Mute (38 page)

The bluff worked. Accustomed to all manner of freaks, both physical and psi, the mutants tended to back away from aggressive strangers. Their ranks parted as Knot charged on through—but in a moment the mutants closed in behind him. A double-elbowed male reached for Thea’s tail-feet, drool dribbling from the sagging center of his mouth. It was unclear whether his appetite for food or for sex predominated.

Hermine: relay this to him,
Knot thought, and formed a stunning mind detonation. The mutant fell away, and the others gave ground again, temporarily.

Now Knot spied the gross one. It was no false description: this mutant was large to the point of giantism, and grotesque to the point of revulsion. Its torso sagged between short, gnarled legs, and dragged behind, a tail like a hernia. The body tapered upward as though deprived of much of its substance by gravity, until the upper arms seemed almost as massive as the body they anchored to. The head was little more than a knob, eyeless and earless and noseless, possessing only a large sloppy mouth and several crevices and protuberances that seemed to be a scandalized nature’s wild guess at what the missing organs were supposed to resemble.

Like a lame dinosaur or a beheaded chicken, the gross one bumped along. From its maw blew out ludicrously inadequate squeaks and a few bubbles. It seemed to be aware of Knot—perhaps it had trace ESP—and its formidable talon hands reached out.

You may have to relay another nova,
Knot thought nervously to Hermine.

Mit says no—its mind is toughened against psi. A nova would only make it angry. You must communicate directly, at least until it becomes more receptive to telepathy.

This thing could neither see nor hear—yet Knot had to get in touch.
Is it sapient?

Yes. Smart and lonely and bitter, but a moderately nice person once its respect is won.

Nice person? This quality was hardly evident at the moment! Yet Mit must know.

Now they confronted each other. The other freaks formed a closed circle around them, as though this were an arena. They dared not snatch prey from the gross one, but would dive in should Knot try to escape. Knot was reminded of Hermine’s encounter with the rats. Was there really much distinction between savage people and savage rats?

Knot set Thea on the ground, carefully. His arms were tired already; she was not unduly heavy, but he was not geared to such a burden. He thought of the laser pistol, but had left that with his clothes. He had to handle this barehanded. Mit was not offering advice; probably the ways of human combat were too foreign to the crab’s experience for him to relate.

The gross one lunged. Knot stepped aside, letting the nearest arm shoot by him, clutching at nothing. It seemed the gross one simply snatched up its prey and ate it, kicking and screaming. Knot jumped in behind. He reached out to grab the thing’s right arm from behind, twisting to immobilize the limb. But he did not apply pain-pressure; instead he squeezed the flesh with his hand in a rhythmic series. It was one of the touch-codes used to communicate with blind-deaf individuals; Knot had used it often in his business. In fact, he was privately proud of the fact that he could communicate with any educated mutant, once he found the particular mode that mutant knew.

TALK, Knot squeezed, with an accent of request, not threat.

The gross one started to fight him, wrestling its arm forward with such power Knot was jerked half off his feet. The watching freaks made exclamations of excitement. But then the gross one paused.

TALK, Knot re-signaled. WE NEED YOUR HELP.

Amazed, the gross one tensed the muscles of that arm, in an almost forgotten cadence. YOU FRIEND?

Success! He had established communication, and that meant an agreement of some kind, almost certainly. Knot knew that lonely mutants would do almost anything for the sake of compatible company, to be able to hold meaningful dialogue with other parties. This was in large part responsible for his success as a placement officer; the communication-limited mutes could converse freely with him. It was a little like restoring sight to the blind, or hearing to the deaf.

But he had to answer honestly. NOT FRIEND YET. STRANGER. OFFER DEAL FOR HELP.

The gross one seemed doubtful. Perhaps it was weighing the value of the immediate meal in hand against the intangible satisfaction of communication. WHAT DEAL?

HELP TRAVEL DOWNRIVER. WE WILL HELP YOU. TELL US HOW.

WHERE GO FINALLY?

WE GO OUTSIDE ENCLAVE.

I NOT GO, the gross one responded firmly.

To the watching freaks, this looked like a continuing struggle between them, with Knot clinging desperately to the powerful arm. They could not understand why it was taking the gross one so long to prevail.

What can we do for it?
Knot demanded desperately of Hermine. He knew he had to win the favor of the creature now, or forever lose the chance. His life and Thea’s hung in the balance, and suddenly his confidence was waning.

Carry a message,
Hermine responded.

WE WILL CARRY A MESSAGE, Knot relayed. FROM YOU TO ONE OUTSIDE, WHEN WE ESCAPE HERE.

The gross one considered, seeming surprised. TO MY BROTHER, THE NORMAL.

AGREED, Knot squeezed with relief.

I HELP. ONE MOMENT. LET GO.

Knot released his communication hold. “It has agreed,” he murmured to Thea. “It will help us.” He still did not know the gender of the mutant, and doubted it retained any concept of sexual identity. There were, of course, sexless mutants, while others were grossly sexual in impractical ways. He was lucky this one remembered the squeeze-code. Someone must have taught it as a child, before it was incarcerated here.

The gross one took a step forward. The half-circle of mutants in that direction retreated a similar step. The gross one raised both arms high, then brought them down together as though throwing something violently to the ground. Its squeak-voice became a shrill scream.

The freaks scattered. They had been told to get out, and they obeyed with alacrity. No question who had power here!

See? No trouble at all,
Hermine thought.
Mit knew it all the time.

Yeah, sure. Had the communication ploy not worked, Knot could have been smashed against the rock wall, then eaten. N
ext time kindly provide a little more advance detail.

The gross one was waiting. Knot rejoined it and put his hand on its arm again. WE NEED THE WOMAN CARRIED DOWNSTREAM, PROTECTED. WHAT IS YOUR MESSAGE? WHO IS YOUR BROTHER? WHERE DOES HE RESIDE?

The gross one shrugged him off without answering. It oriented on Thea. Then the arms descended.

Thea screamed and tried to wriggle away. “It’s all right!” Knot cried. “It will carry you!”

The mermaid got a grip on herself and stayed still. The gross one’s arms found their way under her, and picked her up as Knot had, but far more easily. The creature hoisted her to chest level and started walking.

Knot could only follow. Mit felt this was all right, so it probably was.

The gross one seemed indefatigable. It marched as long as the shore ledge held out, then halted. Knot touched it to pick up the muscle flexures. NOT KNOW WAY.

“Where do we go from here?” Knot asked Thea. “Not into the water. We should be past the piranhas, but the rapids are coming up. I could navigate them, but you could not. But I don’t know the land route.”

Does Mit know?
Knot asked Hermine, who still perched on his head. It occurred to him now that the max-mutes had probably mistaken the weasel for part of him. A man with a furry bump on his head, and a couple of small green claws—why not?

Hermine was chuckling mentally as she answered, enjoying his conjecture.
Mit says there is a route, but it is difficult. We need more help.

We’ll have to take it. Where is the help?

Back the way we came.

Oh, no! More time lost. Why hadn’t the little crab made that plain before? But Knot knew why: there had been too many variables. Only now that the problem had simplified could Mit fix on a more tangible program. “We must backtrack a little, to pick up more help,” Knot told Thea. And to the gross one he squeezed: BACK. WE SHALL FIND WAY.

The gross one did not object. He turned about ponderously, his squat legs slow but sure, and plodded back upstream.
One small problem,
Hermine thought.
Mit says if we add another person to our party, one will soon die.

Knot felt a sinking feeling. She thought of this as a “small” problem?
Who?

Mit cannot tell. There will be a fight. Too many are involved. One will fall.

And if we don’t add another to our party?

Mit says he can read that more easily. Three will die.

Three—of the four or five members of their present party. So there really was no choice. Knot decided not to mention this matter to Thea or the gross one. He would bear the burden alone, keeping the losses to a minimum.

But I know, and Mit knows,
the weasel reminded him.
And Mit cannot foresee his own death.

So if Knot and the two animals remained together, they all might be safe. That did not make him feel very much better. Was he condemning Thea to death? She was the most likely to take a fall, since she could not walk. If she got stranded on a high ledge—

In due course Mit signaled a turnoff. This led through a wilderness of sculptured rocks to a shack-city, a settlement of mutants situated beneath a Macho-normal garbage dump. Apparently there was considerable food value in the organic refuse—enough to sustain this colony in what amounted to upper class enclave style. Practically all the shacks had metal roofs, fashioned from fragments of junked vehicles, and there was a fair amount of cloth in evidence. Knot was no longer appalled; obviously the mutants had to scramble for anything available.

However, these mutants, like the rest, were unfriendly. Either they did not know of the gross one, or had no respect for his combative prowess. A motley group of freaks charged out, bearing refuse-weapons: pieces of pipe, tool handles, brick fragments, and buckets of urine. “Out! Out! Out!” their leader cried. He was a furry man with bird-like talons at his extremities and a nose overgrown with gristle, resembling a beak, and his voice was a squawk. These were coincidental mutilations, of course; true animal-people did not exist. It was just that, of the myriad deformities that occurred, some were bound to resemble natural attributes of animals. “No share! No share!”

The gross one could not hear, but was aware. It issued its squawk-scream.

The garbage salvagers did not heed the warning. They clustered around in a group, enclosing Knot’s party, gesticulating threateningly.

The gross one lowered Thea to the ground. Knot rushed up and took her, supporting her so she could stand.
What do we do now?
he asked Hermine.

These mutes are not much trouble. Gross will handle it.

Freed of its burden, the gross one did indeed handle it. The arms shot out, half-formed fists striking mutants with a force that showed in the manner their bodies reacted. People were hurled violently to the ground or sent staggering outward from the center of the action. Weapons scored on the gross one; it made no apparent difference. In moments there was a ring of battered or unconscious people.

The gross one’s eyeless face rotated to orient on Knot. Knot picked Thea up and passed her into the waiting arms, then queried with pressure: CAN YOU FIND FOOD FOR YOURSELF? I MUST SEARCH OUT ANOTHER ALLEY, FOR WE HAVE WORSE OPPOSITION AHEAD.

EAT HERE, the gross one responded. It set Thea down again and grasped the foot of a feebly struggling mutant. The foot came up to the mouth. The teeth closed. The mutant screamed, then went limp. The gross one continued eating, unperturbed.

Knot suppressed whatever reactions threatened to erupt. Cannibalism was an accepted practice here; that had long since been evident. The villagers had attacked, bringing it on themselves. He, Knot, could not dictate the style of life the gross one pursued; he had made a deal for help, nothing else.

This was an excellent exercise in toleration. Nonetheless, Knot was eager to move on.
Is our new ally close?

Very close. In that shack to the side, made from the car.

“Wait here,” Knot told Thea. “I will fetch our ally from that dwelling.” He pointed. And did not add: The ally that will guarantee that one of our number will die.

Dumbly, eyes fixed on the gross one, she nodded. She was of course safe here; no one would approach the gross one now with hostile intent. Also, she was dependent on the gross one for her present transportation. Like Knot, she had to accept the gross one for what it was.

Knot hurried to the car.
What is the name?

Strella.

“Strella, come with us,” he called, rapping on the cracked windshield.

A normal but drab older woman emerged. “Why should I go with you?”

“We are traveling out of the enclave. Help us and we will help you.” Knot presumed that this approach would be effective, since it happened to be the truth and Mit had not advised otherwise.

Her eyes gleamed. “You will take me away from here?”

“Yes, if you want to go.

She stepped out. “Instantly.”

Knot suffered another pang of guilt. He had to give some warning. “But the way is hard, and there will be danger. Some of us may die—are very likely to die—and there is no guarantee we will succeed in escaping.”

“Of course.”

It was almost too simple. “Just like that, you join us? Not even knowing us?”

“Obviously you know enough of me to seek me out. That is recommendation enough. I have been desperate to leave the enclave for some time, lacking only a party large enough for some hope of success. I would rather die than remain here—but I don’t wish to die without trying.”

“I feel the same,” Knot said.

“Is that a weasel on your head?”