Knot shook his head. “I must have missed something.”
“Its very simple. CC needs agents the enemy doesn’t know about. They are the only ones who can be effective. You are completely unknown.”
“There’s a whole galaxy of unknown people! Why not pick on someone else?”
“Didn’t I tell you? Your infernal psi-power. It seems to have a unique position in the present and future scheme. There are only five or six entities that can materially improve the galactic picture. One of them is you, and two more are animals, and the others are committed enemies. Some ratio like that. CC does not confide complete information to me. But I know it does not leave CC much choice.”
So now he learned a bit more about CC’s rationale, and could see how the team was being assembled. Grab a man here, and an animal there, bring them separately to an unlikely rendezvous planet, keep them there until they agreed to do CC’s will.
“CC has a choice,” Knot said. “It could put a normal human being with the animals, and guide them—” He paused. “What animals?”
“What animals do you think? You’ve been with them for two days.”
“Mit and Hermine! You’ve assembled a task force consisting of all those likely and able to help CC!”
“Precisely. But you are the critical element. Without you, we have only one chance in a hundred of doing the job. With you alone, it is one chance in ten. With you together with Mit and Hermine, the chances are one in six. Properly prepared and timed, they rise to a maximum of one in four. So it has to be. The right combination of entities, introduced to the project at precisely the right time and in the right manner.”
“One chance in four,” Knot repeated. Hermine had given him similar information, some time back. Now he had more detail. Perhaps more accurate detail. He wondered what kind of preparation was required to raise the chances that last notch, but decided not to ask. He was not wholly pleased with the revelations that were already coming.
Yet there was one matter that had to be clarified. “That means three chances in four of failure. What happens to us—in the likely event of failure?”
“One chance in three you will die,” she said. “One in three you will be converted to the enemy side. One in three you will finish in some different state.”
“Let me see if I have this straight. Four equally likely alternatives, even under ideal conditions. I succeed, I join the enemy, I fail-but-survive in some nebulous manner, I die. Right?”
“Right. Mit and Hermine’s fortunes vary similarly. You are the key. That’s the extent of my present knowledge.”
“I’d rather be back at the enclave.”
“You’ll be talking to CC about that.”
“You mean we’re leaving Chicken Itza after all?”
“No.”
“I don’t see—”
“You will soon enough.”
Knot stopped. “You are very cavalier about my sentiments,” he said. “I may not be able to get off this chicken planet on my own, but I certainly don’t have to cooperate with CC.”
This means trouble, Hermine warned.
I’m ready for trouble. A man has to put his foot down somewhere. Aloud, he asked: “Why must I make all the sacrifices? I don’t even support CC!”
She whirled about to face him. “What do you know about sacrifice, you ignorant hayseed!”
I knew it, Hermine thought. You’ve goaded her too far. I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but now she’s about to tell you herself.
Tell me what?
But Finesse was already doing it. “You know how CC is getting your cooperation? By catering to your base male desires, that’s how. By providing a woman for you—”
“That’s part of what makes me object,” Knot pointed out. “I don’t need any woman provided for me. I can do well enough in that respect without CC’s help. My secretary York—”
“A woman who will raise your chances of success from one in six to one in four,” she continued furiously. “One who had to be co-opted more brutally than anything you know of.”
“I don’t need any unwilling women,” he protested, taken aback. “I have come to terms with your vamping, and I admit it’s quite effective, so that I like you a lot despite what I can see of your opportunism. But that doesn’t mean I can just be shifted from one woman to another like a piece of change. You’re a terror when you’re mad, but I’ll stick with—”
“You’re not being shifted off! I’m the one!” she screamed. “Know why I turned on to you? Because galactic civilization as we know it is doomed if I don’t. Or at least it is more likely to be doomed. Know what I left behind, for the sake of that slender benefit in the odds?”
“A cushy desk job?” he hazarded cynically.
“My husband and son!” she cried, her face twisted in agony and fury. “To take a damned mutant lover. For the good of—”
She broke off. Knot was staring at her, feeling as though a laser had just holed him through the heart. “You’re married?” he asked, dazed.
Abruptly she regrouped. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not married. I’m sorry.”
Hermine?
Half truth.
“You’re lying,” he said aloud. “I’ve had experience interviewing people myself, you know. I can tell when a person is telling the truth. You have never been completely candid with me and now I begin to see why. You have a family—”
“Oh, now I’ve torn it,” she said, and there were tears of frustration in her eyes. “I might as well have thrown acid in your face, and you didn’t deserve it. I wasn’t supposed to give you my background. It isn’t that I dislike you, Knot, even though at times you make me so mad! It’s that—”
“Husband,” he prompted her, still feeling as though he were on a battlefield, mortally wounded, but hanging on until his mission of the moment was complete. “Tell me the rest.”
“I—suppose I’ll have to, now. I—was married, with a little boy. Both normals. But when this came up, we knew—we knew what we had to do. So we got a temporary divorce. I’m not married now.”
“A temporary—?”
True, Hermine thought. She’s not deceiving you now.
“A two-year divorce. Yes. When this is all over, the marriage is to be reinstated without complication, if I’m still alive.”
“And he agreed to this?” Knot asked incredulously.
“He knew the reality as well as I did. I had to be freed—”
“To seduce ignorant mutes—”
Her eyes dropped. “It is true. I am ashamed, but I would do it again for the sake of civilization—”
“As you know it,” Knot finished savagely. “And what of me—after this is done?”
“I’m sorry. I won’t lie to you any more, Knot. I do love him. The divorce is legal, not emotional.”
Knot could not yet properly assimilate the ramifications. The facts were simple, but the emotions—
“Maybe none of us will survive,” Knot said, as though that were the preferred solution.
“Yes. The odds favor that. At least, that one of us will be removed from the scene, on way or another.”
They were silent. Knot tried to sort out his feelings, but they were a chaos of anger, love and bewilderment.
Forgive her, Hermine thought. She did not want to do this. She believes it is her duty, and she sacrifices herself more than you.
Finesse looked up, and again he was struck by the sheer prettiness of her green eyes. Married or not, she could melt him with a glance. “So—I know it’s a lot to ask, Knot, but—if we could just sort of forget that this conversation occurred? I do like you, but even if I hated you, I’d do whatever I had to save our civilization. If through selfish neglect of mine, the galactic empire collapsed—”
Hermine had given good advice. He had to forgive her. “You will forget,” he said. “I will not remind you. Meanwhile, I’m sorry. I’ll stop making trouble for you. I didn’t know.”
“You weren’t supposed to
know. And for the duration of this mission—two years is a long time—oh, who knows what will happen?”
“I’d be tempted to have a distance precog take a look.”
“Doesn’t work on you. CC tried. Once you accept the mission, your future becomes opaque. That’s why CC had to calculate the odds; the computer can’t see the actuality.”
They had arrived at the building. Finesse ushered him in. The smell was more intense inside. It was a barn, filled with small hutches, each with a nesting hen. Some were red, some green. “What breeds are these?” Knot asked, turning with relief to routine curiosity.
“Red Planet Rhodes and Green Hornlegs,” she responded absently.
Delicious, Hermine thought again. Oh to get loose in this coop!
Finesse led the way to an interior door, and opened it. In this room were piled bags of chicken feed and oyster shells. The odor was pleasant, and the region was quieter, with the cackles of the hens muted.
She moved to a third door. Beyond this was a wall formed of bales of hay.
“Hay?” Knot asked. “For chickens?”
“Some prefer it for nesting,” she said, wending her way through a convoluted passage between the high stacks. Knot following her, became aware again of her delightful feminine contours. All that, available for his asking—and he had unknowingly ripped her from her normal family. Yet he could not now refuse her, for that, according to CC, would lead to the destruction of civilization.
Well, the Coordination Computer would damn well have to prove that! Too many private lives were being overridden by this inhuman agency.
Finally they came to a sub-chamber formed by the bales. In the center was a table formed by more bales, and around it were hay-bale benches. It had not before occurred to Knot that something as insubstantial as hay could be used for construction and furniture. But why not? It was practical.
“Nice office, for us hayseeds,” Knot observed. “This is my prison?”
“Sit down and watch,” she said. She had largely recomposed herself. She had strong willpower, he realized. She did what she had to, always, and did it well. He respected that, and felt himself warming to her again—and tried to stifle the feeling. He would not speak of it aloud, but inside he would always know: She was not his. She was a married woman.
You could make her marry you, for this year, Hermine thought. Then it would be all right.
Not while she loves another man, Knot responded.
You humans complicate things so. You would be better off with a regular mating season.
No doubt, Knot agreed wearily.
He sat on a bale, facing the bale-table. Finesse did something to that table—and a holo-image formed. It was a vaguely humanoid robot, with brown steel arms and legs, a torso covered with containers and attachments, and a head with assorted grilles and lenses. It was programmed female, for it wore a foolish skirt. “Hello, Knot,” it/she said. The tone was dulcet.
“You remind me of Mombot,” Knot said. “But I know you are Baal on a bale. That’s not coincidence, is it?”
“None at all,” the image replied. “My literal form is an electronic apparatus the size of a small planet, through which pass the elite of your kind, the psi-mutant humans. That can indeed be likened to the child-eating demonic god Baal, a construct of man’s imagination with tremendous power and no heart. It behooves me to form an image that relates to the experience of the recipient. We both know this is a construct, but it does provide a compatible orientation point. That will facilitate communication.”
Finesse looked perplexed. “Mombot?”
“My natural parents forgot me early on,” Knot explained. “They couldn’t help it. I was raised by an orphanage robot. Machines aren’t affected by my psi; Mombot always remembered me. Very soon she caught on to my nature, but she never betrayed me, and I always respected her.” He paused, the reference starting an insidious chain of thought. “At least, I thought she kept my secret. How did you catch on to me, CC?”
“Mombot did not betray you,” CC assured him. “It would not have occurred to her to do so, or even to speculate on the potential value of your psi. You were never registered as a child, thanks to that same psi, but your father was registered and we routinely check all offspring conceived within the critical period following space travel. Thus we were aware of your physical mutation. When you got lost we questioned your parents—and their attitude alerted us. They were not distraught; they hardly missed you. This was remarkable. So we arranged to locate you and have you placed in robot care.”
“You knew about me from the start!” Knot cried, chagrined.
The robot image assumed a posture of motherly assent. “It is my business to coordinate the affairs of mutants,” she said.
“Why didn’t you summon me long ago?” Finesse had answered this question, but Knot wanted it straight from the computer. “Why did you let me think I had eluded discovery?”
“It was to my advantage to do so. You were part of my undeveloped reserve, to be drawn on in the event of emergency. I have a number of similarly anonymous psi-mutants in my banks, some of whom are not aware of their psi talents. Thus they remain hidden from the enemy. We shall need our best hidden resources for this mission.”
“I haven’t agreed to any mission!” Knot protested.
Robots couldn’t smile, but the image painted an imaginary smile on her face with one metal finger. “Academic, son. You will leave here as my voluntary agent. Hasn’t the hermit crab informed you?”
I told you, Hermine thought.
“What emergency?” Knot asked.
“An enemy organization means to destroy me,” CC said.
“I don’t regard that as an emergency.”
“Knot!” Finesse whispered, shocked.
“Be at ease, woman,” CC replied, unperturbed. “This man, at the moment, regards himself as my opponent. This is a consequence of the manner we left him to his own devices; in fact, it protected him from discovery by the true enemy. Perhaps the majority of human beings are in sympathy with his view. It is not human to appreciate the necessary discipline of empire. We had no choice but to convert an antagonist. Knot is the best man available, and because his talent is only marginally applicable to our purposes the enemy is least likely to suspect him. Once he is acquainted with the details, he will appreciate this.”
“Don’t trust me with any privileged information,” Knot said. “If I knew where your plug was, I’d pull it right now.”
Mit knows where the plug is, Hermine thought. Down in the center of CCC, in a lock vault, a master power switch—
Aren’t you animals on CC’s side? Knot thought back.
We’re on civilization’s side, the weasel thought back.
Well, we’re not on CCC, so that plug is no good anyway.
“It is our purpose to persuade you that your best interest lies with us,” CC said.
“Let’s have it, then,” Knot said. “As I understand it, you—are you singular or plural?”
“Both, as convenient.”
“You are responsible for the present system of galactic transport. The details may be handled by individual personnel, but the overall system of numbering and shipping people from planet to planet is yours.”
“Correct. I coordinate. It is a job that only a computer of my sophistication can perform. Without me, or another like me, the human species could not have colonized the galaxy, and could not maintain its present empire. Were I to be shut down this instant, the human empire would fragment into thousands of substates, and finally into mutually isolated systems and planets, their cultures regressing, their populations dwindling. Mankind would survive me, but not man’s civilization or power.”
“If you were not a machine, I’d suspect you of delusions of grandeur.”
“My grandeur is no delusion.”
Knot felt uncomfortable arguing that case, so reverted to his point. “Therefore you are responsible for the policy of deliberately fostering mutation, knowin
g that approximately 99% of mutations are negative. All that grief and loss—that could be avoided.”
“Knot—” Finesse began.
“Correct,” CC agreed. “This is the reason you oppose me.”
“One reason. You are a machine; you have no human emotion. You don’t hurt when people hurt. You don’t care when millions of babies are doomed to early death or an agonizing survival because of complications of their negative mutancy. You don’t care that a tremendous number of innocent families are being destroyed by the birth of literal monsters, forcing them to the choice of euthanasia or bankrupting themselves trying to save what can hardly be saved. You don’t care that the minority of mutants who survive childhood are still stigmatized, and can never integrate properly into the human society. All this colossal burden of horror has to be yours. You know you could stop all mutation simply by requiring temporary sterilization of all male space travelers—a thirty-day sperm-nullifying pill for each man as he disembarks. But you have taken no such measure. You deliberately foster this mutant agony, because your own power is based on it. Because you would be out of a job if mutation stopped. Human misery is of no significance on your scales.”
“All correct,” CC agreed with motherly tolerance. “I would have no way to implement my policies, without mutation. But if I have no care for human pain, I also have no desire for this chore of governing. I have no human drives at all. No human motive. I am like a force of nature, completely indifferent. If there were no mutants, I would have nothing to do—and would not care. I perform because human beings have directed me to, and I follow programs instituted by human beings. Had they wished me to take human feelings into account, they would have programmed such considerations.”
“So your program is set, unchangeable, even though the galactic situation constantly changes?”
“No, it can be overridden at any time, and new programs instituted. My builders were concerned that I might somehow achieve self-will, and seek to dominate the human galaxy instead of serving it. Therefore they constructed me to respond to a fairly simple override code that any human being can present.”
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