Mute (50 page)

But Knot could not get up, and Finesse was unconscious. They could do nothing. They had stretched their resources as far as possible, and that had not been quite far enough. At least the lobo stronghold would go down with them.

The lights came on. Lobos burst into the room. In a moment Piebald himself appeared, looking down at them where they sprawled ignominiously on the floor.

“Congratulations on an excellent performance!” The lobo chief maintained his mannerisms, even at the height of conflict.

“Thanks,” Knot gasped. “It is only fair to warn you—” He paused for a labored breath. “That I have set the destruct mechanism. So we’ll all go together.”

Piebald strode across the room and checked the wiring. He never bluffed or counter-bluffed when he didn’t have to. “Into the truck!” he ordered. “Bring the psis—all three of them.”

What was the lobo up to? Knot felt himself being roughly lifted and dumped. Klisty screamed and fought, but was loaded anyway. “Spray them with knockout,” Piebald called as he started the truck. “We don’t want her waking and using her psi again.”

There was the hiss of spray. Klisty’s screaming stopped, and she collapsed on Knot. Finesse, beside him, never moved. The vapor drifted across, and Knot felt himself fading out.

They had lost. He knew that. They might have destroyed the lobo stronghold, but the three of them would still be fodder for the lobotomy-testing program. Knot’s sensible course was to let his pained consciousness pass, alleviating his mental and physical suffering. The forces of mutilation had, after all, prevailed.

Yet he could not. Knot hated Piebald and all he stood for. The lobo wanted domination of the galaxy by criminal psi-mutants. Knot saw again the torture and murder of the fat woman Lydia and the old man NFG, and the attempted killing of Klisty. He had fought so hard to avenge all this—and the mere destruction of the volcano villa was not enough. He had to destroy Piebald himself, and the lobo organization.

So Knot clung to consciousness as he had clung to the face of the sea cliff when emerging from the enclave chasm. He refused to yield to the knockout drug as the truck bumped out along the tunnel. Knot’s body was frozen, but it still hurt, and that pain seemed to fight the drug. He had received a light dose; Klisty’s body had taken the worst of it, and shielded him.

But mere consciousness was not enough. The truck was rushing onward. Piebald and a couple of lobos were in the cab. The trusses of the tunnel roof support were shooting back blurringly. There was little hope that the detonation would occur before the truck cleared the mountain; Piebald well knew the danger, knew the time limit, and knew his fastest route out. He was perhaps the best-fitted person present to get the truck clear in time. Knot felt mixed frustration and relief. His survival, for the moment, was linked to Piebald’s, by unpleasant irony. How could he save himself and his friends, and destroy Piebald and his lobos and the nascent lobo empire, using nothing but his mind?

Finesse could have done it. She could have made the driver afraid of the road ahead, causing him to swerve into the tunnel wall. She could have made them all afraid of motion, so that they would stop and wait for the detonation. But Finesse was unconscious. Thoroughly so, since she had fainted before being touched by the spray.

Many other psis could have done the job—mind controllers or stunners or telekinetics or even a levitator, if he were strong enough to lift the truck’s drive wheels clear of the ground and prevent it from traveling forward. But no such psis were here. Knot himself was the only conscious psi here—and his talent was passive. Alone, he might be forgotten, and have time to recover and escape—but Finesse and Klisty would be remembered. So his psi was useless in this situation. It really had not served him awfully well, on this adventure; he had had the advantage of being unknown to the lobo network, but now they had him in their files, and would not forget him for long. CC had depended on too weak an ally, overestimating the usefulness of initial anonymity.

Of course, CC had to have known about Finesse’s psi ability, and had used her memory of an otherwise unmemorable person to trigger it at a critical moment; that had been a very clever ploy. So in that sense Knot had served his purpose. He had not been the weapon, but the trigger of the weapon. But CC had outsmarted itself, thinking the animals would be with them at the key moment, and they were not. Hermine and Mit were with the gross one, thanks to Knot’s arrangement. Some help he had been there!

Light splashed down. They were clear of the mountain. Now the truck accelerated, putting distance between itself and the volcano. Piebald, cunning and ruthless, had saved them all, unfortunately. While leaving all his prior assistants and loyal supporters to perish without warning.

Hermine—Knot’s thought looped back to that. Finesse could send to her, one way, because the weasel was attuned. Finesse might get Hermine to summon the gross one. But Finesse was unconscious. No doubt Piebald was smart enough to keep all three of them sedated until they reached another lobo lobotomizing station. No chance there.

Could Knot do it himself? Hermine had been with him through a considerable adventure, and had known of him through Finesse too—which meant Hermine should remember him well enough. The intercession of a third party vitiated Knot’s psi, just as a written note did, or a machine record. He and Hermine had linked minds closely during the weasel’s engagement with the psi rats of the solar power station; that was about as close together as two minds could get. They had been separated for a while, but Hermine should be able to recall him, especially with Mit’s reminder.

Was she close enough, in distance and emotion, to tune him in as she had Finesse? If so, he might send to Hermine, and let her arrange a rescue. She would need the power of a human mind to draw on—but if she were still with the gross one, that should do. The gross one actually had a good mind, when it was accessible.

He had to try. It was the only chance.

Hermine,
he thought intensely.
Hermine, receive me. I am Knot, your companion of the chasm enclave. Hermine, I need help.
Was he getting through? He had no idea. Hermine was beyond her sending range; she could not answer him. Now he appreciated the extent of the faith Finesse had had, to keep making such detailed sendings, without response. He had to show something similar.

Light erupted behind them. Knot was facing part way back, his vision mostly obscured by Klisty’s body. But the intense light had to be from the volcano. Even as he realized that, the sound came—a great, body-quivering boom. Then a series of lesser sounds, as of debris falling.

Would the detonation trigger the volcano? Knot didn’t know. Perhaps it took time for the released lava to rise; the full process of eruption might take days or weeks. It really didn’t matter; that villa would no longer be usable. Its destruction was only a token; the lobo threat to CC continued. The lobos would keep on lobotomizing CC psi-agents, until either there were too few to function, or they achieved the lobotomy—reversal breakthrough—in which event they would pose twice the threat to CC as before. Unless someone exposed the nature of the threat before the point of no return.

It was like the villa volcano destruction, he thought; once the key wires of the detonator sequence were crossed, the result was inevitable. Once the key lobo connections were made, CC was doomed, even though there would be a period of months or years before that became incontrovertible. Precognition had told the story, and Knot’s mission was precognitively obscure. No one knew the outcome of this struggle, and perhaps that was because it was as yet undecided. The fate of the galaxy might hang on what he accomplished now.

Hermine!
he thought desperately.
Finesse is with me and unconscious. She will perish if not rescued soon. You must bring help, somehow. We are near the volcano, in a truck, driving
—he paused to calculate his orientation—
driving roughly north now, at fairly high velocity. If you can intercept the truck—

Of course she couldn’t intercept the truck, he realized with dismay. Hermine was only a weasel. Unless Mit had an insight—

Hermine! If you are near, and Mit can tell where this truck will stop—if you can bring the gross one—

But it seemed to be useless. The weasel probably could not receive him, and could not act in time if she could. What could a little telepathic creature do? Even buttressed by Mit’s clairvoyance and precognition, her resources were limited. She might be far away; he could be lobotomized before she reached him. Yet all he could do was try.
Hermine! Hermine!

The truck continued north interminably, then made a turn west. Finesse stirred but did not revive. The lobos had made sure she was out for the duration, knowing she was the dangerous one. Knot himself seemed to be recovering some use of his limbs—but his injuries and fatigue kept him nonfunctional.
Hermine—we are turning west. Maybe near our destination. They will stop soon to drug us again, I’m sure, and I won’t be able to send any more. If you are receiving me, get help quickly. Any kind. We’re desperate.

A loud buzzing fly came up and perched on the wooden side of the truck. Knot was afraid it would bite one of them, but it only waited.

The truck turned north again, then slowed and stopped. They were where they were going.

Piebald came around to the back. “I trust you three are comfortable?” he inquired. He swatted at a stinging fly. “I would have arranged better accommodation, had I had more warning about the necessity for this journey. We would not want you to wake too soon, now, would we!” He swatted again.

The other two lobos came around. “Ow!” one exclaimed. “Something stung me!”

Then all three of them were waving their arms about as a small swarm of large flies or small wasps attacked them. “What possesses these bugs?” Piebald demanded.

Possession! Hermine, is this your doing?
Knot thought.
Did you send flies?

A fly buzzed across to land near Knot’s face. It seemed to be a cross between fly and bee, solid but fast, with yellow on its body.

Its faceted eyes seemed to orient on him.

Bee, are you telepathic?
Knot thought.
Can you receive me?

The bee buzzed up as though brushed away, then settled back in the same place.

If you receive me, come sit on my head.

The bee buzzed across to perch on Knot’s head.

So Hermine
was
responsible! The weasel herself might still be out of range, but the fast-flying bees had arrived in time.
I’m glad to see you. Try to stop the lobos from knocking us out again, and in due course we’ll recover. Finesse can handle the lobos when she wakes, even if she can’t move well.

But now he heard the rumble of another truck. Oh, no—more lobos? Piebald could have radioed for reinforcements from some other lobo station, gathering a new nucleus about him. Knot struggled to throw off his remaining paralysis, but his limbs only quivered; it was still too strong. The bee buzzed off.

The other truck slowed and stopped. Someone got out, thumping heavily on the ground.

“Look at that!” a lobo cried, pausing in his arm-waving to stare.

Then Knot heard the squeak of the gross one.
Hermine—you made it!
he thought.

Yes, Knot,
the weasel’s welcome thought returned.
I received you. We came as fast as we could. We had not gone far from the villa, for the gross one was having difficulty managing the truck, and also we hoped we could help you somehow. Mit thought we might succeed, if you got out of the mountain.

Now the sounds of combat developed. The gross one was wading in.

Bless you!
Knot thought with overflowing gratitude. Then, at last, he let himself lose consciousness.

PART III:
Mutiny

CHAPTER 12:

Knot woke in a comfortable bed. He had confused half memories of waking and hurting and lapsing out again several times; of nightfall, and bright day, and night again. This time, however, he was clear-minded.

Finesse was in a bed next to his. She was already awake. She raised an inquiring eyebrow at him. “Who are you?” she asked.

Laboriously, he began to explain, as he had so often before, with so many people. But she was smiling, then laughing. “Shut up, Knot! Hermine updated me!”

Knot smiled ruefully. “You know how it is.”

“I forget,” she said. She got out of bed and crossed to him. “But I have another reminder.” She picked up a placard that hung at the foot of his bed, and turned it for him to read.

It said: THIS IS WHATSHISNAME.

Knot tried to laugh, and felt his gut wound.

“I wasn’t really badly injured; it was mostly shock,” she said. She showed her left shoulder, covered by a bandage. “But you—it’s a wonder you could move at all! You were in terrible pain, yet you did all that.”

“No, I just kept going, because I had to.”

“Hermine said she never felt such agony. It came through when you sent to her. You had minor surgery to put you back together, two days ago when we brought you here. You could have killed yourself!”

Knot smiled. “I thought I was trying to save my life.”

She leaned down and kissed him. She had always had excellent technique in this sort of thing, and had not lost her touch. “You know, I wondered why CC would team high-powered psi-animals up with a normal person and a passive-psi double-mute. I found out about the normal. I really didn’t know I was psi, Knot, you must believe that.”

“I believe,” he said.

“But still it seemed that for this mission a more aggressive psi-power than yours would have been in order. But now I know; it wasn’t just the insidious nature of your psi, that enables you to slip through the best enemy nets—and, incidentally, you performed some escape feats that would make the record books, if anybody could remember them—it was you. You’ve got courage and determination in adversity like none other.”