you! Knot protested. You may do whatever you choose.
Then you must let me out of the cage.
He had forgotten to open the suitcase. Quickly he pressed the stud. The lid popped up, and in the wan closet light he saw the weasel and the shell of the crab. God, I’m glad to see you two again! he thought.
God is a huge white weasel with a very furry tail, Hermine thought. Mit says God is a monstrous crab.
You’re both right. Now I know how lonely I was without you.
Ditto, Hermine thought. Mit says there are rats in these walls. I should have my meal soon. There is some crab food in the case for Mit.
Can’t Mit tell whether your hunt will be successful? Knot thought.
He could, but that would spoil it. I do not want him directing my hunt. Hunting is private business. She wriggled behind some boxes and was gone.
But suppose something happens while you are away? Knot thought after her, alarmed.
I’m still in touch, she assured him. Mit will tell if there is immediate danger to you; he’s tuned in to you, guarding you while I’m busy.
“Thanks, Mit,” Knot murmured appreciatively. Once such a situation might have seemed ludicrous to him, but not now. “May I pick you up?”
He put his hand into the suitcase, fingers flat, and the little crab scrambled up. “But I don’t know how to communicate with you directly,” Knot continued.
Just tap on his shell in galactic code, Hermine’s thought came back. He can’t speak in the code himself, but he understands it. He will answer your questions, one tap for yes, two for no.
Knot tried that, intrigued. Now he remembered that Finesse had done something similar. He had thought he had remembered everything, but little blanks kept showing up. It would take time to erase them all. HOW ARE YOU, MIT? he tapped.
YES, the crab responded: one tap of his big-little claw.
Oops—he had to confine himself to yes-no questions. IS THAT A NEW SHELL? I LIKE IT.
YES.
So much for that social amenity. It was certainly a new shell, larger than the last; Mit must have grown and needed more space. Hermit crabs, of course, did not grow their own shells; they took over occupancy of deserted shells formed by other creatures. Thus the shell was very like a house. Was there a crabby real estate market in shell houses? Was Mit paying on a long-term mortgage? No, of course not! Yet it was a fun thought.
You have many fun thoughts, Hermine interjected.
Oh, go hunt your private hunt, whiskersnoot! This is private conversation.
There was a splash of weasel mirth, and her thought faded from his mind. Hermine understood.
Back to the polite inquiry of health: HOW ARE YOU? had failed, but it could be rephrased. DO YOU FEEL WELL?
NO.
HM. ARE YOU ILL?
NO.
LONELY?
A pause, then NO.
Bright idea: DO YOU MISS THE OCEAN?
A single, violent tap. YES!
For a crab was a water creature. Mit could evidently survive for prolonged periods away from water—Finesse had said something about that too—but this had to be at least a psychological burden on him. MAYBE YOU WILL RETURN SOON.
YES.
Precognition—or hope? Knot had never understood how the psi o
Hermine—how was she doing? She was evidently intent on her hunt, for she had ceased broadcasting to him these past few minutes. He knew she wasn’t piqued by his last thought; she understood his humor. He wasn’t sure of the limits of her range, but believed she was well enough attuned so that she should be able to reach him anywhere in this vicinity. She could no doubt take care of herself, but he might as well check. IS HERMINE SAFE?
There was a pause while Mit oriented on the weasel. NO.
No? Knot hoped this was a misunderstanding. HAS SHE BEEN HURT?
NO.
Relief was premature. WILL SHE BE HURT?
YES. The little crab was fidgeting nervously now. Apparently he had been surveying Knot’s prospects, not Hermine’s—a serious oversight.
CAN WE HELP HER?
YES—NO.
This looked bad! It was necessary to grasp the truth quickly. Ah: if she were in physical trouble, Knot might help her—but at the risk of his own safety. He had to remain the closet. I CAN HELP HER IF I GO TO HER—BUT THE LOBOS WOULD LOCATE ME?
YES.
Bad dilemma! Hermine wouldn’t want him to sacrifice himself on her behalf—but how could he let her suffer alone? Mit’s agitation suggested that it was very bad trouble stalking her. IS THERE ANY OTHER WAY?
The crab hesitated. This question must be too complex for his little mind. There could be many alternatives, radiating out into infinite possibilities, as with the futures CC considered: too many for Mit to cope with, without a human brain. And without Hermine’s telepathic linkage, Knot could not lend his own brain to the effort.
But he had to try. Hermine, he called mentally, hoping she was still in range. He concentrated on his image of her: cute long low weasel body, tiny whiskered face, sleek fur. When she jumped, her front end completed the jump before her rear end began it, or so it seemed. Warning! Trouble! Call in quickly!
I receive you, she responded clearly. No problem with the range! Can’t it wait? I’m on the hot trail of a deliciously fat little rat.
Get in touch with Mit. He says you will be hurt.
I can’t. His mind is too small for this distance. It is not full of human excess power like yours or Finesse’s.
But I don’t know what the threat is. I can’t read minds.
I will come back immediately, she decided. Mit always knows.
SHE IS COMING BACK, he tapped to Mit, relieved.
NO! the crab tapped back.
He says don’t come back, Knot broadcast. He was getting the feel of this. Finesse must have done a lot of it in her day, coordinating the diverse talents of her friends. Coordination: that was the key. Just as, on the macroscopic scale, the Coordination Computer was necessary to—
There was a vague thought of dismay. Then: The trap is sprung.
Knot felt an unpleasant shock. What trap?
Rats. Big rats all around. Some have psi.
So that was it. The weasel was a predator—but rats were not necessarily docile prey. Rats with psi powers could be ugly customers indeed. So they had cut off Hermine’s retreat, trapping the predator. Knot knew they would not allow her to survive. And he could help her only by exposing himself to the lobos—who had a similar punishment in mind for him.
Is there any way we can help you from here? Knot thought desperately.
I think this must be my own battle.
But he knew from the tone of her thought and Mit’s concern that she had virtually no chance alone. Rats were not chivalrous; they would not give her any sophisticated options. They would simply pounce and rend. I will come to you, he thought.
No! You will be lost, and then so will be Mit and I too.
But—
I can’t think with you now, nice man. They are closing.
What could he do? Nothing—unless he got there. And he couldn’t—or could he?
Let me into your mind, he thought. I know how to fight. Let me fight for you.
I know how to fight too, she responded. But she let him into her mind.
Suddenly it was as though he had the body of a weasel—with the mind of a man. He no longer communicated with Hermine, he was Hermine. He stood at bay in a chamber between walls, ringed by great brown rats, several of which out-massed him by double or triple his own weight. They were tough, lean, scarred creatures, with sharp claws and teeth: fighters, all. But more significant, some were mutants.
They must have come from a diskship, Knot thought. CC kept track of all the people who traveled in space, but not the vermin. The laws of mutation applied to all living creatures; a rat who left the ship and mated immediately thereafter would breed a mutant litter in the same ratio of mental to physical, success to failure. In fact, these might all be mutants of greater or lesser degree. He could read their minds, and found that it was so. The normal-looking ones were the psi-mutes. Most of the rat-litters had perished, victim of their own abnormalities; these few survivors were extremely tough. Now they dominated the waste regions of this spaceport city, and were extending beyond it into the wider planet. Every ship that arrived brought new rats, who hid in the cargo carriers and descended with the shuttles and escaped to breed with the local females, spreading their mutant seed widely. The Machos had a problem developing that they did not yet deign to notice—and perhaps it was the same on other planets. What would happen when vicious psi-rats started warring directly with man?
Hermine might kill one or two of these monsters, but could not hope to overcome them all. Escape was the only strategy. But the rats were alert for that; they had after all laid this trap, and kept it tight. Could the weasel take a hostage, as Knot had, to escape the lobo trap? No, Hermine’s body was not structured for that. It would not wrap an arm around a neck, or hold a laser pistol in the free paw. The rats would not respond properly anyway; they would simply plunge in, killing one of their own number themselves if it got in the way. What would be effective against completely uncivilized brutes like these?
One rat moved forward, eyes shining malevolently in the imperfect light. Hermine’s telepathy reached out to read its mind—and encountered another telepath.
Yes, I read your brain, weasel, the rat thought. You read mine too. But I have many warriors, kill you.
This was the rat leader, because of his psi power. What rat could conspire against him, or surprise him? But Knot knew a way to set him back. He formulated a nova similar to the one Finesse had used on him, and had Hermine hurl this human-conceived bolt at the smug rat.
The rat squeaked in amazement and pain and dropped to the floor unconscious. One down!
The other rats milled momentarily in dismay. Hermine launched herself at the fallen rat and bit him in the vulnerable throat, opening the key artery with the expertise she had. Knot, sharing her mind, knew why: she had to kill the telepath before he recovered enough to blast her back. No mercy in this fray!
But now the confusion in the enemy force was abating. A new leader emerged. Suddenly Hermine was in pain.
Another psi attack! A rat who could hurl pain at her enemies. But Knot was less affected by it, for he was not wedded to the nervous system of this body. Hermine was immobilized by agony, while he was only discomfited.
Knot blocked out part of the pain and drew on Hermine’s power to make a quick survey of rodent minds. There—that female nearest the raised aperture. She was the new leader, showing how she could deal with the enemy. That was why the pack had not yet attacked. The leaders had to prove themselves first, lest there be entire anarchy in the pack, making it vulnerable to other packs that had strong leadership. This was an arena, a proving ground, not a massacre. Much better to pl
This offered opportunity for Hermine. If she kept eliminating the leaders before they were proven, she would not be subject to the massed attack of the pack. Leaderless, the remaining rats might lose courage and scatter. The trap might be reversed.
Hermine, prodded by Knot’s analytic imperative, hurled herself at this female. Pain blasted again at her, making her stumble and roll, but Knot’s will overrode her infirmity and forced her on. The pain kept coming, but Knot’s human mind dominated it, knowing it was only pain, not actual physical damage. The rat-mind was not equipped to handle a human mind; that was Hermine’s big asset.
Another bolt of pain, another stumble and roll as muscles were momentarily paralyzed, another effort—and at last Hermine reached the rat. There was no pause, no sparring, no negotiation; the two were abruptly engaged in a death combat.
The rat was larger than the weasel, though not by much. But the rat was young and healthy and quick of reflex; she could fight. Her teeth whipped about to catch Hermine—but the weasel was already moving, countering. This was her natural mode of combat. Neither had an advantage; the weasel should ordinarily have been able to kill a rat this size quickly, but Hermine had been weakened and confused by the blasts of pain. The rat could not send more pain-bolts while being kept busy defending herself; her brain was not capable of entertaining two discrete modes of combat simultaneously. Hermine’s telepathy was of no use to her here, either; action seemed to precede thought, and strategy was inherent. They had to settle it on the immediate personal basis.
Knot could not help his friend now. His training was in human combat. His reflexes were wrong for this. He would be too apt to strike with his fist or spin into a throw, when what was required was a sharp bite at tendon of hind leg or vein of throat. He let Hermine handle it, while he concentrated on the larger problem. For the ring of rats waited—and when this single combat ended, those rats might pounce. It would not be enough to kill the pain psi-rat, if a new leader manifested during the fight. Knot and Hermine had to escape the rest of the trap too.