Mute by Piers Anthony
“And this is the hen with the gold eggs,” he agreed. “All right, I bow to expedience. If CC will make a formal royalty commitment, and eschew recriminations, penalties—”
“I have no doubt it will—if you acquaint it with the facts I will have forgotten.”
“Making me an agent of CC! Is that what Mit means?”
“A hint of it. You will have to do what you feel is best for the interests you serve. In this case, the leadmuter and the mutant enclave. You aren’t going to hurt a number of mutants just to spite CC.”
“Why do I have the sinking feeling that all is foreordained?” he grumbled rhetorically.
“Because it is.”
He had walked right into that one. “My service isn’t! The leadmuter is one thing, but—”
“An analogy, if you will,” Finesse said, adjusting her skirt to show a trifle more leg. His eye was of course drawn to it. The flickering light made the shadow between her thighs jump forward and back, as though beckoning. He wished he could run his hand into that shadow, and knew that he could—which was why he could not. The moment the fish did more than nibble at the lure...
“You think of the leadmuter in terms of precious metals or stones,” Finesse continued as if blithely unaware of the lure of leg and shadow. “But he may be wasted in that capacity. Did you ever think what transmutation of substance entails?”
“It is an exercise in futility to speculate how a mutant performs,” Knot said. “The processes of the brain are in many respects too complex for the brain itself to comprehend. Somehow it taps into a source of power no machine can even detect, and uses it to do things no machine can do as readily. If laboratories could duplicate any portion of true psi, they would have done so long ago.”
“I was not referring to the mutant, but to the effect.” She twitched a muscle in her thigh, and Knot finally had to look away, lest his battle be lost right here. “Do you know how nature produces lead?”
Knot focused on that as though grasping a lifeline. “Never thought about it. Isn’t it one of the elements, the basic forms of matter from which all others are made? Created in a supernova by heat and compression and whatnot? As with copper, silver and gold? I do know it is one of the four most used metals of the industrial age, or used to be.”
“Start with the radioactive element thorium 232,” she said briskly. “It has a half-life—you know what half-life is?”
“What I have here.”
She did not smile. “It is the time it takes for a substance stance to lose half its radioactivity.”
“Why not double it and take the whole life?”
“Because it is not a linear progression. It’s a percentage loss. It takes just as long to halve the remaining radiation as it did the first time, and as long to halve it again. A theoretically endless progression. So for convenience—”
“I get it. What does this have to do with lead? I understood lead was not radioactive.”
“Thorium 232 has a half-life of close to fourteen billion years. As it—”
“Fourteen billion years!” he exclaimed. “That’s longer than they used to think the universe existed! Who was standing there with a stopwatch, timing it?”
“Rates of decay are calculable. Now stop playing the ignoramus and let me get on with—”
“The seduction?”
“In my fashion. If the physical appeal is not immediately effective, the intellectual one may be. Unless you have some other approach to recommend?”
“No, I’m sort of interested. I’ve never been intellectually seduced before.”
“As the thorium breaks down, it transmutes naturally into radium 228, with a half-life of a scant seven years. Then into actinium 228—actually the radioactive elements have different names, but I’m simplifying for convenience—”
“How nice. Simplify some more.”
“With a half life of about six hours.”
“That’s simplifying almost too rapidly. From fourteen billion years to six hours?”
“Then into thorium 228 for two years, and radium 224 for three and a half days, and radon 220 for one minute—”
“That’s certainly speeding up! From six hours to one minute. But—”
“And polonium 216 for sixteen one-hundredths of a second—”
“Haven’t we gone about as far—or fast—as we can go?” His eyes had drifted to her thighs again, refuge from the sudden complexity of her listing.
“And lead 212—”
“At last I see the relevance!” he cried with relief.
“Which has a half-life of ten and a half hours.”
“Now wait a minute—or maybe ten and a half hours! I thought lead was the end of the line!”
“Some lead is radioactive. After that it becomes astatine for three ten-thousandths of a second, and bismuth for an hour, and polonium 212 for three ten-millionths of a second. I’m speaking in round figures, of course.”
“Of course,” Knot agreed weakly, eyes locked to her legs. He had declined her physical round figure, so she was battering him with mathematical round figures. He should have known when he was well off.
You’re learning, Hermine’s thought came.
“Then into thallium 208 for three minutes,” Finesse continued as if unaware of the havoc she was wreaking in his mind. “And finally lead 208, which is stable. That’s the thorium series; there’s also the actinium series, which carries through its series of permutations to lead 209. It’s a bit more complicated—”
“I’ll take your word!”
“And the neptunium series, which goes to bismuth 209. And the uranium series, to lead 206. So my point is—”
“That lead in its various forms is the end product of a fantastic exercise of nature. And the leadmuter does it in a single step, in a matter of hours, thereby transcending time as well as matter.”
“But he is not merely accelerating the processes of nature. He is bypassing them, creating lead from substances that are in none of these chains that are not radioactive. In turn he is rendering stable lead into other substances—something that never occurs in nature. Lead is only a stage for him, not the end product. The significance of this ability—”
“I comprehend. This is more of a talent than we thought. We’re just backwater planet mutes. But—”
“Suppose he learned how to transmute radioactive wastes into inert lead? That would solve a problem that has bedeviled man since the onset of the atomic age. That service could be worth more than any precious metals he might make.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Knot admitted, cowed. He had indeed been simplistic in his handling of the leadmuter, relying on the age-old dream of transmuting lead into gold, not realizing that far broader horizons offered.
“CC thought of it, though. That’s CC’s job. To ascertain the maximum value of any mutant’s talent it surveys. It may develop an entirely different use for your leadmuter—one you and I are not even capable of thinking of. None of us have the right to conceal such information from the Coordination Computer.”
Knot was impressed. “I suppose not. But—”
“Now we come to your own psionic talent. Aren’t you even curious what CC has in mind for you?”
“Not the disposition of radioactive wastes?”
“I have no idea. I doubt that forgetting about such wastes would be a good solution, though, so it probably isn’t that. But if you don’t join, you’ll never know, will you?”
Now the electricity outside was abating, and with it the show of leg and shadow. He could depart. But Knot remained. “You think there is anything for me, anywhere close to the value of the transmutation of lead into diamond or whatever? Anything that my forgetting talent could accomplish?” The question was rhetorical; obviously the leadmuter was potentially the most important man in the galaxy.
“All I know is this: the leadmuter was only the pretext. It is you CC wants.”
“But that implies—”
“That you ar
“Is your head packed with all the knowledge of the universe?”
She laughed. “Impressed you, didn’t I! No, after I saw my recording of the leadmuter, I did some research and memorization. I don’t really understand what I’m talking about, in heavy metals or physics. CC thought this line of presentation would be effective with you.”
“The big machine was right. It’s an effective presentation. I’m impressed. But that doesn’t mean I’ll join CC. For one thing, I simply don’t believe I’m that important.”
“You don’t have to believe. You just have to do what is required. CC pays well—in more currency than money. You can probably name your price.”
“Such as the protection of the leadmuter and my enclave?”
“In addition to such things.”
Despite himself, Knot was intrigued. How far would Finesse and CC go? “How about Mit and Hermine—?”
I thought you’d never ask? Hermine put in. Mit says we’ve already been assigned to you.
“And you,” he finished, flicking his gaze from her thigh to her face.
“Wasn’t that a foregone conclusion?” Finesse inquired. “Or am I losing my touch?”
“Was it? Ask Mit.”
It was, the weasel assured them.
“And you are willing?” he asked incredulously. Finesse nodded soberly.
“You sell yourself?”
“If the price is correct.”
“If CC orders you to.”
“Yes.” She seemed to feel no shame in this. She had been quite serious when she said she owed CC a lot.
“You give yourself to an asymmetrical mutant? You’re a beautiful normal!” Knot was getting disgusted, but was also fatally intrigued.
“You understate the case,” she said. “You are a minimum physical mutant, yes; that aspect of you hardly sweeps a girl off her normal feet, and I’m no fetishist. But I’ve dealt with many more grotesque mutants than you, and many much duller normals than you. You are not repulsive, taken as a whole. But your psi power—that is quite another matter. It is enormous, it is subtle, it is beautiful. It undercut me completely—and I have had experience with psi before. It is rare; there is no other like it in CC’s files, which means it is probably unique. How much it is worth inherently I don’t know, but there is considerable value in its rarity. For association with such psi I would sell my soul, let alone my mere body.”
“You can’t even remember my power!” Knot exclaimed, unreasonably flattered by her forceful statement.
“Yes I can. The same way York does. Once I have the recording, my memory is secure. Your power is primary, not secondary; the subject has to interact with you directly to be affected. So with the help of technology I can counter your power—but I remain dazzled by it. How I envy you psi-mutants!”
“You envy me!” Knot said in unfeigned wonder.
“But don’t be naive about price. When you join CC, you can specify any kind of company you want—or CC will provide a woman for you more exactly tailored to your tastes than you can now imagine. I am grossly imperfect for you, and so is your secretary York; once you meet this one—”
“Am I going to ask for such a woman?”
No, Hermine thought. You’re such an independent cuss, you will refuse as a matter of foolish principle. Finesse has already netted you, even though you know better.
“You will preserve the semblance of self-determination by making your own flawed selection,” Finesse said, frowning prettily. “You are guided more by appearance and personality and familiarity than by logic. Mit knows. Do you think for half an instant I would have broached the subject, otherwise?”
Yes, he thought, if she wanted to convert him without having to keep him. Bait and switch. But he hoped Hermine had not intercepted that thought.
Smart man, the weasel thought. But you still have power. She can’t switch you unless you wish to be switched.
“And if I don’t join CC?” Knot demanded. “How much of you would I see then?”
“That’s academic. But speaking theoretically, I would say that in such a case I would be reassigned elsewhere and would not meet you again.”
“So you are the carrot before the ass.”
“Donkey,” she corrected him. “And I prefer to think of myself as a plum. The symbolism is more conclusive.”
“I adhere to my terms. You are making me bray. I swore I would not join, yet here I am negotiating terms. Are you really ignorant why CC wants me?”
She is.
“Yes. But Mit might know. His range is limited, but sometimes when he orients on a particular person—”
Big awful threat, Hermine thought. Mit says something will destroy the empire. Many people and animals will die, and CC will be helpless. Only seven individuals can stop it, and three are enemies of CC, and one is insane. Two are animals. You alone remain—and for you the chance of success is one in ten.
Finesse’s eyes widened. “Oh, Knot—I read that too! I didn’t know it was that bad!”
True? he thought at the weasel.
Half true. She suspected.
She would have to have suspected, he realized. If a person as valuable as the leadmuter were only a pretext to reach Knot, he would have to be virtually invaluable. But the whole thing could be a gross exaggeration to evoke his galactic patriotism. It was easier for him to believe that CC would lie about his importance, than to believe that he really was the most important man in the galaxy. How could he be important, when no one remembered him?
Awful smart man, Hermine thought. Mit says that because you are the one who can do what CC needs done, you are most important to CC.
So he was the nail for the shoe for the horse for the messenger who could save the kingdom. That just might make sense. Circumstance could make little things important, on occasion.
“I don’t know whether I really want to save CC,” Knot said seriously. “But it sounds like one hell of a challenge.”
“You do like challenges,” she said.
“It’s more that I feel compelled to rise to them. You come auditing my enclave, I’m turned off; you bring me a challenge that involves my hidden power, I’m hooked. Why didn’t you mention the challenge at the outset?”
“My first visit was exploratory; I thought you understood that. I didn’t know what your power was, only that you had one CC was interested in. CC is interested in lots of people; it is constantly gathering data and locating mutants. So it was my job to put you through your paces and make my report. I did that. CC was impressed. It seems it had an inkling of your power, despite—or because of—certain lapses of information, lacunae in the files, and such. It wanted to see if that power could deceive an interviewer who was not specifically braced for it. If it could fool a CC interviewer, it could fool almost anyone. It seems CC needs to fool someone. I was fooled.” She grimaced adorably. “My second visit was to recruit you.”
“I did my best to remain inconspicuous. But I think CC could have run me down years ago, had it really tried. Why didn’t it act before?”
“I can only conjecture. I think it is to CC’s advantage to keep some talents in reserve. Any agent it develops and uses is soon known to whatever enemies it has. So it must constantly recruit unknown ones, and do it in ways that do not betray its intent.
When a special need arises, it draws on its reserves—and it seems the need has now arisen for a good psi memory-erasure specialist.”
“I don’t erase memories. I merely prevent the memory of me from registering in a person’s permanent recollection. It is pretty specific, relating only to me and my actions. Like doctoring a photograph to remove one person, without leaving evidence of that doctoring.”
“That can be quite a feat.”
“Still, it is hardly on a par with transmuting lead to gold, or whatever else.”
“I know,” she
“You are inquiring yet again whether I am joining CC? Seems to me I have made my attitude plain enough.”
“Not whether you are joining; I know you are. I asked whether you are resigned to that fact. I’d rather have you join satisfied than join unsatisfied.”
“The answer, to whatever question, is no.” Knot got up and walked out of the cave.
You can’t do it, Mit warned through Hermine. Your course is predetermined. You can only make it more difficult for yourself, forcing yourself to yield ungracefully.
Like hell! he thought back.
“Why be difficult?” Finesse demanded, scrambling up after him. Regardless whether she believed in predestination, her pride had obviously been stung. “Oh!”
Knot turned at her exclamation. She had tripped and sprawled. He hurried back to help her. “I didn’t ask you to fall for me. Are you hurt?”
Naughty man! Is that a human pun? About falling?
“Oh, go away,” Finesse said, pouting charmingly. “It’s nothing.” She touched one ankle and winced.
“You might have sprained an ankle,” he said, not believing it.
“Let me see.”
Touch her and you are lost, Hermine warned.
Knot put his right hand on her ankle. It was an extremely nice ankle, smooth and warm, tapering into the kind of calf and leg only normals could generate.
“Give that back!” she cried, jerking her leg away. In the process she showed the upper portion of her leg, the inner thigh beneath her skirt, without the benefit of concealing shadow. The view was accidental, and therefore compelling. “It’s not hurt.”
“My touch offends you now?” he asked. “The lowly mute may not lay hands on the celestial normal?”
“You think I’m trying to vamp you with a fake injury!” she exclaimed.
Isn’t she? he asked Hermine.
No. She meant to vamp you intellectually, this time. She feels that is more permanent. You’re too smart for the straight physical approach. She took a spill, making herself look foolish. She is angry again, because the fall was unintentional. She was distracted. Her ankle hurts.