Mute (25 page)

Two men stood blocking the exit. One was a hulking brute who had THUG written all over him, the moronic type with splendid muscles. Somewhere—Knot did not recall where—he had recently learned how to catalogue a man, to ascertain a stranger’s physical condition and potential. This one had callused knuckles, but sagged somewhat in the belly. A hitter, not a wrestler. The other was a small, sharp-eyed man with the look of a short-range telepath. Psi powers were theoretically not evident, physically, but the mannerisms they fostered were. A telekinetic tended to turn his hands receptively, letting his psi bring objects to him; a telepath tended to focus beyond a person’s face, orienting on thoughts rather than physical expressions.

But Knot knew better than to take such a thing on faith, especially after what Finesse had just shown him. A good psi learned to conceal his ability from casual detection, and some who had been psis were psis no longer. He projected this message, strongly:
I am going to fire my concealed laser pistol at the big oaf. Then knock the small jerk’s head into the door frame.

“You are the occupant of this apartment?” the small man inquired. Now his eyes wore focusing properly.

Knot nodded. “Of course.” And thought:
You ought to know that’s a lie, mouseface!

“You work for CC.”

“None of your business if I do.”
One thing’s sure. Rodent: you’re no telepath. In fact you’re not a psi mutant at all, are you?

“Come with us, please.” The “please” was not courteously enunciated.

“Sorry, I’m busy at the moment. Give me your address and I’ll contact you at my convenience.” And he projected a mental finger jabbing upward in an insulting gesture.

The larger man stepped forward, reaching for Knot. Knot caught that arm and whirled into a throw he hadn’t known he knew. The man whomped over Knot’s big right shoulder and landed heavily on the floor. Then Knot rebounded and drove a fist into the smaller man’s gut. It was his big fist, with a lot of power; the man doubled over.

Knot snatched up the suitcase he had dropped. He stepped out the door.

Three more men were blocking off the hall. One held a laser pistol.

Knot had learned somewhere—again, he could not recall the occasion—that resistance in the face of a competently held laser was suicidal. He simply had to go along with these people, and hope for a better opportunity to escape, later. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to inquire what you folk want with me?”

“Follow that man,” the one with the pistol said.

Knot followed the man indicated; a young normal with reddish hair and big ears. The lad led the way into the stairwell—it seemed that backup access systems were required on this planet—and proceeded down the quaint old stairs. Knot kept pace, though stairs were not the smoothest things for his structure. Why weren’t they using the gravlift? Obviously because his captors did not want to encounter strangers. Which meant this was no legal police action; it was a covert operation.

They moved all the way down to the basement level. There a double-door opened onto a concourse: a large, low-ceilinged hall with a number of offshoot passages, doors, and columns. They walked some distance down the main hall, then took a side passage and walked farther down that, then took another side hall that opened out into another full concourse. This was an under-city network, not much in use at this hour.

Knot was fascinated; no such thing existed where he lived. This was like magic, where any little passage could convert into a whole new system, indefinitely. He wished he could explore it on his own, ferreting out new passages, getting himself lost in this topological wonderland. It was the back-planet hick in him manifesting again.

He could hear powerful vehicles running beneath this level. Did they actually have trains, trolleys or subways on this planet? If so, why were he and his captors walking? He doubted that it was the Macho ethic, this time; these people were too furtive, too interested in getting through and out. They were covering some distance, and it would have been faster and more secure for them to transport him in a vehicle. Unless vehicles were public, with identification lenses that registered the passengers. Criminals would be wary of that. For one thing, he could simply scream “Help! Kidnap! and the police would put a stasis-freeze on the train and haul them all in.

Yet if this were a criminal action, why hadn’t they blindfolded or drugged him, so as to get him to their hideout without betraying its location? Obvious answer: they weren’t going to let him go.

However, they probably didn’t know his psi nature. If they planned to hold him for ransom, they would soon discover no one remembered him. There would be no ransom. By the time they discovered that,
they
would have forgotten him. If they locked him in a cell, the jailer would come in the morning to discover a stranger there, and in the end they would have to release him, not knowing why he was there. Or he would simply escape, with no hue and cry because he had been forgotten. So there was no reason for him to panic or risk getting lasered by an untimely break for freedom; time was mostly with him. That was the tremendous asset of his psi: its subtlety and certainty. It could readily be countered—by anyone who understood it. But it wasn’t obvious.

At last they entered a passage marked RESTRICTED—POWER. There was an emblem of a shining sun-disk, with a single ray pointing down. This would be the solar power station.

Now why would criminals take him to a place like this? This was no secret hideout; this was one of the most important installations on the planet. Assuming the Macho setup were typical, a single solar power station would provide virtually all the power for a major city. Security would be tight.

They paused at the security checkpoint. This was such a station, all right. On most planets, such checkpoints were computerized, with a connection to CC, but this one was manned. Knot had to submit to an unkindly thorough physical search, being stripped and rayed. His captors, however, had to go through the same procedure. No chances at all were being taken here. But obviously people would not be going in and out idly; this was probably a once-a-week occasion.

Then the suitcase Knot carried was taken and opened. Knot half expected it to explode or melt down, but it accepted the indignity passively. To his surprise, it contained no electronic equipment or drugs or other tools an investigator might use. Instead there were two little cages confining small animals: a pretty weasel and a snail or something in an ornate shell. A placard said: LABORATORY CONTROL SPECIMENS: DO NOT FEED.

The inspecting sergeant shrugged and closed up the suitcase, returning it to Knot. Knot wondered: what was a CC representative doing with lab control animals? Normally these were kept in their labs. Why had Finesse sent him out to fetch them? Was she going to interview a lobotomized laboratory technician? It didn’t seem to make much sense.

The sergeant cranked up a medieval-style portcullis that admitted them to the interior of the power station. He cranked it down again behind them, and locked the mechanism with an old-fashioned padlock. Archaic—but extremely secure. It was obvious that no one could enter or leave the premises without proper clearance. Yet computerized inspection systems were just as effective and far more efficient; why did a modern power plant employ such antiquated devices? It was as though anachronism had been institutionalized.

They continued on in, traversing a second checkpoint. Surprisingly strong security here, even for a crucial utility. Did they have trouble here with sabotage? Then why admit criminals so freely? There had to be a pattern that he hadn’t yet fathomed.

There seemed to be a residential section here in the restricted region. This made sense; it would be cumbersome and inefficient and deleterious to security if every employee had to go in and out daily. So power employees would remain on the premises for days or weeks at a time, their needs served by facilities within the facility. In fact, this was a type of enclave, whose general dynamics he understood.

It would be hellishly difficult to escape from this place. He could probably fool the people, but not that padlocked portcullis. He hoped there were other exits.

They brought him at last to a room in the cellar of this complex. Here sat a small fat woman, her hair bleached bright gray in what could be a local fashion, her dress cut low in front to display an unappetizing set of breasts. Perhaps she had once been good looking, before doubling her weight; evidently she believed she had not changed. Faith might indeed work miracles, especially if psi was involved, but there had to be at least a modicum of practical application—such as dieting.

“This is not the CC agent!” the woman snapped, glaring at Knot. “The agent is normal—and female. Are you complete idiots?”

Knot’s captors did not answer. It seemed they had been ordered to pick up the occupant of Room 507, and had been told nothing else. Their error was understandable. Only Knot’s chance return, in lieu of Finesse, had prevented them from nabbing her.

“Don’t blame your flunkies,” Knot said. “It’s a case of mistaken identity.”

“Who are you?” the woman demanded sharply.

“Who are
you?
” Knot retorted.

“You may call me Viveka.”

“Call me Knot. I’m from Planet Nelson.”

“What were you doing in the agent’s room?”

What did these characters know, or not know? Were they connected to the lobotomizers? If so, he did not want to remain their prisoner! He’d better answer, and watch for his best chance to escape. “I came to pick up a suitcase.” He lifted the case he carried.

“Why?” she demanded accusingly.

The truth seemed best. “Finesse sent me for it.”

“Then you are another CC agent.”

“No. I came to see her, and she sent me on an errand.”

“Why should she associate with you, if you are not one of
them
?” The emphasis was significant.

“You really want the story? Not only is it not your business, it’s not very interesting.”

“I want the story. Your life may depend on it.”

Knot didn’t think she was fooling. These people had already abducted him, which was a serious crime on any world, and knew he would complain to the authorities if he were released. It might be as easy to commit a worse crime to cover up, and they had to have considered that at the outset. Meanwhile, this was a cold, angry woman. Perhaps her frustration over declining sex appeal had translated to ruthless sabotage of the CC systems.

“She interviewed me at my enclave—I’m a mutant, as you can see—to learn about a source of income we were concealing from CC. She—played up to me, and I thought she had interest; she’s an attractive woman.” He spread his hands, noting Viveka’s tightening of mouth muscles. Yes, she resented attractive women. “She got her information. I went with her to argue my enclave’s case with CC, and we hammered out a compromise, but then Finesse left and—well, finally I followed. I was a fool.”

“CC agents can’t be trusted,” Viveka agreed, warming slightly. “You don’t like CC?”

“I don’t like CC,” Knot agreed. “I had this notion I could win her away from—” He shrugged. “I should have known better. So she sent me to pick up the bag she’d forgotten. I was fool enough to think it contained something important. Now I know she was just getting rid of me. Your goons were there at the hotel. End of sad story.”

Viveka frowned. “It’s too pat, Knot. Why should an anti-CC mutant just happen to fall into our hands?”

“I didn’t ask to come here!” he snapped. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I don’t like you either. I roughed up two of your people—but you had three more, plus a laser. I’ll be happy to leave right now.”

The woman squinted thoughtfully. “Obviously she sent you back so we would capture you, in lieu of her. She must have suspected.”

That gave Knot pause. “The little bitch!” he breathed. “She used me!”

“CC uses people,” Viveka agreed. “She would have left the suitcase deliberately, as a pretext to send you back at just the right time. The time she would ordinarily have returned.”

Finesse had said she was catching on to something. True words!

“Now I have sprung the trap, so you’ll never catch her.” Knot was half pleased, half angry. He didn’t like being used.

“We shall catch her. The question is, what shall we do with you? We can’t simply let you go; we can’t afford to have CC learn about us.”

“You are an organized anti-CC conspiracy?”

Knot hardly expected a direct answer to that, and received none. “I think we’d better question you,” Viveka decided.

“Haven’t you been doing that?”

“Under the drug.”

Knot didn’t like this, but the men were closing in. He would have to submit to the drug—or fight. He saw a laser pistol pointed at him. He decided to accept the drug. After all, he had been telling the truth.

It turned out to be a vapor capsule: an old-fashioned truth-sniffer. He sniffed, and almost immediately felt his volition receding. He thought he could tell a lie if he had to, but he had no desire to do so; it would be too complicated.

Viveka leaned forward, carefully showing more of the bosom he did not wish to see, and questioned him. First she verified routine things, such as his name and planet of residence. Then she went over his connection to CC, and his reason for coming to Planet Macho. This only corroborated what he had told her before taking the drug. Finally she queried him closely on his attitude toward CC, evoking the mixed respect and hostilities he felt. At last, satisfied, she gave him a sniff of the nullifier, and his volition returned.

“So you are in fact also a psi-mute,” she said, interested. Knot didn’t remember telling her about that; the drug must have put him under deeper than he thought. “CC knows about you, but can’t use your particular talent at this time. So your psi is of little practical use.”

“It protects my privacy,” Knot said.

“How would you like to join our organization?”

“I don’t know what your organization is.”

“Now I can tell you. We are the lobos—the involuntarily lobotomized.” She smiled at his surprise. “Yes, I was psi. I was a limited telekinetic, I did very well in gambling institutions, until they caught on. Then I had to protect myself—and I made the mistake of traveling on a CC ship. I went into stasis for the takeoff, and never came out of it. When they released me, I was a lobo.”