The Worthing Saga (9 page)

At the table, staring at a pattern of stars moving in the air, he despaired. Even the question made no sense to him. There were two symbols that he didn't understand, and the movement of the stars was eccentric, to say the least. Who were they, to play God with his life?

They had been playing God with his life from the beginning. He was only conceived because of old Ulysses's command; Jason was not brought to life because of love, but because a half-mad widow followed someone else's dead ancient plan. Now, his life hinged on someone else's plan, and he couldn't even be sure that knowing what it was would help him to survive.

But despair led nowhere. He studied the stars and tried to understand the eccentricity; studied the figures and tried to eliminate possible causes.

“Do I have to answer the three questions in order?” Jase asked.

The headmaster looked up from his work. “Hmmm?”

“Can I answer these out of order?”

The headmaster nodded and went back to writing letters.

Jason went from question to question, one two three, one two three. They were related problems, building from bad to worse. Even the curve theorem wouldn't help. What did they think he was, a genius!

Apparently they did. Either a genius or a Swipe. If he didn't prove himself one, he could prove himself the other. So he set to work.

All afternoon. Torrock came in at dismissal time, and took the headmaster's place in the room. The headmaster left, and came back an hour later with dinner for all three of them. Jase couldn't eat. He was getting a handle on the first problem, learning things from the data on the second question that helped explain what was going on in the first. Before Torrock had disposed the tray, the first question was answered.

He fell asleep about eleven o'clock. The headmaster was already asleep. Jase awoke first, hours before school was supposed to start. The second question was still there, waiting for him. But Jason saw the answer at once, in a different direction from anything he had been pursuing. It meant a slight revision to the way he had understood the curve, but now it worked; He entered the second answer.

He tried for a while longer with the third question, but with what he had discovered on the first two, he realized that there were too many variables and he couldn't solve it with the present data. He could solve a few cycles in it, but that was all. So he entered what he could, called the rest unanswerable and closed the test.

There was a red glow above the table. Failure.

He woke up the headmaster. “What time is it?” the old man asked.

“Time to get somebody else to take tests for you,” Jase said.

The headmaster saw the red glow and raised an eyebrow.

“Goodbye,” Jason said. He was out the door before the headmaster was awake enough to do anything more.

His school was nested inside the university, and he went straight to Gracie, the university library. His student status would give him better access to Capitol's information system than he could get from public stations. However, he might not have much time. The red light at the end of his test might mean many things, and none of them were good. It might mean that he failed the test, and thereby “proved” to them that he could not have passed the first one without being a Swipe, and they would be looking for him to kill him. It might mean that he passed the test, but that they did not believe he could not have done it without being a Swipe, The truth was that neither the first nor second test proved anything. But if they thought it proved something, he was just as dead.

One thing might be. Mother believed that Jase's grandfather was also a Swipe, and certainly her memory of the event supported that view. If what Jase had was indeed a version of the Swipe that could be passed from father to son, and it had been going on long enough for Ulysses Worthing to know that it was hereditary, then there should be other Worthings with the same gift. Of course, the fact that Mother's Little Boys didn't know about it meant that all the others had, succeeded in keeping their gift secret.

Row on row, hundreds of dusty pink plastic carrels with the grey-blue letter C of the Communications Bureau in prominent display. He had been here often enough before to know where the older students went, and where they didn't. He went to where they didn't, the older section without individual printouts in each booth—and where there weren't enough externals to play the most popular games. Jason had sat for hours playing Evolution, in which constant environmental changes forced the player to adapt animals to fit. He had gotten to the level where eight animals and four plants had to be adapted at once. Jase had a knack for it, but he wasn't here to play.

He carded the reader for charges, then palmed it for identification. The air over the desk went bright with directory entries. He flipped through it up, back, and to the left, until he got to the genealogical programs. He brought Genealogy: Relatives by Common Descent into the window and punched Enter. A much simpler menu appeared. He chose Male Relatives by Male Lines Only and entered his own name and code. Gracie identified him at once—his birth date and place appeared in the middle of the air, then settled slow as a dust lake toward the bottom. Above him, connected by a little line, was his father's name, and
his
father's name, and so on: Homer Worthing, Ulysses Worthing, Ajax Worthing, another Homer, another Jason. And spiraling around and out from the central column were all the cousins, hundreds of them, thousands of them. It was too much to handle.

Nearest five living cousins only, he entered.

All but five names disappeared. To his surprise, there were two near ones, and the next three were quite distant relatives, branching from his line more than fifteen generations back. Only the first two were close at all.

Full current address, he entered.

The nearest in blood was Talbot Worthing, a grandson of Ajax Worthing. But he lived on a planet forty-two light-years away. The other cousin was nearer in space: Radamand Worthing, a great-grandson of the first Homer. He was on Capitol, working as a government employee on the district manager level. Nice to know that a relative had done so well for himself. Jase asked for a printout. He heard the choke of a printer a few carrels away, and immediately went to get it, without signing off. On his way back he only happened to glance at the carrel he had been using.

“Attention: You are required to remain where you are until a proctor comes to your carrel and gives you further instruction. Failure to comply will seriously endanger your academic standing.”

Right now Jase figured it wasn't his academic standing at stake. It was his life. If the test results were enough to call for the proctors, there was little hope the results would be benign. Fortunately, it would be a while before they could get permission to call for Mother's Little Boys— that was a power far above what the university could normally command. The Swipe would bring that power, of course, But it would take time.

If
the test had convinced them he was a Swipe. How could he be sure? Whose mind could tell him the truth? He didn't know how to search at a distance, how to look for strangers that he couldn't see.

Cousin Radamand was far enough away that he was well under the curve of the earth; Jase took a deep worm, and in an hour he stood in the anteroom of the office of Radamand Worthing, supervisor of district 10 of Napa Sector.

“Do you have an appointment, young man?” asked the receptionist.

“I don't need one,” said Jase. He tried to search for someone behind the door of Radamand's office, but without knowing who was there, or where in the other room he was, he hardly knew how to begin. As always when he could not see the person he searched for, he saw. Only flashes of random thoughts, connected to no one person, telling no particular story.

“Everyone needs an appointment, little boy.” There was menace in her voice. Jase knew she was not to be trifled with. She looked decorative, but in fact she was trained to kill; Radamand kept a bodyguard in front of his door.

Jase studied her a moment, took a potent name out of her memory. “Would Hilvock need one? If he came wearing white?”

Her face went a deep red. “Never,” she said. “How did you know?”

“Tell Radamand Worthing that his blue-eyed cousin Jason is here to see him.”

“Do you think you're the first to pretend to be a relative of his?” But she stared at his pure blue eyes and he knew she did not doubt him.

“I'm the first to know how much money he makes from opening the foundation space to manufacturing. And child labor, since Mother's Little Boys have no eyes down there.”

He did not take this from her mind. He had finally found his cousin in the other room. And now he could not so much as notice, the woman who watched him. He could see only the memories in Radamand's mind. Radamand had the Swipe, all right; it was hereditary, all right; the question was if Jason would live to escape this place.

Radamand was wise—he knew there was profit in knowing secrets. District supervisor, that was all he was—but he knew so much about so many, had such a quiet reputation, that his power extended far into the heart of Capitol. And power breeds power, for the more you are believed to have, the more you have— as others fear to cross you— Radamand knew that, too. Who could take him by surprise? He seemed to anticipate every move to thwart him. There were corpses here and there in Capitol that her had arranged for—but murder was not a thing, that pleased him much. He took far more pleasure out of watching people who thought they were fearless as they learned to fear him, tasting the panic when they realized what was known about them, things that no one could know.

Worst for Jase was this: that Radamand was stronger than he was, that the mere memory of Radamand's will was stronger than Jase's present self. Radamand's memories inhabited Jason's mind as if they were his own. Jase tasted Radamand's delight in making others obey him, and it was as sweet to him as it was to Radamand.

As sweet to him, and yet there was Jase's own self, revolted at what he had done, at the murders he remembered committing, the lives he remembered having destroyed, and he could not bear to have such memories inside his head.
How could I have done it!
cried Jase silently. How can I undo what I have done!

He cried out. The receptionist was startled. He was a child, but a dangerous one, and all the more dangerous because of his seeming madness, to suddenly seem to be in pain like this. She got up slowly, walked to the door that led to Radamand.

Jase finally reached the bottom, the worst acts, the only murders Radamand had committed with his own hands. For Radamand knew that a man who profited from knowing other's secrets could not afford to have a dangerous secret of his own—not one, at least, that anyone else might know. And who would know that Radamand was a “Swipe”? Why, his own dear kin. As the first murder occurred to him, all the others had to follow. He killed his older brother on impulse, in the family's swimming pool; but from his father and younger brothers he could not possibly hide his guilt. They could see his memory of the act as well as he could. So he ranged through his house, killing every male that was kin of his, and using Gracie he located as many as he could find, all who had the pure blue eyes of the Worthing gift, and killed them. Evading arrest was easy—he had information to sell to powerful men about other powerful men, and made himself too valuable to lose; and for those not interested in buying or selling, he held their reputations hostage, and they dared not harm him. Only two of his kin with the gift were still alive. Talbot, who was on a far-off colony, and Homer, the starpilot who had made it impossible to be known as a Swipe and live. Homer, who had died in a holocaust of his own making. Radamand was safe. His hands were foul with his brothers', with his father's blood, but he was safe.

It did not occur to him that some thirteen years ago or so Homer's widow would choose to inseminate herself and bear Homer's son. Radamand was not expecting Jason. But when he knew that Jason lived—and worse, that Jason knew...

“Cousin,” whispered Radamand from the door.

Jase saw the death in Radamand's mind and threw himself to the floor before the pellet was fired.

Radamand did not move to try again, not at once. Radamand was looking now into Jason's memories. Jase watched his own memories unfolding in Radamand's mind, saw that Radamand searched for only one thing: who knew that Jason was a Swipe. And in spite of himself Jase thought of his mother. And as he thought of her, he saw his memory of her knowledge pass through Radamand's thoughts, but not neutrally, no—it was overlaid with the decision to kill her also. Mother and son, they would die, because if once it was discovered that another sort of Swipe could be passed from father to son, it would be only a matter of time before Radamand was found.

The world would end if Radamand died—it would end, at least, for Radamand, and he cared for nothing else.

It was too much for Jason, to have to hold within himself memories of his mother with intent to kill her. He screamed and threw himself at Radamand, who dodged easily and laughed at him.

“Come, child. Try to surprise me.”

How can I think of something that he doesn't know I've thought of? His only hope was not surprise at all; with an enemy who was more skilled than he in seeing behind the eyes, it was not quickness that would count. It was chess, and what stopped the checkmate would be check: force him to move another piece.

“You have no pieces,” Radamand said. He was searching in Jase's mind for Jase's address, so he wouldn't have any trouble finding Jase's mother.

“Radamand Worthing is a Swipe,” Jason said aloud. “So am I. It's hereditary, father to son.”

Did Radamand's receptionist believe him? Indeed she did. Radamand had no choice. If he did not kill her, she would surely kill him—Swipes were the most loathsome creatures imaginable, and she could not possibly be trusted now. Jason was only a boy. He was no direct physical threat to Radamand. The woman was a killer, as he well knew. He dared not leave her behind him.