Mute (29 page)

Knot relaxed—and was back with Mit in the closet. ANY TROUBLE? he tapped on the crab’s shell.

NO.

DID I SAVE HER?

YES.

Knot relaxed the rest of the way. It had been a tense sequence.

In a moment there was a scurrying sound in the corner. Hermine emerged, followed by a foolhardy rat. Knot smashed at it with his fist, knocking it across the floor; it squealed and scrambled away, disappearing in the wall. Oops—he had lost another potential meal for the weasel.
I owe you: one rat,
he thought.

Fortunately she was not angry.
I wish I had a mind like yours,
Hermine thought.
Such clever killing!

Be satisfied with a mind like yours,
he responded.
Without your telepathy, I could not have helped.

CHAPTER 8:

Oh, I forgot,
Hermine thought abruptly.
I must focus on Finesse.
Then, with alarm:
She is sending! She is afraid. People are following her. Bad people.

Lobos,
Knot thought.
Tell here they are lobos!

I cannot. I can only receive her at this range. She knows this; she has been sending in repeat sequence, hoping I can tune in.

She does not know where you are, or what we are doing?

She does not know,
Hermine agreed.
But she is concerned. You should have rejoined her by this time. She wrote herself a note saying so, so she would remember. She fears you have been taken, and us too. She is very upset. We were all supposed to be together when the enemy struck, so we could fight as a team.

I love her,
Knot thought with a pang.

She loves you—when her mind is not blanked.

I must get to her, tell her what I have learned, help her—

Hermine agreed.
Mit says the time to escape is now. Pick us up and emerge quietly; I will relay his specifics.

Knot opened the suitcase.
Not there,
Hermine cautioned.
Mit says pockets. Carry the case empty.

He put the two animals carefully in his pockets and carried the suitcase empty. Hermine had not questioned him during the rat-fight; he would not question her or Mit now. They had to trust each other, working as a disciplined team.

He cracked open the door and emerged. The hall was empty.

They have forgotten you,
Hermine advised him.
They did not know about Mit and me. But the search continues; they know that an intruder is in the premises. You must find an opening to merge with them.

To masquerade as a lobo?
he asked, surprised and not pleased. Lobotomy, to his subjective view, was akin to castration. He wanted no part of it.

Mit says this is the least violent way.

And Mit was bound to be right. Knot followed the relayed directions, dodging people without ever seeing them. This was a puzzle, for the power station premises were a labyrinth, and the lobos were closing off rooms systematically, drastically narrowing the options.

Now it gets tight,
Hermine thought.
The chance of success is definite but very narrow. Mit knows it can be done, but the adjustment is so fine that he cannot be sure it will work.

Knot understood. One might aim his laser pistol at a distant target, knowing he could score on it if his hand were steady enough—but not be certain he had that steadiness. Mit was up against the limits of his psi talent again. Many people were involved, with complex options, and he was only a little crab without human intelligence. Psi was not magic; it was only an ability that had limits.

Nevertheless, they were dependent on Mit’s talent.
Tell me what I must accomplish. Knot thought, and I will use my resources to accomplish it, Mit does not have to work out every little detail.

Mit is good at details,
Hermine replied after a pause.
It is the grand strategy that gives him a problem.

Very well. My grand strategy is to get us out of here unremembered. My details involve remaining undiscovered for the next minute at a time. How can I stay clear the coming minute?
He was aware that a short-range strategy might mean long-range disaster, and wasn’t sure his attitude would help the crab, but had to try something.

That makes it much easier. Mit thanks you. Enter the third door on your left.

Knot counted doors. The third one was labeled BEAM ACCESS. He entered. Beyond it was a short hall and another door—and beyond that was the central chamber of the station.

It was shaped like a torus, with a columnar force field in the center. Inside this, shielded from the air of the planet, was a terrible blaze of light. It was the main beam: the laser-like concentrated ray of this world’s sun, reflected downward from the solar satellite that orbited in fixed position above. The sun’s light was reflected by another force field in space, so that a large, diffuse area was swept of a significant portion of its light, dimming the planetary surface below. Much of the light, however, was from beams that would have missed the planet entirely, so its capture represented no loss to the planet. That light was focused on the satellite, and it finished down here: the source of heat for the giant generators, hydrogen refining, and assorted other tasks. Both theory and application were too complex for Knot’s proper comprehension; he took it on faith that it worked. Reliable, renewable nonpolluting power from the sky, the mainstay of every civilized human colony planet.

Other planets did the same thing different ways, however. Most converted the light to power in the satellites, then transferred the power safely to the surface. But this was Macho; the planetary image was upheld by doing it the hard, dangerous, foolhardy way, bringing the raw light itself down.

The power station was, it seemed, operated by the lobos. How that had come about Knot could not say, but he presumed it related to their willingness to face inconvenience and danger that normal Machos avoided. He realized that it was very convenient for them. The lobos had power here, real power, physical and political—and a government-supported hideaway. No victim could escape this stronghold without being lobotomized, and no police force could spring a surprise inspection to catch the illicit lobo lab.

Yes, it was an extremely neat setup—almost better than it was reasonable to credit the lobos with being able to manage. The removal of their psi powers did not leave individuals any less intelligent than before—but neither did it enhance their mental or other abilities. So how had they managed such things as this?
Some
body should have caught on!

They have captured Finesse,
Hermine announced.
They are taking her somewhere in a car. She is afraid.

We have to get out of here!
Knot thought back. The notion of physical danger to Finesse appalled him.

Mit says they won’t put stun gas in this room. But people are coming. They will capture you unless—

Ask Mit what the lobo identification system is.
Knot, driven by the imperative of the threat to Finesse, had become largely unconcerned about his own welfare. This was a tactical situation; with a little key information he could negotiate it.

Personal recognition,
she responded after a pause.

Oh, no! There was no way he could fake that. Yet he had to get through, until one of the stungas-flooded rooms cleared and he could step out beyond the search area.

No way to fake personal recognition? There
had
to be a way! Ah—he had it!
Hermine, you must help me. I am going to establish recognition. You must respond alertly, or I will fail.

Mit already told me. But he thinks it won’t work.

He’s not sure of that?

Not sure.

Because the situation remained too complex for the little crab to assimilate in its entirety. But Knot had lived all his life without any guarantees of success. He didn’t have to be sure; he needed only a fighting chance.

A man entered and paused, spying Knot.

What’s his name?
Knot demanded.

“Hey, I don’t recognize you,” the man said challengingly.

He is called Wold.

“Hi, there, Wold. You forget me already?” Knot said, smiling as he strode forward.
When did he come to this station, from what prior situation?

I cannot tell that. It is not in his conscious thought, and I cannot explore the unconscious mind.

Wold was squinting with perplexity. “You may remember me, but—”

“I knew you back at the other job, two–three years back.”

Now it’s conscious. He was technician for a small private solar plant four years ago.

“I still don’t—” Wold was saying.

“Now I have it. How time flies! Four years back, it must have been, at that little plant, what was its name—”

Sun Valley.

“Sun Valley. I was just a handyman then, with my bad hand.” Knot held up his left hand, angled to give the impression of mutilation, of a finger cut off, rather than a naturally scant member.
Project a thought to him: knowledge of my bad hand. And my name.

Slowly the man’s brow simplified. “That’s right. Missing a finger, aren’t you? You’re—Knot.”

“You remembered!” Knot smiled again, putting his left hand out of the way as if self-conscious about his deformity. “Machine mishap, years ago. But I swore it wouldn’t hold me back. I took any job I could get, and I took the courses, passed the tests, and now I’m here. I hoped I’d be working with you, Wold. You always had the touch with this stuff.”

You are the best liar I ever met,
Hermine thought, awestruck.

Wold remained doubtful, but lacked the conviction to make an issue of it. Knot continued talking, using key information Hermine drew from the man’s mind as Knot’s remarks evoked it, skillfully building a stronger case. He was indeed good at this; it resembled an interview, and he had had years experience at that, and a lifetime’s experience dealing with people who did not remember him. This time Knot was dealing with a man whose absence of memory was natural, not the result of Knot’s psi. The transition was not difficult. Soon Wold was completely reassured. Later, when the other lobos questioned him, Wold would not remember Knot—and they would have trouble understanding how he had cooperated with a friend who had never existed.

In the course of this dialogue, Knot also picked up the information that the lobos had made it a policy to take over as many of the key services of the planet as was possible. They worked with greater discipline and for less pay than others, and never interrupted the work to make demands for better conditions or fringes. Thus they had made steady progress, and constituted the better part of the police force and fire services, as well as manning the solar power station and a number of other key industries. The average normal did not like lobos, but thought they were all right “in their place”—as public servants. They never achieved the top positions, but never protested the obvious discrimination that excluded them. Knot marveled privately at this; what force held them so well in line?

Wold took him around the beam. It was Wold’s duty to see that the beam remained focused on target. “Any little thing disturbs it,” he explained. “Weather patterns outside—it’s choked down to the narrowest feasible diameter, so that it cuts right through local fog, but dust in the air deflects it marginally. Some dust gets through despite the force screen. So I keep an eye on it, making sure it strikes the main reflector dead center. Usually it’s routine, but in a storm it gets hairy.”

“No automatic computer corrections,” Knot observed questioningly.

Wold laughed. “None at all! If we had a computer tie-in, there would be a CC tie-in, and you know what that means!”

Control by CC,
Hermine filled in, drawing it from Wold’s mind.
The lobos are rabid anti-government fanatics. They dislike the local planetary government, and they hate CC.

“Macho is run by men, not machines,” Knot agreed smoothly. This was how the lobos avoided detection by CC: they avoided using any electronic device that CC could conceivably tie in to. It decreased the efficiency of their operations, but it certainly did keep them free. He needed to get out of here and explain that to Finesse and CC. But first things first: the escape.

“Here is the mechanism control,” Wold explained. He was now operating on the assumption that Knot was here to assist him, and eventually to take over the shift. They were in an office whose partitions were heavily tinted glass. From here the beam was quite clear. It plunged straight down from the satellite, coruscating even through the tint. It was savagely beautiful. “The beam comes through this lens system in the ceiling, and can be angled to adjust for the deviations caused by external factors. Of course the orbiting solar station keeps it oriented pretty close, but the angle can change a little.”

Knot paid close attention, for a notion was coming into his head.

Mit says another man is coming,
Hermine warned.
He is trouble.

“This control is for the main reflector,” Wold continued. “It bounces the beam along the power tube. From there it is fractured, and diverted to the various boilers and generators. Our job is to keep it right on target. Normally no trouble, as I said.”

“Suppose you made a mistake and angled it into the wrong place?” Knot inquired.

“Don’t even think that! This thing would burn a hole through the containment structure in minutes, and after that—ouch!” He shook his head.

Very bad damage,
Hermine thought.
Explosions, loss of life, closing of plant, power failure in city, bad mark on lobo management leading to investigation and possible loss of this plant as a lobo enterprise. Much mischief.