“Little Klisty pulled a cute little-girl stunt today. She walked out on the pool’s diving board in dress clothing as if somnolent, hands outstretched before her, fingers vibrating. ‘I detect water!’ she exclaimed. ‘That way!’ And she pointed into the sky—and fell off the board to land in the pool with a great splash. Fat Lydia was sunning herself at the pool’s edge eating crackers, and she and the food got soaked; she was furious, while old NFG laughed his head off. He conjured a poor image of a jackass laughing. It was obviously intentional mischief on Klisty’s part, and finally we all were laughing. That was the only time I felt relief from tension. I bless this child for it, foolish as her prank was.”
Finesse projected the image of a girl climbing out of a pool, her fancy dress plastered to her thin body, honey-colored hair matted across her face so that two brown eyes gleamed from between strands. She was indeed a cute child, Knot thought. But her psi talent was not remarkable. Why did Piebald want her? He could not plan to torture her to reveal her supposed psi, since it was already known. The same went for the other two prisoners there. If Piebald was planning to lobotomize them, why didn’t he simply get on with it? Knot, like Finesse, feared the answer would not be pleasant.
“Otherwise, only the underlying tension prevented this day from being dull,” Finesse continued. “Piebald has not shown his mottled face. Perhaps what he said is true: he really is married, and goes home to his family when not occupied in brutality. I wonder how he treats his wife? Is she a lobo too? Does she approve his activities? Why should I even care? Obviously she does nothing to inhibit them, if she exists at all. If I were married, I would certainly see that my husband didn’t—oh, that bothers me for some reason, I don’t know why, and anyway it’s irrelevant.”
So her memory of her husband had indeed been erased, as Hermine had thought. CC had acted with inhuman logic to prevent any complications rising from that information. Only a peripheral concern remained, leaving her confused. Knot knew he would have to tell her, when he rescued her—and that telling would probably restore her full experience, and her love for that other man. But it had to be done. Knot would lie in some circumstances, but not in that one. Damn CC for sending him a married woman!
“The automatic facilities provide for our gustatory and sanitary needs, but there is no formal entertainment. All we can do is eat, sleep, swim and talk. There are no books, no holo films, no travel tours. I am learning the life histories of my companions, and providing them with my own, though there seem to be some years in my life I cannot account for. Maybe I was on a secret CC mission, and it was blanked out, though I’m not satisfied that was it. The lobos know I am a CC agent, so I need to maintain no secrecy about that. My chief novelty seems to be the fact that I am normal. The others are perplexed that I should be here, and sympathetic. They know they will be lobotomized; they expect me to be tortured before being lobotomized too. I fear they are correct. I wish only that whatever is scheduled to happen would hurry up and happen; the more time that passes, the better I get to know and like my companions, and the more their fate will hurt me when it comes.”
And that, Knot realized, was the answer to one riddle. Piebald was delaying his assorted tortures so as to enable the victims to get to know each other well; then he could use each one as leverage against the others. Finesse just might be tortured by being forced to betray her new friends.
“I hope you are well, Hermine. I think that’s the one thing the lobos don’t know about: you and Mit. I am conditioned not to reveal your nature, and I doubt the lobos have any telepath to extract it from my mind. I hope whatshisname made it back to your suitcase—I know I sent someone, and he must have been the one, otherwise I would remember—and freed you before he got into trouble. Mit predicted he would make it, but wasn’t sure what would happen thereafter, so doubts persist.
“In fact, the man seems to have a predilection for getting into complex situations that Mit cannot analyze ahead. That of course is one reason CC selected him; enemy precogs would have the same problem with him. In fact, CC did run some distance precog checks on him, and they came out hopelessly fuzzy. So I’m sorry Mit could not foresee what would happen after whatshisname opened the suitcase, but I know you two are resourceful. Keep yourselves safe, and if you reach me, try to reach another CC agent who is visiting this planet. In fact, if you are receiving this, don’t bother to come to me, after all; you now have enough information to enable CC to act. Leave the planet, sneak onto a space ship if you have to, get to a CC access terminal, tell CC to crack down on the lobos instantly. That will stop the illicit lobotomies. I’m aware I’m a hostage; I will be killed the moment CC forces approach this hideout. But this is a necessary sacrifice for the cause. My fate is sealed regardless. Somehow we must get word out about what the lobos are doing. Goodnight.”
The sending ended that suddenly. She must have gotten tired. What a brave and good woman she was! She, like Strella, was willing to sacrifice herself for the sake of her mission. But he, Knot, was made of different stuff. He would not sacrifice her for the mission. He would rescue her! She had already armed him with good information about her whereabouts and situation. Even if her nightly news bulletins stopped, they would be able to locate the volcano and villa, thanks to Mit’s clairvoyance.
Knot permitted himself to sleep, bathed in his love for her. It was not that there was anything wrong with the mermaid in his arms; it was just that Finesse—well, she was the one. He would see that her courage was rewarded. Somehow. Even if it meant restoring her to the man she really loved, her husband.
He, Knot, could do worse than returning here to the enclave river to be with Thea. He would be safe from the lobos here; they were too much like normals to risk themselves in the enclave. Yet he knew this was no adequate answer; the isolation from civilization would grind him down, and the constant brutality of this environment. Also, he could not give Thea what she required. Only the man Mit would locate could do that. So Knot had to give her up to another man, too. And, he knew with sudden conviction, that he would. That would be his private personal vindication: that he did, in the end, what was right.
He felt happier with himself than he had before. His self-loathing was lifting. All the lies and killings along the way were leading to at least a small measure of good.
• • •
In the morning he went through the required introductions and explanations, and the memories of him came back. Since Thea and the gross one remembered each other, and Thea had been in contact with Knot all night and he seemed to be partially resistant to psi, they both recovered fairly readily.
They continued down the river. Only the bind blocked them from the ocean. They arrived at it near midday.
The bind was impressive. Here the walls of the canyon were fashioned of some harder, more durable rock, that the moving water could hardly wear down. They closed in, asserting their dominance, looming above, finally forming a natural bridge. This bridge thickened until it became a full dam that blocked off the river entirely. Yet the water did not overflow; it formed into a deep pool in which a whirlpool gyrated.
“Not safe to pass through that,” Thea advised them, looking toward the vortex. “It is a virginally tight aperture, with a lot of water pressure. Any living thing of our size would be crushed. There are some cavern passages that get through, but unless you can swim as well as I can—”
“What alternatives do we have?” Knot asked, staring up at the looming rock face. Sunlight cut across it, making stark shadows that became more extensive below, until at water level all was shadowed. He felt slightly claustrophobic. If the base was this dark at midday, what was it like at any other time?
“There are other caverns above the water level—but the rat folk live there. I never had to deal with them. You know how mutants are about strangers.”
Knot had recently learned, certainly. His prior experience in Enclave MM 58 had hardly prepared him for this one in TZ 9. MM 58 had been min-mute; this was max-mute. T
he difference was far greater than the superficial classifications. That had been basically compatible and happy; this was isolated and savage.
Yet they had to pass the bind. “We’ll risk the rat folk.”
Mit advised them of a suitable ascent to the upper passages. It was amazing how the way developed from seeming blankness under the crab’s guidance. Knot had tended to forget that Mit, like Hermine, was a psi of the first rank, but it really showed here.
They achieved an opening in the sidewall that was large enough for them to walk through upright. The gross one carried Thea again. She had proved fairly adept at wriggling up the ledges; it was, she explained breathlessly, a bit like swimming. She was not helpless on land, merely crippled.
Mit directed them along those channels that would longest avoid contact with the rat folk. But, inevitably, they came to a pass where contact occurred.
Fire, Hermine thought. Mit says they don’t like fire. We must make some and carry it.
Knot no longer questioned the little crab’s pronouncements. “Fire? Show us how.”
Mit showed them where spark-striking stones were, and dried moss, and old fallen stalks carried in by the rat folk and discarded. It seemed the rats wended their way to the surface periodically to harvest green plants, lest they come down with scurvy from too restricted a diet, and threw away the stems. These made passable torches.
“The surface?” Thea inquired. “Could you escape the enclave here?”
It was not to be. There were terraces and slopes within the chasm, and these were the ones the rat folk reached. They had no passage to the exterior world of Macho.
When the party encountered the rat folk, Knot and Thea were armed with fire. The eyes of the rats glinted reflectively as they backed off and skulked away, not caring to approach, yet feeling the compulsion to protect their environs from intrusion. They closed in behind, noses quivering, arms reaching to the floor, squeaking. They were not extreme mutants; rather they were deformed in limbs and torso, so that normal vertical posture was not satisfactory to them. Some were more distorted than others, but their hunched attitude and slinking manner put a common stamp on them. The gross one, but for its magnitude and boldness, might have fitted well into these caverns.
All went well until the party encountered a water passage. Mit indicated that they had to pass through it—and that there were more rat-folk on the other side.
“But we have to dive under—and that will douse our torches!” Thea protested.
What do we do now? Knot asked Hermine. The rats were getting bolder; they were not actually terrified of fire, they merely detested it.
Mental fire, the weasel replied, surprised. Mit says you must broadcast—
Right. Knot explained the need briefly to Thea and the gross one. All three set about imagining raging flames. Holding that image in their minds, they dived into the water and swam through the nether passage. The gross one could swim, clumsily, and that was all that was necessary for this brief section. Thea now reversed their roles by helping the gross one along, for of course this swim was simple for her. They emerged on the other side, in a new cavern—and the mental fires Hermine relayed to the rats sent them scurrying.
It was that easy. Knot had privately feared a very difficult transit, but that never developed. They proceeded unhampered to the exit below the bind, and tediously scaled the ledges down to the water. The final section they did the easy way: jumping into the water. The height was daunting, but Mit assured them that all of them would survive unhurt, so long as they followed the instructions on positioning Hermine relayed. They believed—and it was so.
Thea went first, having most confidence about water. She balanced herself precariously upright on the ledge, then flexed her knees and jumped into a lovely arching forward dive. Knot knew he would never forget her smile of rapture as she floated toward the water. She was doing something only normals could do, this one time in her life, and she gloried in it. Then she splashed down, fairly cleanly; her tail slapped the surface. In a moment she reappeared from the turbulence and waved.
Then the gross one. For this trip, Hermine and Mit elected to go with him, not with Knot. They clung to his head as he made a running leap off the ledge and dropped into a champion belly-flop. It must have stung terribly, but the wide mouth emerged from the froth grinning. He, too, had accomplished something unique.
Finally Knot himself went. Can I do a cannonball? he thought hopefully. Hermine gave him leave, and he ran, sprang, and curled himself into the ball, letting the canyon spin around him as the world had done in Finesse’s dream of love. That was a delightful simile! Then the smash of the water, ending the dream, and the struggle to orient and reach the surface and snort the liquid out of his nostrils.
“You know, I’ll bet you have two of the finest psis in the galaxy, there,” Thea remarked as they collected on the shore. “Each has a double talent; thought reception and thought broadcast for the weasel, clairvoyance and precognition for the crab. And your own psi is an insidious, amazing thing—and in fact you, too, are a double mutant, counting your physical side. Strange that, from what you say, you three should have been assigned to work with a normal.”
“She’s a very skilled, competent and nice normal,” Knot said. “I love her.”
Thea laughed. “I could love you, if I could remember you! But I wonder—you told me the women is being tortured because the lobos believe she has a psi talent. Is it possible they are right? It would make sense for CC to sent a secret psi on a mission like yours.”
It would indeed! So much would become explicable, if Finesse were actually psi. Are the lobos right? Knot asked Hermine.
Mit says no, the weasel thought.
The bubble of speculation burst. “Our clairvoyant says no,” Knot repeated. “At this stage I find it very hard to believe that he could be wrong. He either knows something or he doesn’t know it, but he is never wrong when he does know it. If you see what I mean. Mit has known Finesse longer than I have.”
“So they really are torturing her for nothing,” Thea said. “They can’t be very smart. Maybe the lobotomy distorts their thinking.”
“I understand lobotomy is pretty refined,” Knot said. “It eliminates only the psi talent and the memories immediately associated with the lobotomy itself, and leaves the rational powers intact. There is a period of a month or so of confusion, then that clears up. Clearly the lobos are well organized and represent an effective force, so there is a real chance they can bring down CC.”
“But they’re still trying to squeeze psi out of a normal,” she said. “Normals wouldn’t do that, would they? Well, let’s get on with the rescue.” The gross one had now climbed out of the water, having had to locate a place with a navigable slope.
Progress was now rapid, because the canyon broadened, and some shore line was present most of the way. By nightfall Thea was able to announce that one more day’s travel would bring them to the ocean.
“Which is where we part company,” she said. “I really can’t handle sea water. It stings my eyes.”
“But I still haven’t found you your man!” Knot protested.
“There’s a good sized enclave development at the estuary,” she said. “Somewhere in there must be my man.” But she did not sound supremely confident.
“I shall not go until we find him for you,” Knot said with conviction.
“Meanwhile, I will accept a substitute,” she said. “I don’t remember what happened upstream, but I suspect you have a way with women.”
“I do,” Knot agreed. “I did with you, twice.”
“Can you make me remember it this time?”
Knot had gone over this question many times with the people with whom he associated, since they seldom remembered his answer. “You need someone to remind you of me just after I leave. To shore up the memories as they are fading, and transfer them to permanent memory. My psi interferes with that transfer from temporary to permanent, in some fashion.” He had sugge
sted, before, that she write it down, but she was largely illiterate and lacked the facilities. “If Strella had lived, she might have written notes.” He shrugged. “Thea, I don’t think it’s worth your effort. Once we find your man, you’ll have no need of any memories of me.”
“I want those memories!” she insisted, clouding up.
I could remind her, Hermine offered. She was back in Knot’s hair, now that he was no longer cannonballing into the water, and Mit was with her.
“Hermine will remind you telepathically,” Knot said. “That won’t be perfect, because her sending range is limited, but it will help if you work at it. You will have to concentrate on her very hard, after we separate, to pick up her thoughts as we draw farther apart.”
“Does the crab say that will work?” Thea asked. Then she smiled. “Yes, Hermine tells me he says it will. Oh, thank you!” The mermaid clasped him with vigor and led him into one of the more delightful experiences of his recent life. Her feet might be fused together, but she could do a lot with her separated thighs when she wanted to, not to mention the rest of her body. He did like her, and that helped.
There was another transmission from Finesse in the night, a brief one. “Hermine, I think the picnic is over. There is a changed mood here. I think I know how it must have been in the death camps of history, when mass executions were coming up. Tomorrow—I am afraid. Something awful is going to happen.”
Knot suffered an ugly chill. Hermine, do you think she’s right?
Yes, the weasel responded tightly. We cannot get there in time.
I should have been traveling by night, instead of dallying with the mermaid! he thought with savage reproach.
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