Mute

  Coming down path. A large one, poisonous.

  Knot moved ahead to touch the gross one. BIG SNAKE COMING DOWN. POISON.

  The gross one understood this threat. WE HIDE WHERE?

  It is sated, Hermine thought. Not hungry. It will not bite unless disturbed. Stand still, let it pass.

  STAND STILL. IT WILL PASS, Knot relayed. He was glad they did not have to try to retreat down the path; he wasn’t sure how far he could make it.

  Now he saw the snake. It was indeed big; three times the length of a man, and with a girth like a man’s thigh. It had to derive from Earth, since the fauna of colony worlds did not match’s Earth’s. Perhaps a mutant, freed by its Macho owner when it grew too large or vicious. Its skin was patterned with reddish dots, and fangs protruded in front. On a narrow path like this, such a creature could readily dislodge the men—if it chose to.

  Think thoughts of friendship, Hermine directed.

  Knot realized she would relay these to the reptile, calming it. Good strategy! He thought how nice snakes could be when they were tame, keeping the premises free of rats, sunning themselves, slithering lithely about. Snakes were the most graceful of creatures, smooth and sinuous. Some breeds became very friendly, and could be carried wrapped around a forearm.

  The snake slid down the path. The gross one was before it, standing with squat legs spread, straddling the path. The serpent paused, then moved between the legs, taking the center of the path. It moved past the gross one’s tail section and bore down on Knot. Nice pet, he thought determinedly. And actually it did have beauty.

  The snake passed on between Knot’s feet. It seemed to take forever to complete its transit, but finally the last of the tail disappeared. Knot relaxed. This had certainly been better than trying to fight it.

  Now we must move, before the birds return, Hermine thought.

  Knot notified the gross one, and they went on. It did seem the snake had done them a favor, for the birds were wheeling at a greater distance than before. They might not like reptiles near their eggs, but they had little choice about this one.

  Then, suddenly, they were at the top. Evidently the serpent hunted on level ground, and rested safely down the bank, protected during its long slumbers by the terrain and the vigilance of the birds. If Knot had had to forage here, he might have done the same. He stretched himself over the lip and lay panting. His arms and legs ached; he had not been truly aware of his fatigue until now, when the tension eased.

  We must travel, Hermine thought urgently. Mit has picked up a suggestion—it is way beyond his normal range—and fears Finesse’s next torture will be very ugly.

  Ugly? What did the little crab think the first two had been? A girl devoured live by a beast, a man crushed to death— The little girl! Knot thought. He climbed to his feet. How far is it?

  Far, she thought. Days to walk.

  Then we must ride. Where is a suitable vehicle?

  Mit says there is a small aircraft an hour’s walk from here. But they will not take us where we must go.

  Just head me in the right direction. The weariness faded as he moved. The gross one followed, never seeming to tire. There were several brightly colored small craft perched near the airport building. Some were rocket boosters, some blimpeds, some winged craft. Maybe we rent one? Knot thought rhetorically.

  No. Need money and identification and license.

  Then we must steal one.

  Yes. Mit says the blue one with wings.

  Mit had to know. That one must be fueled and operable and have sufficient range. Without the hermit crab, pure chance would have militated against them; with Mit, many devious things become feasible.

  You must use your psi, Hermine thought as they approached.

  Right, Knot agreed, experiencing déjà vu. When had a similar situation arisen? Ah yes—on Planet Chicken Itza, when the Doublegross Bladewings were attacking. And for some reason the fierce fighting cocks had turned out to be afraid of blood. That still didn’t make sense.

  He walked up to the main building, the gross one following. He found the office. And remembered that he was naked, with a max-mute at his side. WAIT HERE, he squeezed to the gross one. He wondered if his companion realized that they had now escaped the enclave. But of course the escape was not secure until they got well away from it, unobserved by any knowledgeable party.

  The Macho functionary looked up from his desk, surprised. Knot started talking before the man could. “Hello, I had a bit of trouble back there. Craft went down in a cornfield. Need to borrow my friend’s craft to hop home, get my clothes on. In fact, better borrow some clothes here. What’ve you got?”

  “Who are you?” the other demanded.

  Project impression of symmetry of body, Knot told Hermine, realizing that his obvious mutant status would put the normal off. Aloud, he said: “That’s all right; I’ll pick them out myself.” He proceeded to the officer’s camping cubby under Hermine’s direction, found the closet, and began sorting through uniforms.

  “You can’t—!” the man cried indignantly, half paralyzed by the audacity of it.

  Knot picked out what he liked and climbed hastily into it.

  The fit was tight-loose, as always.

  The officer went back to his desk and snatched the phone. “Security?” he asked. “There’s an intruder here.”

  Knot completed his quick dressing, then walked out the back way while the man was expostulating on his phone. He walked around the building to pick up the gross one. FOLLOW LIKE A CAPTIVE, he squeezed. WE MUST PASS BY TROOPS.

  They headed directly for the blue airplane, the gross one following Knot submissively.

  A troop of security men ran past them. Knot knew that by the time the men got the story from the officer, much of Knot’s visit would have been forgotten. His psi was really useful in this sort of situation. Meanwhile, he was now in uniform and not subject to casual challenge—which was the point of this by-play. His psi would not have availed him, had he approached the blue airplane as a naked mutant.

  There was a guard at the airplane parking area, but he glanced at Knot’s uniform and made no challenge. Of course there were always bits of metal and decorations and emblems attached to uniforms, symptomatic of the military mind’s attraction to shine and color, and he did not have these on. But Hermine was broadcasting the impression of legitimacy so that no one noticed. Knot put the gross one aboard, then strapped himself into the pilot’s seat. Mutant beasties, do your thing, he thought with a grim smile.

  Flying an airplane was a challenge for the little crab, and Knot had to help him. There should be a way to start the engine—ah, yes, thank you. And a way to make the plane taxi forward. Yes. And a way to make it take off.

  It was a dangerously wobbly ascent, but they made it. Once in the air, Knot began to get the feel of it, and the flight became smoother. Mit stopped sweating—or whatever it was mutant crabs did when nervous.

  We are not yet safe, Hermine warned. Your psi confused the Machos, but they know the aircraft has been stolen because the theft registers on their electronic record board. They will pursue. Mit says they have faster aircraft in the vicinity, with weapons.

  They surely do, Knot agreed. What is the best strategy to avoid them?

  Fly fast and low, near the ocean cliffs.

  Right. Knot directed the plane toward the ocean and brought it as low to the ground as he dared. As the cliff came beneath him, he felt again the vertigo he had experienced while climbing it. This time it was more pleasurable. He felt much safer in the plane, and most of his body was getting a chance to rest.

  In fact, the opening vista was quite striking: greenish fields extending almost to the brink, then the gray/white gash of the dropoff, and the blue/green water below. He looked for the house-raft, where Thea the mermaid rode, but could not spot it. This was probably too far to the east of the chasm, and he was flying rapidly farther away from it. Which was all right; he liked her well, but had never deluded himself that there could
be anything permanent between them. He had, at least, repaid her well for her help; she would now have her special fulfillment.

  Would there be children who might meet in twenty years? Doubtful; he would not be marrying Finesse, much as he would have liked to had she not already had a husband. But should he marry some other woman, such as perhaps his secretary York, and have a child, he could send that one.

  Pursuit, Hermine warned. Rocketship.

  That was bad news, The rockets would be twice as fast as this craft. He had hoped for more leeway. But he had some advantages. He skimmed along the brink of the cliff, so that he seemed only meters aloft on the left, and a thousand meters on the right.

  The rocket came up with horrifying ease and swiftness. The aircraft radio crackled on. “Blue wingcraft, turn about and land at field.”

  Knot did not answer. Will it attack us?

  Not yet. You will gain more time by stalling, Mit says.

  “This is the blue-wing craft,” Knot said, activating the radio according to Mit’s instructions. “I’m not sure I am able to turn.”

  Soon he was enmeshed in a technical discussion of airplane control, as the rocket pilot tried to clarify for a seemingly stupid novice how to operate the controls for a safe turn.

  “Get some elevation!” the rocket cried. “You’re about to crash into the cliff!”

  “Elevation,” Knot agreed, and allowed the plane to dip lower.

  But the rocketeer was not a fool. He soon realized that Knot was playing with him. “Turn that craft about, or I will fire on you,” he said, exasperated.

  Bluff? Knot asked Hermine.

  Yes—now. But he will fire soon, if he needs to. He is a normal, an honest civil defense pilot, with sense and courage.

  I would have to draw one of that kind! Knot complained. Why can’t honest, competent men stay where they belong, in some ghetto?

  There are leaks in the screening process, Mit says. Some good men get through.

  The irony was, Mit was serious.

  Knot played out his string as far as it would go, all the while progressing obliquely toward his target. When the rocket could no longer be put off, Knot dropped down below the top of the cliff and flew with his left wing tip almost touching. Birds flew up angrily, squawking. Now he was absolutely dependent on Mit’s guidance, for without the crab’s precognition he could not have avoided contact with the cliff.

  “Get away from there!” the rocket pilot cried. “You’ll crash, and ruin a good plane!”

  But Knot stayed where he was. Angry, the rocket oriented behind him, to fire—and Knot dropped suddenly lower, almost scraping the thin beach.

  “You’re absolutely crazy!” the rocket cried. But he came down to orient on Knot’s plane again. The rocket craft was not only faster, it was more maneuverable, and had a more experienced pilot; Knot could surprise the man but not actually lose him by such maneuvers.

  We must cut across to the villa, Hermine announced.

  “All right, you win,” Knot radioed. “I’ll lift up and head back. He started climbing, and the rocket paced him without firing.

  By the time Knot cleared the cliff, he was beyond his turnoff place, so could afford to cut back. Thus he made some progress toward his destination without the rocket catching on. But soon he would be retreating from the volcano and villa. Abruptly he swerved again, going directly toward the villa.

  This time the rocketeer did not play games. It was hard to keep fooling an honest man! The craft looped around, oriented, and fired.

  But Mit anticipated the shot, and knew where not to be, when. Veer sharp left and down—NOW! Knot did so, and the laser beam missed, above and to the right.

  Slow, lift, Hermine directed, relaying Mit’s instructions. And the second beam missed, ahead.

  The rocket pilot began to get angry, not understanding that he was up against psi. But he was determined, and his marksmanship was excellent; they knew it was only a matter of brief time before he scored.

  Lake ahead, close to crater, Hermine advised. Crash-land in water.

  Knot slanted the plane down. The lake came into sight, and he shot into it, bouncing on the surface several times before halting and starting to sink.

  The rocket zoomed overhead, but the pilot was too canny to try to land similarly. His craft needed a regular field, or it would not be able to take off again. In fact, it might require a rocket launcher. Also, the rocket consumed a great deal more fuel; it must be getting low. The craft looped about and departed.

  He is summoning land reinforcements to this spot, Hermine thought. They will not take long to converge.

  But now the volcano was in sight, perhaps an hour’s walk away.

  Probably not enough time, but the effort had to be made. Knot and the gross one extricated themselves from the slowly settling plane, splashed to shore, and hurried toward the villa. With luck, the troops would orient first on the airplane, then not be able to locate the fugitives before the hour was up.

  That luck did not materialize. A truck ferried a dozen armed men to Knot’s vicinity in half an hour, following his trail with a heat-sensing device so that there was no hesitation. Several more men parachuted down between Knot and the volcano. It seemed this was a sensitive area.

  Right at this inopportune time, Finesse commenced another transmission. They were close now, almost within Hermine’s sending range to a person she knew really well, and the reception was very strong.

  The child, Klisty, was in a pit in the central arena. She was in darkness, but infrared light bathed her and made the complete scene visible to Piebald and Finesse.

  “Now the child has fair psi talent,” Piebald said. “She can dowse for conductors, most notably water and precious metals. It is not strictly an electrical phenomenon, however, for pure water does not conduct electricity; it is the impurities that convert it to a conductor. Yet the child can locate pure water. I certainly hope we shall have the opportunity to define her talent further. But first there is a certain matter we must undertake.”

  He touched a button. “Klisty—do you hear me?” he called.

  The little girl whirled around, her pigtails flying. “Where are you, Mister Piebald?” she cried, the tinge of hysteria in her voice. “Why am I in this awful cold dark?”

  “It is cold because this is the snake pit,” Piebald answered. “Reptiles do not function well when cold, so these are torpid. Rattlers, corals, cottonmouths, cobras, even a huge python—scattered about the premises. They will be aware of you, my dear, but I fear you are not aware of them, since they are no more conductive than the floor. When it warms, it will become rather awkward in there. I advise you to be careful where you step.”

  The girl looked down, but obviously could not see any thing. Her legs and feet were bare. There were no snakes in her immediate vicinity, but she was not aware of that. She looked frightened.

  Suddenly there was a blast of hot air that stirred Klisty’s hair and dress. “Oh, my,” Piebald said. “It seems someone has turned on the heat. Those reptiles will shortly become active, and they may not be in an ideal mood, especially since the floor is tilting, sliding them about.” And slowly the floor shifted, causing the child to start and catch her balance. “I fear if I were shaken that way, I would strike at anything I encountered. However, I am not a snake.”

  “You’re quite sure of that?” Finesse inquired softly.

  “But why?” Klisty cried.

  Piebald cut off the intercommunication circuit. “She does not understand. But you do, Finesse. One little throb of your psi can do wonders for the welfare of that child, I’m sure. I hope you do it before she steps on a snake in the dark, for it will instinctively bite her. Unless, of course, your psi can nullify venom! In that case it can certainly wait.”

  “You monster!” Finesse said. She was beyond screams or tears; she knew they accomplished nothing with this man.

  “Were I in your place,” the lobo said calmly, “I believe I would concentrate less on invect
ive and more on psi. But it is of course your prerogative.”

  “What does your wife say, when you come home after another hard day’s labor at the torture chamber?”

  “Do you really wish to discuss this instead of taking positive action to help the child? As you wish. My wife is a gentle woman, a lobo too, who has no idea of the nature of my business. She resides with other female lobos in a villa elsewhere on this planet, beside a pleasant lake. I fear there would be severe repercussions if she learned the nature of this center.”

  “Freeze in place,” a man’s voice ordered.

  Knot froze, confused. A normal had a laser rifle trained on him. This was the foothill to the volcano, not the villa inside. The sending had been interrupted by a current event.

  Mit says he looked and looked, but there was no way to sneak through, Hermine thought apologetically. They have captured us. But in half an hour there will be an opening.

  What’s Finesse doing? Knot thought curtly.

  The sending resumed. The little girl staggered as the floor reversed its tilt. Her foot came down on a snake. She screamed—but the snake was still torpid, and did not strike. The hot blast of air continued.

  I can’t wait half an hour, Knot thought.

  If you act now, we could free the gross one, Mit says. But we cannot free you or help Finesse.

  Then I will act alone! Knot rasped mentally. He spat the diamond into his palm as the troops closed in. He squeezed the gross one’s arm.

  I MUST TRY TO ENTER THE VILLA. I WILL SURELY FAIL, BUT I AM COMPELLED TO MAKE THE ATTEMPT. HERE IS STRELLA’S DIAMOND. TAKE IT TO HER FRIEND, AND DELIVER YOUR MESSAGE TO YOUR BROTHER. MAYBE THE DISTRACTION I PROVIDE WILL SPRING YOU FREE. MY ANIMAL FRIENDS WILL HELP YOU. OPEN YOUR MIND TO THE WEASEL, AND TRUST WHAT SHE THINKS TO YOU. SHE IS MORE VALUABLE THAN ANY OTHER FRIEND YOU COULD HAVE. And to Hermine: Jump to the gross one, you and Mit. Help him escape. Help him do these things. You can locate the friend and the brother, and guide the gross one away from harm.

  They jumped. You are suicidally brave and foolish, Hermine thought in passing. Almost like a weasel.

  Thanks.