Finesse—her very name advertised her nature. A potent psi, masquerading as a normal until the enemy showed its hand.
Very well: was she doing it again? Suppose the lobos had an assassin squad lurking, just waiting for them to clear the premises of the well-set and politically potent Macho citizen, the gross one’s brother, so that the murder would not create a lobo-destructive commotion. For the lobos, as a despised minority, remained vulnerable to the wrath of the normal majority—should that majority ever be specifically aroused. So open murder was beyond the lobos’ range of tactics, while covert murder was practical and expedient. Suppose that squad was there, outside at this moment—and Finesse knew it? How would she react?
She would ignore it overtly, and make plans to deal with it covertly, playing this game by its deadly rules. She would not discuss the matter in words, because the lobos would naturally have listening devices monitoring the premises, as well as visual monitors. Finesse would talk freely of known plans, of past adventures, even of love—but never of escape or assassination. To lull the spying lobos.
What, then, of Hermine? The lobos did not use psi, though they were highly conscious of it. Where were the weasel and the crab? They had not been within range of him since the gross one’s wedding. What were they up to? Were they being kept away from him? If so, why?
Could there be a telepathist also monitoring them? No—even assuming the lobos would use one, there would be no point in Finesse being secretive if her mind were being motivated or read from outside. She might as well discuss her concerns openly. And he, himself—what profit in this line of thought, if an enemy telepathist was following it all?
On the other hand, with non-psi monitoring of this estate, the lobos could not know what was going on in any of their minds. But the lobos did know of Hermine’s and Mit’s powers now, surely; the episode of the bees and the truck would surely have given them the hint. As long as those two animals were out of range, there could be no hidden planning. So the lobos would not be forced to act precipitously. That gave some leeway.
But how were Knot and Finesse and Hermine and Mit and maybe the girl Klisty to escape this planet? The lobos surely would not let them go to make their reports to CC! Somewhere between the estate and the ship there was likely to be a most unfortunate accident. Finesse had to know that, and to be planning for it.
The trouble was, Knot did not trust this. He wanted to know personally that he could get off this planet intact. He needed to form his own plan, in case whatever Finesse had in mind failed.
At night, when things were quiet, Knot quietly got out of bed and slipped out of the house. His psi would protect him here; anyone he encountered would soon forget the meeting. Outside, he slunk into a convenient shadow and waited, watching. He did not spy any lobos—but of course they would be inconspicuous. Well, if they did not physically apprehend him, they would forget him, and he would slip through. That was the real advantage of his psi.
He moved on past an ornamental picket fence—and heard a motion in the night. It seemed to be a creature of moderate size, fast and sleek.
Knot stepped back and felt for the picket fence. Quickly he checked the pickets, locating one that was loose. He drew it carefully out of its frame, and ran his hand along its length; it was foam-steel, light but strong, its nether end shaped into a formidable spike. It would do.
The animal moved close. Now its outline showed. Sure enough, it was a houndcat, the common local guard pet, a pleasing cross between canine and feline that suited the Macho mode. Assorted breeds were suited for racing, fighting or household duties. This one surely was a fighter.
Knot held the stake before him, its point toward the animal. He did not speak, and the houndcat did not growl; it was a silent confrontation. In this respect, Knot thought, it paralleled the one between lobo and CC agent.
A trained attack animal was deadly—but so was a trained man. Knot, in another of CC’s little anonymous arrangements, had learned how to deal with the common animals. If this one pounced, it would meet the stake head-on. The thing had good night vision; it was not eager for that particular meeting. Knot was silently informing it that he had it under control. The thing prowled around, seeking an opening, finding none. Stalemate.
Then a second animal stirred. Quickly Knot felt for a second stake, keeping the first beast covered. He found another loose picket, drew it out, and got it oriented just in time. Silently he signaled the new animal: attack at your peril.
Suddenly the second houndcat launched itself at the first. A terrific fight ensued—and Knot quietly got himself well away from the vicinity.
What had happened? Why would two trained animals turn from the hunt to an interpersonal quarrel like that, without provocation? It was as if psi were involved.
Of course! Where are you, Hermine? he thought.
There was a mental chuckle. You took a long time to come out, naughty man.
You put a mean thought into the limited mind of that houndcat.
It was fun. I could not approach the house while they roamed; they eat weasels.
Who sent them?
The lobos, of course. They are not pleased with you.
Knot smiled in the dark, knowing the weasel would pick up the expression from his mind. They remember me?
They have written a book about the mysterious party who routed the solar beam at the power station and blew up their party headquarters. They believe you are that party, though they don’t remember directly. You have been constantly in their minds, which has enabled me to retain my memory of you.
That’s nice. Knot glanced back, though it was his ears that were most useful now. The houndcat quarrel was abating, which could mean trouble for him. Is there some place we can go to communicate at leisure?
Yes. Mit says you must return within hour, but that is time enough. Follow me.
Knot followed her, or rather her thought; the weasel herself was neither visible nor audible. Has Mit figured out how to get us off this planet intact?
Yes. During the mutiny.
Mutiny?
The mutant revolution.
How can the mutes revolt? They can’t get out of the enclave.
The animal mutes.
Oh.
It will be easy to ship out during that distraction. But maybe we should not.
Oh? What is on your weaseling little mind?
There was something in Piebald’s mind, when the gross one brought us to rescue you. It was complex and unconscious, so I could not read it. But very sinister. And Mit has a distance premonition.
I thought he was a short-range precog.
He is. He is not reliable for distance or complex readings. But this made him very nervous. He would not come out of his shell for a long time, even to eat. He does not want to leave this planet yet.
Knot did not like this. Does Mit often get timid without cause?
Never.
Yet if we don’t leave the planet, we can’t report to CC.
Yes. I wanted to tell you this, so your big brain could work on it. I cannot handle it; I do not know what is best.
I’ll work on it. Have you told Finesse?
She has not emerged or sought to contact me. I think she is afraid the lobos will get us if she betrays our location.
She’s more sensible than I.
Go down these steps.
Knot found the steps: grimy boards leading to a deserted cellar. Macho did have its derelict areas, its slums, if one knew where to find them. Certainly a good place to be inconspicuous. It was so good to be back with Hermine!
He pushed through a rickety wooden door and stepped into a cellar that was even darker than the outside night; his eyes could not adjust enough to make out any detail at all, but he trusted Hermine.
Mit says our chances are best if we make a treaty with the hive and its allies, Hermine thought. You must negotiate, for you are a man.
Hive? Knot thought questioningly.
Stand still, do not move, do
not swat, and the hive will communicate.
Okay, Hermine. This was something unexpected.
There was a faint buzzing. It was as if a cloud of gnats were forming about his head, hovering near his face but not landing. Then a telepathic thought came, quite different from Hermine’s, diffuse, fuzzy, yet strong. WE ARE THE HIVE.
Hello, hive, Knot thought. How am I to deal with you?
WE DO NOT TRUST MEN. BUT WE NEED SOME. THE WEASEL CLAIMS YOU CAN BE TRUSTED.
The weasel is almost as bad a liar as I am.
TRUSTED TO HONOR A DEAL WITH OUR KIND.
No. I have killed many bugs.
THAT YOUR LOYALTY, ONCE GIVEN, REMAINS FIRM THOUGH OTHERS FORGET.
That, maybe. I stand by my friends, and by the commitments I make, as well as I can. But my friends are not bugs.
SLAY THE WEASEL, OR WE SHALL STING YOU TO DEATH.
Bees! Flying softly, so he mistook them for lesser creatures. Of course the weasel had been in touch with the telepathic bees! Now they had betrayed her. Get out of here, Hermine! Knot braced himself to do battle in the dark.
But no attack came. WE READ YOUR LOYALTY TO THE WEASEL, the hive-thought came. YOU WILL ATTEMPT TO KILL US ALL, YOU WILL SACRIFICE YOUR OWN LIFE RATHER THAN BETRAY A FRIEND.
Yes! Knot thought. That may not be anything you comprehend, but—
CANCEL THREAT. IT WAS MERE EXAMPLE.
Mere example—and he had fallen for it. Listen, hive: I don’t like your example. I don’t trust you, and I’m not about to make a deal with you.
Knot, negotiate with the hive, Hermine’s thought came, pleading. Mit says we must.
Knot forced himself to cool. My friend whom you betrayed asks me to be polite to you. For her sake I will listen to your offer.
WE MUST INFORM YOU WHAT WE ARE AND WHAT WE NEED.
I will listen; that’s all I guarantee.
WE SHOULD NOT HAVE USED THAT EXAMPLE.
Is that the extent of your discourse?
Knot! Hermine seemed almost like Finesse, in thought. So ready to do the practical thing, and forgive.
The hive presented its case. Knot, prejudiced against it, nevertheless found himself fascinated. This was an aspect of mutation he had never suspected, and it was extremely significant.
Human beings mutated when the sperm cells were exposed to the undefined radiation of space. Animals and insects mutated similarly. But unlike humans, some creatures such as flies, roaches and rats spent their whole lives aboard spaceships, and they had many more generations in a given period. As a result, their mutations were far more comprehensive, and had an impact on their species a hundred times as great as on humans. Natural selection operated savagely, with only one percent of each generation surviving.
But with that selection came extremely rapid adaptation to the new condition. Insects normally spread their eggs far more widely than mammals did, and were used to regenerating their populations from exceedingly small nuclei. Thus with only one egg of each hundred viable, this constituted merely a change in the environmental hazard. In a few years the species were surviving and stabilizing despite the horrendous rate of mutation. After a number of generations, variations evolved that could withstand the mutation effect. In addition, there were mutants that bred true, outside the ships. Evolution that in nature would have required millennia had occurred in years.
One such species was the hive: semi-telepathic bee-flies who were in constant mental contact with each other. This group consciousness made every individual bee feel and suffer when any member was lost, and the aggregate was considerably more intelligent and disciplined than the individuals. Now the hive intellect was interested in eliminating threats to its welfare, such as the campaign against insects by the human population of Macho.
The hive needed, however, a human spokesman. A man to talk to other men and arrange a cessation of hostilities. Hermine had suggested that Knot was such a man.
But I am not a citizen of Macho, Knot protested. I can barely save my own skin.
WE WILL HELP YOU SAVE YOUR SKIN, IF YOU WILL SERVE AS OUR AGENT IN THIS MATTER.
But Knot remained angry about their “example.” No! I am already serving as agent to the Coordination Computer, whose policies I’m not sure I approve. I will not take on another dubious assignment.
Knot! Hermine thought, upset. It is no difficult thing the hive asks, only recognition and parity with man. And we need the hive’s help against the lobos.
The lobos are human, Knot responded. The hive is alien.
The hive has already helped us against the lobos. She flashed a picture of Piebald swatting at bees, while Knot and Finesse lay drugged in the truck. But for that interference, the lobos might have gone on before the gross one could catch up.
Damn! He did owe the hive a favor. But it appalled him, this notion of representing an alien cause.
WE OFFER ASSISTANCE, the hive continued. WE HAVE WORKED WITH OTHER CREATURES, SOME CLAIRVOYANT AND SOME PRECOGNITIVE, TO ASSEMBLE A COMPLETE CHART OF YOUR COORDINATION COMPUTER CENTRAL. IT WOULD GREATLY FACILITATE YOUR MISSION THERE.
No, Knot responded. I have access to other clairvoyance and precognition, and need neither to make my report to CC.
OUR CHART IS UNIQUE. YOUR AIDES CANNOT MATCH IT.
Why did the hive think its chart was so important? Did the hive have an overrated opinion of its work? That hardly mattered to Knot at the moment. Forget it.
IF WE CANNOT NEGOTIATE WITH MAN, WE MUST MUTINY AGAINST MAN’S ORDER, the hive warned.
It was a bluff. Man and bugs had been fighting each other for centuries. I expect you to fight man anyway. I will not help you do it. I don’t trust you.
Knot, you don’t know what mischief you are making! Hermine thought. Alone, I believed an alliance with the hive would help us escape the planet. Now with your human mind enhancing my intelligence, I understand that the stakes are far more important than that. The dominance of man in the galaxy may be at stake. We must come to terms with the psi-mutant animals.
Why should a weasel care about the dominance of man? Knot inquired.
Man is a familiar master, she replied slowly, thinking it out with her present intelligence. Man and weasel have come to terms. The hive is alien; it cares neither for man nor for weasel.
The prosecution rests, he thought. You can’t use my brain better than I can.
THEN IT SHALL BE WAR, the hive thought. YET NOW THAT YOU KNOW OUR NATURE, WE MUST KEEP TRACK OF YOU SO THAT YOU DO NOT BETRAY US.
Of course I’ll betray you!
Hermine’s inchoate pleading moved him at last. The weasel was terrified, and not merely for herself. Knot decided to compromise. I will remain neutral, neither helping you nor betraying you. That much I offer in return for the help you gave before.
THAT IS INSUFFICIENT. WE CANNOT TRUST YOU, SINCE YOU MADE NO PACT WITH US.
True, Knot agreed reluctantly.
CARRY FIVE OF OUR NUMBER WITH YOU. TOGETHER THEY WILL FORM A HIVELET CAPABLE OF GRASPING YOUR SPECIFIC THOUGHTS. IF YOU BETRAY US, THEY WILL BEAR THE MESSAGE TO US. IF YOU JOIN US, THEY WILL PROVIDE YOU THE CHART.
Knot considered a moment. He didn’t like the notion of tattletale bees, but was not unmindful that he was at the moment in the power of the hive. The bees probably could sting him to death right here, or at least make him extremely uncomfortable. Probably five bees had been lost by swatting when they attacked the lobos; could he really object to five tagging along now? His headstrong actions had gotten him in trouble before; this time it would be better to listen to Hermine. Agreed, he thought.
The buzzing of the hive intensified about his head, then faded. The bees had departed.
Hermine was relieved though displeased. At least you did not get us stung to death. But the hive could have helped us much. Now we still lack the means to escape the planet.
Sorry about that, he thought penitently. I just didn’t like the way the hive tried to make me hurt you. If you have anything in mind, I’ll try to behave b
etter.
Without the hive, we need—she paused distastefully in her thought. Mit says we need the rats. And roaches.
The vermin, he realized. The other creatures who had sneaked aboard spaceships, mutated horrendously, and finally gotten to the point where they bred true—in mutated forms. The implications of that were slowly spreading through his awareness. Psi powers that bred true without mutation. That— Why, that could be the solution to the greatest problem man faced. If it were possible to have telepaths born to telepathic parents, and precogs to precog parents, with no negative mutations, no attendant decimation of the species, why then galactic civilization could continue and flourish without the need for mutant enclaves. No mistreated minority class. The hive had it; man needed it. If the rats and roaches also had it, man could be in deep trouble.
Yes, Hermine agreed. The mutiny means bad trouble for man. The vermin have been mutating and evolving much faster, and have made the breakthrough of nonmutant psi before man. If man does not catch up soon, he is lost.
Probably he should not have been so abrupt with the hive. Well, he could get in touch any time he chose, presumably. Do you read me, spy-flies? he inquired.
There was a faint medley of replies. Present—here—yes—affirmative—agreed. They must be perching on his shoulders, and presumably they wouldn’t sting him if he did nothing to them. Good enough.
Well, stand by, or whatever it is you do. He paused. Let me know who you are, individually. Might as well make this companionable. Do you have names?
There was a momentary mental buzz of consultation. Then: For this mission we are B1, B2, B3, B6 and B12.
Vitamins! Knot thought with a mental chuckle. You are drawing from my subconscious imageries. I shall call you, respectively, Thiamin, Riboflavin, Niacin, Pyridoxine, and Cobalamin. That’s more personal than letters and numbers.
There was an answering buzz that might have been humor. It was hard to tell how much was them and how much was merely a reflection of his own mind, but Knot began to like the bees better.
Here are the roaches, Hermine thought. That species prospers because of its psi talent for detecting incipient danger. When alarmed, they become undetectable.