Mute (18 page)

Finesse frowned. “I’d still like to know what happened in that alternative future you and Hermine were smirking about.”

Tell her, Hermine, after I’m safely off on my next trip,
Knot thought. Then, to Drem: “I have made another policy decision. Send me another five minutes forward, for one minute.” He looked at his watch—and it jumped.

He was no longer in the hay-walled chamber. He was in the barn proper, running through a passage. His decision had been to bolt for the outside as soon as his minute was over, and evidently he had done that. But he seemed to have lost his way, for he should have made it to the spaceport-field in the intervening four minutes, and this section of the barn was unfamiliar. There were no hen-roosts here; instead there were pens containing brightly—colored birds—roosters, by the look of the plumage. But not of any familiar species. Their combs were bright golden crests, barbed like spikes, and their shanks were of similar hue, with huge hard spurs. They had metallic green bodies and wing feathers like stainless steel. They were the handsomest cocks Knot had ever seen.

But of course they would have cocks as well as hens! They were necessary for breeding, on this chicken-coop planet. As he recalled, eggs hatched into approximately equal numbers of male and female chicks; it was not yet practical to fix the sex at the time of conception or to separate the fresh eggs by the sex of the embryo within. So there were male birds, and there was no point in wasting them.

Such pretty ones! Were they intended to be decorative pets, for private gardens and such? Curious, and knowing that his minute was expiring, Knot acted promptly: he opened a door and reached in to the pen to pick up a bird.

The rooster made a harsh scream, spread his wings impressively, and launched himself at Knot’s head. Knot jerked his head back, startled, throwing up his hand to fend the bird off. The rooster struck, barely brushing Knot’s forearm, before Knot got out of the way.

He saw red—and discovered his forearm welling blood from two deep gashes. Those claws and/or beak had been so swift end sharp that there had hardly been any pain—but veins had been severed and muscle tissue laid open to a centimeter’s depth.

Now all the cocks moved in, excited by the smell of blood. By foot and wing they charged. Knot fell back beyond the door, but they piled through, following him. Now their beaks and spurs looked cruelly sharp, and their eyes oriented eagerly on the prey they pursued. One flew up—

Knot was back in the present. His arm was whole; the attack had never happened. Not in the present.

“Satisfied?” Finesse inquired. There was some color on her cheeks; Hermine must have told her about the goose.

“Not yet,” Knot said, though he had been shaken by the ferocity of the cocks’ attack. Before his nerve could fail, he made his decision. “Drem, send me back—four minutes ahead, this time.”

And he was running through the passage, seeking the cock-pen. He had willed himself along the same track, and it had worked. He put his hand to the door—and halted, not wanting to suffer another attack. These were fighting cocks! Now he could see how formidably functional their equipment was. Beak for stabbing, spurs for slicing—

He still had half his minute. He moved on to the next pen. There were more cocks there, of a different breed. These had great flaring feather headdresses, small spurs, and very large, strong feet whose claws were virtual talons. They crowded toward the hall as he approached, spreading reddish wings, eyeing him as potential prey. Formidable birds! An eagle would be wise to steer clear of one of these!

He started toward the next pen, where much larger birds were confined—and snapped back to the present. Finesse looked at him expectantly.

“Almost satisfied,” Knot said. “Drem, can you send me into the future for an indefinite period?”

“No. There would be paradox—”

“Well, for ten minutes, then. Five minutes into the future, for a ten minute period.”

That alarmed Finesse. “But that would—”

Knot’s watch jumped. He was on the same track as before, now past the golden—spur cocks, parallel to the featherheads, advancing on the big birds. These were indeed impressive: outsized beaks with bulging jaw-muscles, so that they could bite as well as peck. Grossly developed legs, with claws and spurs. Mottled greenish wings with stubby feathers that most resembled the blades of knives: obviously for fighting, not flying.

“Hey—what are you doing here?” It was a man, evidently a supervisor of fowl. Except that he was armed with a laser pistol that hardly seemed suitable for use against chickens. Knot distrusted this. Was he, in fact, a prisoner here? Did armed guards patrol the barn?

“I’m just looking,” Knot said, backing against the door to the pen. “This is a restricted region. You’re under arrest.” The man’s hand moved toward his weapon.

“A restricted region—on a chicken farm?”

“Step away from the wall, turn about, and put your hands on your head.”

Knot stepped away. He drew the door open behind him as his hands came up.

“Hey!” the man protested. “Close that—”

But already the birds were crowding out. Chickens could move rapidly when they wanted to, and evidently these had spent their lives awaiting just this opportunity. Knot stood aside and let them pass.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?” the man cried, aghast, pistol in hand. “Those are Doublegross Bladewings! Combat cocks ready for shipment to frontier planets!”

“That so?” Knot asked, interested. The birds were fanning out, closing on the man, making sounds rather more like growls than like clucks. Obviously the man didn’t want to laser valuable stock, but he had to defend himself.

He did neither. He turned and fled down the hail. The cocks pursued, raising a cacophony of hunting crows. They spread their wings but did not fly; they were too heavy, and their wings were wholly inadequate for flight.

Knot decided to emulate the man and retreat. The birds were not bothering him, perhaps because he had presented a stationary target, but he doubted that either this or any birdbrained gratefulness for their release would endure very long. He didn’t want to find out what they could do to him if they got the notion.

He retraced his route. He found he did have a memory of it, though he had not consciously experienced it: this was the future, and presumably he had lived the intervening five minutes. He
should
remember them while he was on this time track. Nevertheless, the impressions were faint; either he had not paid much attention on the way out, or the time jump had fogged things.

It took him several minutes to locate the audience chamber. Finesse was there, and the holograph of Drem; they were discussing the philosophy of time travel. They looked up as he entered.

“You have the look of further mischief about you,” Finesse said.

“Afraid so,” Knot admitted. “I let some chickens loose.”

“You should not have done that,” CC said, the Mombot image appearing beside Drem. “The birds are valuable. This is a warehouse for shipment to other planets; loose hens can delay loading and complicate the schedule.”

“Loose cocks,” Knot said.

“That could be worse. Meatbirds or warriors?”

“Warriors, I think. Doublegross Bladewings.”

“Oh, no!” Finesse cried, striking her head with the heel of one hand hard enough to make her hair fly out momentarily. “Those ones are vicious!”

“Well, in a few minutes I’ll revert to the present and the damage will be undone.”

“You mean
we’re
in one of your futures now? I lost track, the way you’ve been popping in and out. Drem is a most interesting theorist; we’ve been discussing—”

“Yes, this is a future. You really couldn’t tell?”

“Not exactly. You told Drem to send you, then you told us to wait here, and you charged off. We’ve been passing the time exploring the ramifications of—”

“Well, this is such a ramification.” Mit became agitated.
He says the fighting birds are coming here,
Hermine thought.

Knot looked at his watch, “I’m eight minutes along on a ten minute future. So all we have to do is hold them off for two minutes. Then time will revert and it will be okay.”

“Not necessarily so,” Drem said. “How long ago did you release them?”

“In the first minute of my visit. Seven—no, eight minutes ago.”

“Then the damage is done. Warn us immediately, when you revert. We’re in trouble. Or at least
you
are; my image cannot be damaged by physical attack.”

“Trouble?” Knot asked. “I don’t see why. When I had a slash on my arm, the reversion erased it completely. In this case there hasn’t even been any—”

Mit says it is true. Your visit overlaps—

There was an exultant squawk. The first Bladewing cock appeared. He glared balefully at the group, then spread his bright wings in an impressive display of menace. The blades glinted in a sparkling pattern as each feather caught the light in turn.

“Block it off with a bale!” Finesse cried.

The cock screamed shrilly and came at them, seeming huge as it hurtled. More of its kind erupted into the chamber. Knot cast about for some effective weapon. Hay would hold them off only a moment—

And found himself in the hall, walking toward the audience chamber.

Why not
in
the chamber? That was where he had been at the start. The other reversions had—

Then it came to him. He had traveled five minutes into the future—for a ten-minute tour. When he reverted, he went five minutes back.
He was already halfway through that future,
and could not erase the whole of it. His first five minutes had become fixed, immutable; all he could change were the last five.

The cocks had been released, and could no longer be unreleased. The theoretical damage had become actual.

Oh, he had really done it this time! He should have known, and Drem had tried to tell him. Now he was learning through experience—a harder teacher than he really wanted, on this occasion. CC had known this was the best way to educate him quickly. CC had been dead right!

He hurried to the chamber. “We’re in trouble,” he called as he burst in. “I released some fighting cocks, and they’re on the way here now. We need a barricade, weapons—”

Finesse’s head jerked up. “You saw this in the future?”

“They were arriving here, four minutes hence. Doublegross Bladewings with a taste for blood. I can’t revert them back!”

“Mit, what’s our best course?” Finesse snapped at the crab, trusting Hermine to translate the thought.

Mit says the cocks are coming from two directions; we are trapped already. Form a barricade of hay, arm yourselves with pitchforks, hold them off until help comes. You will have to use your psi.

“My psi won’t help, here,” Knot said. “It takes an hour or so for people to forget me, and I have to separate from them first.”

“Drem, of course,” Finesse said. “He can send is into different short-range futures, so we can select the best.”

“Oh, yes,” Knot agreed, disgruntled. “Where’s a pitchfork?”

Here,
Hermine thought, scooting to an alcove in the bales.
But I don’t think Mit meant—

“I’ll get it,” Finesse snapped. “You’re stronger; you sling bales as Mit directs.”

Knot slung bales. Each weighed about 25 kilograms and was actually very solid. Finesse found two pitchforks, then started hauling bales herself. Soon they had formed a narrow pyramid with room inside to stand back to back, and room above to wield the forks. Hermine and Mit had ledges and crevices to hide in.

“What about your servitors, CC?” Knot asked, “That robot who brought the milk of paradise—” The servitor, in the manner of its kind, had collected the refuse of their repast and unobtrusively departed some time back.

“It cannot fight,” CC replied. “This terminal was constructed for concealment rather than combat. I have summoned help from another station, but it will be a few minutes before it arrives.”

“What, no precognition?” Knot asked.

“The range of your futures at this stage was too wide for any complete survey; I did not anticipate this particular variant.”

“This is not the sort of vulnerability I expected in CC,” Knot grumped. “Better shore up your defenses, so that the next time something like this happens you will be better prepared.”

“I will see to it,” CC agreed. “I will station a psi-mute here as guard for this terminal.”

“Meanwhile, your servitor could at least bring us a better weapon.”

“It would have to go to another barn to fetch it. That would take more time than you have.”

“It brought the drink fast enough!”

“Only because I had already visited that future and anticipated your demand.
This
future, as I explained, was beyond my limited imagination.”

“I still have difficulty believing that you could anticipate that future, and not this far more dramatic one.”

“I am a logical machine. You are an illogical man. Only you can anticipate all your futures. It was because my own alternatives were limited that I associated myself with your alternatives. My own futures led inevitably to my early demise; your futures are largely opaque after your enlistment with me. The probability of my survival with you amounts to—”

“Twenty five percent,” Knot finished. “Still, I don’t see why my future was clear to you when I wanted a beverage, and unclear thereafter.” The machine had answered this twice already, but Knot remained unsatisfied, suspecting that the information CC was hiding from him related in some way to this matter.

“At the time of the beverage you had made no commitment to me. Our futures remained clear.”

“I have made no commitment
now
!”

“Perhaps not consciously, yet. But—”

“You two can continue your dialogue after we survive,” Finesse interrupted. “Right now the cocks are coming, the ones you so providently loosed, and the immediate future of several of us is opaque.” Her tone was biting.

Indeed the cocks were coming. The fighting birds were far more impressive, now that he knew how formidable they were. The blade feathers on their wings glinted, as they had before, and their legs gleamed metallically.