“Monstrously fat chance of that!” Knot muttered.
“True,” Finesse agreed morosely. “He’s the master, as far as CC is concerned. Any lesser CC outlet will honor his personal code, and there are plenty of those terminals around. So he can communicate with CC, and so can we, but we can’t override him. Not from this planet. In fact, he’ll soon have us arrested. We have to hide—again.”
“With all the resources of CC after us, this time,” Knot finished. “The lobos have really taken the advantage.”
“Yes. CC is now our enemy. We support the ousted program.” She lifted her head, her small chin firm. “But we’re not entirely helpless. CC does not yet know about our extended animal alliances. Klisty had the sense to keep all the creatures except Hermine and Mit clear of the action. Maybe it was Mit’s advice that was responsible. Piebald either knows or will soon learn about Hermine and Mit through CC, anyway.”
“He knows about Klisty and Harlan,” Knot said. “He used the null-precog effect to get through to CC himself.”
“Oh, no!” she cried, chagrined. “Then we’ll have to make that alliance with the hive.”
“Exchanging one evil for another,” Knot said. “The hive is just as much mutinous as the lobos.” He climbed to his feet, still feeling lightheaded. “Let’s not make that deal yet. Maybe the lobos and animals will cancel each other out.”
“I still have the feeling there’s something important we know,” she said. “I wish we could get hold of a power-clairvoyant, one who grasps fundamental social forces.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve had the feeling for days. There is some force operating that we have not perceived, directly.” He shrugged. “For the moment, let’s gather what we have and get out of here. This is unsafe territory for us.”
Mit directed them to Klisty and the other animals. The little girl was cleaning away tears with her free hand, holding the sleeping baby in the crook of the other arm. “I wanted to help, but Hermine and the bees told me we all had to stay out of it, no matter what. They didn’t know if you’d survive.”
Finesse put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “They were right, dear. We are playing in an extremely rough league now. It was essential that no person or machine see those animals. That may save all our lives in the next few days.”
“But I thought the animals had questions to ask CC, to get their status.”
“The Coordination Computer has turned against us,” Finesse explained. “The lobos got to it and changed its basic directive. Everything it knows about us is now our liability, but it doesn’t know about the bees, roaches or rats—we hope.”
“Then it’s not over,” Klisty said grimly.
“No—it may never be over,” Finesse agreed. There was a pause while they all considered that. How could they fight the full resources of CC? The single compulsion-psi mutant, Damner, had been almost more than they could handle.
“We have to get out of here before the CC forces seal off this barn,” Knot said. “And we’d better get off this planet before they ship in a good clairvoyant or broadscan telepath.”
“Yes,” Finesse said. “Before we were up against non-psis; now we must overcome the whole of the psi forces CC can bring to bear against us. We’ve got some of the best available psi-mutes in our own group, right here, but let’s not fool ourselves. We’re grossly overmatched.”
“We need more,” Knot said grimly. “We need enough psi to put up a decent front against CC, and that’s virtually impossible.”
More animal psis? the bees inquired, buzzing back to his shoulder.
Animal psis! He had been thinking human, for no good reason. Yes. We need psi-powers to oppose the human psis that will be brought to bear against us. Psi-blocks against clairvoyance, telekinetic attack, telepathy, compulsion—the only defense we have now is against precognition.
We have read the minds of some chickens, the bees thought. We had to do this, to be sure they were not going to eat us. We learned they are hiding psi-mutes.
Real hope flared. Of course! On an experimental chicken-breeding world there would be many unsuccessful mutants—and some successes the breeders weren’t looking for. CC did not register chickens the way it did people; comparatively few psi animals came to its attention, such as Hermine and Mit, while the rats and roaches escaped its attention. Who would interview a chicken for its mental powers? Simple, rapid inspection by handlers sufficed. Chickens that looked normal to such handlers, that seemed fit for laying or eating or combat—such birds could have all manner of psi talents, unregistered. If the chickens themselves quietly acted to preserve these psi mutants, there could be a considerable collection now. And the chickens would act—for the first chicken precog who saw the fate of those who did not act would react automatically. This did not require intelligence, any more than fleeing from a wolf did; it was simple gut-level survival.
“I think this planet too may be ripe for mutiny,” Knot murmured. “This may be the mutiny we want to join.”
Finesse looked at him, surprised, grasping it. “If they can use psi the way they fight—”
Lead us to the head chicken, Knot thought.
There is no head, the bees thought back.
There must be a group whose purpose is to save the psis.
Yes—the Clucks Clan.
Aloud, Knot said: “Yes, we may have discovered a major psi ally. The bees will show the way.”
Are you near to joining us? the bees inquired.
Nearer than I was, Knot admitted.
They moved out. No CC forces intercepted them; Knot suspected this was because the fighting cocks patrolled the barn, attacking any intruders. Klisty had released them all, with Hermine’s mental proviso that they leave her party alone. The weasel was still tracking of all those warriors, keeping them on duty and clear of the human party; that was why she was not available for this quest for the psi chickens. If Hermine lost her concentration, Doublegross Bladewings could turn on Knot’s party and do the lobos’ job for them.
But Knot knew that before long the humans would bring up sedative gas dispensers and knock the cocks out. In fact, they would probably flood the whole barn with gas.
The hidden psi-chickens were not in the barn, however. A tunnel had been scratched out of the deep dirt, leading to the old burrows of some large native creatures. Here a collection of motley chickens met them, of all three varieties: fighting, laying and nest birds. From them came strong telepathy.
We are members of the Clucks Clan. We know your purpose. We do not trust you. Humans are smart while we stupid. Now we shall be slaughtered.
Knot had had to do a lot of compromising, especially with animals. Yet they were, in their fashion, quite similar to human mutants; that came through more and more strongly. What significant difference was there between a man whose arms were feathered like wings, and whose mind was feeble—and a chicken whose telepathy enabled it to draw on Knot’s own intelligence during its interaction with him? He had dealt all his life with variations of the former; why not now deal with the latter? Surely the chickens had the greatest need of help, as they had been bred only to serve and feed man without regard for their own preference or species welfare.
Hermine, I believe we are safe from the fighting cocks here, Knot thought. Keep the others of this party informed, human and animal. I am going to negotiate with the chickens.
It’s about time, the weasel thought back.
Chickens—I mean, honorable Clucks Clan, he thought. I know you lack intelligence and organization. Otherwise you would have used your psi powers long ago to gain your freedom from exploitation. If you will lend us your psi to accomplish our purpose, we will give this planet to you. No longer will you serve man.
There was a flutter of excitement and doubt. We Clucks are not smart—concept too big—cannot trust man. Our main Clan is far away—
Then take us to your leaders! Knot thought impatiently. This region is hardly safe anyway. Not for us, not for you.
A local threat: that they grasped. Still the chickens hesitated, uncertain what course if any to pursue. They would never get anything done! This inability to make a decision was of course the very thing that had prevented them from acting effectively before.
“Gee, Mr. Knot,” Klisty said. “I like chickens. Last year I raised a flock of pullets for the eggs. Nice pink eggs. I never mistreated them, honest! They would feed from my hand and sit on my arm. I bet if I could talk to these ones—”
Hermine, interpret for her, Knot thought, conscious of the brevity of time. They had to accomplish something positive rapidly.
“No, they’re afraid of weasels and things,” Klisty demurred. “The cocks aren’t afraid of anything, so Hermine could think to them, but these ones—”
“But Hermine’s our telepath,” Knot said. “The chickens have telepaths, but for delicate negotiations I prefer to use our own telepath. Their telepaths can verify our dialogue.”
“They don’t much trust people or weasels,” Klisty said. “We aren’t going to make much progress unless we meet their people half way.”
“The bees,” Finesse murmured.
Perfect! Bees, will you interpret for Klisty? Knot thought.
There was a buzz of dismay. We don’t like chickens.
Naturally not. They eat your kind. But by that token, they will not fear you, and may speak plainly. If you stay close to Klisty for protection—
CC forces are closing in, Hermine thought urgently. Mit says they are gassing the outer chambers of this barn.
The bees rose in a group and went to the girl. A dialogue began, to which the others were not party.
“They say men are coming,” Klisty said, worried. “They can’t concentrate on negotiation right now. This cave is not far enough away from the barn.”
“We’ll have to run out of the barn—” Knot began.
Mit says they have already closed off our exit.
Knot thought fast. “These are birds. They must have some strong fliers among their mutants. Klisty, ask their telepaths to summon hundreds of flying chickens and carry us all away from here. Then we can continue negotiations.”
Klisty shook her head. “They say no. The only way out of here is through the barn, and the gas is flooding it. They are about to teleport out.”
Teleportation! “But we can’t—” Finesse began.
“Then teleport us too!” Knot cried. “They must have birds who can teleport others. If they can handle the load.”
Klisty consulted. “For a short hop, yes. Then the fliers take over.”
“Then do it! Get us all away from here! The animals too. I promise we won’t hurt any chickens!” This means you, Hermine!
The weasel responded with a miniature nova, no more than a flash of light: token defiance.
More consultation. Then four fat hens sidled cautiously up to Klisty, surrounding her and Harlan, clucking. “Bawk-bawk-bawk-CAWK!”
The child and baby were gone, along with one hen. And the five bees.
“Your turn next,” Knot told Finesse. “You take Hermine and the rats with you.”
Finesse took the three animals and went to stand amidst the three hens, who clucked nervously but finally decided to do it. “Bawk-bawk-bawk-ba-CAWK!” And Finesse was gone, with her animals, and the second hen.
Finally Knot himself went. He was the most massive package, and the roaches in his pocket were fidgeting nervously. But now he could hear the hissing of gas in the barn, and knew he did not have much time. “Let’s go!” he said.
The two remaining hens sized him up. They clucked back and forth between themselves, as though deciding which one should assume this chore. Knot thought he smelled the first whiff of gas. “Move it! Move it!” he exclaimed.
At last the larger hen squawked in the code—and Knot was wrenched from his physical and mental moorings. He suffered vertigo as he saw an inverted world shoot past him. The barn seemed transparent, while the air seemed opaque. Then he landed heavily on the ground, the hen panting beside him. He hadn’t realized that hens could pant, but of course she had carried quite a load.
He was in a field of grain, alone except for the roaches and his teleporter. He could guess what had happened: his larger mass had interfered with the hen’s aim or control, and he had landed somewhat apart from the others. Probably Klisty and Finesse had been separated too.
At least they were well away from the barn. All they had to do was find each other; then—
Man, where are you? a thought came. It had the feel of a chicken-sending. Knot did not know how he distinguished one telepathic thought from another, but he did.
Here, he thought back dutifully.
Almost immediately, he saw shapes appear over the horizon. They looked like vultures—no, they were giant fowl, with monstrously spreading wings. Specially bred for carrying burdens, no doubt. On a planet like this, they would have racing fliers, and swimmers, and other specialties, and some of these would escape to the open range. Excellent!
The giant fowl spotted him and glided down like eagles. Knot suffered sudden concern; if these were fighting birds—but evidently they were under telepathic direction, and had come prepared. They had a woven-string litter, like a hammock. Knot hung himself in its framework, and the birds hauled up on the diverging extremities. There were a score or so of them, each flapping violently. Soon he was lifted up, to swing somewhat perilously above the waving seed heads of the field. The teleporter-hen clucked and disappeared, traveling in her fashion to a more secure roost. Her job was done.
Once they had achieved suitable elevation, the birds caught an obliging draft and winged more rapidly across the surface of the planet. The terrain shifted from flat field to rolling hills and gullies dotted with trees. This was a rather pleasant way to travel, once he got used to it. When they passed higher escarpments, Knot became conscious of the associated updrafts that affected the birds’ flight. At one point they swung low over a ridge, and he feared his posterior would scrape; but in fact the clearance was a good two meters. This reminded him of childhood dreams of flying, with vicious animals in pursuit on the ground, leaping up to snap at his extremities while he flapped his arms desperately to gain altitude, never quite getting up there. Now it was the chickens flapping—but fortunately they did make headway, and as the ground slanted into another valley the elevation became comfortably high again. Phew!
In due course other flying flocks converged; those bearing Finesse and Klisty. The child waved happily; she was enjoying this. “Whee!” her high voice came faintly. What a change of pace and style from their prior travels!
It was a long trip, and the birds evidently could not maintain this energy output indefinitely. Even Knot, who was glad for the rest, found the strings of the sling chafing and digging into his backside, and he needed to urinate. He was sure his companions were no more comfortable. What was fun for a few minutes was tedious for a few hours.
As the day waned they landed by a wilderness stream. Edible tubers grew along its banks; the hungry rats were quick to sniff these out. Their party would never go hungry as long as these psi-talents were operating.
It was dusk. The chickens wandered off, foraging amidst bushes and turf, happily filling their crops with the wild seeds available and incidentally serving as an area guard force. Though these were not fighting cocks, they were very large fowl with strong muscles in wings and legs; they were not noticeably shy. Knot was sure wilderness predators would keep clear of this locale tonight.
It was evidently intended by the Clucks Clan that they spend the night here, since they had to wait on their litter-bearers, who seemed reluctant to fly in the dark. They found fine brush and ferns and formed beds. They washed in the stream, exclaiming over the chill of it. The air was warm and the sky clear; they needed no shelter.
“Was this the way it was in the enclave chasm?” Klisty inquired idly.
“Yes,” Knot said. “Except that this is like heaven, while that was more like
hell.”
“Was the mermaid like hell too?” Finesse inquired.
“Did the weasel blab about her?” Knot asked, dismayed.
“Of course not; I know nothing about Thea or her quest.”
“That’s a relief,” Knot said weakly.
“Did she really have a bigger bosom than—”
“I’m going to feed that weasel to a Bladewing!”
They lay looking up at the bright stars, tracing constellations that were unknown on Knot’s home planet of Nelson, or Klisty’s home planet of Macho. They argued about which star was which: whether Nelson lay in the region of the sky resembling a five-armed mutant man, or in the one that looked like a human brain with a dagger projecting from it: lobotomy in progress. Klisty was happily ensconced with assorted animals. She delighted having the bees, formerly objects of considerable apprehension, now buzzing about her hair. She was trying to talk them into making some honey for her.
Knot and Finesse made love, somewhat awkwardly because they did not want to disturb their fern bed or make their activity too obvious, but pleasant enough. Knot heard the child’s patter as a background to his exertions in the dark.
“Gee, it’s fun out here with everyone. In the orphan camp we always had curfew and strikes on the hands if we were late. And not much psi; I sort of had to hide my talent so I wouldn’t get teased. But you animals know about psi, don’t you! I wish I could stay with you forever. Right here on this planet, maybe; it’s so nice.”
She was interrupted by a cry from the baby. “Oh, no, Harlan—your bottle’s empty, and we’re out of formula powder. Here, I’ll see if we can get you some more.”
Knot and Finesse lay silently beside each other, listening. What did Klisty have in mind?
Fortunately the child liked voicing her thoughts. “Okay, you telepathic clucks. Where are the teleporters? Can you reach them? Good—bring them here. Right. Now tell them to ‘port over some formula powder. From where? Look, there must be lots of it in the storehouses, for mixing with chicken food or starter mash. Powdered milk, you know. Just move a bag—oops! That must weigh as much as I do! Well, I’11 take it, and we can all have milk for breakfast tomorrow when the old folks wake up.”
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