Mute

by Piers Anthony

  Freed of its burden, the gross one did indeed handle it. The arms shot out, half-formed fists striking mutants with a force that showed in the manner their bodies reacted. People were hurled violently to the ground or sent staggering outward from the center of the action. Weapons scored on the gross one; it made no apparent difference. In moments there was a ring of battered or unconscious people.

  The gross one’s eyeless face rotated to orient on Knot. Knot picked Thea up and passed her into the waiting arms, then queried with pressure: CAN YOU FIND FOOD FOR YOURSELF? I MUST SEARCH OUT ANOTHER ALLEY, FOR WE HAVE WORSE OPPOSITION AHEAD.

  EAT HERE, the gross one responded. It set Thea down again and grasped the foot of a feebly struggling mutant. The foot came up to the mouth. The teeth closed. The mutant screamed, then went limp. The gross one continued eating, unperturbed.

  Knot suppressed whatever reactions threatened to erupt. Cannibalism was an accepted practice here; that had long since been evident. The villagers had attacked, bringing it on themselves. He, Knot, could not dictate the style of life the gross one pursued; he had made a deal for help, nothing else.

  This was an excellent exercise in toleration. Nonetheless, Knot was eager to move on. Is our new ally close?

  Very close. In that shack to the side, made from the car.

  “Wait here,” Knot told Thea. “I will fetch our ally from that dwelling.” He pointed. And did not add: The ally that will guarantee that one of our number will die.

  Dumbly, eyes fixed on the gross one, she nodded. She was of course safe here; no one would approach the gross one now with hostile intent. Also, she was dependent on the gross one for her present transportation. Like Knot, she had to accept the gross one for what it was.

  Knot hurried to the car. What is the name?

  Strella.

  “Strella, come with us,” he called, rapping on the cracked windshield.

  A normal but drab older woman emerged. “Why should I go with you?”

  “We are traveling out of the enclave. Help us and we will help you.” Knot presumed that this approach would be effective, since it happened to be the truth and Mit had not advised otherwise.

  Her eyes gleamed. “You will take me away from here?”

  “Yes, if you want to go.

  She stepped out. “Instantly.”

  Knot suffered another pang of guilt. He had to give some warning. “But the way is hard, and there will be danger. Some of us may die—are very likely to die—and there is no guarantee we will succeed in escaping.”

  “Of course.”

  It was almost too simple. “Just like that, you join us? Not even knowing us?”

  “Obviously you know enough of me to seek me out. That is recommendation enough. I have been desperate to leave the enclave for some time, lacking only a party large enough for some hope of success. I would rather die than remain here—but I don’t wish to die without trying.”

  “I feel the same,” Knot said.

  “Is that a weasel on your head?”

  “And a hermit crab. Friends.”

  She shrugged and followed him back to the gross one.

  “This is our new ally, Strella, who will come with us, knowing the risk,” Knot said, introducing her. “This is Thea, and that is the gross one.” That seemed to be all that was necessary.

  “How do you do,” Strella said.

  “Likewise, I’m sure,” Thea said. The gross one merely went on eating; he had progressed to the meaty part of the thigh and evidently found it too delectable to set aside at the moment.

  Knot looked at the available meat, then at some of the vegetable garbage the villagers ate. “I think I’d rather return to the river for raw fish.”

  Cannot, Hermine thought. Mit says the mermaid-mate is on our detour, on a tributary stream. Must fetch him now.

  “Correction,” Knot said. “The interfertile male is on our detour, and now is the time.”

  “Now? Already?” Thea repeated, amazed and gratified and perhaps a little frightened.

  “So Mit says. Mit is always right, on simple things. I don’t know why the sudden hurry, but I’m disinclined to gamble.”

  But they had to wait a while for the gross one to complete its repast. The creature had a considerable appetite. Knot chafed; he found he could not really like the gross one, despite the considerable benefit of its presence and assistance. He hoped the required message would not be as gross as the sender. And he worried about the one member of the party who was slated to die. If it happened to be himself, what use was it to continue? If one of the others, what of the guilt he bore? Yet still Knot saw nothing he could do except continue.

  At length they resumed the journey. Strella seemed normal, though Knot knew she could not be. She would not have been tolerated in the garbage village if she were not as freakish as the norm here. He found himself walking with her, leading the way for the gross one and Thea.

  “I don’t mean to pry into what is not my business,” he said. “But I am curious what caused you to be confined here. You don’t look mutant, no offense.”

  “Some are physically grotesque,” she said, making a moue. “Others are mentally grotesque.”

  “But you aren’t grotesque.”

  “I’m sure it will be apparent soon enough.”

  Damn it, what is her mutation? he demanded of Hermine.

  I will not betray a lady’s confidence, the weasel thought back smugly.

  Knot thought a mock laser beam at her and was silent.

  The route Mit indicated was not easy. The path sloped up the side of the canyon, threading through needle’s eye constrictions and under overhanging escarpments. At one point they had to creep along almost above the savage turbulence of the river below. Thea was right: they could never have navigated the rapids.

  The day was growing late, and the shadows were sharp. The river itself was darkening, while the upper reaches of the canyon remained bright. It was very pretty—in a scary way. For those sheer faces had to be passed, somehow, by anyone who sought to escape.

  Then the ledge path opened into a ledge village. The inhabitants, perched above the river and dangling their long fishing lines, were instantly stirred into hornets’ nest action. “New mutes! New mutes! Throw them off the ledge!” And they charged, evidently determined to do exactly that. No overt reason or rationale; the mere presence of strangers set off the response. As Hermine had thought at the outset: the residents of the enclave were not nice people. Knot had been accustomed to the pride of the flesh, the camaraderie of all mutants. He had been disabused.

  Knot and Strella were in the lead, and there was no room for the gross one to pass them—and no place to set Thea down so the gross one could fight. They had been criminally careless in their approach to the village. Why hadn’t Mit warned them? Because Mit had been snoozing, jogged awake only now, too late. Yet Knot knew that he himself should have been alert.

  Suddenly Knot knew that Thea had to be the one to fall, as he had feared before. The gross one would be forced to drop her, to defend itself and the rest of them. Perhaps if they had all arrived earlier, they could have prepared better.

  A mutant who was a pair of people charged up to lay four hands on Strella. Suddenly there was an explosion of putrefaction, a stench so awful that Knot almost reeled over the ledge before catching himself. Was he the one doomed to fall? No, not this time; he caught himself and leaned against the inner cliff wall.

  Others were not so fortunate. The villagers staggered backward, several stepping over the ledge and falling, so distracted by the terrible odor that they did not even scream. There was no further thought of attack.

  Slowly, as the awfulness cleared, Knot caught on. “Strella!” he exclaimed. “Psi-stink!”

  She nodded. “Now you know why I was exiled. It was either that or lobotomy, and I never could stand lobos. So I settled into the garbage dump where it didn’t bother people so much.”

  That did make sense. Knot had not noticed any part
icular odor at the garbage village, but he had been distracted by the challenge and the gross one’s response. “But if you return to Macho, you’ll be exiled again, or lobotomized.” Knot hardly thought of the enclave as being on the same planet with the normals. “They won’t let you stay.”

  “Yes, indeed. But before that happens, I will deliver this to my friend, the one who tried so hard to cover for me.” She rummaged in her clothing and brought out a good-sized, sparkling white diamond. “I found it in the garbage, one day several years ago. It can do me no good, but I do know its value. My friend will never lack for material things again.”

  “Indeed not,” Knot agreed, realizing that Strella’s prior statement about preferring death to remaining in the enclave had been inaccurate; she was motivated by a positive thing, not a negative one. Perhaps she really meant that she would rather die trying to help a friend, than to remain without even trying. “But you shouldn’t show such a thing to a stranger. There seem to be few morals here, and anyone could steal it.”

  “We must extend some modicum of trust, mustn’t we? You informed me of your objective first; you wish to escape, not to steal jewels. Left to my own devices, I have no chance to deliver it; I can defend myself from attack, but I can’t navigate rapids or cliffs alone. With you I have a small chance, and if I do not get all the way there, perhaps one of you will be kind enough to take it to my friend. I know it remains highly unlikely that the stone will reach its proper destination, but one really must try, mustn’t one?”

  Knot had to agree. “You are a brave and sensible woman. I hope your gamble is rewarded.”

  Strella nodded, having no illusions. Already Knot was amending his recent conviction about the un-nice-ity of the denizens of the enclave. Thea was nice, and so was Strella. There were probably others. He had to judge each person as an individual.

  Now he had to pay attention to the situation at hand. The gross one had reached the village ledge and was casting about in confusion. Knot hurried across and touched the arm. MUTANTS ATTACKED. STRELLA BLASTED THEM PSIONICALLY. NOW WE LOCATE MAN FOR THEA AND GO ON.

  VERY GOOD, the gross one replied.

  To Hermine Knot thought: Where is this male?

  Tent at the end. His name is Bupre.

  Knot walked to the tent. “Bupre—are you there?”

  “Is the smell gone?” a voice called from within.

  No need to explain that it had been psionic, impossible to shield via material things. “Yes.”

  Bupre emerged. He was a tall, thin mutant with flaring blueish hair and a blue cast to his skin. His lips were a darker blue, and his tongue was darker yet. Knot suspected all his internal tissues were the same. This was a color mutant. “Who are you and what do you want of me?”

  “There is a woman who—”

  “A woman? Absolutely not!”

  “You don’t understand. She—”

  “Never.” Bupre slammed his makeshift door.

  What does this mean? Knot demanded of Hermine, angrily perplexed.

  He does not like women.

  Knot stiffened. Not even to—?

  Especially not to.

  A homosexual mutant—that Thea needed to get her baby.

  Why didn’t Mit warn me?

  Mit doesn’t understand that sort of thing. Hermine wriggled on his head. Neither do I.

  “Neither do I,” Knot echoed aloud. “What can I tell Thea?”

  “I think I’ve already caught on,” Thea said from behind him. The gross one had carried her up.

  “We’ll just have to look for another man,” Knot said quickly. “There’s bound to be another. A better one.”

  “Of course there is,” Strella agreed, also catching on. “One must have faith.”

  They found some cooked fish and took it without compunction. Knot had very little sympathy for any group of people who attacked strangers without cause. Though he realized they probably had had cause, by their definitions: they didn’t want an increase in village population, and had assumed that any new arrivals were moving in. How much mischief derived from careless assumptions!

  Dubiously refreshed, they proceeded on down the path. Knot had hoped to return to the main river by dusk, but the path wound on into the tributary instead, crossing at a pleasant, deep, narrow pool that formed between ledge and main canyon wall. Best place to rest, Hermine advised.

  Thea entered the water with a little cry of joy. “I know where this intersects the main stream!” she exclaimed. “From there it is clear except for the bind, and I can get around that.” She looked about. “Getting the gross one through the bind may be tricky, though.”

  “You don’t have to go to a lot of trouble until we find you another man,” Knot said, still disturbed by the failure with Bupre. What a waste that was, in several senses.

  “You tried; you had good faith,” she said. But she didn’t look happy. “I will fetch fish and locate a safe place to stay the night.” She disappeared in a spin and splash.

  Keep in touch, Knot reminded Hermine.

  Thea found them a pleasant lodging almost underneath a fall of water. There was a reasonably wide series of ledges suitable for the gross one and Strella, while Knot took a half-cave at the end, where a sideslip of water plunged into a frothing little pool. It was noisy but pleasant, for he was assured that hardly any person or creature of size enough to be dangerous could reach him here. Not without passing the gross one. He could sleep in confidence.

  But as darkness became complete, he felt a touch on his ankle. Knot jumped; he hadn’t thought about water creatures! There could be poisonous snakes.

  Then Thea’s voice came, softly, mostly muted by the water’s roar. “Company?”

  She had the water access, of course. Knot reached out, and she came into his embrace, as she had the prior night. She was in tears; he could tell by the heaving of her body. She had had a big disappointment today.

  Knot felt guilty about that. He tried to console her. He kissed her. Nature proceeded from there. Her fused feet did not interfere with this particular interaction. Only after they had made love did he remember that Mit had precogged this. The little crab was off in a niche of the wall at the moment, but must be satisfied with his vindication now. One full day had passed since this prediction. Knot found this obliquely reassuring; at this stage he would hate to lose confidence in the crab’s psi-powers.

  In the night there was another transmission from Finesse. This one was a deliberate sending, organized and premeditated, and it was as if she were talking directly to him—or rather, to Hermine, as Knot himself was more difficult to remember.

  “Hermine, I must believe you are safe, and can somehow bring help. If I don’t believe that, I have no further reason for hanging on. I want to tell you exactly where I am, and how to reach me, and what the dangers are, though I suppose Mit can anticipate them better than I can.

  “My captors are lobos—not the poor, confused, grief-stricken ones I interviewed, but callused ones created many years ago, who have learned to live with their deprivation and to compensate by developing extraordinary hate for CC. They have taken me to a villa in a mountain, an old volcano crater, and the building sits inside the north rim so that the sunlight strikes the solar collectors. It is a very nice spot, with cultured gardens in the main crater, almost impossible to approach except by air. So I am free to wander about the premises. They doctored my nose so that it is healing nicely, and they feed me well. I could get fat, if I weren’t so concerned about my long-range situation. It is like a vacation resort, rather than a prison. I don’t know the planetary coordinates, but Hermine, you can locate me mentally if you are receiving me at all.

  “I am not alone here. There are several other prisoners, all psi-mutants. I dread to imagine what will happen to them. One is a little girl, ten Earth years old, physically normal, cute as a ladybug, named Klisty. She is a dowser, psionically sensitive to electrically conductive substances, like water and metals. Another is an old man known as NFG
; I am not certain what the initials stand for, but gather they reflect his low opinion of himself. He is a marginal psi-illusionist; he can make objects appear where none exist. But his talent is erratic and the apparitions never achieve the verisimilitude of reality. He is basically a nice, harmless, slightly lecherous old dog; he made a pass at me and I put him off with a single half-sharp word. It was as though he simply wanted to be on record as able to make an approach; I doubt he really wanted to succeed. Then there’s Lydia, grossly overweight; she can make a cup of water boil, but it takes her longer to do it psionically than it would the normal way, and the effort wears her out. So she is a psi-mute, technically, but she might as well be normal.”

  Her thought paused, as though Finesse were organizing herself for a new narrative thrust. Knot lay with Thea in his embrace, but it was Finesse who moved him. Ironic, he knew, since Finesse was the one he could not hold, literally or figuratively. Human passions were based on nonsense, yet they were compelling.

  “I tend to forget that the vast majority of psi-mutants are partial or negative. For every first class psi like you, Hermine, there are about ninety-nine lesser psis, and about half of them are so negative as to perish soon, and many of the rest are mental cripples.” Finesse was now reviewing the underlying basis of the psi society, perhaps trying to grasp how she, a normal, related. “I am sure there must have been psis before space travel, that were not understood for what they were, and were incarcerated in mental hospitals as feebleminded, incompetent, or criminally insane. In fact, they even used a minor form of lobotomy on them, electroshock treatments that stunned their psi for a time and made them seem normal. How can we of the present ever compensate or atone for the ignorant brutalities of the past! At least now we recognize the few successful psis, and use them productively.

  “Still, it is instructive to restore perspective. There are ten or a dozen partial psis like Lydia for everyone like you, Hermine—and a hundred or more normals like me. I have to remind myself how rare a thing a true psi is, like a diamond buried in trash, and what a terrible thing it is, what a crime it is to destroy such abilities, ever, for any reason at all. This lobo effort to eradicate psis must be stopped. It must be!”