Young Mutants

by Asimov, Isaac

  It hurt him, and I knew it. I guess that was what I wanted, to hurt him and to hurt everybody. He was shaking his head, staring at me. “Amy, be fair. I’ve tried, you know how hard I’ve tried.”

  “Tried what? To train me? Yes, but why? To give me better use of my psi faculties? Yes, but why? Did you do it for me? Is that really why you did it? Or was that just another phoney front, like all the rest of them, in order to use me, to make me a little more valuable to have around?”

  He slapped my face so hard it jolted me. I could feel the awful pain and hurt in his mind as he stared at me, and I sensed the stinging in his palm that matched the burning in my cheek. And then something fell away in his mind, and I saw something I had never seen before.

  He loved me, that man. Incredible, isn’t it? He loved me. Me, who couldn’t call him anything but Lambertson, who couldn’t imagine calling him Michael, to say nothing of Mike—just Lambertson, who did this, or Lambertson, who thought that.

  But he could never tell me. He had decided that. I was too helpless. I needed him too much. I needed love, but not the kind of love Lambertson wanted to give, so that kind of love had to be hidden, concealed, suppressed. I needed the deepest imaginable understanding, but it had to be utterly unselfish understanding, anything else would be taking advantage of me, so a barrier had to be built—a barrier that I should never penetrate and that he should never be tempted to break down.

  Lambertson had done that. For me. It was all there, suddenly, so overwhelming it made me gasp from the impact. I wanted to throw my arms around him; instead I sat down in the chair, shaking my head helplessly. I hated myself then. I had hated myself before, but never like this.

  “If I could only go somewhere,” I said. “Someplace where nobody knew me, where I could just live by myself for a while, and shut the doors, and shut out the thoughts, and pretend for a while, just pretend that I’m perfectly normal.”

  “I wish you could,” Lambertson said. “But you can’t. You know that. Not unless Custer can really help.”

  We sat there for a while. Then I said, “Let Aarons come down. Let him bring anybody he wants with him. I’ll do what he wants. Until I see Custer.”

  That hurt, too, but it was different. It hurt both of us together, not separately any more. And somehow it didn’t hurt so much that way.

  Monday, 22 May. Aarons drove down from Boston this morning with a girl named Mary Bolton, and we went to work.

  I think I’m beginning to understand how a dog can tell when someone wants to kick him and doesn’t quite dare. I could feel the back of my neck prickle when that man walked into the conference room. I was hoping he might have changed since the last time I saw him. He hadn’t but I had. I wasn’t afraid of him any more, just awfully tired of him after he’d been here about ten minutes.

  But that girl! I wonder what sort of story he’d told her? She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, and she was terrorized. At first I thought it was Aarons she was afraid of, but that wasn’t so. It was me.

  It took us all morning just to get around that. The poor girl could hardly make herself talk. She was shaking all over when they arrived. We took a walk around the grounds, alone, and I read her bit by bit—a feeler here, a planted suggestion there, just getting her used to the idea and trying to reassure her. After a while she was smiling. She thought the lagoon was lovely, and by the time we got back to the main building she was laughing, talking about herself, beginning to relax.

  Then I gave her a full blast, quickly, only a moment or two. Don’t be afraid—I hate him, yes, but I won’t hurt you for anything. Let me come in, don’t fight me. We’ve got to work as a team.

  It shook her. She turned white and almost passed out for a moment. Then she nodded, slowly. “I see,” she said. “It feels as if it’s way inside, deep inside.”

  “That’s right. It won’t hurt. I promise.”

  She nodded again. “Let’s go back, now. I think I’m ready to try.”

  We went to work.

  I was as blind as she was, at first. There was nothing there, at first, not even a flicker of brightness. Then, probing deeper, something responded, only a hint, a suggestion of something powerful, deep and hidden—but where? What was her strength? Where was she weak? I couldn’t tell.

  We started on dice, crude, of course, but as good a tool as any. Dice are no good for measuring anything, but that was why I was there. I was the measuring instrument. The dice were only reactors. Sensitive enough, two balsam cubes, 136

  tossed from a box with only gravity to work against. I showed her first, picked up her mind as the dice popped out, led her through it. Take one at a time, the red one first. Work on it, see? Now we try both. Once more—watch it! All right, now.

  She sat frozen in the chair. She was trying; the sweat stood out on her forehead. Aarons sat tense, smoking, his fingers twitching as he watched the red and green cubes bounce on the white backdrop. Lambertson watched too, but his eyes were on the girl, not on the cubes.

  It was hard work. Bit by bit she began to grab; whatever I had felt in her mind seemed to leap up. I probed her, amplifying it, trying to draw it out. It was like wading through knee-deep mud—sticky, sluggish, resisting. I could feel her excitement growing, and bit by bit I released my grip, easing her out, baiting her.

  “All right,” I said. “That’s enough.”

  She turned to me, wide-eyed. “I—I did it.”

  Aarons was on his feet, breathing heavily. “It worked?”

  “It worked. Not very well, but it’s there. All she needs is time, and help, and patience.”

  “But it worked! Lambertson! Do you know what that means? It means I was right! It means others can have it, just like she has it!” He rubbed his hands together. “We can arrange a full-time lab for it, and work on three or four latents simultaneously. It’s a wide-open door, Michael! Can’t you see what it means?”

  Lambertson nodded, and gave me a long look. “Yes, I think I do.”

  “I’ll start arrangements tomorrow.”

  “Not tomorrow. You’ll have to wait until next week.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Amy would prefer to wait, that’s why.”

  Aarons looked at him, and then at me, peevishly. Finally he shrugged. “If you insist.”

  “We’ll talk about it next week,” I said. I was so tired I could hardly look up at him. I stood up, and smiled at my girl. Poor kid, I thought. So excited and eager about it now. And not one idea in the world of what she was walking into.

  Certainly Aarons would never be able to tell her.

  Later, when they were gone, Lambertson and I walked down toward the lagoon. It was a lovely cool evening; the ducks were down at the water’s edge. Every year there was a mother duck herding a line of ducklings down the shore and into the water. They never seemed to go where she wanted them to, and she would fuss and chatter, waddling back time and again to prod the reluctant ones out into the pool.

  We stood by the water’s edge in silence for a long time. Then Lambertson kissed me. It was the first time he had ever done that.

  “We could go away,” I whispered in his ear. “We could 138

  run out on Aarons and the Study Center and everyone, just go away somewhere.”

  He shook his head slowly. “Amy, don’t.”

  “We could! I’ll see Dr. Custer, and he’ll tell me he can help, I know he will. I won’t need the Study Center any more, or any other place, or anybody but you.”

  He didn’t answer, and I knew there wasn’t anything he could answer. Not then.

  Friday, 26 May. Yesterday we went to Boston to see Dr. Custer, and now it looks as if it’s all over. Now even I can’t pretend that there’s anything more to be done.

  Next week Aarons will come down, and I’ll go to work with him just the way he has it planned. He thinks we have three years of work ahead of us before anything can be published, before he can really be sure we have brought a latent into full use of his psi potentia
l. Maybe so, I don’t know. Maybe in three years I’ll find some way to make myself care one way or the other. But I’ll do it, anyway, because there’s nothing else to do.

  There was no anatomical defect—Dr. Custer was right about that. The eyes are perfect, beautiful gray eyes, he says, and the optic nerves and auditory nerves are perfectly functional. The defect isn’t there. It’s deeper. Too deep ever to change it.

  What you no longer use, you lose, was what he said, apologizing because he couldn’t explain it any better. It’s like a price tag, perhaps. Long ago, before I knew anything at all, the psi was so strong it started compensating, bringing in more and more from other minds—such a wealth of rich, clear, interpreted visual and auditory impressions that there was never any need for my own. And because of that, certain hookups never got hooked up. That’s only a theory, of course, but there isn’t any other way to explain it.

  But am I wrong to hate it? More than anything else in the world I want to see Lambertson, see him smile and light his pipe, hear him laugh. I want to know what color really is, what music really sounds like unfiltered through somebody else’s ears.

  I want to see a sunset, just once. Just once I want to see that mother duck take her ducklings down to the water. But I never will. Instead, I see and hear things nobody else can, and the fact that I am stone blind and stone deaf shouldn’t make any difference. After all, I’ve always been that way.

  Maybe next week I’ll ask Aarons what he thinks about it. It should be interesting to hear what he says.

  I Can’t Help Saying Goodbye

  by Ann Mackenzie

  Being able to predict the future (precognition) might not always be a blessing.

  * * *

  My name is Karen Anders I’m nine years old I’m little and dark and nearsighted I live with Max and Libby I have no friends

  Max is my brother he’s 20 years older than me he has close-together eyes and a worried look we Anders always were a homely lot he has asthma too

  Libby used to be pretty but she’s put on weight she looks like a wrestler in her new bikini I wish I had a bikini Lib won’t buy me one I guess I’d stop being so scared of going in the water if I had a yellow bikini to wear on the beach

  Once when I was seven my father and mother went shopping they never came home there was a holdup in the bank like on television Lib said this crazy guy just mowed them down

  Before they went out I knew I had to say goodbye I said it slow and clear goodbye Mommy first then goodbye Daddy but no one took any notice of it much seeing they were going shopping anyway but afterwards Max remembered he said to Libby the way that kid said goodbye you’d think she knew

  Libby said for gosh sakes how could she know be reasonable honey but I guess this means we’re responsible for her now have you thought of that

  She didn’t sound exactly pleased about it

  Well after I came to live with Max and Libby I knew I had to say goodbye to Lib’s brother Dick he was playing cards with them in the living room and when Lib yelled Karen get to bed can’t you I went to him and stood as straight as I could with my hands clasped loose in front like Miss Jones tells us when we have choir in school

  I said very slow and clear well goodbye Dick and Libby gave me a kind of funny look

  Dick didn’t look up from his cards he said goodnight kid

  Next evening before any of us saw him again he was dead of a disease called peritonitis it explodes in your stomach and busts it full of holes

  Lib said Max did you hear how she said goodbye to Dick and Max started wheezing and gasping and carrying on he said I told you there was something didn’t I it’s weird that’s what it is it scares me sick who’ll she say goodbye to next I’d like to know and Lib said there honey there baby try to calm yourself

  I came out from behind the door where I was listening I said don’t worry Max you’ll be okay

  His face was blotchy and his mouth was blue he said in a scratchy whisper how do you know

  What a dumb question as though I’d tell him even if I did know

  Libby bent down and pushed her face close to mine I could smell her breath cigarettes and bourbon and garlic salad

  She said only it came out like a hiss don’t you ever say goodbye to anyone again don’t you ever say it

  The trouble is I can’t help saying goodbye

  After that things went okay for a while and I thought maybe they’d forgotten all about it but Libby still wouldn’t buy me a new bikini

  Then one day in school I knew I had to say goodbye to Kimberley and Charlene and Brett and Susie

  Well I clasped my hands in front of me and I said it to each of them slow and careful one by one

  Miss Jones said goodness Karen why so solemn dear and I said well you see they’re going to die

  She said Karen you’re a cruel wicked child you shouldn’t say things like that it isn’t funny see how you made poor little Susie cry and she said come Susie dear get in the car you’ll soon be home and then you’ll be all right

  So Susie dried her tears and ran after Kimberley and Charlene and Brett and climbed in the car right next to Charlene’s mom because Charlene’s mom was doing the car pool that week

  And that was the last we saw of any of them because the car skidded off the road to Mountain Heights and rolled all the way down to the valley before it caught fire

  There was no school next day it was the funeral we sang songs and scattered flowers on the graves

  Nobody wanted to stand next to me

  When it was over Miss Jones came along to see Libby I said good evening and she said it back but her eyes slipped away from me and she breathed kind of fast then Libby sent me out to play

  Well when Miss Jones had gone Libby called me back she said didn’t I tell you never never never to say goodbye to anyone again

  She grabbed hold of me and her eyes were kind of burning she twisted my arm it hurt I screamed don’t please don’t but she went on twisting and twisting so I said if you don’t let go I’ll say goodbye to Max

  It was the only way I could think of to make her stop

  She did stop but she kept hanging on to my arm she said oh God you mean you can make it happen you can make them die

  Well of course I can’t but I wasn’t going to tell her that in case she hurt me again so I said yes I can

  She let go of me I fell hard on my back she said are you okay did I hurt you Karen honey I said yes and you better not do it again and she said I was only kidding I didn’t mean it

  So then I knew that she was scared of me I said I want a bikini to wear on the beach a yellow one because yellow’s my favorite color

  She said well honey you know we have to be careful and I said do you want me to say goodbye to Max or not

  She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes and stood quite still for a while and I said what are you doing and she said thinking

  Then all of a sudden she opened her eyes and grinned she said hey I know we’ll go to the beach tomorrow we’ll take our lunch I said does that mean I get my new bikini and she said yes your bikini and anything else you want

  So yesterday afternoon we bought the bikini and early this morning Lib went into the kitchen and fixed up the picnic fried chicken and orange salad and chocolate cake and the special doughnuts she makes for company she said Karen are you sure it’s all the way you want it and I said sure everything looks just great and I won’t be so scared of the waves now I have my bikini and Libby laughed she put the lunch basket into the car she has strong brown arms she said no I guess you won’t

  Then I went up to my room and put on my bikini it fitted just right I went to look in the glass I looked and looked then I clasped my hands in front I felt kind of funny I said slow and clear goodbye Karen goodbye Karen goodbye goodbye

  The Listening Child

  by Idris Seabright (Margaret St. Clair)

  This is a story of a man receiving his future as a result of a boy’s present.

  * *
*

  It was not until after his first bad heart attack that Edwin Hoppier really noticed the child. He had long ago decided on the basis of his contacts with his married sister’s strident brood that he didn’t like children. But the doctor, after telling him roundly that he was lucky to be alive, had ordered at least a month’s rest in bed. Somebody had to bring the trays up from the boarding house dining room. Timmy was usually the one.

  Timmy’s grandmother dressed him in smocks and little breeches she cut out of discarded housedresses, and this costume, together with his long black cotton stockings and home-trimmed hair, gave him an odd resemblance to the kindergarten pupils of thirty years ago. After he had successfully negotiated the hazards of knocking, opening the door, and putting the tray down, he would linger, smiling shyly, until Hoppier began to eat. Hoppier always spoke to him, but Timmy never answered. One day Hoppier mentioned it to Mrs. Dean when she was straightening up his room.

  “Oh, didn’t you know?” she said, putting down her dust cloth and turning. “I thought I’d told you. Why, the poor little fellow had scarlet fever when he was a year old, just after his mother died. He’s deaf. He can’t hear a thing.

  “He goes to the deaf school, but he hasn’t learned to lip-read yet. The teacher says it’s hard to teach them, when they can’t hear at all. And of course he can’t talk.”

  “That’s too bad,” Hoppier said with an effort. He had the invalid’s dislike for hearing about other people’s troubles. “Are you sure he’s entirely deaf, though? I thought I’d noticed him listening to things.”

  Mrs. Dean shook her head. “You mean that way he has of putting his head on one side and listening to something you can’t hear yourself? That doesn’t mean anything. I asked the doctor at the clinic about it, and he said Timmy couldn’t possibly be hearing anything. It gives you the creeps to watch him, though, doesn’t it? I used to get the shivers every time, until I got used to it. But he’s just like his ears were filled with concrete, he’s that deaf. Poor little thing.”