Mute

by Piers Anthony

  How had Hermine fallen into it? She was telepathic; she should have picked up the mental news long before walking into it. Mit had perceived it, after all. Had she been lulled into carelessness by the ease of the chase? That did not seem like her. A weasel who got careless would not survive to maturity. But what, then, could account for it? Obviously these psi-rats had leaped at the opportunity to trap the intruder. They had organized under the direction of their telepathic leader, closing off the exits, while the bait-rat led Hermine in. The bait-rat could have been innocent as well as succulent; on the human scale, Knot himself had been similar bait for the lobo conspiracy, artificially innocent. But the other rats—their sheer malignancy should have come through strongly. Their telepathic leader had to have known beforehand that Hermine was telepathic; he had expressed no doubt on that score during his communication, though he had been caught by surprise by the action and power of Knot’s mind. That rat should have known no such trap would work. Yet he had gone ahead with it, and it had worked. Why?

  Meanwhile, the fight continued. Hermine was the faster and more deadly participant, but the rat’s size and sheer viciousness made up much of the difference. Knot had always thought of rats as cowardly, skulking creatures—but he had also thought of chickens as timid, before encountering the Doublegross Bladewings. No doubt he would have encountered a different facet of rat personality had he been rat-sized. Hermine was also aware that the pack could close in the moment the fight ended, especially if she seemed weakened, so she could not afford to take any crippling injury in return for victory. She had to protect herself, and this inhibited her attack somewhat. And—

  And she knew that Knot was thinking it out. The weasel resources alone were insufficient to get her out of the trap. She had faith in his big human brain; only Knot’s comprehension offered any hope, slight as that might be. So she was stalling, waiting for him to come up with his miracle. She had recovered from the pain-bolts and now could dispatch the rat any time. When Knot was ready.

  Knot had the sinking feeling that her confidence was unjustified, that he could not save her. Had he been able to spring her free—but this encounter was too physical. No room for long-range strategy. It was evident now that weasels and rats did not possess human-scale intelligence because they had no need of it; it was superfluous to their survival. Less brain and more teeth was the winning formula.

  Yet something nagged him. Mit had thought there was a way—a doubtful, chancy way, but nevertheless not complete doom. And something about this psi situation—how could the telepathic rat have known his trap would work against another telepath? He must have done this before, successfully trapping other psis. No—not clairvoyants or precogs like Mit, for Mit had not been deceived; just telepaths, or non-informational psis. How could—

  That was it! The rats were able to render their number telepathically invisible. There must be a rat who could establish some sort of mental shield under which they all were protected—until the trap sprung. There would be the real source of their power. The thing to do would be to identify that particular rat, kill it—

  No. That would not help Hermine now, and as for the future—did he really want to stop the rats? He was only noddingly acquainted with Macho society, but already he did not like it. The arrogant normals, the vicious lobos, the degraded situation of the mutants—why not let the rats make their move, when they came to it? Macho man versus Macho rat! Yes, he liked that.

  All of which left him back with his original problem. Hermine’s fight was progressing; soon the pain-rat would realize she was overmatched, and in order to save her life would call in the pack to finish it. In a choice between leadership and life she would probably take life. The pack would help her, then let another leader take over. Knot had only moments to devise a successful strategy.

  Desperately he cast about, using Hermine’s perceptions as they picked up peripheral impressions. He wanted to save his friend, yes, but it was also himself on the line. Without the weasel’s telepathy, Knot doubted he could escape the lobos. He would be unable to perceive Mit’s directives quickly enough, let alone follow them. He could not afford to play Twenty Questions while the lobos were firing lasers at him. He had to have that immediate telepathic rapport. So it was for all of them he was struggling—so far without success. All exits were blocked, even the holes through which the pipes passed, too narrow for anything larger than bugs. No escape there.

  Bugs—surely there must be mutant roaches, ants and the like too, leaving the ships randomly or with sinister purpose. How did they feel about the rats? Could Hermine communicate telepathically with them? Summon them here to help her? If biting ants swarmed through—

  No, there was no time! Contact with bugs might be possible, if their minuscule brains were adequate, but it would have to be slow, with negotiation, offerings, counter-offerings, compromise and final agreement—if agreement turned out to be possible. It could not be done in seconds. Again, he was thinking too far afield. He needed something physically practical now. A weapon that would daunt rats.

  A spear? Needle? Club? Again, Hermine’s body was not adapted to any of these. Tools she might use, given time; weapons were unlikely. Yet without the leverage of a weapon—

  Fire was a weapon. Any way to start one? If there were matches here—Mit might locate them—but Mit was now out of contact, and Knot could not risk going back. He had an excellent rapport with Hermine, a freak mergence of minds; he might lose it, and be unable to re-enter her mind amidst this strife. In any event, it would take too long to get information from Mit, his way. Tapping on a shell to locate matches, which might be out in lobo territory—

  Water—could he find a valve, open it, flood the rats out? No, the wall spaces were too irregular, porous; it would only attract the attention of the lobos. Even if it worked, he ran the risk of drowning Hermine along with the rats, or having them all swim, continuing the battle in water. It would be an equal disadvantage to each side, leaving the advantage with the rats. He needed something simple, fast and effective, like a laser or electric shock—

  Electric shock! There were electrical wires here, all about, color coded. This was the power station; they believed in electricity for all purposes in this vicinity. Knot knew about this sort of thing; one of CC’s anonymous minions had trained him in methods of sabotage, including the shorting out of power supplies.

  Quickly he surveyed the surroundings with this new perspective. There across the room, the wires going to a wall socket on the other side—

  Hermine, wrap this up, then bolt for those wires there. He flashed a mental picture. Though he now perceived with her senses, he still had to communicate specifically; he had not really merged with her.

  She didn’t question him. She attacked the rat with a new initiative, causing the fight to drift toward the wires. This was a better way; it postponed suspicion a few more moments.

  When they were at the wires, Hermine went for the kill. The rat was tired, no longer able to resist effectively. In a moment her blood was throbbing across her fur, and she was dying. She made a last effort of psi, striking Hermine and the rats with a great wash of agony—but it was in effect her death agony they felt.

  Hermine jumped for the wires as the other rats recovered and moved in to check their former leader. Take hold of the black wire with your teeth, Knot directed. Yank it out, strip the insulation. He made a picture of what he wanted, so there could be no confusion.

  She followed his directions, not understanding their rationale. In this respect she was easier to work with than Finesse would have been; the human female would have been questioning, demanding that it make sense on her terms, offering counter-proposals. Hermine was the soul of amenity, deferring smoothly to his intellect. It almost made him regret he was not a weasel—but then, of course, he would not have that intellect.

  Meanwhile, the rats had verified that the pain-rat was too far gone to salvage. They did not waste time with her; they oriented on Hermine and closed in.
They seemed to be leaderless at the moment, but united in this enmity.

  Hermine’s teeth were efficient. Already she had a protruding bare wire. Now the red wire. Do not let it touch the other. She did not have color vision to match his, but could distinguish the wires he meant.

  She did it, trusting him. The rats were only momentarily halted by this peculiar behavior, this eating of wires; they knew from experience that there was no nutritive value in insulation. They jostled each other for first bite at the prey. Knot formed another mental nova, imagining a colossal explosion to fling them all pellmell into space, and let it strike—but now they were braced for this, too. Rats were not super-smart, but experience and pain were excellent teachers. They charged.

  Take one wire in each front paw. But her feet were not suited to this. He tried again. Take one in your mouth, hold it by the insulation—do not touch the bare wire. Stand behind the other—

  Hermine dived for the red wire, lifting it as the first rat arrived. This required a great effort of discipline and trust on her part, for her natural reaction was to open her jaws to meet the challenge and defend herself by slashes of tooth and claw. The rat ran right up against the feebly pointing wire, ignoring it, contemptuous of any mere insulation-eater, his feet pressing the loose black wire on the floor—

  Current crackled through the rat’s body. Its hair stood momentarily on end, making it seem to expand horrendously in size. Then it collapsed.

  Well, now! Hermine thought, pleased. She whipped her wire around to meet the next rat, who was diving in from the side.

  The rat must touch both wires, Knot cautioned.

  The rat did not touch the black wire—but its feet came down on the body of the first rat, who now lay across that wire. Power surged through both their bodies. After an agonized stiffening, the second rat collapsed astride the first.

  Now the others caught on. They scrambled back, squeaking with dismay. Was this a new psi weapon?

  Draw out the black wire, Knot directed. They will come at us again.

  Hermine set down the red wire and drew carefully on the black one. She, like the rats, now had an extremely healthy respect for this weapon. You sure knew what you were doing, flat face, she thought admiringly. A power weapon from wires!

  We’re not out of this yet, he told her. We can’t take this weapon with us.

  She got the other wire clear and positioned it before her, where a rat would most conveniently come through. Sure enough, a skeptical rat moved forward, and with a little suggestion-nudge in his mind from her telepathy, he charged. As he met the wire she snatched up, he also died dramatically.

  Now the rats were convinced. To approach this weasel was to die. Five of their number had perished in one fashion or another. But they did not retreat beyond the chamber.

  Hermine stood at bay, wire in mouth, glaring about. It was an impasse. But Knot knew they could not remain this way long; the time of his opening for escape from the lobo stronghold was approaching.

  Maybe we can fool them, he thought to Hermine. Sever two lengths of wire and carry them in your mouth. If there is no clairvoyant rat, it may work.

  Hermine got to work, chewing through one wire at a time. A rat, seeing that she was not hurt by the wire, got bold and charged and was electrocuted. That put more respect back into the others. They did not understand the distinction between one wire and two wires together.

  Then Hermine advanced on the rats at the chosen exit, two colored wires held in her mouth. The rats held—then squeaked in fright as she drew near. They scattered.

  But watch the rear, Knot cautioned. The warning was unnecessary; the weasel knew her business.

  They got through. Now go back to your own mind, Hermine thought. I will get back myself.

  Promise not to fall into any more traps?

  She made a derisive weasel-snort. Do you realize you made me miss my meal?

  You’re as bad as Finesse!

  That bad? she thought, flattered.

  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 easie
r. 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.